The Girl in the Bubble
Awkward as the winter tights my Mother insisted I wear. They were blue, or red or possibly green, always coordinated to my outfits. They were always made of a heavy sweatery material that ran in lazy figure eights down each leg, between vertical thick lines. Those tights fit me as well as I fit in, they hung suspended somewhere between my mid-thigh and my knees. Never fitting snugly, always making me tug and pull trying in vain to make them stretch and actually reside somewhere around my crotch.
They were “in style”, just as I was “normal”. They were always clean, no holes, no snags, they just no matter what the size purchased refused to fit correctly.
I too was clean; I had no obvious “flaw”. My sandy shoulder length brown hair was shiny and squeaky clean, bangs (cut maybe a little crooked by Momma) hung over large dark brown eyes. That unfortunatlye for me always had a mischievous glint, no matter how innocent my intentions. That coupled with a quick smile caused me trouble from my earliest of memories.
Those eyes took in everything; they surveyed my world with curiosity, awe and many times fear…
The year is 1967 I’m living in a large red brick house next to Mr. and Mrs. Miller. I secretly think they are my Grandma and Grandpa because my grandma in Florida’s name is also Miller. I don’t realize that some people have the same name but aren’t related. Because no one told me.
In fact, no one tells me much of anything. I know sometimes I say things that make them laugh and I try really hard to make them laugh. Especially Daddy who I try really hard to make love me. I’m his ‘Baby Dink,” he says, but he gets mad sometimes at my bubba Ray and my sissies Shirley and Sherry. But, no one tells me why.
I can remember crying about him going to ‘Sam’s Place”. I think where he goes at night sometimes is called “Sam’s place”, like the song that the man sings on the record Daddy plays. I hear them say it’s called Country and Western. But, all I know is too me “Sam’s Place” is a bad for Daddy to go to. They laugh when I cry and grab his perfectly creased pant leg. I sob, “Daddy, please don’t go to Sam’s place”, he looks down and laughs. If it’s so funny, why does Momma scream when he comes home. But, no one tells me any different.
I hear the place we live is Knobnoster, Missouri. I don’t remember moving here. I do know that the flowers next door on the big tall green things are called Lilac bushes. I know this 'cause I sit on the white porch swing with Mrs. Miller and rock and she tells me things. Sometimes I slip and call her Grandma but she just smiles.
The year is 1968; we are in our car moving. I sleep, I wake up, I sleep again in the floor- board next to our dog named Fury. He loves me, his fur is kind -of the color of my hair and he has big brown eyes too. Two of his pointy teeth stick out from his bottom lip over his top lip, which makes him look mean but he isn’t.
The car is filled with smoke from Daddy’s cigarette he calls them Pall Mall’s. Sometimes he flicks the ashes out the window and they come flying in the back window. I look down and see ashes on my clothes and a small burn on my arm. But, bubba and my sissies are asleep, scrunched like sardines in the back seat, heads falling over to the side. Drool runs down bubba’s chin. So, I wipe of the ash and lick the burn. I put a chubby arm around fury and bury my face in his fur and drift to sleep. I wonder why Daddy doesn’t ask why I’m crying.