I can't seem to control my memories these days. Things that I want to immediately remember for a conversation quote seem to elude me; and other things seem to come to me for reasons unknown, triggered by the smells?, the glances?, the weather?....And for what purpose? No idea. But, today is one of those days. So, I will record the story and see if I am supposed to get anything out of it other than simply putting it to paper in solid form.
On a recent drive across the large State of Texas to visit family, I had to drive through Big Springs. I lived there briefly as a small child with my mother, in a trailer park. My mother was mentally ill and spent a great deal of my life bouncing from one State Mental Institution to another. I know the town I live in now, the place is old, and gross and scary. And I always felt a certain amount of sadness for my mother being stuck, first in her own head, and second being in that state in a place like that. It is easier for us to dismiss the mentally ill, tuck them away in jail-like quarters. We never seem to take care of those places.
The funny thing about Texas, and maybe the United States in general, is we're so quick to erase out history and develop the newer, the better, the more shiny. In the town I live in now, giant, shiny high rises have knocked down the former lives of so many. You only get to stay if you're considered famous - the building has your name on it. Never mind, that in order for you to be so famous, there were so many other lives involved in your getting there....but, those are not important...just erase them.
But, in the small towns, you can see them. Where the big money and influence hasn't reached yet. The buildings half-broken down with faded signs. But, here in the US those are also a bit funny to me. Nothing here is ancient yet. Our country is so new still. Nothing is thousands of years old. So rather than being kept up like the Seven Wonders, these buildings and spots are more like items you find in some old person's attic with years of dust and cobwebs. Yes, there were lives in those places with stories and memories. Maybe better than the famous. Yes, better.
As I drove through the town, I saw Big Springs Mental Hospital. It was a very old building, but much to my surprise is was beautifully kept. Old architecture with gardens and a beautiful lawn. I teared up a bit. Maybe this was a least one place that wasn't so horrible for my mother to be at. Maybe. There was just a tiny bit of relief there. Oh mother, was this place ok for you? Just this one time?
I didn't have that many memories of this town, just a couple. I think when we lived here, I was maybe 3 or 4 years old. I remember the trailer a bit. We shared the trailer with a male roommate. I don't remember his name. My mother and I slept on one side of the house and the man took the other side. The only things I remember about him were really snip its. I remember one time he showed me that you could eat these parts of the pine tree outside. And I did. It was sticky and very full of pine flavor. And he said that if I was ever out in the woods stuck, this would be a plant I could eat. I remember thinking that was so silly. I had never seen the woods, ever. So, how would I be stuck in them, sometime? But, still I stored the knowledge away, just in case...just in case.
I also remember that he did something my mother did not like. And she was so mad at him, and yelled at him not to do it in front of me, or he'd be sorry. I didn't know what it was, but I knew he would be in big trouble if he did it.
One day, my mother was at the store, and he told me I couldn't go outside and play yet, because he had to do something first. I was mad. I had my new Green Machine. I started for the door, but he grabbed me under the arms and took me to his room and shut and locked the door. He told me, just a minute and we can go outside. I was really mad then, I was big enough to go by myself. I didn't need him watching me and babying me.
He got something from under his bed and lit it. I heard my mother's car drive up. I knew he was doing the bad thing. And I was so mad at him, I was going to tell. See how he liked that. I turned around, unlocked the door and ran outside. Yelling, "He's doing it again!!! Mom, he's doing that bad thing!!! He's doing it!!! Right in front of me, after you told him not to!!!"
My mother went inside and put the groceries down, and started yelling. They proceeded to fight, back and forth. And I smiled and stayed outside. I had my own parking spot for my Green Machine. I wouldn't let any of the other kids play on it. I also had a plain old, Big Wheel. So, if you wanted to play with me, you could ride that one. But, not the Green Machine. I got on and went down the sidewalk. Faster and faster and faster. Sometimes, pulling the break on the side so hard I might spin around, or I might crash, either was good. But, I was forgotten for a bit and could just play by myself. It was awesome. It wouldn't be until years later that I would figure out that what the "bad thing" the man was doing was smoking pot. And, when I did it, sometimes I would hear my mother's voice yelling at that guy, and feel a tiny bit a guilt. But, not enough, I guess.
I also remembered my Bert and Ernie shoes. Man, I loved those shoes. Bert was one foot and Ernie was the other. I LOVED THOSE SHOES!!!! I wore them with everything, and never wanted to wear anything else. EVER.
One day, at the trailer, there was a knock at the door. It was the neighbor's daughters. They hadn't seen their father or heard from him in a bit and wanted to know if my mother had seen him; she hadn't. They left their contact number and were on their way.
There was a smell. It was so bad. My mother and the roommate thought we might have rats. But, the smell got worse and worse. A bunch of the neighbors could smell it. My mother was a nurse. One morning, she walked over to the old man's house. He had a bad drinking problem, I'd heard them say. I walked with her. I remember my mother gasping as she looked in the window. She bent down and took my Bert shoe off, and threw it at the window. When it broke, there was this wave of smell that hit me like a ton of bricks. I got sick, and light headed and threw up on my Ernie shoe and my other sock foot. My mother grabbed me, and ran back to the house and called the police. Turned out that the old man was dead, and had been for days. he was drunk and threw up and drowned on his own vomit. I cried and cried. And everyone thought I was so sad about the old man's death. But, I wasn't. It was the loss of my favorite shoes. I never said anything about it, but I was so mad at my mother, probably for years. They were my favorite shoes.
That's all I remember. So, now it's to paper. Yes, there were people there, not famous, but they lived, and they had stories.
