20

1983

Driven by the father

My father drove many things. And yet he was very driven in his convictions and morals.

 Some time before my birth he drove the ambulance for the town morgue. He loved to tell me stories about the bodies that he had to pick up. I listened to him with both awe and repulsion as he told his tales. One such tale that I can never seem to forget is the one about the murder victim that was left in a feild in Hickory Flat. You see, Sometimes me and my father had the opportunity to go to basketball games alone if George's mother needed him to stay home to help her. I was always on the happy side when that happened, at least I was not dreading the trip. Daddy would drive through various towns on the way to the game and he would talk about the bodies that he picked up in that area.

On our way through Hickory Flat he began to talk about the body in the field. The story began with him and a co worker traveling out an old dirt road to a field where a male body was found by some locals. The body was badly decomposed and smelling up the surrounding area. He told me how hard it was to drive back to the morgue with the body in the back. Regardless of the bag that the body was put in, the smell radiated throughout the ambulance cab. He said it was the hardest trip he had ever taken. Once they arrived at the morgue they were relieved to hand off the stinking package, then came the worst part. He turned the body over to the examiners and started to walk through the morgue to take care of some paperwork. As he walked through the hallways he caught a glimpse of a strange scene in one of the rooms. A mortician was elbow deep into a chest cavity of a cadaver, he had both feet planted on  the table on either side of the body to steady himself and he was rambling pretty loudly. My father said he was so interested that he entered the room. Small towns back then allowed quite a  bit of leniency and so the two men started to talk about the case before them. The cadaver was a gunshot victim who had the bullet lodged somewhere between his chest and head. The throat had been opend and also the chest cavity. The mortician dug deeply into the cadaver and pulled out bits of tissue searching for the bullet. My father relayed to me how queasy he became as he watched the sight before him. Father relayed the story so completely with detail that I was astonished. I, with ashen face, grew quite sick while riding in my father's truck. I begged daddy to stop talking about it and he laughed uproariously. He seemed to gain such pleasure in telling me horrible tales. Funny thing is, I asked him to retell the tale twice but in the weeks to come and  to tell others the story. I loved to watch other people grimace at my father's tales. I would giggle at their displeasure.


My father also drove the school bus as I have said before and he had many unruly students who gave him hell. There were some who doted on my father and loved to flirt with him as well. One of the silly girls in high school loved to remove my father's cap and rub his head. He would smile so big and get a certain rise from the attention.

Other students would cuss him and be as difficult as they could be. Sometimes father would get so upset with them that he would refuse to pick them up for school. The students were wild backwoods brats to my father even tales were told of their notorious behaviour in the community. My father saw some of them as troublemakers and saw his punishment as fitting. Sometimes I grew scared when the students would threaten my father. One day my father refused to pick up one certain student that he saw as the worst of the bunch and the most disrespectful. My father had to pick up his sister and so he tried to get on the bus anyway. My father refused a ride to the boy and so he stomped back into his house apparently alerting his father of the whole situation. As my father was backing out of the boys driveway, the father of the boy came out with a rifle and was screaming threats at my father. We all drove away very fast in case the boy's father really decided to shoot at us. My father did not care if he made enemies...he was very hot tempered and unyeilding to anyone but his own authority.

Father's dreams for me

My father saw me singing in church one time and he decided that I was destined to sing in church on stage. For months, that is what I did. I was forced to sing gospel songs in church in front of everyone. I was also forced to dress in frilly dresses and tight shoes. MY hair was curled by my aunt and little bows placed tightly against my head. When I started to bang on my aunt's piano, my father was convinced that I was destined to play church piano or keyboard. At that point, my father started to think of piano lessons. He asked many people in the church if they could teach me but no one seemed to have time. I was relieved.

 Everytime my father saw me doing something that involved womanly attributes or duties, he was convinced that I was destined for that interest. If I stayed up all night with the neighbor kid to cook cookies, then I was destined to be a good and dutiful housewife. My father told me that no man would have me unless I could cook, clean and take care of him like a wife is supposed to do. I must also obey my future husband. When my father caught me outside playing he would make me do gardening or make me go inside to wash dishes.

He started going hunting alone or with my brother. He figured that a girl should not be doing those things. IN fact he told me so as he pushed me back in the door one day. While he was gone hunting with my brother, I was to help my mother clean the house. I felt trapped and contained with my quiet mother. She never really said much to me and would sing old spirituals during her cleaning. If she wasn't singing she was sneaking around watching soaps while my father was gone;because father did not allow any sexual content to be watched on television. He even thought kissing was wrong. So, for my mother to watch soaps was a very secret thing indeed. Most of the time my mother would say short sentences to me or hug me, otherwise, I would end up at the foot of my grandmother's chair looking up at her. She would smile at me and beckon me to talk to her. She would explain to me that I was special and that I should obey my parents. She said that they knew what was best for me and that I should just be still and do the things they ask. Then she would turn her head back to the televison and watch soaps with my mother. I ended up in the back room reading a book. My father's dreams for me seemed empty containing no identity.

My father's mistake.

Because of the incident with denying the boy a ride to school on the bus; my father had an altercation with the principle. My father, being very hot tempered woudl not relent and the principle ended up firing my father from his bus driving job. You see, the school was predominantly African American and my father was so angry and distraught that he blamed the principle for being racist. My father, after much thought decided to transfer me to another school. My father, unbeknownst to me, became racist in his intentions and fought a racist force as well. The whole situation turned into an ugly black/white war as all my father's friends started to pull their children from the school. I was horrified and sick because by the end of my third year of school, I had managed to make a handful of somewhat friends. I had hoped to fit in soon and try to filter in with the norm. My life changed and I had only a few months to finish my time forever at Ashland School. I wondered right then and there what the other school was going to be like. How would the new students percieve me?

One of the last days of my school year at Ashland was spent in deep thought about my future. I played alone again as I did most of the time when I was in no mood to carve my way into a group of so called friends.

I sat that day on the bottom of the seasaw and contemplated what had passed. LOoking around the playground, I whispered a goodbye. I was sad but yet strangely numb.

 With no warning to myself, I stood and began to dance. I spun around and around and giggled joyfully. I had no joy or peace or happiness to speak of in that time but something wanted out, wanted free and so, I let it move. I smiled insanely as I turned round about on my heel and then jumped over to the middle of the seasaw then walking down the other side. I swung around the poles of the swing set and then hopped into a swing. I pushed myself off and felt the breeze welcoming me.

I felt so alive in that moment, so catlike and agile. I saw the other children watching me and making faces but I did not care. I started to sing a song without words, a song of high and low soft moaning. I felt like an animal and I could smell odd scents upon the air, nice scents, bad scents and other things. I long enough to take in all my surroundings then ran into the school building. I danced and skipped down the hallway running my fingers against the wall. I loved the sensation of touch...just to touch something sent me into joyous ascension. I felt myself as a predator searching scanning my surroundings and feeling as if I was invincible. I growled underneathe my breath and sniffed the air again.   I went into the bathroom and looked all around. I saw the big globs of toilet paper stuck to the ceiling where various kids had thrown little paper bombs just to be 'bad'.  And then I looked into the mirror. I jumped back in fear and astonishment because...

...at first I did not recognize myself.