I was terrified to leave. For the entire four months that followed my mother’s decision to take us to California I lived in a perpetual state of dread, willing time to stand still. My parents hardly spoke while the divorce proceedings were underway; mother filled her days by visiting with friends and making preparations that consisted mainly of shipping parcels ahead by freight, boxes labeled Fragile that carried some of her best china and extensive handbag collection.
We left Cambridge in March, and a part of me wilted like the violets I’d planted in the garden a week earlier. They didn’t take to being planted in their new soil, just as I didn’t take to the idea that soon my whole world would come crashing down. The days prior to our departure were grey and cold, full of dark mornings and the pitter-patter sound of light rain draining down the eaves to form small muddy pools of dirt on the sides of our house.
The day before our departure, I buried a silver medal of St Christopher hanging on a long string of red amber beads into the dirt behind our house. My grandmother had given it to me with the instruction that this patron saint of travelers would protect me on any given journey. But this was a journey I didn’t want to make. I smoothed the dirt over it and whispered, “St Christopher, I promise to come back soon and dig you back out, so please make it so I come back quickly!”
A part of me, however small, was always going to remain there, immersed in the earth of my childhood home, holding my place. I stood out in the yard for hours, even after the rain began to fall. My wet face upturned toward a sky the shade of steel. The wind tearing at my clothes and skin. My tears came hard and fast. As I stood there shivering, blissfully drenched to the bone, I saw two little white birds perched on the neighbor’s fence.
I watched them for a long time. They were so content, rustling their feathers, nuzzling their beaks into one another’s wing folds. I mouthed, “How I wish I could fly like you, all the way from here to Africa and back, to follow the wind wherever it might take me.” As if they’d heard my thoughts, the birds looked at me and cooed, then flapped their wings and soared high into the skies. My eyes followed them long after they had disappeared from my field of vision.
We took the train from Boston Central Station to Los Angeles. It took two entire days to get to California. My mother spent most of that time in the dining car, eager to get away from my misery. I stayed in our compartment where the leather seats doubled into sleeping portables at night. We had transferred in Chicago, barely making our connection what with all the bags, hat boxes and assorted junk of our lives in tow. This fancy train had a silly name, the Southwest Chief. You’d think a name like that would go to a steam locomotive headed by a crotchety old man with a wide, upturned moustache, not a posh piece of work such as this was.
Two thousand and two hundred miles separate Chicago from LA; two thousand, two hundred miles of jolts, hops and bumps on the tracks, and sometime during the first night I got so sick from the motion I had to throw up in a paper bag.
The second day took us through Apache Canyon and right through Navajo Indian country. The Grand Canyon was not far from here, the orange steam rising from the horizon betraying the harshness of the desert. My imagination, fevered by motion sickness and crying spells, made up scary sand phantoms outside the window. I thought I saw shapes shifting through the pebbled sand, cactuses with mouths agape, staring back at me, taunting me with their alien ugliness. At night I thought I heard the howling of coyotes and the desperate screeches of the poor creatures they hunted and tore apart.
“It looks like we’re on Martian terrain or something,” I said.
My mother agreed with me for once. “So dry and barren.”
I squinted through the glass, my nose squished against the pane, leaving a fog of breath that I wiped quickly with my sleeve. “But how weird that there’s so much life here…those odd plants, and the creatures you see scurrying around…and that deformed-looking yew tree over there.”
I fell silent. After some time, I ventured to ask: “How can all these things live here? How can they thrive in this environment?”
My mother tilted her head, thinking, and after a moment replied: “They manage.”
I looked at her. So certain she was of her answer that she proceeded to scoot back in her seat, adjust the little white pillow between her neck and the headrest, and closed her eyes, settling for a nap. Suddenly I admired her conviction, the blind confidence she had in dragging us both to a foreign part of the country, all on the promise of happiness with a man she’d known barely six months. Giving up everything, for a man. Her home, her friends, everything.
I would never do that. Never.
CHAPTER THREE
My mother’s boyfriend met us at Los Angeles’ Union station, just below the arrivals area. Tall and gawky-looking in a light-colored linen suit, Albert Rossmuller shook my hand awkwardly and gave my mother a dull peck on both cheeks. He looked nervous, his underarms emitting a strong smell of perspiration mixed with a shock of Old Spice cologne. His eyes were obscured by a pair of bifocals set in black frames that curled up at the ends. Horn-rimmed, they called them.
“So glad to see you both here. Did you have a pleasant journey?”
“Two days on a train is never pleasant,” I said sourly.
My mother giggled nervously and looped her arm around Albert’s. “Sweetheart, it’s so awfully good to see you. Can’t believe we’re finally here. It’s so exciting, I want to pinch myself to see if I’m awake.”
“Well, ladies, let’s get you both to the car,” Albert announced pompously and started to push the baggage cart out the sliding doors into the brilliant sunlight of Alameda Street, heading toward the parking lot.
Straining my neck, I looked up at the tallest tree I’d ever seen in my life. Of course I had seen pictures of palm trees in our encyclopedia, but in no way could I have fathomed how gigantic they looked up close. Naked and gnarly like the legs of an ostrich, their bark was as scaly as the skin of a pineapple, and they fanned out at the top in deep arches of greenery. I fought the urge to run up to one and rub my palm along its trunk.
“Never saw a palm tree before, huh?” I heard Albert say behind my back. “Pretty impressive, aren’t they?”
“Never thought they’d be this big.”
“The vegetation here in California is quite different from the east coast.”
I really had stepped into alien territory, I thought as I climbed into the back seat of a rather beat-up white Ford. As Albert drove us to our new destination, it dawned on me how spread out this city was. Unlike Cambridge and downtown Boston, where you could walk around from spot to spot, this city swelled in every direction.
“Is there even a downtown to this place?” I asked. “Or is it all just suburbs?”
“Well, let’s just say not a lot of urban planning went into designing this city,” Albert replied, peering at me through the windshield mirror. “Different parts got built at different times, so it’s a bit of a patchwork quilt you could say.”
“Swell.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“How am I supposed to get around? Do I have to have a car?”
“Well, no, not entirely. If you want to sightsee, you could always hop on a yellow car. I’ll give you a map of the lines when we get in.”
“A what? What’s a yellow car?”
Albert laughed. “Ah, sorry Diana, that’s what we locals call our streetcar system. It’s quite efficient, it crosses everywhere – Lincoln Park, up to Long Beach….and then there are trolley buses you can also use. This weekend we can make a day of it and tour the old town. Wouldn’t that be swell?”
Albert and my mother exchanged smiles, and her hand reached across to grasp his. Disgusted, I looked away.
We pulled up in front of a low-rise white building situated on a street with big leafy trees. Although the street seemed nice enough and on the quiet side, it didn’t have the Hollywood glamour my mother had anticipated. Stepping out
of the car, I felt a knot of tension hit me in the stomach. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but from mother’s excited prattle during weeks prior, it sure wasn’t this. A furtive glance at her confirmed her disappointment; she pursed her lips slightly, a typical sign of annoyance, but quickly masked her expression with an appreciative nod to Albert, who took her white-gloved hand and helped her out of the passenger’s side.
“Your castle awaits, milady,” Albert announced with a vast sweep of his hand. “I was lucky to find an apartment this large for such a good deal in this area.”
“You know he had to move out of his old place because it was only a one-bedroom?” mother whispered in my ear as he carried our bags up three front steps and through the door of a first-floor apartment. “He loved that flat but he moved for us, so we would have more space. Ain’t it sweet?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure you both could have fit well enough in his old flat. If you didn’t bring me here, you wouldn’t need a bigger place.”
“Watch your mouth. You ought to be grateful if you knew the concessions he’s made for us. He’s even arranged for your school transfer.”
The apartment was small compared to our old home but Albert had done a good enough job of tidying it for a bachelor. A shabby orange sofa greeted us in the main living room, opposite a television set perched on a shaky mahogany stand. A kitchen with dreary white cabinets and a lace-trimmed window facing a back garden was to the left. To the right, a corridor led to two bedrooms, the larger featuring a double bed. I struggled to shake the image of mother sharing a bed with Albert as I sped past.
My room was at the back of the apartment, which I was grateful for since I intended to lock myself away from the lovebirds. It was a simple room, furnished with single bed covered by a white down bedspread, a small ivory desk and a wicker dresser with a large mirror.
I plopped on the mattress and closed my eyes. Finally, my journey had come to a head. Like it or not, this was to be my new home until I turned eighteen. I planned to count every single day off the calendar until that sentence ended.
Albert’s loud voice boomed through the air, interrupting my thoughts. “Diana, time for dinner. Will you be joining us?”
Grudgingly, I straightened up, smoothed my skirt and walked slowly back to the living room. In the corner, next to the door to the patio, in what was supposed to be a small dining area, a small table was covered with plates and a basket of fried chicken and French fries.
“I picked these up this afternoon before I came to pick you up. Didn’t know what you’d like but everybody likes chicken. Dig in!”
“Can I call my father after dinner?” I asked Albert. Before he could respond, I caught mother looking at me intently, begging me with her eyes as if to say, Don’t cause a scene. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for that,” she muttered between her teeth.
Forcing an absent smile, I sat down and munched on a fry. Leaning back in his chair, Albert grinned from ear to ear and slapped his hands together. “My ladies are finally home at last!”
Eyebrows arched, I opened my mouth to say ‘I’m not your lady,’ but mother knew exactly what I was going to do and kicked me under the table as she picked up a wine goblet, tapping it with a fork: “A toast to a new beginning!”
Albert poured us some syrupy-sweet pink champagne and we clinked glasses. “To our new beginning!” he toasted. He hummed over the rim of his glass for a moment, as though contemplating a thought, then decided to speak. “Maybe you don’t think this place is much?” he inquired, his expression betraying an unmistakable need for reassurance.
“Oh sweetheart, it is perfectly adequate for our needs! It’ll certainly do for now, and I for one am glad to finally be here,” my mother piped in, reaching for his hand across the table.
Albert brightened up. “You wouldn’t believe how lucky we are to find a place like this on such short notice. I signed the lease two weeks ago and let me tell you, it was a steal. It may not seem like much, but in this city it’s all about the area. Where you live determines who you are and how successful people perceive you to be. Now this here is a nice, brand-spanking new street. Just about everything in this neighborhood is no more than a decade old.” He looked at my mother. “Didn’t I promise you a nice place until I buy us a house?”
She batted her eyelashes at him and beamed. “I noticed a grocery store just down the street.”
“Yep, that’s Von’s Grocery up there. Just five minutes further we have Orbachs’ department store and a Montgomery Ward.”
“You don’t say? That’s lovely to hear, dear.”
He paused, forehead wrinkled in thought. “I just wanted to make sure we’re in a safe area with people like us around.” Seeing my mother’s startled expression, Albert thought to elaborate, “There are a lot of Mexican riffraff in these parts, blue-collar laborers and migrant workers.”
I piped in. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Oh Diana, you don’t want to be around people like that, trust me,” Albert replied, taking a gulp of water. “They’re largely illiterate and uneducated, not like the rest of us. I wouldn’t trust a Mexican so far as I could throw him. They’ll steal the shirt off your back if you don’t watch them. It’s important you know how to handle them or they’ll take advantage of you.”
He nodded confidently. “Yes indeed, a buddy of mine up in Sylmar hired some Mexicans and gave them too much free reign on his farm, then found out they were skimming off the books.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible,” mother replied, making a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. “Such people!”
“I guess that’s just the way it is here in California. They come down over the border, and the goddamn thing stretches all the way from here to Texas and New Mexico. Loads of unpatrolled places for illegals to cross and not get caught. They get cheap jobs working the farms, stay a few years, long enough to get their kids into our schools and before you know it, they go about acting like they own the place.”
Great, I thought. My soon-to-be stepfather was not only a tedious bore, he was a bigot as well. Things couldn’t get any worse, I thought wistfully as I nibbled on a drumstick.
As if fate decided to prove me wrong, things did indeed get worse. The next month saw a lot of changes in our new household. At first, mother had been keen to put her feminine touches on the apartment: she mopped the floors and vacuumed the rug, tidied up the kitchen as I’d never seen her do back in Boston, and generally put on a show of the exemplary housewife.
The honeymoon didn’t last long. Soon mountains grew out of molehills: ashtrays not emptied of cigarette butts became the source of screaming fits. Mother went on strike one evening the month after we arrived, when she refused to clean up after Albert’s shoes had streaked in mud all through the living room. He’d been out drinking with the boys and playing poker at the Legion Hall, and didn’t appreciate being chastised one bit.
“Calm down Lillian, you don’t want to get so worked up you’ll pop a blood vessel,” he said nonchalantly as he took a Marlborough pack out of the breast pocket of his shirt, struck a match and lit yet another cigarette.
Mother ran her fingers through disheveled hair. “I didn’t come here for this,” she said, her voice rising. “You think I gave up everything for this?” she screamed. “This isn’t the life you promised I would have!”
Albert inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. With his feet propped up on the coffee table, he was the picture of feline relaxation, and nothing drove my mother crazy than not getting a reaction out of someone.
“You’re an absolute jerk, you know that?” she shouted, turning on her heel and retreating to their bedroom.
The slammed door didn’t faze Albert one bit. I looked up at him from the dining table where I had been doing my math homework. Albert opened one eye and looked fixedly at me. “Whatcha looking at?” he snapped. I quickly looked down, pretending I didn’t hear him, and he went back to his drunken stupor.
I knew well enough by no
w that if I stayed out of his way, he’d steer clear of me. Gone was the insecure little man I’d met at the train station one month earlier; his stripes had finally been revealed. There was something unsettling about him, the way he could stare you up and down when he was angry, like if he wanted to he could smash you against the wall like a fly and not bat an eye about it.
My new school was a twenty-minute walk from our building, and I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would. I was only two and a half months away from graduation and nobody bothered to get to know me, nor did I seek the company of others. I felt comfort in the anonymity of my label as New Girl. Apart from random chatter in the cafeteria line, hardly anyone talked to me. Having gone to school together for years, everybody was already solidly entrenched into one type of clique or another, and by now all were more absorbed with the thought of what to wear to prom than to befriend the new kid on the block.
On weekends I was allowed to go over to the Panorama Theater at the corner of Nordhoff and Van Nuys Boulevard. The Panorama was a large single-screen theatre with velvet curtains covering the walls. In the back there was a crying room with a separate entrance for parents with babies - about eight twelve-seat rows with a large window looking out at the screen. You could hear the little ones now and again over the crackling hum of the projector, and there was always some bloke on a date who would turn around and glance up with an irritated expression, grumbling Shhhh under his breath.
Every Saturday morning the first thing I did was dial EM 2-1167 to reach the girl at the box office and ask her about the day's matinee. Most times it didn’t matter what was playing - for a mere quarter, or 35 cents if it was a Disney flick, I could escape to an Arabian fairytale or an exotic island for a couple of hours. When the movie ended, I hid in the washroom until the popcorn sweepers went through and snuck back in for the second screening, burying myself inside my seat and enjoying the crackle of the celluloid screen.
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