She Guessed

Dear Mom,

There are a couple of secrets that I thought I would take to my grave. I imagined in the afterlife, Tom and I would sit and laugh about them, and, for the first time, you would hear of it. You would be able to laugh as well, but admit, you would not previously have found it funny. Tom and I would knowingly look at each other, smile, and nod in silent agreement.

Do you remember when I broke the garage in half?

I called you at work and explained that the car bumper caught on the garage door rail and had pulled it out so that the door no longer closed. By dislocating the rail, the center wall was broken. I let you know that Grampa would fix it in the morning. (Tom told me to call you at work, so you couldn’t yell and have a chance to calm down before you got home.)

It was great advice. Miraculously you deemed that I should continue to live. (Though this letter may change your mind.)

Do you remember when Tom and his friends set the woods on fire and were obligated to call the fire department?

While they smoked, the dry grass caught on fire from one of the cigarette sparks. They had been able to stomp the fire out, but having had a fun time doing so, they decided, as only teenagers will, to do it again. After the police brought him home, your idea to cure him of the desire to smoke, was to have him smoke an entire pack in one sitting. I appeared to like smoking, though I was seven years old, you had me smoke a cigarette.

Do you remember the clandestine portrait revealed at Tom’s wake?

The picture Dad took when Tom was eight, and Tom hated it so much, that he made up a fake older brother to cover up the truth. Aunt Jean came into the house for the wake and exclaimed how horrific it was that you lost both your sons. You told her you only had one son. Cousin Jeanette said she had seen the portrait of Wayne hanging in the living room, the son that passed away when you and Dad were in Carolina. You were mad at Tom, but everyone laughed and chuckled.

Do you remember when I was 25 years old, on December 1st I left to go 3,000 miles to California and on October 5th I called and told you, you were a grandmother and you told me never to come home and hung up the phone? But then you called back and told me to come home when I could.

First I want to tell you, that I was a princess. It was a game we played from the time I was six years old. I dressed up in your powder-blue satin negligee and matching sheer robe; with the white lace at the shoulders. I wore your costume necklace with a sapphire-colored teardrop stone in the center, surrounded by alternating crystals and sapphire chips as my crown. Tom would help me climb on top of the upright piano in the living room, and I would wait for him to put on some music.

He would come back, bow, and ask me, “May I have this dance?”

I would smile, nod, and extend my little royal hand to him. Then he would help me step down onto the keyboard cover, to the piano chair, next to the step stool, and finally to the floor. After my majestic grand entrance to the ball, I would stand on his shoes and we would waltz around the living room until we fell, laughing, onto the couch. We would repeat the process over and over until you drove into the driveway and I would run and put everything away before you came into the house. Tom would ask you about your day until I appeared from the hallway. (It’s hard to say how long this merrymaking would have continued if Earl hadn’t kicked Tom out of the house at 16.)

Second, I want to tell you. When I got my first job and started driving to work, Janice and I were racing down the highway, and at the last moment, I wondered, “is it faster to stay on the highway or go through town.” I took the off-ramp, going 80 miles an hour. The car started to spin, but I corrected it, then it spun in the opposite direction. As the car spun, the back seat flew out of place and I was thrown to the passenger side of the car.

The car landed in the only flat space off the road. On either side were the huge boulders and street signs. I got out, my nerves jumping, I could barely move. I fixed the back seat and walked to the driver's side. I managed to drove off the ramp and started down Clinton Street. The car stalled and wouldn’t start. I coasted to the first house on the street and asked to use their phone, I called Aunt Dotty to take me to work and you picked up the car on your way home.

You had just gotten the car aligned, now it pulled to the right and you were mad at the garage and wanted to take it back and have them fix the problem. Remember I insisted that I could take the car so you wouldn’t have to take time off from work. (I paid for a realignment with my own money.)

After being in the garage for 2 hours the mechanic emerged with a wry smile on his face and said, “ I’ve been picking pricker brush out of the hubs and wheels, did you and your boyfriend go parking?”

I meekly responded, “Yes.”

He smiled and said I was all set. (I figured he would never tell you I went parking, but he would tell you anything else.)

A couple of days later Grampa was at the house, you were telling him that the car seems shifted somehow, and you knew it was from me driving it. Grampa assured you that I would never do anything, as he looked at me, I merely agreed with him.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.

Love,

Lois