When I heard the squealing raucous laughter coming from the family room, I stuck my head in to see what all the commotion was about. My eldest daughter Libby and her friends were pointing at the television and making comments about the program on the screen. I'm not the type of mom who interferes in her children's social lives but my attention was drawn to image on the TV.
Libby turned and gazed at me with a huge smile.
"What are you watching?" I whispered.
"Mom, it's called "Exiled" on MTV. They take a spoiled teenage girl and send her to live with a family in Africa, or India...so she can learn responsibility...she has to live and work with them for a week. The girl's in India and they're using cow crap to clean the backyard...Can you imagine?"
My daughter turned her attention back to the show and I watched until a commercial came on. I retreated to the kitchen as a flood of memories marched through my brain.
It was thirty years ago that I felt like the overwhelmed young lady on the TV show. Like her, my parents exiled me for an entire summer to live and work with relatives in the hopes that it would straighten me out and teach me to be a reliable, dependable individual. I was eighteen and a self-absorbed, spoiled teen girl growing up in Southern California, badly in need of an attitude adjustment.
My exile was to my Uncle Carl and Aunt Gladys' ranch in Arizona. I was remanded to their custody the summer of '78'. I'd just graduated high school and decided to delay attending college for at least a year or two. My argument with my parents, that I wanted to find myself. My folks knew it was just bull shit and I guess at the time I did too.
In reality, I was a slacker, a term I've heard my daughters use to describe some of their friends. But, it fit me to a "T" back then. As I prepared snacks for the eight teenage girls in my family room, I saw her image in my head as clear as the day I first laid eyes on her. Samantha, the mere recollection of her name sent emotion and feelings thundering through me.
Libby bopped into the kitchen to pick up the food.
"Hey mom, you ok?" She asked? I must have looked lost, wrapped up in the past.
"Yes, I'm fine," I assured her with a smile.
Libby was my eldest and so unlike me as a teen. A senior in high school, she was an excellent student and athlete. My daughter was self-motivated and driven to succeed.
But, the memories, the sweet memories of that magical time with Samantha burned bright...
Exiled, 1978:
My mom and dad made it abundantly clear; I was expected to cooperate with no belly aching.
"We've made life too easy for you Melanie...you need to learn responsibility...how to fend for yourself..." my mother said with steely determination.
No teary goodbyes as I stalked on the bus, turning my back to my parents. I refused to give either of them a hug and hurt their feelings by being a heartless bitch. Serves them right! I thought menacingly at the time.
There wasn't another teenager on the face of the planet more brooding or miserable than me that bright June day as I rode the Greyhound bus. My supposed hatred for my parents reached dizzying heights in my mind. How could they do this to me! I was livid and at the time I saw absolutely no rhyme or reason for shipping me off to Arizona.
My uncle met me at the bus depot in an old Plymouth station wagon with no air conditioning. After a quick greeting, we loaded my gear into the back and took off. I recalled him as a reticent kind of man but he did inform me it was twelve miles to the ranch called the "Lazy J".
The heat of day was oppressive and I wondered if it was always this dry and hot in Arizona. Eventually, he turned onto a dusty side road and we climbed a long hill until the ranch came into view. Even in my sullen mood I was impressed as it looked like something out of a western movie complete with wind mill.
A large main house in the clapboard Victorian style with half a dozen outbuildings made up the immediate compound. A range of mountains could be seen in the distance and everywhere I looked I saw dust and dirt. Not much greenery since the "Lazy J" was located in a high desert plateau. But, for sheer beauty, the scenery was awe inspiring; big sky and incredible vistas.
My mom's cousin, Aunt Gladys greeted me warmly. Standing next to her was a very pretty, sleek blonde haired girl and it took me a minute to realize that it was my "cousin" Samantha. Uncle Carl was Samantha's father and my Aunt Gladys was her step-mother and although we weren't cousins in the technical sense, I always referred to her as my "cousin". I hadn't seen her in ten years and she sure had changed.
Before I left California, my mother informed me that Samantha would take charge of me and show me the ropes. The last time I saw her we were both eight years old and my folks were driving to Kansas City to visit my grandparents. We made a brief stop to have lunch and a quick look around the ranch. I remembered Samantha as very shy but likable.
Unfortunately, my surly attitude didn't dissipate one iota as I dragged my bags to a small cabin at the far end of the stable. Just big enough for two, I discovered that I was sharing with Samantha but my first thought; why would she want to live in a ramshackle cottage when she had a nice room in the main house. She must have been reading my mind.
"My folks want me live out here with you...anyways they'll have an extra guest room for the summer..." she stated shyly.
Basically it was one big room with a tiny bathroom at one end that housed a toilet and sink. I looked around at the spare but western style furniture, a wood table, two chairs, large oval hook rug on the wood floor and wood frame bunk bed that occupied one wall. . No TV, no telephone, none of the amenities of modern life that one expects to find. The windows were open and the bright print cotton curtains pulled back to let in the sunlight and breeze.
"Ya want the upper or lower?" she offered.
I must have looked puzzled until she gestured to the bed.
"Oh...ah, lowers fine."
I sat on the unmade bed, my gaze fixed on the floor. I was spending four months, four long months in this bucolic cabin with Samantha as my friends went surfing, hung out at the mall meeting guys and having fun while I was stuck here in this hot, arid hell hole.
"Hey Melanie, want me to help ya get unpacked?" Samantha asked kindly, snapping me out of my day dream.
"Yeah, ok..."
As Samantha stowed my belongings, she explained the list of chores I'd be expected to perform. My mouth hung open from the shock; muck the horse stalls, feed and water the horses, saddle them, brush them and cool them down; she kept going but my brain shut down from overload. At home no one expected me to do anything, not even lift a finger.
During the summer months the ranch operated as a kind of dude ranch. Guests came to get a taste of the Old West; a new concept that allowed ranchers like my uncle to survive financially for the rest of year when it operated solely as a horse farm.
"We, you and me, work six days a week with Tuesday afternoon off and all day Thursday...Most folks come on the weekends and that's our busiest time. The most we've had is 20 guests at a time and its work, work, work..." she declared.
My head spun from the harsh reality of my situation.
The first week was hellish. Samantha made everything look easy while I struggled to get water and feed to the horses. When one task was completed it was on to the next; the list was endless.
I complained bitterly about everything; the crack of dawn wake up time, the foul odor of manure, the dust that seemed to be everywhere, the harsh climate that dried out my skin and the heavy work load, to just name a few.
Samantha would roll her eyes and give me words of encouragement but by lunch time I was beat. Most afternoons I simply went back to my bunk and lay down for the rest of the day leaving Samantha to do the chores of two people. She never complained or reproached me for my lack of commitment.
Whenever Samantha would try and talk to me, I'd ignore her or walk away. I should have worn a sign around my neck,
"First Class Bitch"
Samantha was kind and sweet to me when I treated her like garbage. I have to say she didn't lose her cool once. To be honest the work was hard but I could have put more heart into it and I gave up too soon if a chore was demanding.
One afternoon Samantha showed me the correct way to hoist a bag of feed.
"You have more leverage if you do it this way," and she demonstrated the proper procedure.
I got the bag half way and fell backwards landing on my rump. When I looked up and saw that Samantha had a very amused look on her face, I stalked out of the barn.
"Hey, Melanie, don't give up..." I heard her say to my retreating figure.
But, the worst of all was mucking the stalls. I absolutely detested doing it and did such a half ass job that Samantha would finish the task after me.
On Thursday, our one day off, Samantha asked if I'd like to learn to ride a horse. Since childhood, I harbored a desire but my bruised ego was too hurt for me accept her invitation.
"Nah...that's for sissies," I stated nastily.
