A Box Of Crayons

Reflections and Standing

2012-01-15T19:29:00.000-08:00

I remember how much effort I put into learning to stand up because I remember a hot summer day in California. I was sitting on the floor and examining a chrome teapot. I was fascinated with the reflection and how the image warped when I turned the pot. It was like the grate I saw in the bottom of a pool once.

I wondered why I could not see the room and my face on the inside of the pot. I could see it all over the outside, but when I saw inside the spout, all I could see was the darkness inside the teapot. Well, I could not see in the dark when mom turned off the light, so maybe the room was in there, but I could not see it because the light could not get inside. I could not figure out why the light could not get in there or why I could not see the room in there or why everything keep bending on the outside of the teapot. So, I threw it because it was hot and my head was starting to hurt and I did not like the metallic smell of the teapot anymore.

"Stop making so much noise! Go play outside. Go bug your father! Just get out from under my feet for awhile!" I do not know if my mom said that, but that is what she almost always said when she had that tone in her voice. I remember the tone in her voice, so I assume that is what she said.

She wanted me to leave the kitchen and I was tired of breathing the hot air. I put my hands on the floor on my left side and tried to push myself up onto my feet. My butt stayed flat on the floor. I put my hands on the floor on my right side and my butt still did not move. I leaned forward and put my hot forehead against the cool floor and felt my butt lift off of the floor.

I was excited that I had achieved the first part of standing, but I did not want to lift my face off of the cool floor. I was frustrated that I could not keep my face on the floor and stand up at the same time. I waved my butt in the air to see if I could somehow get my legs to slide into a position where my feet were flat on the floor. My butt was still too close to the floor for my legs to move at all. I sighed and felt hot air blow onto my face even though there was not a breeze. Suddenly, the floor was as hot as my face. So, I rolled around on the floor until I could get my feet under my butt and push up off of the floor.

I got halfway to standing and fell back onto my butt three times before I finally managed to stand up. I know it was three because I fell back, then onto my left hip, then onto my right. Falling onto my thick diaper felt like falling over while on a bed, but the ground did not shift under my feet the way the bed did.

When I finally achieved standing, I waddled to the doorway. I saw my dad standing outside and looking through a box that made a loud swish and click noise when he pushed on it with his finger. He let go of it and it thumped against his chest and hovered there like magic. I did not understand the concept of the neck strap yet.

Birthday Puppy

2012-01-01T17:07:00.001-08:00

My parents tried having dogs in several of the places we lived, but they were never really my dogs. I did not get to name them or take care of them. Sometimes, they slept in my bed, but they were never playful of cuddly dogs, except for Sammy, but that is a sadder story for another day.

When I was twelve years old, my parents owned a cafe in a very tiny town in Montana. My dad bought the meat he used from a guy who had a small ranch an hour or two drive away from town. When the rancher's dog had puppies, I was taken to the ranch to see a cow killed and butchered and to choose a puppy.

The puppies were so new that their eyes were not even open yet. I chose the runt, a tiny, gold ball of fluff, who was always on the bottom of the pile and last to nurse.

When the puppies were a couple of weeks old, I was allowed to spend a weekend at the ranch so that my puppy would have a chance to get to used to my scent and would not feel so lost when I got to take him home.

It was a magical weekend for me. I slept in a comfortable bed with an electric blanket and did not have any nightmares. I read books of poetry by Shel Silverstein and wrote poetry about cows, chickens, and puppies. All of my meals were cooked by an adult and got to be eaten while sitting at a table with other people. Best of all, I got to snuggle my puppy for an hour or two a couple of times each day.

I was told that my puppy would not be weaned until a couple of weeks after my 13th birthday. When I got home from school on my 13th birthday, I was told there was a surprise for me under the cedar chest in the living room. I reached under the chest and said, "I don't feel anything down there. How big is it?"

"It's pretty small and all the way at the back. Get down on the floor and look."

"Ugh. I'm tired and I need to put my stuff away. Can I look later?"

"Just put your stuff down. You really want to look right now."

I sighed in exasperation and said, "Fine, whatever. I know it isn't my puppy, so I don't really care," while I lowered myself to the floor. The word care was immediately followed by a squeak of surprise when I saw a familiar ball of golden fluff shivering against the wall.

"SSSSHHH! Don't frighten him! He's had a rough day."

I lowered my voice to the tone I had used during our weekend of snuggling, "It's OK. You remember me. Come say hi. It's OK." While I was speaking, I slowly slipped my hand under the cedar chest and waited for my puppy to move towards my hand. When he nuzzled my fingertips, I slowly moved my hand away from him and watched to make sure he was still moving towards it. He followed my hand all the way out from under the chest.

I picked him up and held him until he stopped shaking and whimpering and begin to sniff the air. Then, I set him on the floor and let him explore. He wandered an inch and came right back. He wandered a few inches and ran back. When he finally stopped running back, I introduced him to the rest of my family and let my dad hold him while I prepared a cardboard box with a fluffy towel and a clock, the way the dog training book had suggested.

My puppy and I were inseparable for the rest of the evening. I must have eaten something and had cake, but I only remember playing with my puppy. It is a good thing I did not get any other presents that year because I would not have remembered them anyway.

When it was time for bed, I dutifully put my puppy in the box I had prepared for him. I had slept with that stupid towel for a week, but he just whimpered and cried. When he let out a tiny howl, my heart broke. I picked him up and put him on my bed.

Instead of curling up to sleep, he paced a bit, squatted, and began to poop. Before it had time to land on the bed, I scooped up my puppy and got him outside. I had cleared a space in the snow for him and kept him trapped there until he used it.

I carried him inside and held him until he was toasty warm again. I put him back in his box and listened to him cry for about five minutes. When I picked him up, he started to suck on my fingers. So, I got out of bed again and got some warm milk for him. Again, I put him back in the box. Again, he did not stop crying until I picked him up. Finally, he curled up next to my pillow and slept.

I do not remember how many more times my puppy woke me up that night, but I was exhausted when I got to school the next day. I was exhausted and completely elated. I finally had my own dog.

Ghost Story

2012-01-01T17:06:00.001-08:00

Some of my earliest memories are of Japan. Both of my parents were in the Navy, so we lived in military housing near a bombed out factory. I have stories about that factory, Mount Fuji, and my first festival celebration, but those will keep for now.

When I was nine years old, my family was living in a trailer house in Havre, Montana. I had nightmares every night, so I always slept with my bedroom door open and the bathroom light on because the shadows cast by nightlights terrified me.

I had a particularly vivid and violent nightmare one night and woke up in pitch blackness. I was torn between my fear of falling back asleep and my fear of walking through the house in the dark. Eventually, I decided that running through the house would be less scary because I could at least get that bathroom light turned on and things would be somewhat OK again.

I took a deep breath, jumped out of my bed, and ran for the bathroom as hard as I could. Not even the jacks, Legos, and marbles scattered on my floor could slow me down, even though they taught me a painful lesson about my need to pick up my toys.

Once the bathroom light was on, I was so full of fright and adrenaline that I decided it would be less frightening to sleep in my parents' completely dark room than it would be to try to sleep in my own bed again. I also knew that I would be wasting power if I left the bathroom light on when I was not sleeping in my room. I made sure there were no obstacles between the bathroom and my parents' bedroom door, prepared myself to run as fast as I could, and turned off the light.

When I got to the door, I pressed my whole body against it like it was a magic shield that could protect me from ghosts and goblins. I tapped on the door and listened for an answer. I could not hear anything through the door, so I assumed that my parents were sleeping so deeply that I could crawl into their bed without disturbing them and leave before they woke in the morning.

I began to open the door and paused when I glimpsed two naked figures in the half-light from the streetlamp outside. It was the only time I ever saw my parents having sex. I was nowhere near as sickened by the sight as I was by the smell of Vaseline, adult sweat, and I do not even want to know what else. I closed the door as quickly and quietly as I could.

I too terrified and disturbed to make another run through the house in the dark. My fear of running through the house in the dark was greater than my fear that the lamp shade would eat my hand, so I turned on the lamp next to the couch and stared at the lamp while I tried to fall asleep.

It was a beautiful brass lamp that we had brought back from Japan when we returned to the States. I used to love to stick my fingers in the holes between the cherry blossoms and branches that made up the body because I loved how smooth the edges felt as my finger slipped in and how rough the edges felt when I pulled my finger out. I loved how something so smooth on the outside could be so rough inside.

As I examined the blossoms, branches, and the dragons posed on each side of the lamp, I fell asleep. I was covered by a single thin blanket, so I woke up shivering and desperately needing to pee. I opened my eyes and saw a Japanese woman floating above me and watching me.

I knew it was not a dream because the light was as bright as it had been before I fell asleep, the colors as vivid as waking, the pain in my bladder was immediate, and my breath caught in my throat painfully. I was certain that I would die in that instant if I looked into her eyes. So, I shut my eyes tight and resisted the urge to toss my blanket over my head. I held as still as I could and tried to breathe like I was asleep despite my heart pounding my rib cage like a drum.

I was not afraid of her. If she saw me looking at her and I died, then it would only be because I had seen something I should not have seen; a Japanese woman with black hair and a white and red kimono. I felt like she was protecting me from something far worse looming near my head, just beyond the arm of the couch.

I fell asleep within the space of a few breaths and slept a dreamless sleep until my mother woke me with an angry demand to know what I was doing sleeping on her couch and raising her power bill by leaving the lamp on all night. I darted to the bathroom without answering her because I felt like I was going to burst.

Earliest Memory

2012-01-01T17:05:00.001-08:00

My earliest memory is when I drowned. I was beginning to walk, but not yet talking. I did not have a brother yet, so I was not quite a year and a half old.

I remember splashing in warm water. I kept putting my face in the water because it felt familiar to me, though I was not sure why. I loved the way it soothed me.

When I put my face in the water and opened my eyes, I saw something that looked square, but the lines kept waving. I could not tell if it was solid or moving. When the water was almost still, it looked solid. Then, someone would splash and it looked like it was waving.

I wanted to touch it and find out if it felt solid or soft. So, I began to walk toward it. My first couple of attempts did not work because my mother kept pulling me out of the water just as I was feeling like I needed to take a breath.

Finally, she walked away to talk to someone and I had a chance to try to touch that mysterious object on the bottom of the pool. I was getting close to it when my lungs started to ache. I closed my eyes and had a clear memory of how it felt to breathe something warm and wet, so I opened my mouth and took a breath.

I start to panic if I cannot find a towel when my face is damp.
In my dreams, I can breathe under water.