LEFT ALONE

IS IT ABANDONMENT…IS IT SAFE?

                         1955

         

          “Gloria, I want you to take care of Bronco this weekend.  Deryl has a truck run to Colorado, and I am going with him,” Mom announced one afternoon when I got home from school.

          My heart began to beat faster, “But...but.. Mom,” I stammered.

          “You don’t need to be afraid.  I have confidence in you.  You are a big girl now,” Mom persuaded.

           I thought back to the previous summer.  Mom, Bronco and I had driven to Colorado to meet Deryl between his truck deliveries.  We were staying in a motel that had an attached restaurant.

          “Gloria, I want to go with Deryl on his next run,” Mom had said, “You can take care of Bronco.  We already have the room in the motel.  I will leave you money for supper and breakfast, so you can eat at the restaurant.”

          “But Mom, we don’t know anyone in this town!” I argued, “I’m afraid for Bronco and I to stay overnight in the motel...alone.”

          Mom hadn’t insisted, even though I knew she was disappointed and unhappy with me. Now, I was faced with the same request and I felt just the same as I had then, even though we would be left at home and not a motel.

          “If it’ll make you feel any better, you can ask one of your friends to spend the night with you.  We’ll be gone Saturday and will be back late Sunday afternoon.”

          The following Saturday night, after Bronco was asleep, my friend and I laid in bed talking about school and the boys in our class.  My mind kept wandering.  I had an uneasy sadness. Part of me wanted to believe that my mother would never do anything to put her children at risk.  But my gut instincts told me that we were too young to be left alone.  I couldn’t understand how Mom could leave Bronco and me.  And, for some reason it bothered me more that she could leave my brother.

          Before Bronco was born, when I was only four, I could remember Mom telling me, “This baby will be your baby too!”  When my brother was born I was five years old.  I helped Mom change his diapers, and tried to help take care of him.  When he was a little older I would hold him while we traveled in the car.

          “Isn’t he too heavy for you Gloria,” Mom would say, as she smiled back at me from the front seat, “Don’t you want to put him down?”

          “No, I want to hold him,” I would answer.

          It was almost as if Bronco was “my baby too.” (Little did I know that over the following years Mom would increase my responsibility toward Bronco as our family became more and more dysfunctional.)

          On this Saturday night, when Bronco was seven and I was twelve, my feelings were ones of sadness and abandonment.  And this was only a foretaste of what we would experience in the coming years.     
 The responsibility would weigh me down.

.

SURPRISE

PACKAGE IT WITH LOVE

          “I’ll just order the cake and...” Mom’s voice halted as I walked into the kitchen where she and Deryl were eating breakfast.

          I smiled to myself and thought that Mom must be planning a party for my birthday.  On the twenty ninth of December, I would be twelve years old.

          Later in the day, we drove to Farmington.  It was Saturday and the business district was busy. Mom and I were walking down the sidewalk, between shops, when we met JoAnne, a girl from my class.

          “I need to ask you something, Jo Anne,” Mom said as she pulled the girl to one side, where I couldn’t hear.

          I stood in the middle of the sidewalk as pedestrians passed by.

Mom came back to my side.  Joanne waved and walked away.

          “Mom, are you planning a surprise party for me?” I asked with a big smile.

          Mom was livid!  “How can you ask me that?  Why do you think everything is for you?  You are always so selfish! I am having a New Years Eve party for Deryl!”

          The smile was gone.  Inside, I felt grieved, and emotionally another wall went up between Mom and I.  I shut down on her.  If the party was for Deryl then why wasn’t I involved in the planning?  Why would she involve my friends, and not me?

          On the day of my birthday, I walked into a house full of young people from my class.

          “Surprise!”

          Mom was all smiles and happy.  She had pulled off the perfect “surprise!”

          I enjoyed the party.  But I decided surprises should only come in packages of love!

KIRTLAND, NEW MEXICO

A traveler passing through Kirtland might have mistaken the small village for heavier populated countryside.  Far spaced houses, large shade trees, one gas station with restaurant, and one church made up Kirtland.

Behind many of the houses were cornfields and farmland.  It was a warm, cordial community, and I made many friends before school ever began.

          The last of the summer, with companions, was enjoyable.  We waded in a nearby green-banked creek, splashing each other and catching tadpoles.  Hide and seek was played in the cornfields, as we wondered if we would ever find our way out again, and when we did emerge, we itched all over.  We ran freely in the town where no one was a stranger.

           When school began I had an incredible feeling...”I belonged!”  My personality blossomed with the acceptance I experienced.  I received two honors that boosted my lacking self-esteem, cheerleader and Homecoming Princess.  As far as I was concerned we could live here forever.

The school in Kirtland did not consist of only those from the

Community.  Buses transported children from the Indian reservation and from farms miles around.

           Bronco was in first grade.  The day of his seventh birthday, Mom told him he could invite a few friends after school for a birthday party.  Bronco invited “every one” of his classmates.  Mom panicked and cut the cake and ice cream into smaller servings.  After the party, with the station wagon packed full, she spent two hours delivering Indian children (who usually rode the bus) to their homes on the nearby reservation.

          Kirtland was predominately a Mormon settlement.  Many of my friends were Mormon.  Most of them came from large families, but Jenny, a pretty blond girl, topped them all.  She was her parent’s twenty- first child.  (There had been three sets of twins).  When I visited Jenny’s house, I marveled how her small, healthy mother ever survived.

          I attended a couple of church services with my friends, but I didn’t understand what the Elder was saying, and I was bored.   The entertainment of the community centered on the church.  On Wednesday nights, they showed a secular movie in the basement and everyone came.  It was a convenient time to sit next to a current boyfriend.  I learned to dance in the Mormon church hall at the weekend dances.  Mom let me attend them because there was no liquor allowed.

          Deryl and Mom also made friends who were Mormon, but they didn’t follow the convictions of their church when it came to alcohol.  The couples began attending dances in nightclubs and drinking.  They laughingly called these escapades, “honky-tonkin.”

          On mornings following the nights of “honky Tonkin”, Mom would get up late.

          “Be quiet kids, Deryl doesn’t feel good.  He has a headache.”

          I noticed Mom wasn’t too chipper herself!

          Drinking, and the companionship of others that did the same, was becoming a part of their social life.  To them it was only a lark, something they could give up at anytime.

          We would find out alcohol was our enemy.

PRAYING IN JESUS NAME

There was a stirring around our house.  Grandma’s business opportunity came to fruition and she moved to Albuquerque where she would open her own novelty store: "Ruby's Novelties."  Our service stations were unfruitful and Mom and Deryl were becoming restless.  A change was on the horizon.

     The following story is my first answer to prayer. I was eleven years old.

PRAYING IN JESUS NAME

          “Mom, we can’t leave Kitty behind,” I argued desperately.

          Deryl walked past carrying a heavy box.  The object of our discussion sauntered nonchalantly across the bare kitchen floor, unaware that I was pleading for her.       

The year was 1955.  Our family was moving to the northern part of New Mexico where Deryl would be driving for a new truck company.  We didn’t know where we would be living yet, but we were going anyway.  My only concern, as an eleven year old was my cat!

          “Gloria, that cat is going to have kittens any day.  We can’t take her with us.  I told you to give her to one of your friends,” Mom said impatiently.

          “I did try to find her a home, but no one can take her.”

          “Did you ask Claudia?”

          “Yes, but her mother said their dog is enough of a nuisance.  Besides, when I told Claudia’s mother if we didn’t find a home for Kitty, we might have to leave her here by herself, she said that she would turn us in to the Humane Society for Animals.”

          “She said that?” Mom’s eyes widened and her face flushed.

Whether it was the threat of the Humane Society, or a soft spot in her heart, Mom did allow Kitty to accompany us.  The striped cat lay uncomfortably on the seat between my brother and me, as Mom drove our heavily laden station wagon.  Deryl drove the U Haul truck.

          “Oh no!” Mom exclaimed, as she looked through the station wagon window.  We had stopped for lunch at a restaurant and had just returned to the car.  I peeked through the window.  There, on a pile of clothes, in the back of the station wagon, was Kitty and four newborn kittens.

 After everyone (especially Mom) calmed down, we continued our journey. We arrived in Farmington, New Mexico, and stayed in a motel.  The following days were miserable as we searched for a house to rent.  Kitty’s newborns were sick.

          “They would be better off if we left them at a farm.  Kitty can take care of herself and the kittens.  Besides, farmers love cats,” Mom said convincingly.

          My eyes were blurry as I stared out the back window.  Kitty sat gazing at the parting station wagon.  Her litter was near her by the side of the road.  A driveway of a farmhouse was nearby.

          Two days later we unloaded ourselves and our belongings into a bungalow

 in Kirtland, a small community near Farmington.  As I explored the area, I made a discovery!  Our rented house was in proximity to the farm where we had left the cats.  I wasted no time in finding the farmhouse.  Much to my sorrow, there by the side of the road, where we had left them, were four dead kittens.  I began to cry.

          “What’s wrong, little girl,” the farmer asked, as he walked down the driveway.

          Between sobs, I showed him the kittens and poured out my story.  When I finished, I asked hopefully:

          “Have you seen Kitty?”

          “Well, there has been a new cat hanging around.  She’s yellow striped,” he answered.

          “That’s her!” I exclaimed, swallowing my tears.

          “The last time I saw her, she was in the barn.  I’ll tell you what, you get her and take her home with you.”

I sure did want Kitty, but I remembered Mom.  She had said she’d had enough of cats.

          “I have to ask my mother first,” I replied, as I turned to leave.

          When I got home I told Mom about Kitty, and asked if I could bring her home.

          “The only way you can have Kitty is if she comes here by herself,” Mom said.  I knew she thought it was impossible, because Kitty didn’t even know where we lived.

          I sat on the warm cement step of the bungalow, my chin cupped in my hands as I pondered my dilemma. The only One I knew who could help me with something as big as this was God. I closed my eyes.

          “Oh God, please send Kitty home to me.”  Then I remembered what Mom had told me a long time ago...every prayer should be prayed in Jesus’ name. “In Jesus’ Name.  Amen, and thank You.”

          “Hey Gloria, what ya doing?”

          The voice startled me, and I opened my eyes to see Sally walking up the sidewalk.  She lived two houses away and we had met shortly after I moved in.

          “Would you like to stay over at my house tonight?” Sally asked. “My mother said it’s okay with her.”

          I asked Mom, and she agreed that I could.  As we walked to Sally’s, I told her about Kitty and my prayer.

          “Kitty will be coming, Sally, so we’ll have to watch for her.”

          The summer evening was warm and pleasant as we played in my friend’s front yard.  My eyes kept returning to our rented cottage.  My family was gone for the evening, and the windows were dark.  In my heart I had an expectation.

          “Sally look!” I shouted as I motioned toward a low shadow sleeking across the street and up our driveway.

          Sally and I ran to the shadow, and the yellow striped cat stared up at me as if to say, “I don’t know what this is about, but here I am.”

          “Kitty, oh Kitty!” I squealed as I picked her up.

          After I had just about hugged off all of Kitty’s fur, Sally and I put her into a shed behind our house.  I shut the door.  I knew God had brought her to me, but I felt it was my responsibility to keep her.

          The next morning, bright and early, I ran home from Sally’s.

          “Mom, come here.  I have something to show you,” I said, as I took her hand and pulled her out the back door to the shed.

          Kitty stretched and sauntered into the sunlight when I opened the shed door.  Mom stared at Kitty and then at me, and then at Kitty again.

          “See, Mom, Kitty came home all by herself!”

          “Are you sure she came all by herself?” Mom asked, suppressing a smile.

          “Yes, she did.” I said honestly.

          “Well then, I guess you can keep her.”  Mom walked back into the house smiling to herself.

          “Mom probably thinks I  brought you home,” I said to the furry animal purring in my arms, “But God, you, and I know better, don’t we Kitty?”

          Her big eyes were full of confirmation.

          “Thank you, God,” I said out loud.  I looked up at the blue sky, to the invisible God, who had answered the prayer I had prayed in “Jesus’Name.”

          I left the shed door open and watched Kitty to see if she would stay.  She settled right in and eventually, much to Mom’s chagrin had another litter of kittens

                                                      THE GALA EVENT

          I stroked the yellow striped kitten as it lay on my bed.  “Kitty” was the ingenious name I had selected for the small ball of fur.  I had brought her home from a neighbor’s house, begging Mom to let me keep her.  I was thrilled when Mom consented.

          “Come here Kitty,” I said tenderly as I pulled her into my arms.  Her fur was soft as I held her close. Her purring rewarded my attention.

          Kitty and I spent most of our time together when I wasn’t in school.  There was only one other girl my age in our neighborhood.  She came from a well to do family and she was my friend...well...on our block she was my friend.  At school she acted like she was too good for me.  I quess I would have to say...she was a snob!  One day, a few months earlier, as we walked along the sidewalk between our houses, Claudia announced to me,

          “I’m going to have a party!  Mother says I can invite twenty kids,” she bragged.

          I waited for my invitation. Claudia continued...

          “I’d like to invite you Gloria, but I have the list made up and there are already twenty on it.”

          Well so much for that, I thought.

          With sudden inspiration, Claudia said, “You can help me with the party if you want to.”

          Claudia and I planned the party.  We addressed invitations, and she was right, there were twenty names, and mine wasn’t one of them.

          For party favors, we bought tiny plastic animals at the local Dime Store.  We glued the feet onto colored cardboard bases.  Across the bottom of each base we wrote the name of the guest who would be attending.

          I didn’t tell Mom and Grandma about the party because they would have wondered why I wasn’t invited, and they wouldn’t have approved of my helping under the circumstances.

          The day before the event, Claudia was behaving strangely.

          “Gloria, I’ve been thinking...huh,” Claudia began sheepishly, “You’ve been so much help...well...I mean...would you like to come tomorrow night?”

          I was so excited!  I ran home to tell Mom and Grandma I was invited to a party!  Bless Mom’s heart, because it was my first “gala event”, she took me to the store in Belen and bought me a new skirt and blouse for the occasion.  She never knew that I had worked all week and was the last person to be invited.

          On Friday night, I wore my new clothes and socialized with the other guests on Claudia’s large patio.  Blue and gold party lanterns swayed in the evening breeze above the laughter and chatter of the young people.  In my hand, pressed against the waist of my navy, cotton skirt, was the party favor Claudia had given me.  I opened my fingers and looked at the tiny plastic kitten on the pink cardboard base.  “Gloria” was written across the bottom in Claudia’s handwriting.

Historia de Belén

Two Spaniards, Captain Don Diego Torres and Antonio Salazar, Torres’ brother-in-law, founded Belen in 1740. They named it Belen, Spanish for Bethlehem, in honor of that town. The forty families who founded Belen began a community based on agriculture. By the 19th century, Belen’s economy had expanded into sheep herding, and the town grew. After New Mexico became a territory of the United Stated in 1846, immigrants began arriving and the Belen area developed as a mercantile center with trade base extending west to the Arizona line and east to the Estancia Valley. The arrival of the railroad in 1880 eventually brought shops, a roundhouse, ice plant, and yards containing miles of track and a depot. In 1918, the village of Belen came into existence. The first village ordinance was passed July 1, 1919 to provide for methods of enacting ordinances that would result in officials and taxes as well as fire and police protection.

Belen became a town in 1940 and then a city in 1966. Today Belen boasts stores, motels, restaurants, friendly residents, and interesting places to visit and enjoy.

Grandma Underwood

BELEN

          Belen was north of Socorro.  The larger community sprawled across rugged open territory.

          I had the usual jitters as Mom and I entered the two –story, red brick school building to register me.  For the first time, Deryl and Wanda Gaines were named as my parents on the enrollment card.  During school, I kept my feelings on guard.  I had decided to survive, and that meant hiding behind an emotional wall.

          On the outskirts of Belen, in an older residential area, Deryl and Mom bought a four-bedroom house.  Our family grew again when Grandma Underwood came to live with us.  She said she would only stay until the business opportunity she was waiting for opened up.

          Grandma was four feet, eleven inches tall.  She may have been small, but she was mighty!  She moved with perpetual energy.  When she did sit down, which wasn’t often, she lit a cigarette.  Her hazel eyes sparkled behind glasses, and her long auburn hair was braided on top of her head.  At night, when she brushed her tresses, they hung to her waist.  Once, when I was little, someone asked me where I got my long hair.  I had replied, “from Grandma.”

          Life had not been easy for the little lady.  As a child, she experienced the death of her mother.  As a young woman, she married a Kentuckian, Ernest Underwood.  They moved west, leaving behind her father and only sister in Ohio.  Eight children were born into a tumultuous, difficult marriage.  Grandpa Underwood, who when drunk (it was told) ,took seven men to hold him down, was also unfaithful. Grandma's distrust of men had left her with independence, ingenuity, and toughness.  I soon learned that underneath her smiling exterior was a quick, feisty temperament.  I walked softly around her.

          Grandma’s coming gave Deryl and Mom more time for the stations and each other.  I was with Grandma more than with Mom.  Mom and I were still detaching, and where once I had cared; now I was developing my own independence. I felt very distant from my mother.

. 

Grandma in later years.



NEWLY WEDS AND TAG ALONG KIDS

        

FOUR BLEEDING HEARTS

  The premier production of “Newly Weds and Tag Along Kids” consisted of four players, all-trying hard to find their roles in the family.

          The newly married couple was in love and longed for privacy.  But, with children around, there was little chance of that.  It was a common occurrence to walk into the kitchen and find the lovebirds in an embrace or discover them nestled together on the couch in the living room.

          Mom was trying to juggle an attentive new husband and her children.  Poor Deryl, had not only gained a wife, but two unruly offspring.  Despite the “tag along” kids, the new weds had eyes only for each other.  It was obvious that they were crazy about one another, even though they were two completely different personalities.  Mom was the leader of the two.  She was more outgoing and assertive.  Deryl was a passive, easy going individual; whose main purpose (it seemed to me) was to please Mom.

          Then there were the tag along kids.  Bronco, without a father’s discipline was becoming a handful.  Nevertheless, at his green age of five years old, he molded more easily into the situation.

          At the ripe old age of ten and a half, I was more set in my ways.  I resented Deryl’s invasion of my territory.  He wisely gave me plenty of space, but I only tolerated his presence.  I hated the “lovey dovey” stuff! Yuk! I found it revolting!  I was sure no other ten year old had grownups kissing around their house.  Besides that, I felt left out.  If I thought Mom’s and my relationship was changing before, now I found she had even less time for me.

          Mom still maintained what authority there was.  If Deryl spoke his mind about an incident concerning me, I gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms, “mind your own business.” I was turning into a moody, disrespectful brat.

A month of marriage passed.  Deryl and Mom began making plans for their future.  They leased two service stations in Belen, New Mexico.  With the new business came another move.  My emotions were in neutral as I left Mr. Douglas, the fifth grace class, the duplex and Socorro.  I had made no attachments!

         

EXPANDED BY ONE

         

TWO HEARTS

       The green, 1953 Ford, pulled away from the duplex.  Mom and Deryl were smiling as they drove away.  Grandma Underwood. Bronco and I stood by the fence and watched them go.

          I felt empty and lonely as the green automobile turned the corner and disappeared from view.

          Deryl and Mom were married and leaving on their honeymoon.  Mom had kissed Bronco and I goodbye, after giving us instructions to behave for Grandma.  If we were good, she would bring us a surprise when she returned.  Even the promise of gifts couldn’t bring smiles to our faces.  Mom was radiant with happiness; silent, sullen children could not dampen her spirits.

          “Let’s go into the house,” Grandma Underwood coached, as she put her arms around Bronco and me.  We walked slowly back to the screened-in porch.

          “Your mom will only be gone for a few days,” she said reassuringly, “We’ll have a good time,” she continued, as she squeezed my arm, “We’ll make some brownies this afternoon.”

          I had no words.  I was numb.  Bronco remained silent also.

          Our family was expanded by one, but where did Bronco and I fit into this marriage!  What changes would be coming?  The future loomed ahead, clouded by uncertainty.

         

CONFLICT

The battle lines were drawn.  Mom stood firmly against the kitchen counter, and I held my ground across the room.  Our eyes locked in combat.  Mom and I had never warred until recently, and I was the initiator of the battles.

Part of me watched as an observer, wondering why I was behaving in this way.  It was as if I wanted to see just how far I could go and where Mom would set the limits.  I was testing her authority.

A few days earlier, after mouthing off and running to my room, I had waited, with heart pounding, for the footsteps I fully expected.  I was sure, like Dad, Mom would appropriate to me the spanking I deserved.  I waited, but she never came.  I knew I was guilty and needed punished for my actions.  With my right hand I spanked my backside as hard as I could and said out loud, “You behave yourself, and don’t act like that again!”  I sounded just like Dad.

Now, my actions were warring again.  I was standing my ground defiantly.

Mom’s eyes narrowed.

“You little Lucky!” she said with disgust.

Her words cut me with rejection.  I knew what she meant.  I reminded her of my real father.  She identified me with Lucky, the man she had never loved.  Recently she had told me how much I reminded her of him.  I had waited for her to say something good about him, but she never did.  It she didn’t love Lucky, and I was so much like him, did she love me?  Was I a constant reminder of a marriage that she regretted?  Before Dad died she may have thought of me as “her daughter” who needed extra love and attention.  As far back as I could remember she had talked and shared with me.  I had known I was special to her.  But now, there was something different between us.  I felt I was losing ground.  The sand was shifting under me and I couldn’t find solid rock to know I was loved as before.  No longer did I feel close or special and I missed it!

I also felt she was growing in partiality to Bronco.  I hated the jealousy I felt and the guilt that came with it.  I loved my brother and did not want any ill feelings towards him.  The only reason I could find for Mom’s partiality was “Dad.”  Mom had loved Dad, and Bronco was his child.

As Mom stared at me and called me, “little Lucky”, her words fortified my growing insecurities.  She had won the battle through the weapon of rejection.  She may not have known she was the victor, but I walked away defeated and wounded from the battle.  My heart was closing. 

 It would be twenty years before the balm of healing would heal the abscess, but for the time being, in my mind, the circle had been broken....

  It was no longer Mom, Bronco and me...I stood alone!

STRANGER IN OUR LIVES

“I’ll see you at 7:00...bye,” Mom chimed into the telephone.

“We’re going to have company,” Mom told Bronco and me after she hung up the phone.  There was an excitement in her voice that caused me to take notice.

“Do you remember me telling you about Deryl Gaines?”

“Well...sort of,” I replied as I searched my memory.

“I dated him when you were little, before I married Slim,” Mom continued, “He’s coming over here tonight!” (She made this announcement as if the President was coming.)

Bronco and I sat in front of the television set.  Bronco was watching the screen, but I was watching Mom!

A flurry of activity surrounded her.   She disappeared into her bedroom and reappeared with curlers in her hair.  She sped about straightening the living room and flew for the kitchen.  I could hear chairs scooting, water running and cupboard doors closing.  She inspected the living room again as she scurried through to her bedroom.

In approximately twenty-five minutes, she made her appearance.  Her hair was fixed; she had on make up, and she was wearing a dress!

          “Wow Mom!” I exclaimed, “Why are you so dressed up?”

“Well...well, I haven’t seen him for a long time, and I want to look nice,” she stammered.

I tried to concentrate on the television, but I was wondering what all the fuss was about.

Mom paced the room and straightened the pillows on the couch for the third time.

Knock Knock

“Someone’s at the back door,” I told my frazzled mother.

She hurried into the kitchen and opened the door.  I could hear her and then a man’s voice.

“Gloria...Bronco,” Mom called sweetly from the kitchen.

Bronco didn’t want to leave his television program.

“Come on,” I persuaded, giving him a nudge.  Reluctantly, he followed.

“Deryl, these are my children, Gloria and Bronco,” Mom said as we entered the kitchen.

The man grinned pleasantly and said, “Hello.”  I could sense that he was nervous.

“Gloria, Deryl knew you when you were only three years old.”

“Hi,” I said giving him the once over.

Deryl Gaines stood five feet, eight inches tall.  He was of medium build and had brown hair and a slightly square jaw.  His dominant feature was his eyes; they were an unusual aqua blue, and they sparkled good-naturedly as he spoke.

“You have really grown up since the last time I saw you Gloria,” he said in my direction.  Looking at my brother he asked, “How old are you Bronco?”

“I’m five,” Bronco answered with a bored sigh and nonchalantly returned to the living room.

“Sit down, Deryl,” Mom said as she motioned to a kitchen chair.

I could never remember Mom appearing the way she did tonight.  Her face was flushed and her eyes were shining.  She looked lovely!

I took my attention off Mom and focused on Deryl.  I observed that he too had made a fuss.  He was cleanly shaven, had a fresh haircut, and he smelled good, a nice spicy scent.  The western shirt he wore had pearl snaps and the blue color accented his eyes.

As they conversed, it was obvious Mom enjoyed his company.  He told a story, and she laughed at his dry sense of humor.  I began to feel uneasy.  There was an indefinable electricity in the air.  A match could have been lit from its spark.  I turned to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked absently.

“To watch TV,” I said sullenly with my back towards them.

I could hear the laughter in the kitchen and I didn’t like it!  Our family was just Mom, Bronco and me!  There wasn’t room for anyone else, but I had the feeling I was just whistling Dixie in a Yankee camp.

LIES

          My feet felt like lead as I crossed the playground.  I kept my eyes on the girls standing in front of the school building.  This was worse then the first day of school; but I might as well face them and let everyone know that I lied.  I thought back to the first lie I told.  The other girls were jumping rope at recess: there I stood the outsider.  I had been in school two weeks, and I still didn’t “belong.”

“Hey Janet,” I yelled to one of the girls as she waited her turn to jump.

Reluctantly, she came in my direction.

“Did you know Fess Parker is my uncle?” I asked boastfully.

“The Fess Parker who plays Davy Crockett in the movies?” she questioned as her eyes widened.

“That’s the one!”

“Hey girls, come over here,” Janet yelled.

The group quit jumping and gathered around us.

“Tell them what you told me,” Janet instructed.

I repeated my story and threw in some extra details: a trip to California, which included a visit in Fess Parker’s mansion in Beverly Hills. (I was sure he must live in Beverly Hills.)

They were impressed!  Encouraged that I had their attention.  I knew I had to do something to keep it.  The next day, I brought some sketches to school that one of my aunts had drawn and given to me.

“Did you see the sketches I drew, Janet?” I bragged as I help them up for her inspection.

“Wow, Gloria, did you draw these?” Janet exclaimed, obviously impressed.

The rest of the girls took their turns examining the pictures.  Pats face registered unbelief.

“I don’t believe you drew them,” she said assertively, “For every picture you draw and bring to school tomorrow, I’ll give you a nickel.”

That night, with pencil in hand and a pit in my stomach, I tried desperately to draw like the other sketches.  My drawings were amateurish, to say the least, compared to my aunt’s.  My head throbbed with each unsuccessful stroke of the pencil.

“What’s wrong, Gloria?” Mom asked.

“I don’t feel good,” I covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom where I threw up.  The vision in the corner of my eyes was blurry, and my head pounded incessantly.  For two days I suffered my first migraine headache.

Now, after being at home sick, I was returning to school without the drawings, and prepared to take the consequences.  I would admit I had lied.

Pat stood with the other girls as I approached.

“Hi Gloria,” Janet said, “I hear you’ve been sick.”

“Yes, I was,” I answered; bracing myself for the confrontation I was sure would follow.  I glanced at Pat and waited for her to ask for the sketches.  She never uttered a word!  Much to my relief and surprise no one ever mentioned them again.

I had been rescued from myself.