my dark and beautiful childhood


I just woke up from a sad scary dream.

I was sitting on the front porch of my little house with dennis. It was a cottage and very old and we were on the street that ran uphill from my house on Montery street where we lived when I was 12 and 13.

Sky and Zoe were visiting, but at the moment Dennis and I were sitting alone. Dennis was shirtless and very tan. He looked years younger.

We were discussing how we were going to pay the electricity bill. It was a lot, 500 dollars and we didn't have a penny. I suggested we have a garage sale, but he hated that idea.

Then a middle age woman walked up across the lawn. I was sort of thinking of sending her on her way, but she had a nice tray of drinks. Little silver cups with a golden liquid and a silver stirring stick in each one. She offered us each one and we accepted and sipped the deliciously sweet thick liquid. It was wonderful and she laughed to see how much we liked it. She showed us how to take a drink and use the stir stick to sprinkle 4 or 5 more drinks on the flowers for the honey bees.

I said, "oh this must be honey mead."

But she smiled and said, "No, this is curdled mare's milk."

Well, it was still delicious.

She said, "take one drink for you, and give 3 to the bees." And I took her around to the back of the house so we could feed the flowers there too.

In the back we had a garage sale going on. The center of the yard held a mound and on it were clumped a pile of things for sale. There was a golden brown casket there, small enough for a child or an ancient irish warrior dead for 2000 years.

There was a toy chest and in the chest were marvelous toys. I spied a pirate ship and it was what I wanted. I wanted to give it to Zoe. It had many little figures inside to play pirates with and I knew she would love it. We were taking out each piece and looking at them when the phone rang.

The phone rang and it was very bad news. Chris was dead. I was devastated. And I had a hard time thinking what to tell Zoe and Sky. They were asleep and I didn't want to wake them with such bad news.

When they got up and came to the table I told each of them as quickly and plainly as a could. One of them said "I don't care. Don't think I am going to cry over her death." Then cried. The other went to find the bible and sat down.

Then we were all getting ready for the funeral. It was going to be at a catholic church and the girls were much more knowledgeable than I about what was needed. Of course they needed money for the donation or to buy candles or novenas so I started to try to find my purse, but they protested, they didn't want my money. It had to be their own. I found some crumpled bills anyway.

We dressed in dark clothes and shabby shorts and sandels and went to the church. There we stood with others and I told them, "she had a dark, but beautiful childhood." I woke up and felt very sad and distressed. I thought I really I only knew her as a child. I went to sleep with her and woke up with her every day and night for 18 years. I knew her very very well, but only for a short time. She has been alive for 50 years. She lived away from me for 30 of those years. I don't know her at all. But it's like I own her. She was my dark and beautiful childhood.

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