Chapter 1
South California, 1985
South California, 1983
Heights
Heights
I am standing on the edge of a horse shoe shaped cliff. My hands hurt as I look down; it is like they fell asleep. I am watching big kids jump off the other side into the water. The waves are huge and look like shaken blue milk. Each time one of them disappears into the water I wonder if they will hit the black rocks I see when a wave recedes. They are laughing and teasing each other.
The spray, even up here, is cold and I lick the salt from my lips. I nudge myself forward until my toes are over the edge. Now my feet hurt like my hands. I like that my chest feels tight.
I wonder if I could jump and miss the rocks too, my straw like blond hair catching at the corners of my mouth and eyes. I am not very good at swimming but the water could push me back to the beach.
I think it over, sand crumbling beneath my toes and I am about to decide just as my Mom snatches me back and up to her. She crushed me to her, her heart beating fast under my ear as I hug her.
Chapter 2The spray, even up here, is cold and I lick the salt from my lips. I nudge myself forward until my toes are over the edge. Now my feet hurt like my hands. I like that my chest feels tight.
I wonder if I could jump and miss the rocks too, my straw like blond hair catching at the corners of my mouth and eyes. I am not very good at swimming but the water could push me back to the beach.
I think it over, sand crumbling beneath my toes and I am about to decide just as my Mom snatches me back and up to her. She crushed me to her, her heart beating fast under my ear as I hug her.
South California, 1985
Grandparents
On another weekend, me, my Mom, my brother and sister escaped to our Grandparent’s house in North County San Diego. Grandma laughed and clapped at our arrival. In-between her chatter of how tall each child was compared to the prior visit, she reintroduced us to her bears. This was tradition. We gave our expected polite smiles to the unchanging bears.
She made underwear for each one because ‘we all need a sense of decency.’ Her hugs carried the comforting smell of fresh coffee, oatmeal cookies and, somehow, she smelled like yarn. Grandma made enchiladas loaded with sickly sweet black olives and her house was a kingdom ruled by her hands. Small furry handmade creatures, ornaments and cross-stitches cluttered each and every wall, window sill and shelf.
Their yard was a jungle. My big brother and I built a village of sticks and tiny paths for plastic palm sized warriors to live. Their daily battles with imagined dragons warranted new improvements as the morning grey clouds sheltered us from the sun.
On the days when we had disappeared too long outside, Grandpa would come hunt for us. Often he found us outside of the sloping yard, over the fence; exploring the forbidden large rocks tossed throughout the surrounding fields. There, deeply engrossed pretending we were in encased in a fortress, locked in desperate battle with cowboys and Indians, his unexpected barking was met with startled screams as he inadvertently became part of the plot.
His shouts “The coyotes will steal you for lunch! Stay in the damn yard! “were hardly heard as we frantically scampered back to the house laughing.
Grandpa lived in his garage. It was decorated with cameras dating as far back as cameras began. There were TV’s, wires, radios, tools, a gutted car and a motorcycle; every mad mechanic has dreamed of living in this garage.
He could fix anything, and was always bringing
home new ‘projects’ (i.e. wilted gadgets) that he could renew to working life
again. Adorning everything were
books. Each book’s value was proclaimed
by how broken its binding was and how many worn pages wore folded corners. I would hover underfoot, obliviously blocking
important tools, until re-banned for the day by an exasperated old man.
At night, we were tucked into the ‘kids’ room’, a sort of an enclosed outdoor living room. Clutching thin covers to our chests, grinning in the mild humidity, we listened to coyotes howling outside. Four legged shadows glanced across the ceiling as packs converged briefly in the yard outside before moving on. Only the lonely owl remained after padded feet had jostled off.
My sister and I would gather into the same bed to whisper and stare at the head of what was a magnificent deer. It hung on the wall, antlers shining dimly in moonlight. We created stories of the forest the deer had lived in and chilled by his solemn gaze, we shivered in the balmy warm air.
I pretended the stag had been a prince. Some of the scripture stories my parents read every night before bed talked about bodies coming back together with their souls. My sister and I agreed this would be the fate of the buck. Someday he would be whole and strong and in his forest again, his dull eyes would be bright as he valiantly fought for his doe... But we couldn't agree on a name and rather than fight we dubbed him Prince.
I felt more alive at my Grandparents. I was more ‘outside’ myself with humidity stroked my face, sand caking the bathroom tub after a day at the beach and night after night our whispered stories expanded in size.
This is when I met my Wind Woman, the lady in sudden gusts, in the breath between the trees, an exhale on the shore. I learned if I closed my eyes and held my breath I would almost make out her words. I began to see her in my dreams and she rescues me when my imagination is just too much.
I also have Jared… Jared is my dream guide. He is like a friend. He always has the right answers and he always knows the best way. Jared looks like shadows and light and Jared is my protector. I don't remember when I first began to dream with or without our friendship.
I told my Grandma about her and him, my sister was listening to us. Grandma smiled and said we all have imaginary friends and perhaps my imagination is a bit stronger then it is in others… but later, alone, just her and I, she told me what “you believe is real” and I should always believe in them.
Maybe Jared is just my thoughts but he and the Wind Woman are far more real and wise then a silly bossy God hiding in clouds worrying about coffee, wiping out whole cities over... well I'm not sure what it was over but wiping out whole cities isn't the nicest of things is it?
At night, we were tucked into the ‘kids’ room’, a sort of an enclosed outdoor living room. Clutching thin covers to our chests, grinning in the mild humidity, we listened to coyotes howling outside. Four legged shadows glanced across the ceiling as packs converged briefly in the yard outside before moving on. Only the lonely owl remained after padded feet had jostled off.
My sister and I would gather into the same bed to whisper and stare at the head of what was a magnificent deer. It hung on the wall, antlers shining dimly in moonlight. We created stories of the forest the deer had lived in and chilled by his solemn gaze, we shivered in the balmy warm air.
I pretended the stag had been a prince. Some of the scripture stories my parents read every night before bed talked about bodies coming back together with their souls. My sister and I agreed this would be the fate of the buck. Someday he would be whole and strong and in his forest again, his dull eyes would be bright as he valiantly fought for his doe... But we couldn't agree on a name and rather than fight we dubbed him Prince.
I felt more alive at my Grandparents. I was more ‘outside’ myself with humidity stroked my face, sand caking the bathroom tub after a day at the beach and night after night our whispered stories expanded in size.
This is when I met my Wind Woman, the lady in sudden gusts, in the breath between the trees, an exhale on the shore. I learned if I closed my eyes and held my breath I would almost make out her words. I began to see her in my dreams and she rescues me when my imagination is just too much.
I also have Jared… Jared is my dream guide. He is like a friend. He always has the right answers and he always knows the best way. Jared looks like shadows and light and Jared is my protector. I don't remember when I first began to dream with or without our friendship.
I told my Grandma about her and him, my sister was listening to us. Grandma smiled and said we all have imaginary friends and perhaps my imagination is a bit stronger then it is in others… but later, alone, just her and I, she told me what “you believe is real” and I should always believe in them.
Maybe Jared is just my thoughts but he and the Wind Woman are far more real and wise then a silly bossy God hiding in clouds worrying about coffee, wiping out whole cities over... well I'm not sure what it was over but wiping out whole cities isn't the nicest of things is it?
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