Silent Lucidity

***Continued from 'See You On The Other Side', 03.30.2018***

...Then, it happened. On my last visit to the house where we last lived, I did something dangerous, something I shouldn't do, like a sin. Feeling new legs emerge, I fell out of the white convertible paid for because of her tragic demise, a short-changed trade-off. I stumbled over the concrete curb there, marked with our address, 185296, painted and weathered again. I knocked, noticing gnome statues and a yard flag in the flowerbed, nothing at all that my mother would have allowed. Easter eggs in pastel suggestions of the rainbow and glued to a skewer, stuck into the soil between the small white rocks. Indeed, a stark contrast to her black wrought iron chairs and chaise out back on the deck, a rather obstinate and final choice of furniture for such a young woman to own. Soon, she appeared before me, this woman of about 50. She smiled. 

I smiled, held out my hand. Please, I thought. Please, trust me. Let me trust you. It was now or never. I braced myself, took in a deep pocket of air, smiling even wider. Even as I smiled, all I really wanted was to collapse into her arms. 'There, there,' she'd say. 'Sweetie, your momma is in the kitchen now, making that tuna casserole she loves. Come right on in here.' 

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That was how it went in my dream, but of course that is not at all how it happened.  

I did ring the ding-dong doorbell.  I remember waiting a few extra long minutes before I persisted and rang the ding-dong thing once again.  Finally, a middle-aged woman carrying a small black and yapping dog under her arm swung the heavy door wide open.  She cocked her head to the side, obviously surprised to see me standing there. 

​It was a late spring evening, 1997, maybe a little past 6:00 in the evening. It was the beautiful part of an abnormally hot spring day, the time of day when kids are willingly and joyfully outside on pink and black and lime green bicycles with thick, heavy tires that smell satisfyingly of new and heavy rubber.  The last day of school was near, probably, and so the neighborhood had less weight, less seriousness about it.  People were out mowing their lawns, wearing visors and dollar store shades and shirts rolled up at the sleeves with packs of smokes tucked in the folds.  I remember what I was wearing, as I had chosen my outfit carefully:  Khaki chinos, a basic white tee-shirt, and tan Birkenstock sandals.  My toes were painted the color of the pale pink part of a french manicure, and if I wore any jewelry at all, you can bet it was silver and not much of it at all.  My hair was long, and I remember how badly I wanted to pull it up, but I figured I had better leave it down because that's how it tended to look the best on me.  I needed to look boring and safe, like an insurance lady succeeding at hiding her crazy.

The lady who lived in my old house, along with her dog, both looked at me with eyes that asked  'Yessss?' long before it trailed out of their mouths.  

"Yessss?"  Asked The Lady of The House.  She wore lipstick the color of tomatoes, and it looked good on her.  Her little dog yipped at me and licked the air.  "What do you need, dear?"  

"Hiiii...I know you don't know me, but...My name is Elizabeth Hancock and I used to live here with my mom, um, a really long time ago..."  Darn it.  There they were, the tears.  They flooded my eyes like an oasis, but waited to spill out.  I dabbed at the corners of my eyes, not wanting to smear the brown mascara unprotected from the water.  

She nodded.  "Oh, okay..."  She put the pooch down and it ran past me.  Nervous, I turned around to watch the dog, who sniffed around the white rocks and finally hiked its leg on her Styrofoam Easter egg garden. I giggled a little and turned back to face her.

"Cheet Cheet, shame on you!  You're a naughty boy!"  She rolled her eyes heavenward and smiled, embarrassed, but you could tell that was something Cheet Cheet did a lot, pee on things he shouldn't.  Hmmm.  Maybe Cheet Cheet was the man of the house, after all.

"I'm sorry," she said to me, and looked directly into my eyes.  "What can I do for you today, sweetie?"  

"Well," I sucked in a deep breath.  "I lived here with my mother when I was 6 and 7, and my mother died while we lived here.  I never got to come back and look at the house, and I KNOW this is weird, but I was wondering if I could take a look around, you know, for closure...?"  I looked back at her, deep.  My eyes welled again with tears.  

That heavy inside door swung wide open.  "Oh!  I guess it wouldn't hurt.  Come on in and I'll show you around!"  She bent back down to pick up the small dog.  I noticed her furry companion had a cataract in one eye.  Bless his heart.  Not even innocent animals are exempt from the wicked wiles of aging.  

I stopped her.  "I know my way around.  I know this is weird, but I just wanted to kind of check out the place.  It won't take long, I promise.  And!  I promise I'm not a stalker or somebody who'll keep hounding you if you say no.   It's just...it...it would really mean a lot to me.  I haven't been back since the day she died."  Then, the tears came.  I did not try to contain them, either.  

I pulled a white handkerchief from my pocket and scrubbed my eyes too hard, still nervous.  I felt around in my back pocket.  Then, in typical gawky Liz fashion: "Here, you can see my driver's license.  I'm not here to hurt you or anyone else.  I've just got some things I'm trying to figure out..."  I eagerly held out my stupid, ugly driver's license for her and Cheet Cheet to see.  It was me, standing before the very person from whom I needed some trust, some compassion, some mercy.  The Lady of The House stuck out her neck like a bird, her movements mechanical and toylike.  She gave my Department of Public Safety-issued identification the once-over and then gave me a hard look over the tops of her glasses.  Bifocals, probably.  But, See there?  I looked safe, didn't I?  I wasn't there to cause harm or upheaval.  I didn't want to steal anything.  

"Okay, I guess it will be fine.  You live in Nowata?"  

"Yes.  Are you familiar with Nowata?"  

"Well, maybe a little.  We used to drive up there and get barbecue sometimes!  From a little red trailer!  A man and his wife had it!  They cooked everything from scratch!  Cheet Cheet loved the baloney, didn't ya, Cheets? Didn't ya?!"  Cheet Cheet froze, cocked his head to one side, then just like that started to move and wriggle, clearly excited.  The Lady put her face in close to him, and he licked her right on the mouth!  Yes, I think Cheets MUST have been the man of the house.

She put the dog down yet again.  Maybe she was nervous, too.  Cheet Cheet pranced away, and probably thinking about baloney, too.  I stepped further inside the foyer.  

"When did you say you lived here, honey?"  She asked. 

"In 1983 and 1984.  My mom passed away in August, 1984, so it's been awhile..." I explained, and I let my voice trail off on purpose.  Then, to change the subject:  "When did YOU buy the house?"  

"I guess it's been a few years, since 1995," she nodded.  

"Oh!  Cool!  I graduated in 1995!  Neat!"  And there it was: My geek, shining right through.  Times like this one I wished so hard I could slam the door on that part of me, the part of me that talks too much, the part of me that says too much stuff that nobody wants to hear, the part of me that grasps at straws and gasps for air all at the same time.  The anxious part of me:  I wish I could lock her right out.  

She shot me a look of 'Are you kidding me?' but stepped aside and fanned her arm out.  "Okay, child.  Go take a look at things, and let me know if you need anything.  I'll be in the dining room."

I stuffed my hands down into my pockets.  I was in!  I looked up first.  My eyes scanned the crevices where the walls met the popcorn ceilings.  Nothing notable there.  No cracks, so that was a good sign as far as the foundation was concerned.  The carpet was thick under my feet.  I had not remembered it being that color.  Aah, probably she had gotten it replaced, or maybe the previous owner took it upon herself to do that because of the huge blood stain in the bedroom I had always imagined.

I took a sharp right turn and walked slowly down the hall toward the guest bedroom.  My Uncle Butch had stayed many nights in that guest bedroom, holed up and smoking, despising the world and all the women in it, I am sure.  My mom had always let her brothers and sisters come and stay with us if they needed or wanted to.  It was just what she did.  I think she wanted them to see that there was more out in the world than Nowata, Oklahoma.  I think she wanted to show them that if she could do it, then so could they.  But, you see, my mother was different.  She had something about her that seemed to set her apart.  She WANTED out.  She WANTED away from my abusive and controlling father.  She WANTED to live in luxury.  She WANTED to be on the arms of older men, especially one in particular (Max Holloway), and accompany them to golf courses at Epcot and Mexico.  And she had the beautiful face and body and naivete it took to seal all the deals on all the fronts, personal and business.  She was 26, 27, and then 28, and she was all innocence without really knowing it.  To her, she was in the lead and was the front runner.  To them, she was the lowest person on the totem poll and weren't truthful about their intentions for her career, her business, her life.  She thought she had finally arrived, but to them, she had only just begun.  They had certain agendas they had in mind for  her to fulfill, I am sure of it, and none of those things involved anything good for her or for me.  It sure is a shame she didn't realize any of that until it was too late.  

***TO BE CONTINUED***