letters
J. Speer
My mother saved all my letters and when she was at home dying of cancer, I typeset them on a manual machine, no electric connection needed. We listened to records I checked out of the public library: Pete Fountain, 'Fountain in the Rain' and Duke Ellington, 'The Cotton Club Stomp'. I dedicated a self published chap to her and picked up the books from the copy service the same day we lowered her into the ground. She is buried in Nashville in the military cemetery.
RAP 48
A person can take a vow to stimulate growth or initiate change. A vow is a promise between God and vow taker, to give up something or do something that will improve their life. A vow I've most recently harnessed myself with: to say yes to anyone who sincerely asks for help. This vow landed me a gig in Angleton, TX, where the husband of my friend Mary, keeled over from a coronary thrombosis. He was hospitalized long enough for surgeons to perform an unsuccessful 4 way by-pass. Mary was freaked out, left with a $35,000 bill and two small children. She said: 'help me if you can, I'm feeling down, help me get my feet back on the ground'. I agreed to stay the winter in exchange for R&B and whatever she gave me for coffee money.
My main function was education of the young. The youngest child, Roy, at two and 1/2 still made excrement on the floor. I stuck his nose in it, spanked his bottom and set him on the commode. Within a few days, he learned a more hygienic routine.
Roy didn't understand all the rapidly occurring events. He enjoyed turning the pages of the photo album. 'See Daddy', he said smiling.
I took he and his sister, Laura Beth, to the yellow double arch, where numbers bigger than the national debt indicate how many hamburgers have crossed the counter. I bought a cup of coffee and let the kids run wild with many other young people in the enclosed playground. I went for a Mac coffee refill, waited in line, returned to a seat near a window. Laura went round on the merry-go, but little Roy was not to be seen. I asked her where her brother was. She shrugged. I looked everywhere during the longest five minutes of my life. Finally asked the manager to call Mary: Come quick. Roy was missing. She arrived lickety split. As the manager, Mary and I discussed the problem, a lady approached us. 'Did you lose a little boy?' she asked. It turned out that Roy had joined a private birthday party and was calmly munching french fries. He didn't even realize he was lost.
Laura Beth was older and felt the trauma of papa's death and mama's anguish. When I arrived she frequently had nightmares, convulsive sobbing followed by her climbing out of bed to reach mother. During the nightmare, she wouldn't respond to any questions, and next morning, when asked why she cried, she remembered nothing.
I woke up when she cried, and tried to intercept her before she disturbed Mary. During one of her incubus attacks, I noticed the time: 3:15 a.m. A couple nights later her fit occurred at 3:10 a.m. The time element was so curious, I began marking on a calendar the schedule of her nightmares. They always fell between 3 and 3:15 a.m. I asked Mary about it. 'Oh,' she said, her eyes wide and distant. She explained that was the time Laura's father died. He had been in the hospital one week when the phone rang late one night. A doctor told Mary if she wanted to see her husband alive, she better hurry. She roused the children, dropped them off at grandma's house, and crying all the while, drove to his deathbed, too late to say good-bye.
Frequently thereafter, Mary bewailed her loss. The children knew she cried for Daddy. Laura Beth's subconscious recorded the events and in response created nightmares.
Dealing with her nocturnal outbursts was a problem. Grandma suggested we sprinkle holy water on her bed. Mary let Laura Beth sleep with her. Nothing worked. But in time of need, a magic door often opens.
Randomly we checked several juvenile books out of the library. One was a story about a little girl that cried at night because an alligator under her bed made noise.
Her father entered the room.
'Why are you crying?' he asked. She told him. 'Don't be silly', he said 'just go to sleep.'
When she cried again, her mother came to investigate. The little girl had the same explanation.
'Try to think of something else', mama advised. 'You are disturbing Daddy and he has to get up early.'
The third time she cried, her uncle paid her a visit.
'So there is an alligator under your bed. What's its name?'
'Alfred.'
'Alfred. I think I know what the problem is. Alfred is sad. He makes noise because he want to go home. Now, if we tell him . . .'
'Alfred doesn't speak English.' said the girl.
'It doesn't matter. But we have to get him out from under the bed.'
'He is stuck', she replied.
'Then I'll grab his leg and pull him out.' The uncle lead Alfred outside and closed the front door. 'The alligator is gone. No more alligators.'
'The nightmares are gone', I added. 'No more nightmares. No more . . .'
Laura Beth's nightmares lessened in intensity, and after a week, were gone completely.
Mother Mary was as much fun as a bump on the head. Every weekend she had a list: mow the lawn, wash the car, spray weed killer around the trailer, poison ants, dust, vacuum the carpet, arrange grocery coupons, ... we lived fifteen miles from the gulf coast and never went to the beach because she didn't want the brine to rust her car. The high point of her day is to take a shower and eat dinner in front of the TV.
When winter ended I was ready to spring away from her. But according to my vow, I had to stay as long as Mary continued to ask for help. Fortunately, another call for aid reached me. Alice at the Circle A Ranch wanted me to come back and work for her. With two petitions, I had to choose. It took me less than a millisecond to make a decision. I was faithful to my vow, yet able to escape fastidious Mary.
Before reporting for ranch duty, I needed a brief vacation in Mexico. While in the Autobuses del Norte terminal in Mexico City, my vow was tested again. A well dressed young man approached me. He had been in the station all day, he said, unable to leave. I didn't understand and he didn't explain. We talked for a long time about archeological sites in Middle America, the ancient people of Mexico: Totonac, Huastec, Mextec, Toltec, Aztec, Zapotec, Olmec, Maya; and the history of Mexico: Cortès landed in 1519, and was mistaken for the bearded Quetzalcòatl who was predicted to return that same year.
The conversation played out and I prepared to leave. He then explained his trouble. He came to Mexico City from Villahermosa, and was robbed. He didn't have money to buy a ticket. He said he had to ask me something and hoped I would not get upset. I knew what he needed before he finished his question. I also knew what my answer had to be.
He asked for enough money to get home. I gave him money for his bus ticket plus a little extra to buy food.
A vow is a test of character, a solemn agreement with God. Whatever the vow taken, if it is true, the vow falls away and you do what has to be done, because that is the right thing to do.
