Weird Early Morning Thoughts

The digital clock on my dresser this morning told me in red definate terms, it was 3:06. Good grief. I adjusted my body and mentally explored for pain, my familiar morning companion. Not too bad, really. And I lay there trying to drift back into sleep, but this old brain of mine had different intentions.

It wanted to go backwards. To places I hadn't been to in a long time. Disturbing places.

For some reason I began to think of the neighbors we had when I lived in Ivoryton, from fourth grade until I was 17 and left home. On one side was the Reverend of the small Episcopalian church, the rectory where he lived with his wife and four daughters. But they only inhabited my thoughts for a brief moment.

On the other side was another beautiful church, which had been converted to a home. I rarely had the opportunity to go inside, but I remember thinking how unusual a home this was, and how utterly beautiful with it's burnished wood and vaulted ceilings. With some effort I can just about picture it.

This home was occupied by a Haitian family...a father with six children. There was no mother present, and to this day I'm not sure why. The father worked at Electric Boat, as what I don't remember. He spoke Haitian french, and sometimes he and my mother would converse in french although my mother gently complained that she had a hard time understanding his dialect, as she did my grandmother's Canadian french. He repaired cars when he wasn't at work, and showed my mother a thing or two about that skill.

I have no idea what lead me to these memories. I was mostly not allowed to play over at their house, more so them than the other neighbors. And they rarely came over to our world to play. I wonder if my mother knew that there was something about them.

The older girl, Claudia, we hardly ever saw. She was a mystery. I remember her sporadic appearances, and when asked, I think I was told that she goes to school somewhere else. She ws much older than the rest of us. Periodically we could hear her singing. She was studying to be an opera singer. How exotic!

The next boy, Earl, was two or three years older than me, and I had a wild crush on him. I hardly ever saw him, either. I don't even remember seeing him in school, which leads me to think that he was more like four years older than I. I can't picture him at all. What I do remember is that for some reason, and I can't remember what that would be because it was NEVER done, he was in my bedroom. Just he and I. Where was my mother? She never would have allowed if she knew. We were sitting on my bed and he was trying to put his hands in my pants. At the time I had just started growing hair there, but didn't know that was normal and thought I was some kind of freak. So I protested quite strongly. Fortunately nothing more came of that. He seemed so big to me then, but now, looking back, he was just a kid himself.

The next child, Evelyn, I remember best - she was closest to me in age, only a year older than I. I do remember her vaguely in school, too, and I haven't looked in years, but she may even be in my yearbook. What I remember about Evelyn is that we would sit together by the rock in between our yards and talk. Not about anything big, but she was allowed to watch Dark Shadows, and I wasn't. So everyday I would ask her what the previous episode was about. I was fascinated.

My middle brother probably became more familiar with the family than me or my next brother. For whatever reasons. My mother had started drinking quite heavily then, so the supervision was probably much more lax. After Evelyn came Roger. He was the same age as my middle brother. And his sister Lisa was probably a year younger, and then there was the youngest, Jerrold, who was most likely very close in age to my youngest brother.

My middle brother, later, recounted very creepy stories about Roger and Lisa doing sexual things to each other and my brother. Roger was probably my brother's first sexual affair, and they were all children. My brother tells me that the whole family was sexual with each other. I remember being horrified when he first told me, and wondering how they learned that stuff so young? I still wonder that. My brother's revelations actually brought on a host of questions that to this day remain unanswered.

That was where my mind went at 3:06 this morning. In the dark. I also remembered some about the drill team to which I belonged for four years of my teenhood. The Essex Antientiers. We were a group of girls between 13 and 17/18. We came from all area towns and competed through out Connecticut. Our coach's name was Murph. Short for "something" Murphy. We had cute little wool uniforms and white boots. It was very fun and very well organized. I don't remember why I left that organization...if my mother made me, or if I chose to myself. I had a brief childish affair with one of our drummers, the younger brother of a schoolmate of mine. I heard somewhere that he is now a Norwich police officer. We used to steal kisses whenever we could. I also learned a method of depriving my brain of oxygen so that I would feel light headed - there was a group of us who partook of that activity. How did they learn these things?? Because I had buck teeth and was so small, my nickname was Little Beaver. "Beav". Murph died, or got sick or something, and Cynthia's father took on the coaching of our team, but it was never the same. Cynthia's last name was german, and she looked the part. Blond hair, like angel floss, always curled and shiny. Beautiful clear skin and blue eyes and a slim figure. I hated her.

Memories of this lead to memories of playing the clarinet. For parades I would often have to choose to march with the Ancientiers, or the band. I loved playing the clarinet and got pretty good at it. For some reason, to this day I don't really know what that is, my mother took it away from me. I practiced quite a bit, my mother's rule was for 30 minutes each day. When she took it away, she said it was because I didn't practice. Which broke my heart, because I did. I loved it. She gave MY clarinet to my little cousin. I hated that cousin.

After an hour of trudging through these distasteful memories I decided it was way past time to get up. Yuk. I don't like to go back there. Funny how so many things make sense to me now, but don't sit much better. I'm hoping it will be a long time before I find myself back there.

Peace