APPALACHIAN-LIFE-L Archives

From: Carla Scott-Mason <>
Subject: [AppalLife] ON WITH CHAPTER 2
Date: Fri, 09 Feb 2001 18:40:05 -0600

Wild Women
by Carla Scott-Mason

Chapter 2

"Awakenings require a woman to respond consciously, to accept the
invitation to create herself anew, and to undertake the challenge no
matter how frightened or inadequate she may feel. Thus each awakening
call demands not only that it be heard, but that the woman find the
courage to trust and affirm the call whenever it arises, wherever it
takes her, and however much it challenges her way of being in the
world."
-- Kathleen Noble
The Sound of a Silver Horn
"They're beautiful!" Carol said, eyeing the flowers on her way across
the room to give me a hug. "What else did they get you?" She knew there
had to be more than mere flowers. Going-away parties had become big
events in the past few years with so many layoffs and early
retirements. I suppose one way to appease your guilt for being young
and employed was to make hefty contributions toward going away gifts
for those who weren't. I dangled my arm to show off the gold bracelet
inscribed with my years of service.
"I'd have asked for cash myself," Mother piped in.
"I don't believe it for a minute." Carol pointed to the gold
bangles that had collected at her grandmother's wrists.
"It seems to me your mother needs cash more than she needs a gold
bracelet." Mother removed Harley's place setting then plunked herself
down at the head of the table, motioning for us to take our seats. "We
still have time to talk her out of this, you know," she said, leaning
in close to Carol, who wasn't fast enough to beat me to the seat
farthest away from her grandmother.
Carol leaned in even closer to Mother, their foreheads almost
touching. "I think anyone over sixty should be entitled to make their
own decisions, Granny."
"Age has nothing to do with wisdom," Mother shot back, cramming
her mouth full of potatoes. She was totally oblivious to the fact she'd
just discredited every opinion she'd held in the last twenty years.
"So, Mom, what time are you leaving?" Carol hadn't quite mastered
the fine art of diverting conversation away from controversial
subjects.
"First thing in the morning. Just have to rearrange the car.
Would you pass me the potatoes, please?"
Carol passed the potatoes after scooping out a spoonful for
herself. "Want me to help load the car?"
"Why would she need help? All she's taking is her picture
albums, those funny looking fish, and that box of books written by all
those crazy women. Not much to show for sixty-odd years of life, if you
ask me." Mother was puffing up like a bullfrog. "Carol, pass me the
chicken, please."
Carol passed the chicken after helping herself to the two wing
pieces.
"It's all those books putting crazy ideas in her head," Mother
said.
"Those books satisfy my soul, Mother," I said. "And there's
nothing wrong with trying to satisfy your soul no matter what your
age."
"Nobody makes chicken like you do, Granny," Carol said, trying
to change the subject while chewing on a wing bone.
"If your mother fed you more often you wouldn't have to eat like
a refugee every time you sit at my table."
Carol dropped the chicken bone on her plate, wiped her mouth and
hands with a napkin, and picked up her fork. Mother flinched as though
she expected to be stabbed in the heart, but I knew Carol was more
likely to turn the fork on her own heart. I've consoled my daughter
many a night over the fact that she is two whole dress sizes larger
than she was in her drinking days.
"I guess I'm just nervous," Carol said, dropping her fork and
pushing her plate away.
"See there, Honey Malone? I'm not the only one who's nervous
about this whole thing." Mother looked just too satisfied. "Helping a
friend is one thing, but a lot of people would kill for the job you
had."
"I'm sixty-three years old, Mother. What's two more years?"
"I bet Philip is turning over in his grave right now," Mother
whined.
"Daddy didn't live long enough to retire, Granny. I admire mom's
decision to do something she'll enjoy."
"Enjoy? What's to enjoy? Using an outhouse? Drawing water from a
well that's probably polluted after all these years? And she'll freeze
to death come winter with nothing but the old fireplace to keep her
warm!"
"I won't freeze."
"But you'll be all alone." Mother said.
"I won't be alone, Mother."
"A sick girlfriend don't count! And what about later, after
Abigail ..."
"I'm going outside," I said, taking my plate and glass to the
sink and wishing for the umpteenth time I'd just taken Carol to
Shoney's and left Mother out of this farewell supper altogether.
The noise from the kitchen faded to a low hum. I threw my feet up
on the porch railing and kicked back on two legs of the chair,
concentrating on the sound of the cicadas. I loved sitting on this
front porch, surrounded by the lush foliage and scent of gardenia.
Whether she admits it or not, Mother has created an environment similar
to the mountain homestead. That is if you could somehow block out the
noise from the interstate at the back of the property line. Or blaring
radios from cars you could hear but not see on the road out front.
Carol quietly opened and closed the screen door. I guess she
thought she was sneaking out without Mother knowing it. When Mother
appeared from the side yard, Carol was so startled she choked on a sip
of tea.
"Come on up, Mother, your rocking chair is waiting." If there's
one thing I've learned, it's that there's no point in trying to avoid
Mother when she isn't finished with a subject.
Carol took the chair between me and Mother, as if to form a human
wall of protection, and the three of us went right back at it.
"Granny, haven't you ever wanted to go back home?" I couldn't
tell if Carol was sincerely interested or just trying to change the
subject.
"Now why would I want to do that? This is my home, and it's where
everybody comes when they're my age," Mother said, leaning around Carol
to stare at me. "And yours, I might add." Then tears welled up in her
eyes. "I just want to know what you'll do, back there all alone, if the
cancer comes back?"

#
At least Mother said if and not when. I'd spent a lot of time
working through the terror that goes hand in hand with cancer. The
first week I'd been numb, unable to absorb the diagnosis. I wouldn't
talk about it or allow anyone else to talk about it, which kept the
numbness at bay except when I was alone, driving to or from work. Then,
for the briefest of moments, my emotional guard would come tumbling
down. I'd had to stay strong for Carol, for Mother, so I'd sucked the
tears, the terror, back inside where they belonged.
During the second week, I'd gone to the library and requested
everything written on breast cancer within the past two years. I'd
stacked the reference materials beside my bedroom chair, each book-
marked for easy reference, determined to grasp what my body was doing
to me. Harley, who wouldn't step foot inside a hospital, had stopped
by to see me the night before the surgery. Just at the point when I was
ready to ask for a hug, he told me to get rid of all those damned
depressing books. So much for the hug I'd needed.
It was a time when the world stood still and I mastered the Zen
practice of living only in the present. No looks at the past. No plans
for the future. Just living one day, one minute, at a time. I remember
exactly when the numbness began to fade.
Carol had always been an independent child, which allowed her to
keep her own secrets. I sometimes wondered if I shouldn't have been
more involved at that stage of her life, but she was working part-time
and getting good grades at the local community college. It didn't even
occur to me to ask what she did in her spare time. Then she transferred
to Florida State in Gainesville. I called her dorm several times to
plan weekend visits, but she was always cramming for one exam or
another. Our visits were always at my place, infrequent, and of her
choosing.
She was almost twenty-eight years old the first time she asked me
for help. She'd been between jobs and boyfriends, and taking additional
classes to get her certification for addiction counseling. She'd
invited me to go to Barnes & Noble, the one place in the world we both
enjoyed. As usual, we'd browsed separately, then met at the cafe to
indulge in mocha lattes while we tried to determine which books we just
had to have and which could be reshelved for another visit. I thought
it funny that Carol was looking at me instead of glancing through her
stack of books. Then she told me about her drinking problem. I tried
very hard to cover up the shock and pain I'd felt at her confession.
"Mom, please hold me accountable for my actions," she'd said.
"How am I supposed to do that? Make you move back home and slap
a curfew on you?" The only way I knew to keep a child safe was to have
them under my roof with tight supervision.
"Read these. My treat." Carol pushed her stack of books across
the table.
"You've already read them, I suppose?"
"Yes."
It was the first time I'd committed myself to anything in the
future other than doctor's appointments or blood tests or bone scans.
After a year of reading, going to meetings, and learning how to live my
own life to the fullest while in a relationship with an alcoholic, I'd
cried with relief when I realized we'd both made it over our individual
hurdles.
That had been two full years after my mastectomy, and from then
on, I'd started looking at my life differently. There had been long,
deep dips into the past, of course, but there'd also been a ruthless
investigation of the present. And I knew for sure I wanted to be around
for the future. The first thing I did was to eliminate everything I
owned that didn't give me a deep sense of pleasure.
#
"It's been four years, Mother. I have to stop being afraid
sometime."
"You could always just go for a visit, Honey. Take care of
Abigail as long as she needs you. But you don't have to move there for
good."
"I'm not doing this just for Abigail, you know."
"The only thing I know is you're headed straight for trouble
Honey Malone, you mark my words!" Mother jumped out of the rocker and
stomped to the door. "I'm going to go clean up the kitchen." Before
Carol and I could start our own farewell discussion, Mother was back on
the porch. "Harley just called. He's on his way."
"Is his speech all prepared?" I couldn't help but laugh.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Mother stood in front of
us with her hands on her hips.
"Nothing at all, Mother. Why don't you just sit out here and
wait," I said, reaching over to pat her rocking chair. "I'll help with
the kitchen later."
"I could just cry," Mother said after a few rocks. "All those
hardships you're going to go through."
"It's not like I've never had hardships, Mother. And the house
is wired for electricity now, you know."
"What about when the wind whips through the valley and ties those
power lines in knots? At your age it'll be hard to read by
candlelight."
"She's had a lot of practice reading by candlelight," Carol
said.
"Don't go there," I said. All I needed was to have to explain
those times the electric had been shut off while Phillip and I juggled
our priorities until payday. We pretended we were camping as we
unloaded the contents of the refrigerator into an ice chest, and at
night, Carol danced with the shadows of flickering candles.
Mother's look let me know she didn't appreciate not being told
every little thing that had gone on in my life.
"At least we kept our water bills paid." Indoor plumbing had
been a real luxury after growing up with an outhouse.
"Well, you'd better enjoy every bath you can take from this night
forward, because soon you'll be doing without."
"I can bathe at Abigail's until I the plumbing is in."
"You don't even know if the old house is livable anymore," Mother
whined.
"Then I can stay with Abigail until I can make it livable."

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• [AppalLife] ON WITH CHAPTER 2 by Carla Scott-Mason <>