Legacy Writing 365:19

We moved to Georgia sometime before I began kindergarten. We couldn’t get into quarters at Ft. Benning immediately, so we lived in a place called Benning Park. I think I remember three things about Benning Park: a dirt yard, a roach infestation, and a mother who wanted OUT.OF.THERE. By the time I started kindergarten, we were living on post. I looked up our old street, and HELLO. I don’t know if it’s still NCO housing, but if so, they have it a lot cushier than we had it. Big ol’ two-unit houses. (On the other hand, Benning Park sounds even worse than when we lived there. With more than seventy-eight percent of children there below the federal poverty line, Benning Park has a higher rate of childhood poverty than 99.5% of U.S. neighborhoods. Thank you, Wikipedia, for not being dark again on Thursday.) I’ll bet some of those same roaches are still stealing food, too. Those bastards NEVER DIE.

We lived on post twice, since my father was stationed there before and after a deployment to Korea. (This was NOT during the Korean War. I may not really be 35, but I’m not that old.) Here’s a photo of Debby and me with Daddy from our second stay there; you can see the quarters across the street, which looked just like ours, because it’s the military.

I’m thinking there are six to eight units per building. I remember: hardwood floors, because I can still hear our dog Dopey’s nails clicking on them. Central air, because I remember yelling into the unit outside to make my voice sound funny. Some other kid taught me to yell into it, “What’s your name? Puddin’ ‘n’ tame. Ask me again, and I’ll tell you the same.” I don’t know what that means. At either end of the building, or maybe at one end, I don’t know, was a cement slab enclosed by a gray (I think) wooden fence. Inside this fence were clotheslines. Women didn’t have dryers then. I remember sitting in there while my mother hung or took down sheets and listening to the wind flap them around. I love the smell and crispness of line-dried sheets.

I think this is Elizabeth, little sister to Stephen. Their mother, Gwen, was British. She had red hair, too. I loved her accent. They lived across the street from us the first time we lived there. The second time we lived there, a woman who lived across the street used to make hamburgers with steamed buns which I never ate because they smelled like dirty socks.

You’re welcome.

Did I mention that my father used to paint scenes on our windows at Christmas? My sister is probably making this face because her brain is fiercely trying to find a way to eliminate me since the previous times didn’t work. (I wasn’t nicknamed “Roach” for nothing.) My brother is in none of these photos because he’d reached the age when 1. We weren’t his family. 2. A camera steals a boy’s cool.

Now we get to my first best friend, Linda Bishop.

I’m starting to wonder if it wasn’t Linda who had a big brother named Stephen. Maybe everyone did. Most of the people in my life have been named Stephen, Tim, Jim, Jeff, and David. It’s weird.

Our dog Dopey had a sister named Beebee. I think Beebee lived next door to Linda but became “her” dog during the day so we’d both have one. When the ice cream truck came, Linda always got a banana Popsicle. I think I preferred grape. We sat on the curb to eat them. Linda would take a lick, then give Beebee a lick. I never gave Dopey a lick of my Popsicle. That’s probably why I’m diabetic today. Linda’s undoubtedly healthy as a horse.

Of course I can’t bring up Linda without repeating my public confession, just in case she ever finds this. We were both in Miss Harris’s kindergarten class. One time when I opened my crayon box and looked at all my broken crayons, I secretly switched my crayons for Linda’s, which were perfect: unbroken and with all the paper intact. Linda cried when she opened her box, and I said nothing. I’M SORRY, LINDA. I WAS WRONG. If you ever find me, I’ll buy you one of those damn 96-count boxes of Crayolas–no generics!–with the built-in sharpener.

Hey, I named a character in Three Fortunes after you. She wasn’t my favorite character, it’s true, but just ask Lynne if she has a character named after her. I think not.

I’M SORRY, LYNNE. I WAS WRONG.

It never ends.