September 24, 1985
Dear Charlie,
I was late again for the school bus so mom in her bathrobe, with a slippered foot heavy on the gas pedal, chased it halfway to Electa Quinney Elementary. I know the driver saw mom maniacally flashing her headlights while kids in the back of the bus laughed and pointed accusatory fingers. But she was determined to punish my mom, her mom, and all moms for ever being late. My stomach tied itself in knots when she finally stopped long enough for the awkward dash between the safety of mom’s car and the bus aisle’s walk of shame. While looking for an empty seat, the red in my cheeks deepening, I pictured my refuge at the bottom of the lake. Cold, silent, peaceful.
I didn’t know you were already there.
REMINDER
oohwah ooh ooh ooh
oohwah ooh ooh ooh
mourning doves exchange
the same message
across the late morning clearing
and hundreds of years
even the inflections
sometimes
one starts before
the other finishes
still
the same message
the same reply
reminding
balance
territory
you are here with me
the same message
over and over
common knowledge easily forgotten
oohwah ooh ooh ooh
you/are here with me
(Charles Brauer)
I can hear the mourning doves
I’m really enjoying this memoir. You have a real gift. This chapter in particular was stirring for me.