Second World
R.M.Wagoner
R.M.Wagoner
Copyright 2008 by R.M.Wagoner
Smashwords Edition
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For Jeff and Kc, so they will always know their fruit.
Special Thanks
Rosanne Catalano
Kim Dingwall
Vern Lashway
Contents
7 The Beginning of the Beginning
1
In the cold, still church, I lifted my head slightly to peer around. Everyone else sat with heads bowed and eyes shut. The simple quietness about the room even brought on a sense of a peace. Looking toward the open window, I noticed two white butterflies chasing each other in and out. As I watched, I wished I could join them.
Pastor Chuck’s voice, booming out in prayer, interrupted my daydreaming and flung me back to reality. “Forgive us, O Lord, for we are sinners! We are not worthy to come to you. Have grace upon our sin!” The prayer seemed endless.
Pastor Chuck had been the pastor of our church for as long as I could remember. Staring up at him as he prayed, I noticed how angry his face looked and how, with each word, his face cringed into a different expression. Everyone’s eyes were shut, but he still gave an outstanding performance.
Of more or less average physical appearance, he was a short, dark haired man with a very round middle. If you looked at him sideways you might even think he was pregnant. I overheard Mama calling his belly “heart attack fat” on the phone once, but she changed the subject as soon as she saw me. It seemed like he should be jolly, but he laughed with his shoulders, when he laughed at all. Maybe he didn’t laugh much because he and his wife Millie lived across from the cemetery, in the large farmhouse next to the church. They didn’t have any children, but they had a golden lab named Horus.
Glancing away from Pastor Chuck, I looked over toward Millie. Her dark brown curls glowed red in the sunlight. To my surprise, she had her eyes open too. Her frail figure slumped in the front pew, her face turned toward the window. I wondered if she was watching the butterflies too. Just then, Dad nudged my arm. He had noticed my eyes weren’t shut, and shot me a look that carried more meaning than I think any words could. I closed my eyes and tried to look as sincere as possible, but all I could think was that he must have opened his eyes to see mine.
As if an alarm clock had gone off, everyone bellowed a confident “Amen,” and the service ended. All the men gathered together to discuss the sermon and the ladies gathered to chitchat. Judy and I slipped out the front door with the other kids and headed toward the old playground behind the church. As usual, Uncle Joe’s boys, Mickey and Ben, dominated the only two swings. I love to swing, but today I didn’t feel like arguing with them. It was a beautiful day and I planned on enjoying it. Summer was my favorite time of year and fall would come soon enough.
Of all our family, we saw the most of Mama’s brother, Uncle Joe, and his boys, Mickey and Ben. Mama also has two sisters, Mary Marie and Judith, but Aunt Mary lives in Ohio and Aunt Judith—my sister, Judy, is named after her—died at birth. Mama never talks about her and Dad says it’s best that way.
Judy met up with some of her friends and I decided to go down the hill behind the church to Mercy Pond. New branches and spiderwebs always crossed the narrow path to the pond. I pushed them out of the way. Behind me, I could hear Judy yelling at me not to go too far, but my desire to reach the pond drowned out her voice. I burst out of the trees and into the cattails that surrounded the kidney-shaped Mercy Pond, my favorite place near the church. I climbed onto a log near the water, imagining that I was a warrior on a great journey. Here I could be anyone.
The sun moved behind the clouds; I looked up just as a small sparrow swooped down for a drink. He was so beautiful—or should I say “she” was? I really didn’t know.
Uncle Joe once said, “You can tell boy birds from girl birds because the boy birds are always prettier.” He said that’s just how God made it.
But Mama added, “That’s so the predator eats the boy first and leaves the girl to look after the babies.” I like her version.
Just then, something loud and clumsy crashed through the underbrush, headed in my direction. I took a deep breath. No longer pretending to be a warrior on a journey, I was the warrior. I crouched behind a large rock that leaned up against my log and turned my ear towards the sound. Closer and closer it came. Could it be a bear, or a lion, or maybe my great nemesis, Judith? I felt like David waiting to see Goliath until, at last, Horus came staggering out of the woods. Relief welled up inside me—my fighting moves could wait for another day.
As he came out of the trees, the sun glistened on his shiny coat, but Horus looked truly exhausted. He went straight for the pond to drink. When he finished, he headed over in my direction, covering me with the leftover droplets of water clinging to the light-colored hair around his mouth.
It had been almost a year since Chuck and Millie adopted Horus, but I remembered the first time I saw him. That Sunday Pastor Chuck sat in the pew next to Millie as we all listened to a young couple speak about missionary work in Libya. The couple had recently returned to the states to recover from an illness, so they were traveling around to all the supporting churches, reporting on their latest works. After the service that day, I crossed the road, and headed for the great oak in the cemetery. I was just about to make my way skyward when Horus came out from behind the tree and introduced himself gracefully. He explained that he was the newest addition to the parsonage. I had a lot of fun with Horus that afternoon and soon we became close friends, hanging out with each other whenever possible.
“Horus, do you have to do that?”
Horus stopped licking my hand and looked up at me with his yellow eyes. “I’m just saying hello, Clare. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
I guess dogs will be dogs, I thought to myself, then started scratching him behind the ears. “Oh Horus, of course I’m glad to see you. Where have you been? I called and called last Sunday and you never showed.”
Horus looked toward his house, then started itching a part of his ear that I must have missed. “I’ve just been busy, Clare, helping out at the house. You know how things are with Millie,” he said in a low, sad tone.
Millie’s health had been progressively getting worse. Pastor Chuck tried to take care of her and run the church at the same time. The strain on both of them showed in the rings around Millie’s brown eyes and Pastor Chuck’s lack of time to meet with people, especially Dad. Pastor Chuck had grown extremely cranky over these past months, which everyone pretended not to notice. No one wondered why his attitude had changed; it had been awhile since we had heard a good doctor’s report. Many families in the church had offered to help out with the housework and even make meals, but Pastor Chuck refused to show an inch of dismay in public. However, privately he had asked Mama if Judy could come over and help during the week.
From the top of the hill Judy called my name.
“I guess we should to get back,” I suggested to Horus.
I hopped off my log and headed towards the path. Horus got there before me and I followed him. He often took the lead in our walks and games. Walking back up to the church took no time at all, but Judy waited at the top of the hill with her hands on her hips, her blonde hair falling past her narrow shoulders. I could see the stress in her face. At that moment, I realized she wasn’t a child anymore. Her figure had started coming in and she looked more like Mama every day.
As soon as I came close enough, Judy grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of the parking lot. “Clare, Dad and Mom are already in the car. Why do you have to run off all the time?”
Instead of answering her, I waved goodbye to Horus, already heading home for lunch. The worry in her voice wasn’t for me anyway. It was for Mama. Dad didn’t usually yell on Sundays, but Judy and I walked on eggshells just the same. We never knew what would ignite him next.
We rounded the church and, as we passed the playground, I could see the empty swings, but it didn’t matter now. When we reached the church’s dirt parking lot there were only a few cars left, including our 1978 wood-paneled station wagon. Walking to the car, I wondered what kind of environment awaited us. Sometimes I could feel trouble coming, but sometimes I couldn’t.
The car ride home was a quiet one, thank God, because the ten minutes felt more like fifty. Mama spent the entire time looking out the window. She didn’t glance at Dad once, even though he went through two lights more red than yellow. Beautiful, strong and hardworking, but delicate as lace, Mama always seemed to know where she stood in the world. But over the past year she had turned inside out. She had tucked all emotion inside, leaving only the external bodily function. Judy and I never knew what she was thinking anymore. I wanted to ask her if Millie was going to die, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to end up being the match.
Finally, we turned down Kainotes Drive, a dead-end road with only a few houses embedded on either side. As we pulled up to the house I couldn’t help noticing what a mess it was. The two-story house itself needed serious repair; everything from old cans to empty buckets littered the yard. It had only been six months since Grandpa died, leaving us the house, and Dad had already covered the yard with all his half–started, half-finished projects. Before moving here, we had lived in a small apartment across town. Depa’s house was much larger than our old apartment, great for games like hide-and-seek and tag. But Depa had been a real pack rat and most of the house still wasn’t organized. He loved to save anything and everything that he thought he could possibly use later.
Depa, Talbot Haney, my grandpa, was a great man. Gram loved to tell Judy and me his story. His mother raised him, and four younger brothers and a younger sister, in a small town in Wisconsin. By the time he was seven, three of his brothers and his sister had died of influenza in the epidemic that year. Drafted into World War II in 1940, Depa had remained in the military until he retired, getting married to Gram and having kids somewhere in the middle. I guess he never got used to staying in one place, because, even after he retired, he spent most of his time traveling and writing about his travels. He had sailed around the world as least twice according to Gram, who used to call him her “Sinti.”
Depa was also a grand storyteller. Judy and I would sit by and listen for hours to his tales, some true and some he pulled from the sky. Mama would listen, too, even though she never let on that she did. The sparks and glimmers that shone in our eyes as Depa spoke would surface in her eyes for a moment, only to sink down once again when he finished.
My hero, my best friend and my dreamer when my dreams were only nightmares, Depa’s spirit began to die when Gram died two years ago. I think his heart couldn’t take any more sorrow. He had seen so much death in his life: his siblings, his fellow soldiers, baby Judith, and now Gram. He never recovered after the day she died.
Even though we still got to hear a story now and then, his stories did not carry the spark that they had once. Even his health grew worse. He seemed ready to let go of this life and see what adventures awaited him in the next. My hero had died, my Depa, and I would never see him again.
At least, that’s what I thought until about a month after we moved in.
Dad was the first one out of the car and the last one in the house. Smoking at church was not an option, and forbidding smoking in the car was one battle Mama had won. I watched Dad smoke as we went into the house. With each drag he embraced the cigarette as if it was his last breath, as if it was his sweetheart. He knew I was watching him and he didn’t flinch. He just turned his eyes toward me as if to say, “What are you looking at?”
Tall with rugged facial features, Dad had closely placed eyes and a large nose, lightly covered by his reddish brown hair. His chipped and scarred skin had a history, keeping a record of every decision he had ever made. Dad had never been one for formality and his clothes reflected that. He was who he was, but I didn’t know if he’d always been that man. I had never heard the story of how Mama and Dad fell in love. I often wondered if they were ever in love. Watching them now was like watching a couple of robots—even when they looked at each other, they weren’t really looking at each other. Their eyes were always numb.
Dad looked away from me and took another drag of his cigarette. I loved him so much, but he never knew. Life for Dad was a tangle of frustrations that sat on his shoulders without a moment of rest or peace. I think that’s why he was attracted to God in the first place. He was reaching out for peace. Only his idea of God complicated his life even more.
Judy swiftly clutched my arm and pulled me into the house; then proceeded to scold me for having so much mud on my sandals from the pond. Mama went straight to the kitchen to start preparing dinner while Judy and I went upstairs to change. The house had two staircases, the main one which came down right to the front door and the back staircase to the kitchen.
The top floor of Depa’s house had four medium-sized rooms connected by a large hallway with one small bathroom at the end. Two of the rooms were bedrooms; the other two were Depa’s study, and Gram’s old art room. Judy and I shared the first bedroom at the top of the stairs, while Mama and Dad slept in the only bedroom on the first floor, across from the living room. Downstairs had another bathroom, and a dining room that we rarely used.
At first, Judy and I did not want to sleep upstairs alone, but Mama assured us that she would always be close by. Our small bedroom was big enough for us. And Depa and Gram had always kept the two upstairs bedrooms clean and tidy, just in case family or friends needed a place to stay. Our bedroom, like most of the house, had hardwood floors—easy to keep clean.
Judy had the bed closest to the door; mine was pushed up against one of the two windows centered by a small desk. One dresser filled the closet, and a large bookshelf, which I pretended was a ladder, dominated the room. It held books, small sailing devices, ship’s models, and other knickknacks that Depa could no longer fit in his study.
Two beautiful mosaic quilts, which came straight from Gram's head to her hands, covered our beds. She had never lacked imagination and her handiwork witnessed to that. In the corner of each quilt, Gram had stitched our names and the book, chapter and verse number of a quote from the Bible. Judy had Mama look hers up, but I figured that if Gram wanted me to know what the verse said she would have stitched the whole thing. As I sat down on my bed, the sweet smells of Gram drifted up to my nose and immediately memories of her flooded my mind.
Judy began to change. She had gotten so meticulous with her clothes lately. I watched as she carefully hung up her good dress in the closet and changed into her not-as-good dress. There was a time when Judy didn’t know the difference between the floor and a hanger.
She moved away from the closet and, sitting down on her bed, put her hair up into a ponytail. “Clare, you need to get changed.” She gave me a look she stole from Mama.
I replied with a simple, but sarcastic, “I will, Mom!”
Judy rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her. I lay down on my bed, put my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes. Something about Sundays always made me want to take a nap.
When I opened my eyes again the room was pitch-black. I could see nothing, not my hands, not the bookshelf, not even the door. I knew the bed was still there, but only because I could still feel Gram's quilted patches against my legs. I started to sit up, but my feet seemed glued together, pulled so tight I could barely wiggle my toes.
Held prisoner, I did not know who or what had captured me. All at once, an intense light beamed into the room. At the same time, a voice spoke. At first it came from far away, but as it came closer, I could hear that it was counting.
“One, two, three…four.”
The light filled the room. I could now see what held me captive. A black rope bound my ankles. No, not a rope—a black snake slithered in a figure eight around my ankles. The voice, now right above my head, spoke each number with such force that it penetrated my heart. I could barely breathe.
“Seven, eight, nine, ten…ready or not here I come!”
With that, the light once again narrowed into a concentrated beam. This time, a fiery tip shot towards my feet. As it traveled, the beam singed the air, leaving behind a fragrance that I could not identify. The snake’s tongue flickered, tasting the air. It made a noise like a strangled scream and gripped my ankles even tighter. It was no match for the fire, though. Within seconds, it burned the snake into a pile of ashes.
The heat from the flame grazed my legs. I jolted up in my bed—I had been dreaming.
The room looked just as I'd left it. The daylight still flooded in the windows. It was only a dream. Even knowing that, my body still felt the residue of the heat on my ankles. I got up quickly and took off my dress, placing it in a semi-crumpled pile on the bed. I got my favorite shirt and purple overalls out of the dresser. I didn’t keep my clothes as clean as Judy kept hers, but they worked just as well. Heading towards the door, I glanced back at the bed one last time, almost expecting to see the ashes of the snake still on the quilt, but there was nothing.
Quietly, I headed up the hallway to Depa’s study. Paintings and pictures from Depa and Gram's golden years blanketed the walls. Gram either photographed or painted most of them herself. As I approached the study door, I glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and then went in.
When we moved in, Dad made it quite clear that the study was off-limits due to the fact that most of its contents could be sold. Mama had already started boxing up some of Depa’s favorite things. I knew it broke her heart to see his treasures go. Before wrapping each item in newspaper she would hug it close to her chest, almost trying to absorb any bit of Depa that was still there. She held onto his things like she could hold onto Depa.
Closing the door behind me, I made my way through the labyrinth of boxes to the fireplace located in the far left corner of the room. The study smelled of old books, a smell that I had grown to love for that reason. Depa’s big armchair waited on one side of the fireplace, with Gram's slightly smaller, more delicate chair on the other. Gram rarely sat in the study, but Depa wanted her to always have the option. The fireplace itself, built of red bricks, had a wooden mantel, which wore a large model ship for a hat.
I sat down on Gram’s chair and whispered quietly into the study air. “Depa, are you there?”
Slowly a figure formed in Depa’s chair. “I’m always here for you little love,” he replied, even before his face fully came into focus. Depa and Gram had called Judy and I “love” since birth. Around them it seemed useless to even have a real name.
Depa sat in his chair like he always did. Somehow he filled it, even though he wasn’t a big man. His personality overwhelmed the chair, full and overflowing with love. Depa’s round, tan face had always had a beard, but for his funeral he asked to be shaved as a reminder of his youthful years. Now his image held onto it. Only small traces of his silver hair remained along the sides of his head. Like Dad, Depa had rarely worn suits, but now he would be wearing one for eternity.
The first time I saw Depa after he died was a rainy Wednesday afternoon. School had ended for the year and I had found myself sitting in the study, reading Treasure Island. Downstairs, Mama and Dad had been having one of their arguments; I had slipped away to find a hiding place from the shouting.
Then, behind me, a deep voice had called out my name. When I turned, expecting to see Dad, I saw nothing. I kept reading. I heard my name called again, this time more desperately. I turned around again. Depa stood there, like I’d seen him last, dressed to impress. He looked cold and his eyes were tired.
I sat in my chair, frozen—half from fear and half from shock. My mind tried to piece together what my eyes saw. I guess Depa must have seen the look on my face because he quickly moved towards me and sat at my feet. He kept repeating, joyfully, over and over, “Thank you for seeing me, thank you for seeing me.”
Finally, I managed to pop out the word, “How?”
Depa did his best to explain.
“On the day that I died, I knew I was going to die. So I prepared my things for your Mama and set down all my wishes. I even made sure Gram's friend Barbra White came by that evening to check up on me. Then I settled myself in the living room and waited. I lived a full life and I was ready to see what came next, if anything. There were no regrets in my heart—or at least, nothing I could change. For hours I watched the minute hand move from number to number, passing the sluggish hour hand as it went. I don’t remember how long I sat there. I only remember the deep feelings of separation that welled up over me.
“Slowly I sensed my body becoming further and further away. I felt like I was being crushed by a great darkness that carried an uncontrollable amount of weight. I hadn’t moved from my chair. I was still there, my body was still there, but I no longer equaled my body. We were as separate as night and day, as dirt and water. My body was now locked tight. A city on a hill I was never allowed to enter again. I continued to sit solemnly for awhile longer. I guess I was waiting for Gram's ‘light at the end of the tunnel.’ But there was no tunnel and definitely no light. I had not passed on; my life had passed on without me.
“Nothing I had ever heard or read could explain what was happening to me. From what I understood, you were either welcomed into Heaven’s gate or sent off to Hell’s fire. I had heard hellfire and brimstone preached many times, but what was this? I had never taken Gram's God seriously; it was always her nice idea and the stone in my shoe. Yet, even knowing that, I sat there waiting and expecting. Barbra came and left screaming when she realized my condition.
“I couldn’t comfort her, but I left my chair and, when I returned, my body was taken away. Finally, I called for Gram. If I was still here, she must be. For days I called for her, for weeks I yelled, going through all the rooms and all her favorite places. She never answered, no one called back—or at least, not your Gram.
“The more I called out, the more I became aware of strange beings that move and shift. They are like shadows with substance. Some of them are settled in certain areas and some on certain things and some on certain people. I don’t know what they want, but they constantly torment me. I have had no peace. I have no rest. This is my hell.”
Depa stopped to take a breath, but just the idea of breathing made him sad. He had no air in his lungs, no need to take in oxygen. We sat together for awhile in silence, as if he was absorbing his story again as I absorbed it for the first time. We could hear the sounds of battle downstairs, and Depa could see the heaviness on my heart.
Looking up at me with understanding, he whispered, “Love, if you could turn your book in my direction, I’d be glad to read to you.”
Depa read and I listened. Reading was never my forte, but I loved to listen. Depa did great voices, by far the best I had ever heard. It wasn’t until later after Depa finished two chapters that the insanity of the situation began to set in.
Neither Depa nor I could explain what had happened to him, so we stopped trying. Depa said, “Some things in life are not meant to be figured out, but remain a mystery to us.” Instead, Depa and I looked at his presence as a unique way we could spend time with each other once again.
Depa had tried to make contact with everyone he had seen, but I was the only one who could see and hear him. He loved to follow me around the house and talk to me while I did my chores. I felt like my best friend had returned from the dead. As he walked, I often caught him looking behind us as if we were being followed, but he never mentioned it. Around me, he was all smiles and, even though he felt no peace in his heart, he said he liked to feel my peace.
We had long finished Treasure Island, Moby Dick, and Blacky the Crow and we had moved onto a slightly softer book, Pride and Prejudice. It had been Gram's favorite. She had been reading and explaining it to Judy and me for as long as I could remember. Depa tried to fill in her shoes, but more than once I found myself explaining it to him. In some ways, I was reading him Gram, since, in all those years they had been together, he had never heard the story. He had been so busy with his travels. As we sat in the study that Sunday afternoon, he began to realize that he had never really heard Gram, only himself and the tidbits of her that she left behind.
Today, I could only spend an hour with Depa, at most. Mama always put dinner out early on Sundays, so we could gather together to have our prayer time after we ate. I thought about mentioning my dream to Depa before I left, but decided against it, at least for now. As the hour’s end neared, I closed our book, blew a kiss to Depa, and started down the creaky back stairs to the kitchen. No one knew about Depa but me, and I thought it best to keep it that way.
When I reached the kitchen I found Mama moving pots and pans from the stove while Judy finished setting the table. They both seemed slightly annoyed that I had not come down to help sooner. Mama expressed her annoyance by letting me know that I would clean up the kitchen tonight after prayer; since I failed to help with the cooking and the table settings.
Our simple, cozy kitchen had cabinets that seemed painted white, but the worn areas showed that they had also been yellow and sky blue at some point. We had no dishwasher, other than Judy and me, and the refrigerator and stove greatly needed to retire. The laminate tile floor, mixed gray and black, was in fairly good condition. Gram had spent most of her time in the kitchen, cooking everything from pastries to Christmas hams to perfection. When we moved in, Mama couldn’t get the oven to understand the difference between cooked and suffocated. She finally discovered that the oven was at least one hundred and fifty degrees off and adjusted her recipes.
In the center of the room stood a round hardwood table with four mismatched chairs, each chair unique, which seemed to fit my family just fine. Gram originally had five chairs at the table, but with only the four of us Mama thought that the last chair worked well on the back patio. Dad came in for dinner and we all sat at the round table, our heads bowed for grace.
Dinner was a small feast of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn. Dad kept quiet while he ate, and Judy and I followed his example. Finally Mama broke the silence, which was unusual. She was full of news. The yellow house next door had been rented.
Judy and I were all ears. It had been years since anyone had lived in that old house. Even when Gram was alive it typically went unfilled. Mama had not seen our new neighbor, but she had watched the movers carrying in a large bird cage with a very large bird inside; which kept spouting out random phrases like “pretty bird” and “where’s the cat” and “turn up the music.” Mama said she would never consider herself an expert on birds, but she believed that the large bird must be some kind of parrot based on its vibrant colors. Excited, Mama continued to describe all the lovely things carried into the house, making sure to mention any detail she could remember.
I noticed Dad pick his eyes up from his plate; his head soon followed. None of us had time to realize what was about to happen. Dad must have been sitting there stewing for the last ten minutes of Mama’s story, because all at once he rose from his seat, grabbed his plate, slammed it into the sink, turned to Mama and shouted, “Victoria, what’s wrong with our things? I’m looking for work, aren't I? Do you always have to shove it in my face? I don’t want to hear about the new neighbors or their stuff!”
Without waiting for Mama’s answer, he left the kitchen to get the Bible and returned as if nothing had happened. Mama sat still as stone; Judy and I just looked down at the table. This was the worst. We were trapped. Prayer time took at least a half an hour and we were all prisoners until it ended. So we sat, quiet, stressed, and nervous. My stomach hurt, either from dinner or Dad. Dad opened the Bible to the page marked by his magenta bookmark and began reading where we last left off. Feeling bad for Mama, I looked in her direction. She just sat there, listening to Dad as he read, her expression blank and cold.
After prayer, everyone cleared out of the kitchen, except me. There weren’t too many dishes that night, but I took my time. Though physically intact, the house felt like the scene of an emotional disaster. Judy went upstairs to read in our room. Mama went to lay down for awhile, and no one knew where Dad went after the front door slammed shut. As common as his outbursts were, we were never really ready for them. His blowups never seemed related to what was going on; as if any reason was a good one, as long as he could release some of his pent up frustration.
I cleared the table quickly and, as I placed the dishes into the sink, I let out a gloomy sigh. Dad had broken another piece of Gram's favorite china. He had already smashed a bowl, a tea cup, and the butter dish. Carefully, I gathered up the pieces and placed them in the garbage under the sink.
“At least he cleared his place,” I said to myself with a smile. Somehow I had found the silver lining of this moderate explosion.
Just then I heard a car door shut. I quickly looked toward the front door, expecting Dad to enter. It wasn’t Dad, though, it was our new neighbors. Through the window above the sink and over the picket fence that separated the two houses, I could see that our new neighbor wasn't a he or a they. Our new neighbor was a she. There was pleasantness around her as she moved; like the pleasantness that surrounds fresh flowers in the spring time. Her light wavy hair accented her simple features and brown eyes. She stepped quickly, making her dress of many colors move from side to side.
Somehow, in the middle of taking her in, I forgot that people can always tell when they are being watched. As she reached her door, she sensed me. She glanced around quickly. Before long, our eyes met and she waved. The shock of being discovered overcame my ability to be friendly. Without even thinking, I ducked below the counter. When I peeked up again, she was gone. After that, the dishes seemed to fly onto the dish rack. Finishing up took no time at all. That night, before I went to bed, I thanked God that our new neighbor came home later rather than sooner, for Mama's dignity at least.
I woke up to a peaceful house, as usual after one of Dad's blow ups. By now the air had cleared and Mama would have forgiven him. Judy was already up and gone. On Mondays and Thursdays, Pastor Chuck picked her up early to help Millie out with housework. I crept downstairs to the kitchen, delighted to find only Mama there. She met me with a warm smile and a plate of pancakes.
As I ate, I learned that Uncle Joe had picked up Dad and they had gone into town to find work. Mama told me she planned to run some errands and invited me to go along. I hemmed and hawed a bit, but made up some lame excuse to stay home. Today, I only wanted to spy on our new neighbor with Depa. Mama left shortly after breakfast and I flew into action.
I showered and dressed as fast as I could, then went to find Depa in the study. Depa sat in his chair with one leg propped up on a small wooden footstool. Gazing blankly toward the fireplace, he didn't even notice me when I entered the room.
“Depa, get ready we have work to do,” I said, plopping myself down in Gram's chair and causing a large plume of dust to take flight. Depa smiled at me mischievously as if he had already read my mind. We sat together for a few moments as I unfolded my plan. Depa listened and, when I mentioned the new neighbor, Depa interrupted me.
“I knew something was different, love,” he said. “Even where I am now, I felt a change taking place. This morning when I walked in the garden the hollow house next door seemed to be filled with light.”
My excitement grew when I saw Depa's excitement. Like two generals, we mapped out our plan to infiltrate. We would wait until our new neighbor went out, then sneak behind the old garden shed in our backyard and through the only break in the fence, then peek into her windows.
Quiet as mice, we watched the house from the study window. We waited and waited for our opening, which finally came about an hour later. The sound of her front door shutting brought Depa and I back to our mission and away from the card game we had started from boredom. We watched as she walked gracefully down the path, got into her car and drove up the road. Then Depa and I made our way to the backyard.
Nerves were high. When I tripped over the stack of flowerpots on the back steps, I startled Depa so much that he fell through the kitchen wall, only to return through the back door. Using my best hand signals, I motioned him to follow me, pointing to the stack of flowerpots for explanation. We scaled the fence and made our way behind the garden shed. The break in the fence would be our portal into discovery. The hole itself had been made a number of years ago during one of Dad's outbursts and never repaired.
I placed my right foot through the fence, keeping my eyes on the road at all times. As my left foot joined my right, Depa began to realize he had a problem. No matter how hard he tried, he could not pass through the fence or reappear on the other side. Over and over he tried, but it was no use. Finally, he turned to me and suggested that he remain behind as my lookout. I could tell that he didn't want to ruin the game. I nodded and started my journey.