pop pop fizz flash

Lately odd memories seem to pop in my head out of no where. Well, maybe not entirely out of no where. I was reading Her Last Death this afternoon. I need to return it to the library. I am about a third of the way through.

I was reminded that my mother was hospitalized for mental illness when I was eight. Technically she was committed by my father, who was still legally her husband. She always claimed that he was just getting even with her (I am guessing because of her affair), but on some level I suspect this was only part of the story.

The summer 1976 through the spring of 1977 were a very bizarre time for me. We all ended up in Chico, California. Initially my sister and I lived with our father, and my mom and her boyfriend lived down the street in another apartment. But then the boyfriend left, and all of us ended up in a new, bigger apartment on the other side of town.

I only left the house to go to school. Otherwise I stayed inside and cleaned. My hair fell out. I had a bald spot along my forehead. I knew things were out of control, and was expressing it the only way I could.

My aunt, uncle and cousin also lived in town. That is how we ended up there. One weekend they decided to go to Disneyland, and invited me to go along. Just me. My aunt and sister didn't get along, and so I went solo. I felt a bit weird (and guilty) about this, but what kid turns down a trip to the home of Mickey Mouse?!

I don't remember much about the trip. I remember more about coming back home. Part of me was anxious about leaving my family behind. I had no idea what might happen. Clearly I wasn't too far off.

I could tell as soon as I got home that they had not had a good weekend - it was in the air. One of the first things I found was a pizza pan sitting out on the kitchen counter. We didn't have a pizza pan (our dining table was a set of milk crates). This looked like a pizza pan you would find at a pizza place. I asked my sister about it and she confirmed that it did come from a pizza place.

The only thing she would tell me was that they had gone out to dinner and decided to take the pizza home. She wouldn't give me details, but it was clear that something had gone wrong at the restaurant. Of course to her I was now the traitor who went to Disneyland without her. Guess I can't blame her for not sharing.

I believe it was after that weekend that my dad had my mom committed. I don't remember the details. I am sure it happened while we were at school. She wasn't there very long, but long enough that we were allowed to visit.

We weren't allowed inside the hospital. Instead we met our mom on the lawn, near a tree. There is a scene in the movie, "What Dreams May Come", that reminded me of visiting my mom at the hospital. In fact, it brought the memory back. I wonder if it was shot at the same place. I have no idea the name of the hospital or even what city it was in.

Shortly after my mom was released, she decided it was time to leave our father. He had gotten a job as a night guard for the city. Part of his job was to lock up the cemetery. After he had been there for several weeks, they were going to give him a gun. This is why she decided we needed to go. And so in the middle of the night we packed up the car and headed to Southern California.


on the night stand :: Her Last Death

nobody walks in l.a.

For whatever reason, this popped into my head today. Maybe it was because I was thinking it might be a good idea to make plastic grocery bags out of a material that was soluble in water (then again maybe not). Or maybe it was because I was feeling a bit caged up and remembering a time when I made do.

During my first two years of college, I lived in a planned community several miles from campus. Not having a car, was clearly not part of the plan. Still, somehow I managed.

The walk to the bus stop was just shy of half a mile. It really wasn't that far, but unless I wanted to hop a fence, I had to go the long way around - short cuts were also not in the plan.

I waited for the bus in a strawberry field. It is no longer a strawberry field. There are now rows of identical homes. There was no bench, just a bus stop sign. After a rain, which was thankfully rare, I had to deal with mud.

The bus schedule sucked. At peek hours the bus came by twice an hour. Otherwise it ran hourly. The last bus home left campus at 9:03pm. Needless to say, I was not a party girl.

Grocery shopping was quite a chore. Plastic bags were just becoming popular, and made it possible for me to carry more than I would have if I had to carry a paper sack by the bottom. By the time I got to the front door my fingers were numb.

One day I remember returning home from the grocery store and one of my bags breaking along the way. Inside was a glass jar of pasta sauce. It shattered all over the sidewalk, making a big red mess. I felt terrible, but I had a hard enough time getting everything else home. By the time I did, I was exhausted.

When I went back later, someone had cleaned it up. I was so embarrassed, but not enough to knock on the door and apologize. I was also afraid that I had broken some rule of the community and figured I would be cited and fined.


on the night stand :: Girls in Trucks