Cruella

I present this story in honor of my beloved sister, Caryl and her three adorable children Kellie Lynn, Kennth, Jr. and Leonard.

When I was in my senior year of high school,I lived with my sister, Caryl, and her husband. Her children, Kellie, Kenny and Lenny were still quite small and we lived in a big, five bedroom house in Yakima, Washington. By my own choice, I had the smallest bedroom. I loved it. It was a tiny little thing tucked under the eaves and it had cozy, slanted walls. It also had a bare, hardwood floor, which I adored.

Unfortunately, my nephews, Kenny and Lenny, also fancied the bare hardwood floor. It was the perfect place to play with their cars. Kellie just loved my room, period. She loved everything Auntie Charlene, and was forever in my stuff. “Please don’t,” wasn’t working.

My stepmother had given me a wig fashioned from my own hair. It sat on a face-shaped wig stand on my dresser. When the kids went into my room to play, they would hide the wig in the dresser so they wouldn’t have to look at it. It’s white Styrofoam face freaked them out.

I decided to use the wig stand as a door guard. I just needed some way to make them too frightened to even approach it. I decided to use my make up to paint it’s face. Fortunately — or unfortunately if you prefer the children’s point of view — the head slipped out of my hands and landed sharply on the corner of the table, putting a gash on it’s right cheek. Red blush pooled in the crevasse. The effect was even more grotesque than what I had originally planned. I named it Cruella and placed it near my door. Not surprisingly, my room became my own and my floor remained barren of kids and cars.

For those that do not know: my sister, Caryl, has “rules.” One of her rules is, If I call you, you don’t say ‘what?’ or ‘coming.’ You show up – now. She also, always, had a house full of kids – her own, the neighbor’s, and a whole twittering Blue Bird Troop flapping around – usually all at once.

So, one particular afternoon I came home from school with an armload of books, a test to study for, and at least 30 kids in the house. Caryl and the Blue Birds were flitting around in the dining room and kitchen. The boys and their friends were demolishing the upstairs. I decided the most sensible thing I could do was hide in the only quiet place – the living room.

I stepped into, and over, the tall wing back chair, situated myself and my books comfortably in the corner, and began to read. Shortly thereafter I heard Caryl say, “Has anybody seen Charlene?” One of the chirpy little Blue Birds assured her I was home. Caryl called my name.

Getting into the corner behind the chair had been easy. Getting out was harder. There was nothing on the back of the chair to help me climb over the top, and the thing was too heavy to push on the thick shag carpeting. Finally, I wiggled – and it took a lot of wiggling – out from under the chair. Unfortunately, by then, Caryl had called my name three more times – each one successively louder than the last.

As I rose to my feet in the living room the little neighbor boy, Jimmy, decided to be of help. In a high, piping voice he nonchalantly announced:

“I don’t know where the big girl is, but her head’s upstairs on the dresser!”

Caryl shrieked, “What!” And trampled Blue Bird girls and little boys alike, running for the stairwell. In that instant, I stepped into the hallway and tried to tell her I was all right, but she shoved me backward into the living room. “Get out of my way! Something has happened to Charlene!” She yelled while charging up the stairs.

Torn between laughter and fear, I followed her, albeit more slowly. I was concerned that when she discovered I was all right, she really would tear my head off and leave it on the dresser. Grownups are like that sometimes – in their relief over finding their children alive and well, they often try to kill them.

The Library

I wanted to go to the library. That didn’t seem like too much to ask, but Gram was busy baking for some PTA something or other, and she told me to go read the books I already had. I went to my room, sat down on my bed and stared at my bookcase.

I owned dozens of books – most of which I knew by heart. Those books were old friends and I cherished them, but I wanted a new adventure. More than that, I had just met the library for the very first time the week before, and it was full of adventures I was dying to experience.

Six year olds were only allowed to check out two books at a time.. How stingy is that? They had millions and would only lend me two. I read those two books every day for a week. It was time for something different.

In an unusual stroke of bad luck, Gram didn’t give-in to my whining. She ordered me to go outside and find something to do. Walking to the library is something to do, right? I grabbed my books and my little plastic library card and away I went.

I knew exactly where the library was. It was the big brick building kitty-corner from the Post Office and across the street from my dentist’s office. I did pause for a bit when I came to Lincoln Way. I wasn’t allowed to cross the big street alone. Finally, one of the older neighborhood kids came along on her way to the store, so I crossed the street with her.

I felt pretty grown up. I had never been so far away from home on my own before. I thought about how proud Gram was going to be once she realized I could go to the library by myself. By the time I got to Government Way my books were getting heavy. There was a big building on the corner. A place that Gram said was where old folks went to rest. I thought I’d rest there, too. I crawled up on a big, pine-shaded boulder in the rose garden and sat.

From the boulder, I could see Government Way. It was a bigger, busier street than Lincoln Way. I had never been told not to cross it, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to. Besides, on the other side of the street were the railroad tracks, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near them. Then I remembered I could turn and follow Government Way south to Gibbs Mercantile. Lots of people always crossed the street there. I hopped off the boulder and continued my journey.

I had to sit on the stoop at Gibb’s for a while before somebody crossed the street the way I wanted to go. I crossed the street with a lady and two kids. The lady asked me if my mom knew where I was. I told her yes. I figured it was true. Gram always said mom was watching me from heaven. If she was watching me, she had to know where I was, right?

I followed the lady across the rail road tracks and two more streets. She turned on 3rd Street. I wasn’t turning until 7th. I crossed 3rd Street and 4th Street with the same group of people. None of them paid me any mind. I was tired again by the time I got to 7th Street, and there was nowhere there to rest. I sat down on the edge of someone’s lawn, but an old man came out and told me to “get away.” I walked for several more blocks then sat for a while on the lawn of the junior high. It was pretty, like a park.

I’d been holding on to my books so tight there were grooves in my fingers. My feet were getting sore and I was thirsty. The school had an outside drinking fountain so I had a nice long drink – which started me thinking about bathrooms. I decided I’d better hussle to the library.

When I walked through the gate of the high brick wall surrounding the library I felt very grown up and very small all at the same time. The steps were high and wide, and hard to climb, especially without Gram carrying my books and holding my hand. The door was heavy and I pulled and pulled on it. Finally, a man coming out held it open so I could go in. I told him thank you and dashed straight for the bathroom.

The bathroom was very tiny and very dark. I couldn’t reach the light switch and I was afraid to go in. A lady came and told me I couldn’t use that bathroom anyway, I needed to use the children’s bathroom upstairs. By that time, I was doing the potty dance and I am not entirely certain the water leaking from my eyes was solely tears. The lady took pity on me and turned on the light.

The children’s section of the library was upstairs. The staircase was quite wide, but the stairs themselves were steep and narrow. I took a deep breath, grasped my books tight to my chest and started to climb. I reached the top panting. My feet hurt and my legs were trembling, but at last I’d reached paradise.

I gave the lady behind a big, tall desk my books, then ran to select more. There was a huge, multi-paned window with a window seat and bright, fluffy pillows. I climbed up, opened my first book, and promptly feel asleep. A two-mile walk will do that to a six year old.

I didn’t recognize the library lady, but apparently she recognized me. She attended our church. Church ladies should know better than to tattle, but this one didn’t. She called Gram and got me in trouble. On the bright side, I got to ride in a car going home, they broke the library rules and let me check out four books; and I had some great reading adventures while perched on the kitchen stool that week.