The summer was coming to an end and as much as I enjoyed dancing around in the house alone and playing dolls, I desperately wanted to play with other kids. Mom’s shifts at the Longhorn Steak House in Corpus Christi were mostly in the afternoon and into the evening, so I would venture outside during the day when she was home. The apartment complex made a horseshoe and each day I’d walk from one end of the horseshoe to the other looking for kids to play with. Sometimes, I’d walk to the laundry mat and buy an orange Sunkist with whatever change I could find in the house.
Mom enjoyed tanning and would take me to the small pool and I’d swim around but it was the same as swimming at Ronnie’s and Chucky’s pool. Ronnie would hold me up above the water because I’d scream if it came near my face. He taught me how to hold onto the sides of the pool. Chucky would show me tricks on the diving board and laugh and giggle when he would jump off and do flips. Those two guys were my heroes and my everything. The pool at our apartment complex was about the same size as their pool but served the whole complex. I had enough room to jump up and down and I’d go around the sides but it got so packed at times with small kids, I had to spend more time in the deep end. I got up the nerve to try and swim across the width of the pool just like Ronnie taught me. The first time I made it across I was so proud of myself. Mom didn’t see me but she watched me after I announced what I’d done. She was proud and told me to keep doing it so I did. I swam under the water, holding my nose and would doggy paddle above the water. After a few weeks of these trips to the pool I was jumping off of the diving board and swimming down to touch the bottom of the pool. I couldn’t wait to show Chucky and Ronnie. Ronnie would be so proud and Chucky would be happy that he didn’t have to play with me in the shallow end of the pool, finally.
During one of my walks around the parking lot, I encountered little girl that was selling seashells on the sidewalk. In Louisiana, we didn’t have beaches with waves and sand and shells, so a real seashell was fascinating to me. I gave her my Sunkist money in return for a big seashell and she showed me how to hold it up to my ear so I could hear the ocean. The sound was fascinating. How could a shell, so far from the ocean still carry the sound of the ocean? I guess the same way I still carried my memories of family and friends with me even though I was so far away. The little girl invited me inside. She had more shells than I’d ever seen. She was a Mexican girl and her Mom did not speak English. She offered me tamales and red rice. I didn’t like any of it but did my best to get it down. Her father came home. He was small brown man, like Dennis. He had on jeans and cowboy boots and his hands were black from what may have dirt or maybe engine oil. There was a younger daughter who was very excited to see him. She ran up to him and he scooped her up and they all spoke to Spanish to one another but I could tell they were greeting each other by the their smiles and pecks on the cheek. I missed my Dad when I saw this. I imagined Mom and Dennis being kind to each other and all of us being a family. I also missed my Dad.
It was almost dark by the time I ran home and showed Mom my seashells. I asked her about the beaches that the little had girl told me about. Padre Island wasn’t far from us and I wanted to see the beaches and the ocean. Mom promised we would go after scolding me for being in someone’s house this whole time and for being gone so long. She frantically explained how worried she was and made me promise to never got in anyone’s house again. She said that Mexican men beat their wives and rape girls all of the time and I had to be careful of myself.
I went to take my bath and got ready to eat dinner. When I came out of the bathroom, Dennis was there with a new bottle of clear liquor. They poured their drink and I ate dinner in front of the television and went to bed.
Mom would leave food for me in the refrigerator most days but I couldn’t reach the countertop too well to heat it up. I also didn’t know how to use the microwave. Sometimes I’d turn the oven on and put butter, cheese whatever else I could find on the bread and heat it up. During one of chef moments, I reached into the hot oven and burned my arm. It was the most painful thing I’d ever experienced. I didn’t know what to do so I ran next door to Ms. Stella’s apartment. The sun was going down and I didn’t want to get in trouble but I needed help and I didn’t think Ms. Stella would tell on me.
She opened the door, her head was wrapped in pretty colors. Her small features were comforting, kind of like my Granny back home with my Dad. She was small and brown, but not Mexican brown, Granny brown. I told her what happened and she brought me inside. She looked at my arm and sat me on a stool in her kitchen. Her apartment was small than ours. She didn’t have a kitchen table and her couch took up her whole living room. There was a round table in the middle of her couch with plants growing and incense sticks poking out of the dirt in the potted plants.
Very embarrassed for burning myself I tried to explain what happened. She listened to me while digging through her refrigerator. She pulled out a stick of butter and cut off a chunk. She held my arm and put the butter on my burn. It burned even more and I screamed. Visually, I though I saw the butter sizzle on my arm but that memory may be skewed by the pain that I felt. Its melted very quickly and I sat in so much pain that I couldn’t speak. She let me sit there for minute and cry. She walked around her kitchen and asked me questions about what I like to eat, her light kimono-like robe flowing behind her. She wrapped ice in a dish rag and told me to hold it on my burn. That felt so much better than the butter.
After calming down, she handed me food. I cannot remember what it was but I was grateful. She made me promise to never use the oven again and to let her know when I needed help. I asked to stay with her until Mom came home that evening. weWatched TV and she asked about what I liked to and of course, I told her all about my Dad and my friends back home. Stella caught up with Mom before she got to our front door and explained what happened. Mom was not happy with me for using the stove and explained that she’d left food for me. Stella gently explained that I couldn’t reach it but Mom’s tone was defensive and I was ordered in the house. When Mom came inside, she told me to pull a chair up to the cabinet next time and angrily showed me how. I felt like an idiot and was very ashamed that I’d caused so much trouble. Of course when we got home, the stove was still on and she fussed about that. I told her my burn still hurt and she mumbled about how stupid it was to put butter on burns. She ran water over my burn and it helped.
I didn’t use the oven much after that. The more Mom drank, the more often she’d forget to make food accessible to me. I’d figure out a way to feed myself on those days and if I couldn’t, Id knock on Stella’s door and she would give me a hand and never told Mom that I know of.
Mom and Stella spoke to each other more often and we would go over there and sit with her occasionally. Mom told Stella stories about my father abusing her and cheating on her and how she had to escape. Stella and Mom would smoke tiny cigarettes with little metal clasps at the end that looked like my Daddy’s jumper cables. I learned later in life that this was marijuana. I also learned that Ms. Stella was sick. She had battled cancer many times and died sometime in the early 2000’s. She and Mom kept in touch throughout the years, even after Mom moved away. I never got a chance to thank her in person for helping me through my time in Corpus Christi. I couldn’t have done it without her.
Saving Elizabeth 