I reached for the door handle but Jerry grabbed my hand. “She’s not going to do anything. Don’t get out.” He pulled me back down.
Abruptly, Mom hit the gas petal and sped away from the curb.
The next thing I remember was a loud smashing sound. It was our car hitting something. As I shielded my eyes from the bright lights of red flares, I noticed a fire truck, police car and an ambulance, I felt like I was floating and everything was happening in slow motion. Blood was dripping down my face and more blood flowed down my leg. Someone helped me out of the backseat and led me into the front of the ambulance. At the same time my mother was put on the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. Sirens blared as we were driven to the hospital.
Panic took over, what happened to my mom? Where was Jerry? It didn’t take long to arrive at the hospital. A cut above my left eye bled profusely. It was soon stitched up. My leg was bandaged with a butterfly Band-Aid. Thankfully, those were my only wounds.
Fortunately, my mom suffered no broken bones, or internal injuries, but she was bruised, swollen, and sore from her head to her toes. We were both released from the hospital that night. Jerry was uninjured and I was mad at him for forcing me to stay in the car. Years later Mom would admit she had deliberately driven into a tree and was trying to commit suicide.
Jerry hung around the next several weeks, taking care of my mom as she spent most of her time in bed or lying on the couch. Soon we resumed our Friday night dates, he with his six-pack and me trying to remain pure. It was getting harder and harder for me to fight him off. Lately he had been getting extremely angry with me when I said no, and he’d speed out of the movie while screaming at me. “Are you scared yet, are you scared?”
I promised myself I would quit going out with him. I was afraid I would eventually give in to his demands. I had no one to talk to about him and the way he coaxed me to go further every weekend. I suffered alone in silence and felt guilty every week. Jerry began to control me in other ways too, asking me why I wore a certain style of clothes, or why my nose was always shiny and why couldn’t I fix it. He’d say, “You can’t even be yourself around me.” What did he mean by that statement?
Towards the end of the school year, the ninth graders went to Disneyland. I was thrilled. It had been almost three years since I had been to “The Happiest Place on Earth.” Jerry was going to follow the bus and meet me at the parking lot. We would spend the whole day together.
A couple hours later I asked, “Are you having fun?”
He seemed unusually quiet. “Yea, sure.”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but we had never done anything together except go to the movies, go parking, and go on motorcycle rides. Although he seemed distant I still tried to enjoy the amusement park and bought an ice cream from the snack bar. It was so good I wanted another one.
“Do you think you need another one?” Jerry asked, sarcastically.
“No, I guess not.”
At 5’5” tall, I probably weighed 90 pounds and I couldn’t understand why he discouraged me from eating another treat. I began to feel self-conscious. Soon I realized I always felt that way around Jerry. Thankfully, our trip to Disneyland was almost over.
On a Sunday, a few months after our mother hit the tree she made a surprising announcement. “We are moving to Colorado to live with my sister and her six kids. Uncle Ray and Aunt Lena will be here on Friday. We will drive back with them and we can only take what will fit in their small trailer.”
“What are you talking about? Are you saying were moving in five days?” my oldest brother asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“Why are we moving?” I asked.
“I can’t live in this place anymore. If I don’t get out of this state I’ll end up dying here.”
I quickly calculated: Since Mom was still only thirty-four she had one more year before her self-fulfilling prophecy could perhaps come to pass. Somehow, I believed if we didn’t move she would end up dying too. Although we were disappointed at our mother’s announcement we knew no amount of persuasion on our part would make Mom change her mind. She had already decided we were moving without talking about it to us first. We only had five days to tell our friends goodbye and pack up a few of our meager belongings.
I was scheduled for a date with Jerry on Friday, the day we were leaving. I was so relieved that I wouldn’t be going out with him. I clearly remember our last time together: The movie was boring. He had gulped all six of his beers. He wanted to go parking. I didn’t, but I gave in. After too much touching, too many liberties taken, I tried saying no, over and over. He finally listened, but not before getting very angry. He put the key in the ignition, and we adjusted our rumpled clothing. Zooming towards the highway, Jerry began driving faster and more erratically. “Are you scared yet, Deb?” He shouted over the blaring music.
I was angry but not scared, but I didn’t tell him that. “Yea, slow down please.”
“When are you going to let me go all the way? I’m tired of you stopping me week after week. I can’t take it anymore,” he said, pushing his foot even harder on the gas pedal.
“Please slow down. Next week, I promise.”
Five days passed quickly while we were getting ready to leave our home. One of my girlfriends said, “You’re so lucky, at least you’ll be breathing fresh air. Not like the smog we have here.” Was that supposed to make me feel better about leaving? Lucky! Right! Are you kidding? Leaving everything we knew, including our friends. What was my mom thinking?
I don’t even remember my dad coming around to say goodbye. The last person I saw as we piled into my aunt’s car was Jerry. Nonchalantly, he sauntered over to the automobile. Handing me a half-smoked cigarette he had snubbed out, he leaned in to kiss me goodbye.
“Here Deb, take this to remember me by.”
As we drove away I was sad but relieved. I mouthed the words, thank you God. Now I wouldn’t have to go through with the promise I had made to him. My virginity was still intact!
16
Colorado
“The Lord Himself will go before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forget you. Don’t be afraid and don’t worry.” Deuteronomy 31:8
Our move out of California to Colorado would change our lives forever. That summer of 1970, the war in Vietnam was still going strong, although over 40,000 troops had been pulled out. The Brady Bunch, Little House on the Prairie, and The Walton’s were popular television shows. The Beatles broke up that year. “Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In” was on its way to becoming the song of the year. Richard Nixon was president of the United States. Midnight Cowboy, starring Jon Voight, would win best picture. Eighteen year olds were given the right to vote in federal elections, and floppy disks were invented.
And in the summer of 1970, the only world I had ever known was unraveling, changing too fast, and falling apart. I was driving away from the only state I remembered ever having lived in. Most of my childhood friends I would never see again. My father’s relatives, who we had not seen for several years, might never know we had left. I was leaving my school, my neighborhood, the Catholic Church where I had made my first communion. We were all leaving the only world we had ever known because my mom wanted a fresh start. Thus, we began our thousand-mile journey to our new life.
“But Mom,” cried the little ones. “What are we going to do on the Fourth of July? It’s tomorrow. Can’t we leave afterwards?”
“Your Uncle and Aunt need to get back home. They left their children and they were nice enough to come all the way to California to move us in with them.”
“But why do we have to leave? We won’t even be able to blow off fireworks!”
“Quiet down kids. That’s enough whining,” Mom said.
We were all angry with our mother. We were going to miss Independence Day, and live in some stupid state called Colorado.
“Wow, it’s so beautiful here,” I said.
My aunt said, “That’s why we refer to it as colorful Colorado.”
“Would you like to take a drive through the city where I was born?” Mom asked.
“Where were you born?”
“Right here, after we get out of Wolf Creek Pass, we’ll come to a little mountain town called Pagosa Springs.”
Turning off the main highway, my uncle drove us through the narrow, winding streets and Mom pointed to the house that used to be hers. “Right there. That’s the street I lived on and there is where Aunt Betty lives, this is where we will stay tonight.”
“What’s that awful smell?” the boys asked. “It smells like rotten eggs!”
“It’s from the natural hot springs that surround the town and you’re smelling sulfur.” Mom explained.
“Phew, it’s yucky, it stinks,” eight-year-old Steve reached up and plugged his nose.
My mom grew up the youngest of three siblings. Her father was German, Dutch Scottish, English and a Heinz 57 mix of other nationalities, while grandma’s relatives were mostly Spanish and American Indian. Dave Lister, my grandfather, was a logger in the early forties. He moved his family around Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Nevada while he followed the logging industry. Once they even lived on an Indian reservation in Arizona my mother had fond memories of those times. Grandpa Dave worked hard and other than working in the sawmills he became a gardener and landscaper when the family finally settled in Nevada a few years before my mom met my father.
My grandmother, Rita, was in her late-thirties when Mom was born. That was considered old back in 1936. Mom remembers her combing her long hair and telling her stories about the olden days and the religious ceremonies she attended. She was a Catechism instructor for a long time. Mom said she remembers being beaten by her mother with a willow stick until she was black and blue and sometimes bled. Our mother said they didn’t consider it child abuse in those days. That’s just what everybody did. They believed children were to be seen and not heard. Grandma spent some time in the hospital when Mom was younger and it took a long time for her to recover, Lena, the oldest sibling took care of the family while her father worked. When she was younger, they often lived off the land, her daddy hunting for their supper. At that time, she regularly saw wildlife such as: deer, squirrel and mountain lions. They had rabbits, chickens and ducks as pets and sometimes they had to eat them. They were so poor but she never realized it. My grandmother and grandfather loved each other very much and Mom grew up with a lot of love from her father but she remembers her mother never said she loved her.
Our mother always felt like the black sheep of the family when she got older. Being rebellious and strong-willed she did not like to be told what to do. For many years she resented her sister for trying to act like her mother. She always felt as if she were a mistake because her mother was older and sick when she was born. Mom was also insecure about her looks. She thought she was scrawny with her long, skinny legs. She hated wearing her over-sized, horn-rimmed glasses, which she had worn since the early age of three and with her long, jet-black braids, Mom looked like an Indian.
I’ll never forget the joy our mom finally felt when she was in her late forties and was able to get Lasik surgery. She was thrilled she wouldn’t have to wear glasses ever again. Unfortunately, our mother never realized she was a real beauty. Regrettably, she always dwelled on her perceived negative features and Mom would continue to feel insecure about herself throughout her lifetime. Her bad habit of smoking began at the age of eleven just like all the girls she hung out with. She’d often boast, “I like smoking. I’ll never quit.”
Mom loved to tell us tall tales about living on the Indian reservation, and her childhood experiences. My grandpa died in his early fifties, but he lived long enough to see mom’s three older children, although he never met my little brother, Dave, who was named after him.
My dad was born in Boston, Massachusetts. He was thin and handsome, with baby blue eyes, and he was Irish Catholic. His mother, whom we affectionately referred to as Honey, was born in Great Britain. Punkie, my grandfather always made me feel uncomfortable. He seemed gruff and impatient, I don’t think he liked small children around, but Honey was kind and sweet and she cared about us kids. We loved to sit on her lap as she snuggled us. My dad had four siblings. He was third of five kids. He had lots of energy and was friendly and liked people. When Mom was sixteen her family moved to Henderson, Nevada. She used to babysit for my dad’s older sister, Phyllis.
My dad was in the Air Force and he was on leave from Maine. One day he visited Phyllis and Mom happened to be there, he liked her immediately. They wrote letters to each other every day for a year. When Dad returned home to Nevada it wasn’t long before they were married, she was only seventeen. Immediately she got pregnant with my older brother and he was born ten months later. Within eight years they added six children to their union. Mom spent her young adulthood sleeping very little. She spent approximately ten years changing and hand washing dirty diapers, squishing carrots and peas and warming baby formula for her babies. It eventually took its toll on the marriage. She felt my dad never wanted the responsibility of taking care of his large family.
17
Chaos and Kenny
“Let him who walks in dark who has no light, trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God.” Isaiah 50:10b
We moved in with my aunt, uncle, and their six kids and lived there for four months. There was constant commotion between our two families. I thought my mom was mean, but her sister, Lena was even meaner. I did everything I could to stay out of her way, to obey the rules, and keep peace in the household. My cousins’ ages ranged from six to eighteen-years-old.
My sister and I met a couple girls our age that lived on my aunt’s street. As we walked to the bus stop together they clued us in on the local gossip. Since my aunt and uncle brought seven more people into their home, money was tight. My mother couldn’t contribute until she received her welfare checks. One day my uncle and aunt brought home a truckload of gaunt white hens. “Kids come out back, your uncle is going to kill the chickens and you have to help pluck them. They will be our dinner for the next few months,” Mom said.
“Oh, how gross,” the California cousins, screamed. “We’re not going to watch Uncle Ray kill those chickens.”
“Yes, you are,” screamed my aunt even louder. “If you want to eat you are going to help pluck them too!”
My aunt and uncle gathered us out in the back yard where we watched in horror as my uncle chopped off the chickens’ heads. It’s true, chickens do run around after their heads are lopped off. It was disgusting, dirty work, pulling the thin feathers off. It was even worse when we knew our aunt would fry the chicken and we would have to eat that tough meat or go to bed hungry.
None of our friends in civilized California would have ever believed we had killed, plucked, and eaten those scrawny chickens.
A few months after moving to
Colorado, school started. I arrived at the school bus stop and noticed an attractive, clean-cut, blue-eyed guy.
“Kathy who is that good-looking guy standing over there?” I asked my new friend.
“That’s Kenny. I’ve known him since elementary school. Do you think he’s cute? I’ll introduce you to him, if you want.”
“No, no that’s okay,” I said shyly.
A couple of weeks later, as my friend and I were walking to the bus stop, a car drove up behind us and screeched to a stop.
“Hey, you want a ride?” Kenny motioned to us.
“Yea, let’s go, Debbie. I know this guy, its Kenny the one you thought was a hunk, remember?”
Climbing in, I locked eyes with Kenny and my heart melted.
“Is this your car?” I asked.
“No, I’m not old enough to drive yet. It belongs to my friend and he lets me cruise around whenever I want to. Do you live around here?”
“We bought a house on Kiva road although we haven’t moved in yet. Since the house is old and broken down, and overrun with weeds, we work on it every weekend. We should be able to move in sometime in October.”
“Oh, I know the house, I live right around the corner,” Kenny looked in the rear-view mirror with a great big grin on his face.
He made me giggle as I saw him watching me.
“Where are you from?”
“I came with my mom and five siblings from California.”
“What grade are you in?”
“I’m a sophomore.”
“Me too, I wonder if we will have some of the same classes.”
“I hope so,” I whispered to my friend, sitting next to me.
I was enjoying my new school. My sister and I walked to the bus stop every day. Some days Kenny was there, too, and I looked forward to the way he teased me. Everyone was aware I was the new girl in town and I had heard rumors that a lot of boys were interested in me. But I was always insecure about my looks and personality, so I rarely spoke to the boys, although I liked them looking at me. Oftentimes, when Kenny’s older friend let him use his car, he’d drive my friend and I to school. At other times, we sat together on the bus.
Something About Those Eyes Page 11