The Crepe Myrtle Tree

That night when everyone was in bed, I quietly got up and went into my brother’s room. He was breathing heavily, already in dreamland while I had not been able to sleep at all. I whispered and tapped him lightly so that he wouldn’t make any noise when he woke.

“Rick, I need you to help me with something.”

I needed an ally, in the human form. I turned to Rick for help. At 18, Rick was handsome, a little taller than me with his blonde hair in long layers to his shoulders. He had just graduated from high school and was planning on living at home while attending UCLA in the fall. Rick was much more studious than I was, his only social outlet, the tennis team. When he was born, he didn’t breathe right away, a trauma my parents never got over. They coddled him, my mother tying his shoes for him everyday until he was a teenager.

Rick got out of bed, without questioning me, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The sky was black and still as we tiptoed outside. Quietly, we gathered some supplies from the garage and went to the side of the house opposite my parent’s bedroom. Standing there in his stripped pajamas, Rick started to dig a hole the dirt next to the crepe myrtle tree, the one Mom had planted several years before to liven up our backyard with its deep red booms. She chose the crepe myrtle because it’s known as a care free tree; drought tolerant, disease resistant and easy to grow.

I chose that tree as the perfect spot to bury all my cares. So under the crepe myrtle, as our eyes adjusted to the darkness, Rick dug the hole deep enough to fit all the journals I had ever written. It was a warm summer night but I couldn’t help from shaking, a chill running down my spine.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his eyes filled with compassion for his little sister. I shook my head yes. In the dim waning moon’s light, he doused my personal journals with lighting fluid. I struck a match and threw it on the pile. With a whoosh, a stack of 16 spiral notebooks went up in flames. We stood there in silence as I watched the pages turn to ash. The flames danced as they destroyed all my written memories including the one about Mrs Ring, my third grade teacher, who told me to be a writer one day after reading my story, "The Legend Of Why Frogs Are Green"; or how I rescued a bird from certain death wrestling it out of the mouth of a cat and nursing it back to health I cried when Tweedy flew away.

I didn’t feel a thing as the embers cracked and tiny bits of paper floated around me lit up like fire flies. I was completely numb determined to change and be the good girl my parents wanted me to be. When the sparks died down, Rick and I covered the ashes with dirt before going back to bed. 

I lay awake all night in the dark, listening to the crickets hum their lullaby’s. Burning my journals felt like the right thing to do but it didn’t bring the relief I had hoped it would. My stomach was still in knots. Siesta was snoring loudly. I snuggled her in my arms for comfort knowing that she would always love me.

The Journal

I had been keeping journals for years, writing my feelings on paper. I even asked my friends to write in them from time to time.

Siesta’s paw prints made it into one, her tiny little toes and her soft pads that I kissed. I remember painting them one by one until I had all four feet on the page. She stood there patiently, not knowing what I was doing but standing there just the same trusting me completely. I was only seven at the time and I used different colored paint for each paw. One was bright pink, another pale blue, then the third was lime green and the last was purple. I also wrote several poems about how much I loved my little dog.

There were journals stacked up in my closet dating back to the time I learned to write. I used to keep the current one between my mattress and box spring, always starting on the first page that thus journal contained personal information. I worried that my sister might find them and read all about me. Never in my wildest dreams did I consider anyone else might read them.My journals were for my eyes only.

I came home from Kate’s one afternoon that summer and Mom was standing waiting for me at the back door, arms crossed with an angry look on her face. I knew something was wrong.

“I read it.” That’s all she said. I immediately knew what she was talking about. She looked like a mad woman, her eyes glazed, her pupils dilated and that frosted hair no longer in a perfect cupcake on top of her head but flattened and sticking up on the sides. I didn’t know whether to walk inside or make a run for it and keep running.

“Get in here,” she demanded. My feet moved. This was it. I would never recover from this. I felt completely exposed, naked, turned inside out. I hesitantly stepped toward her, noticing every stitch on her nasty pink housecoat with the frayed white lace collar. I felt my heart beat quicken and heard my breath as my world was about to collapse around me. The scene was even worse than I could have imagined. She threw her hands in the air, a used Kleenex flying out of the pocket, and ran around in circles. A sound came out of her of sheer terror, the sound a mother makes when someone they love dies, a guttural sound. I stood there watching her. Then she managed to pull herself back together.

 “Go to your room,” was all she said. She never sent me to my room before. That’s when I realized how it happened. She had bought my older sister Ellen and me new bed spreads that day. The happy, yellow and white polka dotted matching comforters had dust ruffles which meant she pulled the mattresses apart and found my journal.

I sat there on that cheerful yellow comforter in stunned silence. The white polka-dots on the bright yellow background had created so much grief for me that I hated them. How ironic, I thought. A blanket that’s supposed to keep me warm and comfortable at my most vulnerable time when I was unconscious, asleep, actually uncovered me completely. I hated it. I wanted to rip it up and the dust ruffle too. I wanted to throw salt on it and burn it. 

At that moment, the door opened. I saw Mom’s hand as she placed Siesta in the room then closed the door. Looking back, I guess I was surprised that I received this peace offering from my mother after what she had read. I knew what I had written could only mean the worst possible scenario for me. Very, very bad. Maybe she was offering Siesta like in the movies when they offer prisoner's last dinner before the execution. Siesta was my final comfort before my sentence was to be announced. Whatever it was, Siesta put her ears back and ran over to me, wagging her tail, greeting me as if nothing was wrong. I was so happy to see her, to hug her, to pick her up and let her lick my face.

“Oh Siesta, what am I going to do?” She rolled over and motioned for me to scratch her stomach.

“Even a belly rub isn’t going to make this better,” I said as I rubbed her tummy, her back leg going a mile a minute in ecstasy. A woodpecker was busy working on a tree outside my bedroom window. How I wished I could shrink up and hide in the hole he was making. But that was not possible. My penance was being grounded until I was 18.

Catalina Island

At age 16, I was hired to take care of a young couple’s children during a summer sailing adventure to Catalina Island just off the coast of Long Beach. When they told me I could bring a friend, Kate jumped at the opportunity to make some money and get tan.

Mr. and Mrs. Conrad were anthropologists who had traveled the world before settling down and starting a family. They had a little boy and girl ages five and six who I had been babysitting since they were born. Mom and Dad knew them from church and gave their full blessing on the adventure. We set sail on a beautiful Saturday morning with clear, pale blue skies and strong winds that made for the perfect sailing conditions.

The deep blue water looked like glass as the boat glided along, rocking me gently. I watched as the mainland got smaller and smaller, the water twinkling like diamonds on the horizon. The wind caught the sail and we picked up speed. As the water sprayed my face, I turned to see how far our destination was when a school of dolphins joined us. Kate and I watched them dash and dive in and out of the white water the boat left behind in its wake sensing their blessing marked what was sure to be a magical vacation.

Kate and I decided to get a head start on our tans so we got out our baby oil and positioned ourselves on the deck while Mr. and Mrs. Conrad did all the sailing as their children took naps below deck. We made it to our destination in no time.

As the boat docked, I felt even more excited about this adventure, if that was possible. The Island was all lush and green surrounded by giant palm trees with quaint shops and restaurants catering to tourists. There was hiking, biking and all sorts of water sports. We watched as a group of divers gathered their gear together to take off for a high sea adventure. I’d never seen divers up close before. I had only seen them on TV. What guts, I could never do that, I thought. I was too afraid of sharks.

To say that Kate and I weren’t the perfect nanny’s would be an understatement. We were looking at this as our own vacation. Even so, we did take the kids to get ice cream as soon as we docked. And the minute we turned around with cones in our hand, we stood face to face with two of the cutest boys we had ever seen in our lives!

“Hi, I’m Scotty,” said the taller of the two, tanned, buff and blonde. He was wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts, his skin that golden brown color from spending weeks in the sun. His blond hair was slicked back from being wet and he was barefoot. I couldn’t even look straight at him. “This is Bill,” Scotty motioned to his skinny friend, who pushed his longer, shoulder length hair out of his face. They both stood smiling at Kate and I. “We heard you were here,” Scotty said as ice cream melted down my arm.

“What?” I asked, wondering how could he have heard we had arrived.

“The Island is really small and when two foxy blondes from the mainland arrive, well, we all hear about it. What’s your name?”

“I’m Susan, this is Kate, and this is Lilly and Eric,” the kids were busy with their ice cream cones but Kate and I had forgotten about ours. A puddle of chocolate and vanilla swirl dripped at our feet, our ice cream now completely melted all over our hands.

Scotty’s sun kissed cheeks and bronze colored skin made his white teeth stand out, like they would glow in the dark. They weren’t perfectly straight from braces but there was something about his smile that said he was honorable. We made plans to meet back at that spot later after the kids were in bed and our nanny duties were done.

From that night on, Kate and I decided to sleep on the dock in our sleeping bags returning to the sailboat and the Conrads in the morning just in time for breakfast. Secretly, we were meeting Scotty and Bill. Puppy love was in the air.

The first night we met Scotty and Bill, they were waiting with a six pack of beer. We all walked to the shore and hung out, breathing in the fresh sea air and drinking while stars lit up night. My first sip of beer (I had never even tasted any alcohol) was bitter and I almost spit it out but as I continued to drink, it tasted better and better, the tingling sensation of alcohol starting to permeate my veins. It also helped ease the tension I was feeling on a strange Island with a strange boy. I started talking about Siesta and how much I missed her.

 “You know, your eyes remind me of my dog, the way they’re shaped, they go down on the sides,” he gently touched my eyes, coming closer to me as we sat on the sand.

“Thanks a lot, comparing me to a dog,” I laughed, pulling away.

“No, I mean that as a compliment,” he said then reached over and kissed me, I mean really kissed me. I liked it.

The next night I drank beer again and also smoked my first cigarette. I felt dizzy afterwards and almost threw up. But trying new things felt so liberating. Scotty grabbed me in his arms, held me tight, began kissing my lips tenderly and then tried exploring, putting his hands up my shirt. 

“Don’t,” I said in a joking manner and it worked because he stopped right away. Kate and I seemed like the only girls left at our school who were still virgins but i wanted to keep it that way.So when it came time to snuggle into our sleeping bags, the boys left. Until our last night. I told Scotty I would let him sleep next to me, provided he didn’t try any funny stuff. He was a complete gentleman. We kept our clothes on the entire night and cuddled but I couldn’t sleep at all, with the strange musky scent of boy so close I could taste it. Instead of closing my eyes, I watched him as he slept, his belly moving with each breath, in and out in perfect rhythm.

My romantic mind made up all sorts of stories about returning to the island the following summer and one day marrying him at that very dock. I never did see him again but when I went home, I wrote about Scotty in my journal. How we would meet back at the dock and make mad, passionate love, his hands touching me all over, his tongue in my mouth and on my body.

Hot Rod Guy

People remarked that Siesta looked like a giant rat. She was supposed to be a full bred Chihuahua when we bought her at a local pet shop but my parents speculated later that she was most likely a terrier mix. Whatever she was, that small grey dog with dark brown soulful eyes looked like she stepped in white paint then used the tips of her feet to brush streaks on her tail and chest.

I told her how much fun it was to hold Charlie’s hand when we came in from recess. She looked at me with those big brown eyes and understood what I was talking about when I gushed over how cute I thought he was, with his dimples and that smile. He was fast too, just that morning coming in first place in our classroom’s race around the track. But he seemed to win at every athletic contest. He also won my heart.

In my teenage years, I found myself attracted to other boys just like Charlie. They were exciting, forbidden and drove my parents crazy. At 15, I dated a guy who was 20 and drove a hot rod. His long, curly hair was always in his eyes. That didn't last long, which made my Mother very happy. But what did last was my terrible judgement regarding the opposite sex. In high school, I ran after the biggest pot head on campus, even though I had never tried smoking it myself. All the while, the clean-cut basketball champ tried to get my attention but I never gave him a chance.

The Pied Piper

I hadn’t gone very far before the littlest, Natalie’s younger brother, a toddler barely walking, fell and started wailing. I picked him up, carried him to the backyard and placed him into his mother Kate’s arms. I made sure to let her know that he fell, he was not wounded by Blondie. Then I said good bye and left with my dog, my family.

I was furious! Here were my friends with their husbands and kids. I had celebrated them all. Gone to their wedding showers, weddings, baby showers, hospitals when babies were born and more. All I had for my family was this little mutt, Blondie. She was it. 

Since Kate had been my friend since elementary school, it was impossible for me to stay mad at her for long. After a few days I knew I simply had to work this out. So I called Kate.

 “I am so sorry, Sue,” were the first words out of Kate mouth. I was relieved. She of all people would understand. And she did. She knew my love of dogs started with my childhood mutt Siesta. Kate understood how much that dog meant to me. She, more than anyone else in the world, knew my problem of choosing the wrong man time and time again.

Kate was with me since the beginning, when I began my cycle of making the wrong choices when it came to men (or boys, even). It all started way back in the first grade. Lots of boys liked me. Especially Donald. He was a good boy, a nice kid. I distinctly remember him following me around, tying my shoes and sharing his lunch, even giving me his home made chocolate chip cookies. In the first grade, he got in trouble for proposing marriage to me in class, actually getting down on one knee during reading time. I was so embarrassed that I tried to stay away from him for the rest of the school year, much to the dismay of my mother who was hopeful that one day I would actually walk down the isle with Donald. But Donald just wasn't the one for me. Over all the boys, it was Charlie who stole my heart.

I knew the feelings were mutual but sometimes Charlie had a funny way of showing it. Like the time he ran up from behind me and hit me on the shoulder; a little too hard. He knocked me down and I almost broke my arm from the fall. Or the day he challenged me on the playground in a game of dodge ball. He threw the ball at me with such force; it hit me right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I fell over in pain and had to go to the nurses’ office to recover. Needless to say, our love was a little confusing at times. Who better to discuss boy trouble with than Siesta?

My Four Legged Daughter

I could smell the food cooking and see smoke rise from the grill as I entered Kate’s backyard. A simple picnic table with a cheerful red checkered tablecloth sat in the middle of the grass. There was a sand box, fully in use by my friend's children, with toys strewn about and a swing set behind it. Toddlers were playing with slightly older kids as parents watched, smiling approvingly. No one saw us yet as I looked around, Blondie tethered to me on her leash, in awe of all my friends and the families they had created. I wasn’t jealous, just amazed. Kate brought some more hot dogs and hamburgers to her husband Jack at the grill and lingered by his side as they shared a laugh. Jack was wearing an apron that said Grill King in big letters across the front. Mary’s husband Gab held her hand, looking lovingly into his newly pregnant wife’s eyes. Barb and her husband Mark stole a kiss as Blondie and I entered. I thought to myself, they all make it look so easy, like no one told them that connecting with another human being is one of the most difficult things in the world to do. At least, in my 34-years on this planet, it was for me.  

Suddenly, one of the kids spotted Blondie and in a matter of moments, we were surrounded. I brought Blondie out to the grass on her leash, kids in tow, and we sat down so that the children could pet her.

I looked up, shading the sun from my eyes, as Kate and Barb quickly approached.

“Hi guys,” I said, squinting into the sun. Kate, a natural beauty with her long blonde wavy hair and soft features looked almost angelic with the sun light behind her like a halo. She was wearing simple jeans and a tee-shirt, most likely from Target, with her hair pulled back. Barb and her perfect olive completion had a concerned look on her face as she picked up her son and cradled him in her arms. Her dark, auburn hair was long and silky and her jeans were designer, cropped to show off her new sexy strappy sandals.

“Okay, Sue, its time for you to put Blondie in the garage,” Barb said matter-of-factly. I was in shock. I had never visited Kate without my dog so it hadn’t occurred to me to even ask if my “family” was invited to the “family picnic” or not.

“I’ve made a place for her in there,” Kate added.

“I’m not putting Blondie in the garage. She’s never been put in a garage before. That would be cruel,” I said. “Besides, I have her on a leash. I’ll watch her.”

“Come on Sue, there’re kids here,” Barb went on, kissing her toddler. “We just don’t want to have any bad situation here. I'm sure you understand”

“I don't understand. I said I’ll keep her on a leash,” my voice was strained as the kids continued to pet the object of discussion. “She’s my family.”

“Don’t tell me you think your dog is more important than our kids,” Barb barked accusingly.

“Don’t tell me you think your kids are more important than my dog,” I answered as I got up to leave, the children following.

“Don’t leave,” Kate pleaded.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” I said as I walked out the gate to the front yard. I figured a little walk to clear my head might be a good idea. So I started down the street. The next thing I knew, six children were running to catch up with us. I looked like the Pied Piper.

“Sue where are you and Blondie going?, little three-year-old Natalie shouted.

“We’re just going for a walk. We’ll be right back,” I answered, hoping they would stay away.

“I want to go with you,” she shouted excitedly as her little legs ran to catch up with us. The others followed. While I was outside in the fresh air, it occurred to me that I didn’t need my friends to agree with me but I did need them to respect my choices. And if they had a problem with me bringing Blondie, they should have told me that ahead of time. It’s so difficult being the single person out. I think married friend forget how it feels.

Turkey Obsession

I remembered to pack some fresh turkey for Blondie, her favorite, a leash and a water bowl (this was in the days before the portable water bowls). I was to bring dessert so I picked up some cookies from a local bakery knowing there would be several kids at this picnic. My friend Kate, the first of the four of us to get married, already had four children, Barb had two little ones and the newlywed Mary was expecting her first. I had been asked to be a bridesmaid in all their weddings but I backed out at the last minute in Mary’s. At the time of her ceremony, I had just broken up with the man I thought I would marry and was so upset that I couldn't be there for my friend on the most important day of her life. To this day, I still feel bad about that but I was pretty depressed at the time. It was all I could do to actually attend the ceremony. As it was, I had to leave the reception a number of times to walk outside for a good cry.