Something very special happened at the end of the summer after my junior year and not too long after my eighteenth birthday. He had kissed me for the first time during that summer, but certainly not for the last time. Our walks in the woods got more and more intimate as the time for me to return for my senior year approached. Our touching began going places where none had touched before and my thoughts about Duane were changing. I had never imagined such things happening to me -- but they were. At least that "none had touched before" was true for me, and I had no reason to think that was not true for him as well. Off course, I had no way of knowing. But I could imagine and I never imagined him with anyone but me. On the day before I was to leave, he led me to a little shed-like building he'd discovered in the woods. It was very dilapidated, nearly falling apart and my first thought was to wonder if it could last another year and become our very special place.
My mind was sneaking to places it dared not go, with thoughts it dared not have but was like a fox, afraid of people but unable to resist the all-possessing odor of food. And so, with all those thoughts, held within an innocent but suddenly very willing body, I had joined him and we had made love, there on the simple dirt floor amidst all the debris, the birds singing to us outside, the sun through the broken windows casting its warmth and light over us. It was so very, very difficult to leave that next day as I simply wanted that summer and what was beginning, to go on forever.
It was not to be, of course, despite those myriad thoughts churning through my mind. Senior year had begun as I felt myself beginning to bloom and finally, it had ended and mother had given me permission to take the Ford Escort to Auntie's so I'd be free to go and come as I pleased, within reason of course.
Maybe I'll just fill in here a bit. My mother had come to this country from Denmark when she was two years old. She and my father were not yet married when I was born, but were so within a month of the birth. My father had been a salesman and quickly moved to sales manager which, in his company at least, required quite a bit of travel. Tragically, on one of his flights on a small, feeder airline, he had been killed in a crash. Nothing replaces a husband or a father. For me, at that age, which was seven, nothing could replace my father. However, for my mother, there was something. Not a replacement but certainly a help. His company had a life insurance policy that guaranteed three times his annual salary, double indemnity if his death was accidental. They also carried a travel insurance policy and he automatically purchased travel insurance whenever he knew he'd be on an airplane. In summary, mother received well over one million dollars from all of that and we were able to live comfortably, if that's possible when you're emotionally devastated and all you want to do is crawl into a dark hole and let the earth return you to where you began.
So, I had the Escort and a nice balance in my bank account as I was anticipating a wonderful summer prior to embarking on the beginning of the rest of my life. Plus, I could hardly wait to see Duane again after the marvelous way the previous summer had ended. There were very few cell phones then and there were expensive long-distance charges for regular phone calls. We had written a couple of letters in the past but we hadn't during that last school year. It just seemed that I couldn't get there fast enough. The old and familiar roads seemed longer than they used to be, as though they'd grown with age, and with my obscene anxiety and anticipation.
At last I could see the old house -- it was beautiful. The dark red bricks nearly matching the color of the giant tree trunks that surrounded it, seemingly caring for it as animals surround a young one to protect it. The green roof, weathered and darkened, was dappled with the shadows from the leaves it so nearly matched. Those fresh leaves of spring. It was a sight I'd longed for and that had finally arrived. I pulled into the driveway and swung open the door just in time, as a black ball of fur launched itself into my lap. It was Thurston, of course, and I was always a little amazed that he never forgot who I was over those nine months of my absence. And, on the porch, stood Auntie Natalie and just coming through the door was Granny Anna. I couldn't help but wonder how long these "first days of summer" could go on. Somehow, with a young girls naivete, I foolishly hoped they'd never end. In the back of my mind, hidden away where it wouldn't distract me from life, was a voice that would very occasionally chastise me for that, admonishing me silently that life moves on, things change, not always to our liking, regardless of our selfish wishes and desires. I never imagined how shrill that voice would become nor how quickly it would emerge once again.
I remember running to the porch and getting those hugs that were so treasured due to their long absence. Auntie had her usual huge smile and, even though it was nearly summer and much warmer, her lavender cardigan sweater that seemed to be a part of her, like the uniforms at the girl's school I passed on the way to my school. It seemed a sign of order, of regularity, of constancy that I somehow needed. A simple sweater, but so much more. Granny seemed just a bit more feeble than I had remembered and I could feel a hint of, what, despair . . . disappointment . . . dread? I hoped that it was rather my memory that had failed, but still, the dire thought that she was getting to where . . . Such unpleasantry had no place on this wonderful day and I was surprised at myself for feeling that way. I managed to drag my several suitcases into the house and upstairs to my room. It was not
my
house but it was certainly
my
room. I was fairly sure the two ladies closed the door to that room when I left to go back home and only opened it again the day before I arrived in order to clean it a bit for me. Not that I would have minded the bit of dust that might have gathered. It was just a ritual that had been followed for these few years.
So, for a quick moment, I sat on the bed and looked at what surrounded me, that I had longed for these many months. Sometimes, during the winter, as I sat thinking about this house, about Auntie and Granny . . . and yes, about Duane sometimes as well, darts of guilt would prick me, that I was longing to go to a place where my mother was not. I would press myself, fraught with doubts about who and what I was that those far-away things pulled at me so resolutely. Mother always refused to go -- she had things to do, her work wouldn't allow her to be away for long, and other vagaries that left me totally unsatisfied. Yes, she worked, even though she didn't need to. She felt it completed her somehow. And she volunteered, endlessly it seemed, for the homeless, at hospitals, at places that I was not concerned about in the least. Was this a shallowness in me that made me somewhat incomplete. Was I somehow less than my mother because I longed to be here, in this place, in this house with these two women who seemed to mean so much to me?
Such thoughts tormented me on occasion, but usually I was able to think them through, or perhaps more aptly, push them aside until, like ants, they crept through the cracks and under the doors of my mind, daring me to step on them, crush them, sweep them away with a finality like the dust of so many other discarded thoughts. Which of course, I was unable to do.
I loved this house, just the sight and the feel of it, and the smell of it. It was the smell of age, of times somehow past that lingered, of wood and old curtains and carpets that had experienced the trampling of who knows how many feet. There was the fragile hint of mustiness here in my room but it would be dispelled quickly by the fresh air that would invade when I opened my two windows.
There were no sharp corners here. They had all been worn smooth by hundreds of passing hands, and an equal number of loving touches from dust cloths and scrub rags. My initials were carved in both window sills of this room. I had been scolded severely by Aunt Natalie when I had done it, surprising me as I thought only mothers were allowed to scold. But, in this short time, they had become treasures for both Auntie and Granny and they would do whatever was required to preserve them. And there was the back stairway. It was beyond my imagination, having been brought up in the city, that a house would have two stairways. But this one did and the back one was mine -- I had claimed it from the first day I began my sojourns here. It led directly up to my room and the treads were wooden -- no carpet to allay the wear that all those years had left there.
Over time I had explored each tread, sensing the indentations with my hand, wondering who and how many had left their marks there. From the very first I was determined to leave my own mark there in a unique way. When I went up the stairs, I began with my right foot, each time. I lamented that the builder was obviously not superstitious, as there were 13 treads. To keep things the same, I had to start with my left foot when coming down. I hoped that would wear the treads unevenly, that unevenness being my lasting mark on the house. It was a game I had developed, trying to hit the steps properly without changing my stride. So many things I clung to, strings that tied my world together, tenuous as they were.
I was feeling a little guilty as I knew Auntie and Granny were anxious to talk to me and to get whatever updates I was able to provide. Auntie was mother's much-older sister and had lost any hint of a Danish accent that might have existed in past years. Not so with Granny who still retained just a touch of V's mixing with W's and a certain, well, sing-song would be stretching it a bit, but the lilt was still there. I loved to hear it though.
I sat down and we all three had big smiles. It was almost enough without words, but words were needed.
"So, you've graduated," Auntie began.
"I have, and it feels wonderful . . . so far. We'll see how I feel in the fall when college starts."
"Do you know where're you're going yet?"
"Oh, my yes. If I wasn't already registered, I'd have trouble finding a spot."
"And where would your spot be?" Granny queried.
"Where else, Granny? Ohio State of course."
"Oh my," she said, her smile fading. "That's such a big place isn't it?"
