Alamogordo, New Mexico

The White Sands I Remember

My first home with my parents was in a white adobe house with two bedrooms. Here is where my memories start with both of my parents, especially my mother. My sisters and brothers don't remember Mom as I do. By the time they were old enough to even understand that Mother was a nurse, nurses wore pants and tunics, not the formal nurses uniform of white dresses, stockings and shoes.
     I remember sitting and watching her dress for work. She had beautiful skin. She had this gorgeous raven black hair, a delicate bone structure and keen features. She was always beautiful to me. What I remember is watching her prepare for work, ironing her uniform and polishing her shoes a stark white. All of my life, my mother's care in her dress was exceptionally beautiful. I have, I admit, always felt a bit awkward around her. I was big, large hands and feet. She had bony fingers and thin feet. Learning later that she had been chubby until she was in her twenties and that it was in this chubby state that she caught my Dad's eye was a revelation.
     Anyway, I loved my mother, idolized her. I wonder if part of it was that in order to take care of me, she had to live some place else. So, I didn't have a mother everyday, but everyday I knew about her, she was an integral part of my life. I never felt deprived. Maybe it was because my grandmother always let me know how lucky I was that my mother loved us enough to work hard. I also realize that because my Mother worked as she did, my grandmother was able to devote a considerable amount of time to my care. This blog is helping me to piece together the chronology of my life and my parent's life. It is my hope to get into more of this as I write this journal, but here is some of what stands out.
     My mother didn't wear a lot of makeup, but she always wore lipstick. She worked the night shift. Most of my life my Mother worked the 11 to 7 shift of whatever hospital she worked for. As she would get dress to go to work, I would watch eagerly. The highlight of my valiant  watch was after she placed her nurse's cap on her head she would expertly apply red lipstick to her lips. It kept me enthralled. I can still feel my anticipation because once she applied that lipstick, she would leave. But not before kissing my lips briefly so that I had red lipstick on, too. Then she would tuck me in the bed and kiss me goodnight. As I snuggled down into my bed, my mother would put on her wool blue cape, swirling it around her shoulders, pulling it together with a gold clasped chain and the final touch, pinning on her nurses pin, a pin I cherish more than any jewelry she owned. This is my one treasure of her because of this memory it evokes.
     My father did some construction work at White Sands. I do remember the mountains of white sands and going there with my mother, father and grandmother. These memories must be of the family times. Abstract and mostly in bits and pieces. The first memory of my father--something that I know happened--was hiding in the back seat of his car wanting to follow him to work. He finds me, of course, and he's not angry about it. I am disappointed that I can't go with him and I am not sure whether I cry or not. I do know that my Mother and Father laugh about it. I think I know why. It meant that I was bonding with him, something my Mom desperately wanted. I think he did, too.
     I don't know when that changed. For some reason, there came a time when I didn't sleep in my room anymore. I always dragged a pillow and covers to the couch where my Mother would find me the next morning. I do remember the dream, though, and it came barreling into my consciousness the night we fled from my father. The night after he brandished a rifle and demanded a lie from me. It shook my very soul as I drove my Mother and siblings to Texarkana, back to the place where I had once felt safe.
     I know now why I slept on the couch, but I didn't until I told my Mother the dream I had. I told her that I remember someone knocking on the door of the house and my father gets up to let the person in. I remember trying to pretend to be asleep, but I peeped out from under the covers blanketing my head as my father and the man walked down to the end of the room not far from me. I don't know how I knew, but the man with my father was the devil. He was as good looking as my father and they talked. I couldn't hear them. They pointed at me and I knew then that they knew I was awake and that I knew who they were.
     Next: The Two Faces of Henry.