I started my 3rd kindergarten there in Flour Bluff, TX. When all of the kids went back to school after the holiday break, my mother brought me in to register. She had not thought to grab my paperwork from the prior school but she had proof that she was my mother so they signed me in. I can picture the winding hallways, lined with large windows that overlooked a huge paved playground. The lighting in the cafeteria was dim and it was very crowded. Most of the kids had their little groups and I was never outgoing enough to jump right in so I navigated the lunch room alone each day. There was another language being spoken in the lunchroom that I had never heard. The lunch ladies tried to speak to me in this language and I had no clue what to say. I know now they were speaking to me in Spanish. Most of the school children were white but there were a table or two of Hispanic children, sitting together and enjoying their native tongue during their break. Mind you, it is not hard to see that I’m not Mexican but there were zero black children in this town from what I saw, so their first try with the new little brown child was to speak to me in Spanish and figure it out from there. My tears told them that was not my language and they went back to English and helped me get my food and find a spot to sit.
I cannot remember a single detail about my classroom, the teacher or the face of a single friend. I was at this school from January 1990 to May 1990. Knowing what I know about children and teachers, I’m sure someone offered a kind word or asked me to join them for lunch but I carried my tray to my table and sat alone, probably by choice at this point. I did not want any new people in my life. Answering questions about my family or where I’d moved from was too much for me to deal with. I had not mastered the art of storytelling (lying) just yet and telling people what was happening was unbearable. I wanted to go home. I never gave up hope that I was going back to Sulphur with Dad, Rebecca and Chucky and my dog Odie. In a perfect world, we would all be back in the red brick house and I would be safe again.
Spring came quickly in southern Texas and Roxanne and I would venture outside more often. Somehow, I conjured up a little bicycle, probably borrowing Roxanne’s while she road Jason’s and we would ride to a small park at the end of our street. We played kiss tag with the neighborhood boys and I got caught by a sweaty little boy with a buzz cut named T.J. Roxanne had a crush on T.J. and got upset at me for getting caught and letting him kiss me but we made up quickly and decided to play someplace else. We would ride our bikes or walk to the closest 7-11 convenience store and buy candy. Jason and his friends would accompany us sometimes.
Texas has a reputation for hot summers and the summer of 1990 was no exception. I’d never experienced heat like that but learned quickly that sitting in the garage was the only safe thing to do outside. The playground slides and monkey bars were too hot. I couldn’t go inside for too long because Mr. Rick or Jason were to be avoided at all costs.
Mrs. Linda had a small and unruly garden in the back yard that looked like it, too, had fallen victim to the Texas heat. She decided that I needed a chore and going outside to pull the weeds in her garden was the chore she decided would suit me. I can say that at this point in my stay with the Smiths, I was convinced that Jason was right. My mother had left me here. This was where I’d die. Yes, that last part is me being a little melodramatic but I knew she was gone. Mrs. Linda put me outside in the backyard at noon after we finished making grilled cheese sandwiches. She locked the door so I couldn’t get back in and told me that I couldn’t come inside until it was done. I kneeled on the gravel next to the flower bed and pulled the weeds out clumsily and slowly like any typical 6 year old. I’d like to think that she busied herself someplace in the house and simply forgot that she’d locked the door. Whether I was locked outside in that Texas heat for 2 hours or 4 hours, I’m not positive. I remember the sun barely peaking over the wooden privacy fence as it was setting behind me. When she finally let me back in the house, I could smell the food cooking for dinner and wanted nothing to do with it . I remember walking straight back to my bed, falling in and falling asleep.
My mother made an appearance that evening. She woke me up because I had soiled the bed sheets. When she touched me she went into panic mode and ran a cool shower for me and threw me in. I vomited in the shower and on the fresh sheets she put on the bed. My temperature was 105 and I could barely speak. I woke up the next morning and she was still there. We talked about what happened and she didn’t seem angry that I was locked outside or that I was left alone sick in the room. She went on and on about our wonderful new life and how she’d found an apartment. She promised that we would be leaving soon and I was as hopeful as I could be. Mom left again, saying she would be back to get me.
That visit with her was off. I knew something was wrong with Mom and I didn’t have a way out. I was glad that she came in to help me while I was sick but I was also glad that she’d left. I wanted nothing more than for my Dad to come get me and take me home. It was my first thought every morning and my prayer at night.
Saving Elizabeth 