November 30 – Dear Blessed Mother, Can you see what’s going on here? The Hands are still after me! Shouldn’t you be putting this on God’s radar? It’s embarrassing enough to say anything and have Mother act annoyed, like I was making it up. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to stay awake so I can see who it is coming into my room, but I got really tired. So I brought my pillow down onto the floor on the other side of my bed, to hide. A sound woke me up and I could see some feet from where I was under the bed, but I couldn’t tell who it was. I think he got scared when I wasn’t in my bed, because he just hurried out of the room. I heard him trying to sneak up the stairs, but that third step creaked like it usually does. So it IS one of the big boys! There aren’t many things you can really call your own in this family, but before this, I would have said my bed was really mine. My very own bed. Mine! Obviously even that is up for grabs. Maybe Madcap would know what to do. If I could say something to her.
“Whooooaoaaaaa!” Mother took a curve around South Pasadena Freeway. I scrunched into the turn, squishing Rosie and Jeannie against the window. We passed a VW bug chugging along in the slow lane.
“I’m squished!” Jeannie called for mercy. But when Mother swerved the bus the other way, Jeannie leaned into us. On my right was Dominic and on his right, Buddy. Flat pancakes, all.
“Whoooooohhhha!” We all said, laughing. Everyone was in a good mood, except for Mother at the wheel. She was all eyes and ears on the road. The day was crisp and sunny, leaves floating on the occasional breeze.
It was Friday after Thanksgiving, one of the most exciting days of the year. Christmas was coming, we had a little bit of money in our pockets, and school was out. I had saved my babysitting earnings for the Commissary at the Navy base in Long Beach. During the year, Daddy shopped there for groceries because it was cheaper there, a perk for being a retired commander in the U.S. Navy.
But today we were going Christmas shopping. It was an annual family outing. I could feel all the energy bouncing around inside our vehicle.
Normally, all thirteen kids could fit into the V-duby yew, with room for Mom and Dad. This year, Daddy drove the Rambler with Paul to store the groceries and to hide all the presents we bought for each other, so the proper secrecy around Christmas could be maintained. The rest of us took the bus with Mother. Since Clara wasn’t there either, it seemed like there was lots of room.
Jeannie and I clapped our hands and smacked them together in a game I learned in the first grade:
“Myyyy boyfriend’s name is Able
He used to set the table
Now he works in the stable
Down on the Bingo farm.”
“Okay, that’s enough, kids,” Mother said.
What’s the deal with Mom? I thought. Other than when she has her migraines, usually she’s a pretty good sport, and I can tell when she’s enjoying herself. Today, though, she didn’t get us singing, “I Love to Go a Wandering” by just starting it up with her beautiful voice. She didn’t ask us things like, “Who lived in the Emerald City? Buffalo Bill?” To which we’d all say in unison,
“Noooo!”
“Saint Peter?”
To which we’d all shout a resounding, “Noooooo!”
“The Wizard of Oz?” To which we’d all say,
“Yeaaassss!” Then we’d start singing, “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz. He really is a whiz of a whiz because of the things he does…” It was a favorite way we had of starting up a trip in the car.
Maybe Mom was worried about Clara. When was the baby going to come? Did Clara sign the papers? I didn’t want to think about it, even though it was all I could think about.
Finally we were there. Mother downshifted, and we slowed to the grinding sound of the engine as we approached the gate. I loved the feeling of being admitted past the lifting arm, like we really belonged to this place. I even had a picture ID that said I was a “dependent” of the U.S. Navy, in case anybody asked. Daddy was ahead of us and I could see him as he slowed down at the booth. The guard looked at the sticker on the windshield, and then he put his white, gloved hand up to his forehead in a crisp salute to our Dad. I could see through the windshield that Daddy handed the guard a small card, probably his “Shea Family Motors, We mean business about family” card. Nowadays, he was handing these out to everyone he met, even in the grocery stores. But the base was Daddy’s territory; I didn’t have to feel embarrassed here when he did that. The guard looked at the card and smiled. The long arm with red and white stripes lifted and his Rambler inched forward. The bus was next, this time the guard saluted to Mom. Once the bumper of the bus got in front of the arm and it went down again behind us, we all broke into applause and yelled, Yeaaaaaaaay! Whoo! Whoo!”
“Pipe down kids!” Mother tried to shout, but it wasn’t nearly as threatening as when Daddy said it.
As we drove through the base towards the commissary, sailors fresh with new haircuts walked in twos and threes in their Navy blue uniforms. Giant striped candy canes painted in red, white, and green covered up the windows on the huge stores that faced the parking lot. Outside, evergreen and flocked-white Christmas trees huddled in two groups, instant forests on the asphalt under the fall California sun.
Out on the dock a huge ship stretched from end to end with the number 135 on the bow. Two huge stacks of three turrets with about ten or eleven guns sticking out on each side pointed into the sky. The shimmering water stretched beyond it.
“That’s what’s called a heavy cruiser,” Daddy said. “The USS Los Angeles. It was just decommissioned on November 15th.”
“What is decommissioned?” asked Rosie.
“It’s done its duty, and they’re going to mothball it to San Diego.”
The ship was massive. It was hard to imagine the force of the blast that would come out of the enormous guns. The sound alone—the sudden ear-piercing blast along with the earthquake feeling of the ground shaking beneath you. When we were on Whidbey Island we heard jets flying low all the time, roaring up, droning overhead and fading into a faraway sky. Sometimes I woke from dreams of them, the hot, sudden sound piercing the world, shattering my eardrums, shaking my body to alertness in instant fear.
“The sound of freedom,” Daddy would always say. He and Paul walked towards the ship. Everybody knew that Paul wanted to enlist. Daddy discouraged it. “Go to college first,” he’d say, “then you can join as an officer.” Looking at them stroll towards the floating hulk that seemed to stretch a few city blocks, as they were dwarfed into the size of plastic toy soldiers, I felt proud. Proud and protected. Daddy was right, no one was going to destroy our way of life as long as the Navy was around. Not even the Communists in Cuba.
We split up, once again. Daddy went shopping for groceries and everyone else paired off to go to the store with all the toys. We were to meet back at the cafeteria at noon. I was in charge of Rosie, meaning I had to help her find a gift for her PX with the allowance that Mother gave her this morning. And I had to find a present for Clara. Inside the grocery store, “Deck the Halls” and “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” added to our excitement. Even though we were in California, we wished for snow every year. We ached for it, and the song made it especially poignant. Even though there would never be a white Christmas in Pasadena; even though none of us had never even seen a snowflake. When the song came on, we sang along, like we were missing the good old days.
Rosie had Jude as her PX, so getting a present would be easy.
“Here’s $2 for Rosie,” Mother had said, digging in her big bag for the bills. “I’m sure you can find something for that.”
She grabbed my hand and put the bills into my palm and closed my hand around the bills. I hugged up to her because it seemed like she could use a hug, but she pushed me away. At times like this, it’s like I, Annie, am not even there. I’m just the person doing the errand. She had so much else to think about. Oh, well. It’s great to have a phrase you can just pull out for times like this. She must be under the weather, I thought.
We walked along the rows of toys. I steered Rosie away from the dolls, ‘cause I knew she wanted a Chatty Cathy and it would really wreck it up if Rosie saw her PX carrying that doll to the cash register. She would know it was for her, since she’s really the only one left who’s of an age to get a doll. Actually, I wanted a baby doll myself. I should have been growing out of wanting a doll, but there it was.
We got a die-cast metal toy car for Jude. In the end Rosie chose a Lincoln Continental because she liked the creamy green color.
It was already lunchtime, so I walked Rosie by the hand to the Mess Hall, where the smell of hamburgers, chocolate shakes, and French fries was almost unbearable. Steam wafted up from the stainless steel containers full of food as customers inched along with their trays. The lines were long. Mother grabbed a high chair for Jude and commandeered a group of tables. We sat waiting while Daddy and Paul went up to the counter and ordered for all of us.
I was so hungry, my mouth was watering and I had to keep swallowing my spit. We sat at the empty table looking at each other. John-the-Blimp couldn’t just sit there, he had to swat Bartholomew on the back of the head and flick Dominic’s ears. All three of them ended up having an arm wrestle (which of course John-the-Blimp won). The twins both kicked out their legs repeatedly under the table to the point that they were kind of moving in unison from the shoulder up. It was all you could see of them, since they were so short. Luke got a pen from Mother’s purse and was drawing on a napkin. Mother quietly asked Madcap to deal with the baby while she went to the restroom.
Me and Jeannie played this game where you take all the stuff on the table, the salt and pepper shaker, the sugar packets, ketchup and silverware and arrange them in the middle, then you sort of push back, all the while looking at what you’ve done, like you’ve just made a painting and you say, “Your move.” Then she moves those things around and says something like, “Gotcha.” And you say, “Oh I didn’t see that! Good move.” And then you change something small and give her the next move. Like that. All the while studying the pieces intently. Pretty soon everyone else is looking at what you’re doing, trying to figure out what the game is all about. But there are no rules, so the joke is on them.
At last Daddy and Paul carried four trays full of burgers, fries, and shakes to the table. We tore off the wrappers and fell silent as we wolfed down our burgers and inhaled our fries. I was breathless afterwards, still hungry even after my shake.
“The cook said, ‘How many burgers?’” Daddy recounted to us proudly, “‘What have you got, a team?’ So I said, ‘My own private mess hall.’ Heh heh heh,” he concluded. Then he looked around. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s in the restroom,” I said. It had been a while since she had excused herself from the table. We were all finished and her burger was still sitting there. I wanted the fries. Madcap was trying to wipe Jude’s face; he had ketchup and mustard all over, and he hated his face being wiped, so he was shaking his head side to side as she tried to dab with a wet napkin. Daddy said, “Annie, can you go check up on your mother?”
“Sure, Dad.” I was glad he didn’t ask Jeannie. I am older. He pointed to the sign that said, “Restrooms.”
When I pushed open the door, I thought Mom would at least be washing her hands by now, but she wasn’t. I bent over and looked under the doors. Her shoes were there under the last stall.
“Mom? It’s Annie. We’re wondering why you’re taking so long. Daddy sent me in.”
“Annie, can you do me a favor, honey?”
“Sure, Mom.” I heard some fumbling in the stall.
“I’ll get you a quarter. Do you see a box on the wall there?”
“Yeah, Mom. I know what it’s for.”
“Can you get me a sanitary napkin?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Here’s the quarter.” I saw her hands come out under the stall, holding a quarter. I took it and went to the machine, inserted the quarter, and turned the knob. The machine clinked, dropping two dimes in the square change cubby. At the same time, a plastic package with a thick napkin fell into the rectangular area at the bottom of the machine. I grabbed it.
“Here’s the napkin, Mom.” I handed it to her under the door. Was Mom having her period while she’s pregnant?
“Thanks. I think I’ll need another.” Her hands appeared under the stall once again.
Another one? Wow, she must have heavy periods.
“Are you having your period, Mom?” As soon as I said it I felt ashamed to have dared ask her such a personal question. She didn’t answer. I felt so embarrassed. What an idiot I am! Geeze. Shut up, Annie. Of course she’s having her period.
When Mother finally emerged from the stall, the color had drained out of her face. As she washed her hands, I had to stare at her. Something about the way she looked made me feel strange. She seemed sad and vulnerable, and I don’t remember ever noticing that about her. Looking at her, I felt afraid.
“I’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she said, as if reading my mind. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at herself in the mirror. She held onto the side of the sink with both hands, bent her knees, and sat down on the floor. Her feet were in front of her and her knees bent so I kind of saw under her dress before she had the chance to drop her knees in front of her.
“Can you get your father, Annie? Just go get him, please.” I pushed the door open and ran out to him as fast as I could.
“Daddy, Daddy!” I yelled from across the large cafeteria. I waved my arm in a “C’mere” gesture. “Hurry!” Daddy dropped his burger and we ran together, dodging the tables and chairs back to the hallway. I stood at the door to the ladies’ room and pushed it open for him. He went right in.
He took his keys out of his pocket and handed them to me. Then he lifted Mother off the floor and held her in his arms.
“Go up to the cashier at the cafeteria and ask for a nurse,” he commanded me. “Tell her it’s an emergency. Give the keys to Paul. He knows where the car is parked.”
Later, we didn’t go back to the store like we had originally planned. Things had changed. We waited around in the commissary while Mother and Daddy were at the infirmary.
Then Daddy drove the Volkswagen with Mother in the front seat, and Paul took the Rambler home instead of Daddy. There was no explanation as to the change of plans. It was quiet in the car. Creepy quiet, like we were all jammed in a dark closet where the only light was through a crack at the bottom of the door. Spiders were silently weaving their webs around us. Hungry rats waited in the corners for all of us to fall asleep so they could start eating our toes. We tried to keep as still as possible so nothing worse would happen.
No one else knew what I saw. What I kept seeing. The dread I was feeling. As if a black widow had just climbed up on my knee and was ready to sting me with her poison. I kept remembering the blood on the floor. I have never seen Mother cry before, but I know she was crying because her cheeks were wet. Sometimes Daddy reached his arm across to her and touched her face. She didn’t say one single thing the whole ride back.
Then, instead of driving home, Daddy stopped at Huntington Memorial Hospital. He got out of the car and went into the hospital with Mother still in the front seat. Some guys in white outfits came out with a wheelchair and Mother got down off the front seat and sat in the wheelchair. She tried to hide the blood, but the back of her dress was stained with it.
Daddy went in and we sat in the bus outside the hospital.
“What’s wrong with Mom?” John asked when Daddy got into the driver’s seat of the Volkswagen.
“She’s not feeling well.”
“Will she be alright?” Madcap spoke for all of us.
“The doctors are going to have a look and see. I’m sure she’ll be fine now.”
“When is she coming home?” Jude was sucking his thumb, sitting on Jeannie’s lap.
“Let’s say a prayer, for your Mother,” he said.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” we all began in unison.
I might have known this for a while, but when Daddy said “I’m sure she’ll be fine now,” it was the first time I consciously realized that truth could be told in fractions. That’s why they make you promise “to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth” when you swear on the Bible. People are probably going around telling part truths all the time.
It made me think of the time when everyone was afraid that the bombs from Cuba were going to blow America to smithereens. Everyone was worried about it. We weren’t so afraid for ourselves because Cuba was close to Florida and we were in California, way on the other side of the country. Still it would be sad to lose all the people in Florida and all their pets. Even though I had never been in Florida. One night, during the week that it was the topic of everyone’s conversation, as I was drifting off to sleep, I said, “Daddy, are they going to drop the bomb?”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Annie. They’ll never drop the bomb. It will be a long time before anyone destroys our way of life,” he said confidently, like he had some inside knowledge. He had survived Pearl Harbor, so maybe he knew about these things that happen on ships out at sea. For example, when they’re all out there, deciding whether or not to send the bombs—maybe there’s a button on all the ships that’s purposefully stuck, so the button doesn’t work when you press it. Maybe the sailors think they’re following orders, but when they push the button and it doesn’t work, the bomb doesn’t go off. Maybe Daddy knows better.
Maybe things are going to be okay.