The trailer got small.
Three kids and their toys
plus the trailer park had lost its rosy glow
when Paula moved away
so we bought a house.
We paid $12,000 for it
and had a mortage of $88 a month
which was a scary amount of money
but it was a cute Cape Cod
white with black shutters
3 bedrooms
1 bathroom with a pink Mickey Mouse shower curtain
included.
Larry pretty much dropped me and the kids off
and went back to work
so it was up to me alone
to paint
hang pictures
arrange furniture
put up shelves for our doodads and pretties
and no sooner did I get the girl's bedroom painted pale lilac
than Annabelle got ahold of a red crayon
and made a mural
of lopsided circles and squiggly lines.
But eventually I got it all done
and it looked like home to me.
One day I was out walking with the kids
when a little girl came barreling out of the house two doors up from us
naked as a jaybird
her bottom shiny in the sun
and about knocked Amy down
trying to get away from her Mom
who was running after her with a switch.
"Catch her!" the Mom yelled
and I caught the little naked girl
and was sorry I did it because her Mama gave her a slap
with the switch
and she grabbed her heinie
and hobbled into the house crying to beat the band.
"She is such a little pistol,"
her Mom explained.
"I can't teach her how to behave like a civilized person
because she's a little savage and always has been."
I couldn't help but laugh
at the woman standing before me
blue shorts and a t-shirt that read "Quit calling me Mom!"
panting
sweating
her bleached blonde hair a frizzy mess
still holding that switch up in the air ready to swat
should anybody happen to walk by.
She held out her hand to me, saying
"I'm Mia, come on in"
and the first thing I noticed
was a briny sour smell
and I wondered if her diaper pail was full.
Also all her drapes were drawn
so it was like a cave inside.
When she took me into the kitchen
I saw that pots and pots of pickles
were setting around
and more pickle juice was simmering on the stove.
That explained the sour odor.
"I sell pickles at church fairs,"
she said, twisting her frizzy hair up into a pony tail
snapping a pink rubber band around it
using a dishtowel to wipe her sweaty face
"because we have 7 girls and I don't want to have to go to work."
Seven girls! Yikes!
The very thought of it made me feel faint.
The little girl came downstairs and sat
leaning her head on her Mom's shoulder
and Mia introduced her as Ditto
short for Carol Jo.
I learned, in that dark kitchen
awash in pickle juice
that Mia's main goal in life was never to set foot
in an office again
nor touch a typewriter
that because she wouldn't work they were poor
that she had once had twin boys
but they were born deformed
and died
that her husband wanted her to keep trying for a boy
that she could eat all the ice-cream she wanted
and never gain an ounce
that she, like me
collected dolls and loved to read
and that she was looking for a friend.
Annabelle started fussing
just about the time the front door opened
and a bunch of little girls came screaming into the kitchen
home from school
wanting cookies
not pickles
so I said goodbye and took my brood home.
I was to spend many happy hours
in Mia's kitchen
helping with pickles
making her open the kitchen curtains for sunlight
and laughing.