Friday
Dear Bug,
Got your letter this morning. That sure was fast. Was so good to get it, and to talk to you the other day. I've missed you so much.
We were going to go pick up a car today but the guy we were going to get it from had a death in the family and is out of town. If he isn't back by tomorrow we'll have to wait until Tuesday because everything will probably be closed Monday (Labor Day).
Charlotte called me the night I talked to you and she and Mike and the kids are coming out Sunday and Buddy's going to barbecue some steaks. It's been ages since I've seen them. She sounds like she's happy. I hope so.
I called David and they said he's been gone from there about ten days. He's moved in with "someone" but they didn't know who. They still have the letter for him that your daddy sent hoping that he'd come back to get it. Just don't know about that kid. You just can't keep track of him.
We got a lot of good rain the last few days and we sure needed it. Helped my flowers a lot. As soon as I get some more film I'll send some more pictures so you can see the flowers and back yard, etc. Keeps me pretty busy keeping all the weeds hoed up and all, but I enjoy it.
When you get your school pictures this year, be sure and save me one (the same size as the last one) and I'll pay Patty for it, okay?
There's a lot of things we're planing [sic} on doing to the trailer as we get the money. Like I said, Buddy's had this place for about four years but only used it on the weekends and stuff. It'll be fun fixing it like we want it. It's got three bedrooms and two baths so we have plenty of room. First thing we're going to do is get some new furniture. All that we have in it now is second-hand.
Well baby, I guess this is all for now. By the way, what do you want for your birthday? Be thinking about it and let us know. Write me whenever you can and call anytime. I love you very much.
Love,
Mother & Buddy
The visit with Charlotte and the kids won't go so well. You'll get drunk and Buddy will put his hands on kids, etc. On 10/24/78 you'll purchase a .45 caliber revolver from Weatherford Finance & Pawn with a hot check in the amount of $288. I can only imagine your intent. On 11/3/78 you'll try to sell it back to the pawn shop again. On the original Seller's Bill of Sale is the following information about you: Age - 39, Weight - 125, Height - 5'2. I can tell from the Polaroid of you enclosed in this letter that you're thin. On the back of the photo you wrote that Buddy took the picture while you were talking to me on the phone so in a way, the picture is of us.
It's almost been a year since Jimmie died. I never knew he was only 54 when he died. He looked 100. There was a 17 year age difference between the two of you. On his certificate of death it listed his parents, Elmer and Virgie, both deceased. Jimmie served in WWII. His cause of death was listed as "Medullary Failure/Cerebrovascular Accident". That's the long way to say, "Stroke". He was buried in Greenwood Cemetary in Fort Worth. On 9/22/77, the day after his death, you used a Mastercard to pay for his burial and plot, etc. You lived on that same Mastercard and a Wards credit card until at least Christmas. I can tell from the three-digit codes on the back of your Wards receipts what sorts of items you purchased. There was the $30 pant suit, lots of gas and auto repairs, some pharmacy items and lunches. The credit cards were in Jimmie's name. I guess when you could no longer use the cards and couldn't afford to pay the balances (I read your letter to Wards apologizing for being so delinquent and explaining about your recent hospital stay), you began to write hot checks. You wrote a hot check to your attorney, Frank Coffey, on 10/3/77 in the amount of $100. Many followed that one and soon you were receiving letters from Tim Curry, the Criminal District Attorney in Fort Worth (1/12/78). That didn't stop you. In shaky handwriting you wrote a $110 check (#175) on 2/31/78 to Dr. L.H. Luck Optical on Camp Bowie in Fort Worth. That check was written on a closed bank account. There were also checks written to Big Daddy's Package Store, Safeway and Skaggs. All hot. You opened a joint checking account with Buddy, aka Nathan Graves, and went on a hot check-writing spree from mid-October to November, 1978. Then something happened. Maybe it was Buddy knocking out your front teeth or the barbecue incident with Charlotte, but you'd had enough and finally left Buddy. Then you began paying for all those checks to stay out of jail. I found all the receipts for the cashiers checks and money orders you had to use, and all your lists of check numbers, amounts and recipients. Your loyal attorney, Frank Coffey, would have his secretary (also a Charlotte) write on May 10, 1979:
Dear Rogene,
I paid the money orders to the district Attorney's Office this morning and got the enclosed list of checks (Skillern's Drug Store, Daniel's Drug Store, Early Drug x 3, Eckard's Drug, Montgomery Ward x 4, Buddies Supermarket x 4, Skaggs, Safeway x 3, Piggly Wiggly, Krogers, Pantex foods, Majestic Liquor x 4, Kings Liquor x 3, Land Mark Liquor = $900.95). The money you have sent will pay these off. However, there have been two additional checks to Chicotsky's totaling $58.70 still out there. That will clear up the ones at the main Court house. Frank said there were some out at the Northeast branch Courthouse that total about $300-$400, but those have not been turned in to the main courthouse yet. I can call out there and find out what they have and the total of them if you want me to. I am gald [sic] that you are still doing okay. don't give up.
I also found some medical bills which fill in some blanks. You were admitted to All Saints Hospital after visiting the ER on 9/1/77. The diagnosis is 1. Overdose 2. Depression. You were held for three days. On 1/17/78 you were treated by Dr. James Brooks, our family doctor for as long as I can remember, for a respiratory infection, hormone insufficiency and a vitamin deficiency. Then on 1/28/78 you were admitted to All Saints Hospital with a diagnosis of 1. Acute alcohol withdrawal and 2. Depression. They kept you until 2/1/78. On 2/5/78 you visited Harris Hospital where I was born for x-rays of your forearm, nose, skull, chest. On 2/28/78 you were admitted to All Saints Hospital again with a diagnosis of 1. Alcoholism with delirium tremors, 2. Depression and 3. Fractured nose. You were released on 3/7/78. Since you were Jimmie's widow, Champus/Champva paid for most of these services. These hospital visits and injuries took place during the early days with Buddy, and now I remember the cheap paper on which you wrote me a letter with no return address. You wrote that you were no longer with Buddy. You wrote it from the hospital. All this and you'd not only go back to this monster but marry him. You called yourself "stupid" for ever being with him in the first place. You said it.
Patty and Dad will be getting a divorce soon. I remember feeling bored one evening, wishing a bomb would go off in the yard or the sun would melt. Any change at all. Then a fight broke out between Patty and Dad. The fight was over something stupid, a broken glass and a rip in the upholstery of a new chair they'd bought themselves for their fifth wedding anniversary. Anyway, Dad punched Patty in the face and it was over. Honestly, she had it coming. So your next letter will be sent to my new address in Arlington, Texas. I'm moving in with Dad's sister, Charlene. There are legal documents I didn't learn about regarding this move until after my fortieth birthday, but more about that later.
Once you left Buddy for good there's a letter you saved from Dad written just after Christmas, 1978. He writes:
Dear Rogene,
Hope this finds you well. I noticed your letter the other day at Charlene's and got the address off it. I probably shouldn't be writing to but I get tired of talking to myself sometimes. I often remember the night we had together. It was nice. I won't write much. Don't know if the address is current. Write if you can.
My best,
Jay
I don't think he ever stopped loving you.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Conversations With The Dead: August, 1978, Weatherford, Texas
Monday
Dear Teresa,
Hi baby. I've been thinking about you so much here lately so I just had to write. I hope you're doing okay and are happy. I sure do miss you. I know you're probably growing like a weed! If you have one handy, I wish you'd write me and send me a picture. (In fact, write me anyway and tell me what all you did this summer. But if you can, send a picture too).
I don't know if you knew or not but "Old Blue" just up and died! Ha. So we're without a car for now. First the transmission went out and we spent $400 to put a new one in and then a couple of weeks later the motor just burned up. So now we have to get a new one. We're going to go see about one this week. It's really nice out here but you sure need a car. But "Blue" was a pretty good car. She just got tired and quit!
I've got me a nice flower garden and I work in it keeping the weeds out, etc. There's a creek that runs behind the trailer and a bunch of shade trees and we like to get out there and barbecue in the evenings (Buddy loves to cook which is good because I don't. Ha. So a lot of the time he cooks and I clean up. Pretty good, huh?). But it's so nice and quiet out here. It's like being out in the country. The nearest store is three miles away so no one bothers you. I like that. I'm just plain tired of cities. I hope you can come out here sometime next summer. They have a clubhouse with a swimming pool and all. And there are two big lakes here so we could go fishing, too. There's all kinds of rabbits and quail, etc. here. In fact, there's a covey of quail (about fifteen of them) that show up in the lot next door every morning. They're so cute to watch. They stop and look both ways before they cross the road and there's one of them that we've named "Johnny Come Lately" that always hangs back and gets in trouble. Then he has to run his legs off to catch up with the rest of them! And sometimes we like to sit in the back under the trees and listen to the radio (we have some chairs and a table out there) and there's the prettiest red cardinal that comes and sits in my flower garden and listens to the radio! He doesn't show up unless he hears the radio.
I guess you're getting ready for school now. Knowing you, you're probably glad to go back. But that's good and I'm glad. I'm glad you enjoy it and do so good.
Have you heard from Charlotte or David? I've tried and tried to get a hold of Charlotte but haven't had any luck. I would have sent her a birthday card but don't know where she is.
Well baby, I guess that's all my news for now. If you want to call me, just dial 0-599-7414 and that way we can pay for the call. Just tell the operator when she answers that you want to make a collect call to that number from Teresa Williams and she'll ring us. Call any time you want to. I'd love to hear from you and so would Buddy. We Got married and we're very happy and we love it out here. It's kind of an exclusive place and no one can get in unless they own property out here, so you don't have to worry about things getting stolen and stuff like that. And by the way, Buddy said to tell you Hi and that he loves you. And I love you too, very much. So write me, honey, when you get time, and call any time.
Love,
Mother & Buddy
*A "covey" of quail. Sounds like a word Buddy taught you. You haven't heard from Charlotte or David because you're with Buddy. He put his hands on Charlotte's 10 year-old son, remember? You were drunk and trying to peel rotten potatoes so maybe you don't remember. Buddy wants to hear from me? No, I won't be calling either. And you live in an "exclusive" trailer park? Sounds like another bullshit word Buddy taught you to say. Thanks for the Polaroid of the trailer; maybe you can beat out all the dents and mow the grass once in a while since you're suddenly into yard work. I'm glad you're happy, Mom, or at least think you are. You won't be so happy when your new husband knocks out your front teeth but hey, that day hasn't come yet. One more thing, Mom. Buddy doesn't love me. Buddy doesn't love you, either. He's a clever sociopath preying on your weaknesses out in the middle of nowhere. Help will be hard to come by when you need it most. Buddy is now talking you into writing hot checks for beer and pills, something you'll pay dearly for later on. Soon he'll talk you into buying a gun. The party is just beginning.
Dear Teresa,
Hi baby. I've been thinking about you so much here lately so I just had to write. I hope you're doing okay and are happy. I sure do miss you. I know you're probably growing like a weed! If you have one handy, I wish you'd write me and send me a picture. (In fact, write me anyway and tell me what all you did this summer. But if you can, send a picture too).
I don't know if you knew or not but "Old Blue" just up and died! Ha. So we're without a car for now. First the transmission went out and we spent $400 to put a new one in and then a couple of weeks later the motor just burned up. So now we have to get a new one. We're going to go see about one this week. It's really nice out here but you sure need a car. But "Blue" was a pretty good car. She just got tired and quit!
I've got me a nice flower garden and I work in it keeping the weeds out, etc. There's a creek that runs behind the trailer and a bunch of shade trees and we like to get out there and barbecue in the evenings (Buddy loves to cook which is good because I don't. Ha. So a lot of the time he cooks and I clean up. Pretty good, huh?). But it's so nice and quiet out here. It's like being out in the country. The nearest store is three miles away so no one bothers you. I like that. I'm just plain tired of cities. I hope you can come out here sometime next summer. They have a clubhouse with a swimming pool and all. And there are two big lakes here so we could go fishing, too. There's all kinds of rabbits and quail, etc. here. In fact, there's a covey of quail (about fifteen of them) that show up in the lot next door every morning. They're so cute to watch. They stop and look both ways before they cross the road and there's one of them that we've named "Johnny Come Lately" that always hangs back and gets in trouble. Then he has to run his legs off to catch up with the rest of them! And sometimes we like to sit in the back under the trees and listen to the radio (we have some chairs and a table out there) and there's the prettiest red cardinal that comes and sits in my flower garden and listens to the radio! He doesn't show up unless he hears the radio.
I guess you're getting ready for school now. Knowing you, you're probably glad to go back. But that's good and I'm glad. I'm glad you enjoy it and do so good.
Have you heard from Charlotte or David? I've tried and tried to get a hold of Charlotte but haven't had any luck. I would have sent her a birthday card but don't know where she is.
Well baby, I guess that's all my news for now. If you want to call me, just dial 0-599-7414 and that way we can pay for the call. Just tell the operator when she answers that you want to make a collect call to that number from Teresa Williams and she'll ring us. Call any time you want to. I'd love to hear from you and so would Buddy. We Got married and we're very happy and we love it out here. It's kind of an exclusive place and no one can get in unless they own property out here, so you don't have to worry about things getting stolen and stuff like that. And by the way, Buddy said to tell you Hi and that he loves you. And I love you too, very much. So write me, honey, when you get time, and call any time.
Love,
Mother & Buddy
*A "covey" of quail. Sounds like a word Buddy taught you. You haven't heard from Charlotte or David because you're with Buddy. He put his hands on Charlotte's 10 year-old son, remember? You were drunk and trying to peel rotten potatoes so maybe you don't remember. Buddy wants to hear from me? No, I won't be calling either. And you live in an "exclusive" trailer park? Sounds like another bullshit word Buddy taught you to say. Thanks for the Polaroid of the trailer; maybe you can beat out all the dents and mow the grass once in a while since you're suddenly into yard work. I'm glad you're happy, Mom, or at least think you are. You won't be so happy when your new husband knocks out your front teeth but hey, that day hasn't come yet. One more thing, Mom. Buddy doesn't love me. Buddy doesn't love you, either. He's a clever sociopath preying on your weaknesses out in the middle of nowhere. Help will be hard to come by when you need it most. Buddy is now talking you into writing hot checks for beer and pills, something you'll pay dearly for later on. Soon he'll talk you into buying a gun. The party is just beginning.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Conversations With The Dead: March 17, 1978 Address Unknown
Dear Teresa,
Hello baby. Happy St. Patrick's Day! I thought you might think I haven't been thinking about you because I haven't called, but I have. But I was in the hospital for a week (nothing serious) and then I was out of town for about two weeks. Maybe it's better if I write for a while anyway. I was kind of afraid that calling might upset Patty and your daddy, and I really don't want to do that. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you an awful lot. And I think about you a lot too.
Also, I wanted to tell you that Buddy and I aren't together anymore. In fact, I really wish I'd never met him, to tell you the truth. It took me a while to realize it (I'm kind of stupid) but I finally did. I'm getting my checks from the VA now (because I'm Jimmie's widow) but I'll probably go to work pretty soon, so I can keep busy. But I felt like you'd like to know that I wasn't with Buddy anymore. I'm sure you were worried about it. And by the way, I am not drinking anymore either. So everything's fine. I just kind of fell apart when Jimmie got sick, because I knew he'd never come out of it. I just couldn't handle it every [sic] well. But I think I can now. I hope you can forgive me for being so weak once again. Seems like your mother has a habit of that, but I don't mean to.
Well honey, I guess this is all. Be as sweet as you always are and remember I love you very much.
Love,
Mother
*This letter had no return address so I assume you're still in the hospital and Mom, alcohol-related delirium tremens are serious. Your handwriting is shaky. The paper is thin, almost transparent. Your life must feel like tissue paper, too. Yes I was worried about Buddy because he scared me. He threatened to kill Dad. He encouraged you to drink. He'd stare into my eyes and say, "What's wrong? I can see you're uncomfortable. What's troubling you?" I didn't dare tell him he made me uncomfortable. I'm sorry Jimmie died of a stroke but I don't think it was his death that was so difficult for you to handle. You married him on the rebound from Phil, or maybe you just married him out of a desperate fear of being alone. But what you had difficulty handling was what you and Buddy did to poor Jimmie after his last stroke. I'm sure the police wondered for a long while not only how Jimmie made it to the park bench in the shape he was in, but how he ended up completely naked. And in even more alarming news, I know you're not done with Buddy yet.
Hello baby. Happy St. Patrick's Day! I thought you might think I haven't been thinking about you because I haven't called, but I have. But I was in the hospital for a week (nothing serious) and then I was out of town for about two weeks. Maybe it's better if I write for a while anyway. I was kind of afraid that calling might upset Patty and your daddy, and I really don't want to do that. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you an awful lot. And I think about you a lot too.
Also, I wanted to tell you that Buddy and I aren't together anymore. In fact, I really wish I'd never met him, to tell you the truth. It took me a while to realize it (I'm kind of stupid) but I finally did. I'm getting my checks from the VA now (because I'm Jimmie's widow) but I'll probably go to work pretty soon, so I can keep busy. But I felt like you'd like to know that I wasn't with Buddy anymore. I'm sure you were worried about it. And by the way, I am not drinking anymore either. So everything's fine. I just kind of fell apart when Jimmie got sick, because I knew he'd never come out of it. I just couldn't handle it every [sic] well. But I think I can now. I hope you can forgive me for being so weak once again. Seems like your mother has a habit of that, but I don't mean to.
Well honey, I guess this is all. Be as sweet as you always are and remember I love you very much.
Love,
Mother
*This letter had no return address so I assume you're still in the hospital and Mom, alcohol-related delirium tremens are serious. Your handwriting is shaky. The paper is thin, almost transparent. Your life must feel like tissue paper, too. Yes I was worried about Buddy because he scared me. He threatened to kill Dad. He encouraged you to drink. He'd stare into my eyes and say, "What's wrong? I can see you're uncomfortable. What's troubling you?" I didn't dare tell him he made me uncomfortable. I'm sorry Jimmie died of a stroke but I don't think it was his death that was so difficult for you to handle. You married him on the rebound from Phil, or maybe you just married him out of a desperate fear of being alone. But what you had difficulty handling was what you and Buddy did to poor Jimmie after his last stroke. I'm sure the police wondered for a long while not only how Jimmie made it to the park bench in the shape he was in, but how he ended up completely naked. And in even more alarming news, I know you're not done with Buddy yet.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Conversations With The Dead: Greenville, Texas, 1975
Tuesday
Dear Teresa,
Well, how have you been doing? I know you've been busy since you started back to school. Do you like it pretty good?
I haven't heard from David since he went back to Cleburne. I called him the weekend that he came over to your house and told him he could come back with me, but he said he wanted to stay in Cleburne. I really don't understand why he didn't want to stay here but as long as he's happy there, I guess it's alright.
Well, I got me a little black dog. Her name is "Spooky" because she's so afraid of everything. I spent the night with Betty & James when I was in Fort Worth and they gave her to me. She's so cute. Her tail curls over her back (she's part Chow and part Scotty) and her hair is wavy and she has hair over her eyes and a goatee. She's really something. She's about five months old. I've really enjoyed her. She just has a fit every day when I get in from work after being here by herself all day. When I drive, the traffic scares her, and she lays up in my lap or under the car seat. She's the spookiest dog I've ever seen. But she's a good watch dog. Someone was outside my front door one night and she barked up a storm.
I'll be glad when you can come up again and see my apartment. I think it's real cute. Maybe you can come up for a few days on the Thanksgiving Day holidays. Find out what days you'll be out of school over Thanksgiving and let me know so I can come get you. (Ask your daddy if it's okay). You wouldn't want to spend all the time you're out of school here because you need to spend part of it there with Patty and Jay, but you can spend part of the time with me. Of course it's nearly two months until Thanksgiving and I'll see you before then, but we can go ahead and make plans for Thanksgiving.
I never have gotten that ring fixed but I saw something the other day that I want to get for your birthday. It'll be real cute in your new room (Curious? Ha).
Well honey, guess that's all my news. I just work, come home and eat and go to bed, except for going to church. Phil came up to see me last weekend. He's a plumber and he fixed Betty and Jame's bathroom plumbing last week. He still wants us to get married as soon as I get my divorse [sic] from Sonny. I know one thing, I'd never find anybody that would be any better to me. He really is the nicest person I've ever known, and I've known him now for over a year. That's one mistake I made with Sonny. I really didn't know him long enough before we married. If I had waited and gotten to know him better, I never would have married him. So, I don't know. I really haven't made up my mind about Phil yet. So, let me hear, if you get a chance. Be sweet and don't forget that I love you.
PS Just write me at Nanny's. I don't really know this address yet. So for now, write me in care of Nanny.
Love,
Mother
Well Mom, it's interesting that you don't know your address yet though it's written on the outside of the envelope. I suppose your apartment was actually Phil's. Your divorce from Sonny will become final just about the time you decide you don't want to marry Phil. Your decision will come during an argument with Phil; he'll call you a "convenience" and you won't like it. Nice guy, huh? He'll leave to go to the store and when he returns, you'll be gone. Almost instantly you'll get married to someone else and announce this by showing me his and hers wedding rings during a weekend visit. Husband #3's name is Jimmy Spinks. I'll get one postcard from you during this marriage, a photograph of Pensacola Beach Pier. You and Jimmy will see a few states during this trip and you'll write that you wish I could see all the pretty country. I kinda doubt that now but, oh well. You signed the postcard as you always did when there was a man in your life, his name beside "Mother". I never got that, not even back then. It'll be 1978 before you write again.
Dear Teresa,
Well, how have you been doing? I know you've been busy since you started back to school. Do you like it pretty good?
I haven't heard from David since he went back to Cleburne. I called him the weekend that he came over to your house and told him he could come back with me, but he said he wanted to stay in Cleburne. I really don't understand why he didn't want to stay here but as long as he's happy there, I guess it's alright.
Well, I got me a little black dog. Her name is "Spooky" because she's so afraid of everything. I spent the night with Betty & James when I was in Fort Worth and they gave her to me. She's so cute. Her tail curls over her back (she's part Chow and part Scotty) and her hair is wavy and she has hair over her eyes and a goatee. She's really something. She's about five months old. I've really enjoyed her. She just has a fit every day when I get in from work after being here by herself all day. When I drive, the traffic scares her, and she lays up in my lap or under the car seat. She's the spookiest dog I've ever seen. But she's a good watch dog. Someone was outside my front door one night and she barked up a storm.
I'll be glad when you can come up again and see my apartment. I think it's real cute. Maybe you can come up for a few days on the Thanksgiving Day holidays. Find out what days you'll be out of school over Thanksgiving and let me know so I can come get you. (Ask your daddy if it's okay). You wouldn't want to spend all the time you're out of school here because you need to spend part of it there with Patty and Jay, but you can spend part of the time with me. Of course it's nearly two months until Thanksgiving and I'll see you before then, but we can go ahead and make plans for Thanksgiving.
I never have gotten that ring fixed but I saw something the other day that I want to get for your birthday. It'll be real cute in your new room (Curious? Ha).
Well honey, guess that's all my news. I just work, come home and eat and go to bed, except for going to church. Phil came up to see me last weekend. He's a plumber and he fixed Betty and Jame's bathroom plumbing last week. He still wants us to get married as soon as I get my divorse [sic] from Sonny. I know one thing, I'd never find anybody that would be any better to me. He really is the nicest person I've ever known, and I've known him now for over a year. That's one mistake I made with Sonny. I really didn't know him long enough before we married. If I had waited and gotten to know him better, I never would have married him. So, I don't know. I really haven't made up my mind about Phil yet. So, let me hear, if you get a chance. Be sweet and don't forget that I love you.
PS Just write me at Nanny's. I don't really know this address yet. So for now, write me in care of Nanny.
Love,
Mother
Well Mom, it's interesting that you don't know your address yet though it's written on the outside of the envelope. I suppose your apartment was actually Phil's. Your divorce from Sonny will become final just about the time you decide you don't want to marry Phil. Your decision will come during an argument with Phil; he'll call you a "convenience" and you won't like it. Nice guy, huh? He'll leave to go to the store and when he returns, you'll be gone. Almost instantly you'll get married to someone else and announce this by showing me his and hers wedding rings during a weekend visit. Husband #3's name is Jimmy Spinks. I'll get one postcard from you during this marriage, a photograph of Pensacola Beach Pier. You and Jimmy will see a few states during this trip and you'll write that you wish I could see all the pretty country. I kinda doubt that now but, oh well. You signed the postcard as you always did when there was a man in your life, his name beside "Mother". I never got that, not even back then. It'll be 1978 before you write again.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Conversations With The Dead: September, 1975, Greenville, Texas
Sunday
Dear Teresa,
Guess you're getting ready for school. It won't be long now before it starts.
Sorry I didn't get to talk to you the other day when I called your daddy about David. I talked to David yesterday & he sounds fine. I was going to find out what kind of medicine he was supposed to be taking & get it for him but he said he already had it. He says he'll stay there until I get an apartment. He sounded real good & he's tickled to death that I've started back to church. I'll be glad when I get settled & he can come down.
How is Mac these days? I still don't have the pictures of us yet. As soon as I get them I'll send you one.
I've found a real nice little church that I've been going to. They've been comming [sic] to pick me up until I get a car.
I got a call from Phil the other day. He's moved back to Fort Worth & he's still wanting me to marry him. But I just feel like I need to put the Lord & David first. He's really a good & sweet person but I guess I'm just kind of scared of marriage after Sonny. But I told him we could still be friends & see each other some. I believe he's the nicest person I've ever known.
Well honey, guess this is all. Take time to write me & let me know how you are before school starts & you get to [sic] busy.
I love you,
Mother
*I'll be attending another Baptist private school this year, entering 5th grade. Boulevard Baptist School in Burleson, Texas. Joy Baptist closed last year after the minister's wife got into it with the kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Wolfenbarger started a fight in the middle of a service. Next thing we knew, school wouldn't be resuming the following year. I guess no one is perfect.
Mac the Guinea pig is fine but he'll freeze to death this winter. Poor little guy. Ben the hamster had some sort of heat stroke over the summer. I don't seem to have much luck with animals.
I look forward to seeing the pictures of us at Nanny's. I'm glad you found a church and are making plans to be with David. He needs you like I do.
Phil? He's another dead-end, but you'll take any road that keeps you from being alone. I'm learning your pattern with men now, that love for you means longing and need. It's the wrong way to love. It's not love at all.
Dear Teresa,
Guess you're getting ready for school. It won't be long now before it starts.
Sorry I didn't get to talk to you the other day when I called your daddy about David. I talked to David yesterday & he sounds fine. I was going to find out what kind of medicine he was supposed to be taking & get it for him but he said he already had it. He says he'll stay there until I get an apartment. He sounded real good & he's tickled to death that I've started back to church. I'll be glad when I get settled & he can come down.
How is Mac these days? I still don't have the pictures of us yet. As soon as I get them I'll send you one.
I've found a real nice little church that I've been going to. They've been comming [sic] to pick me up until I get a car.
I got a call from Phil the other day. He's moved back to Fort Worth & he's still wanting me to marry him. But I just feel like I need to put the Lord & David first. He's really a good & sweet person but I guess I'm just kind of scared of marriage after Sonny. But I told him we could still be friends & see each other some. I believe he's the nicest person I've ever known.
Well honey, guess this is all. Take time to write me & let me know how you are before school starts & you get to [sic] busy.
I love you,
Mother
*I'll be attending another Baptist private school this year, entering 5th grade. Boulevard Baptist School in Burleson, Texas. Joy Baptist closed last year after the minister's wife got into it with the kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Wolfenbarger started a fight in the middle of a service. Next thing we knew, school wouldn't be resuming the following year. I guess no one is perfect.
Mac the Guinea pig is fine but he'll freeze to death this winter. Poor little guy. Ben the hamster had some sort of heat stroke over the summer. I don't seem to have much luck with animals.
I look forward to seeing the pictures of us at Nanny's. I'm glad you found a church and are making plans to be with David. He needs you like I do.
Phil? He's another dead-end, but you'll take any road that keeps you from being alone. I'm learning your pattern with men now, that love for you means longing and need. It's the wrong way to love. It's not love at all.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Conversations With The Dead: July, 1975, Greenville, Texas
Sunday
Dear Teresa,
Hi honey. I'm sorry I didn't get to call you today but I'm kind of low on money, so I'll just write.
I left Houston & I'm spending some time at Nanny's (in Greenville). I haven't decided yet weather [sic] I'll stay here & try to get a job or move to Fort Worth. Without a car it might be best to stay here a while. Mother said they're hiring at some factories here and that you can always find a ride to work. So maybe I could save enough before long to get me a car. Then I could move back to Fort Worth (you just about have to have a car to live in Fort worth). Anyway, I'm closer to you now & I can get up to see you more often. Of course I don't have a job yet. I'll just have to wait & see if I can find something. If I do get a job I guess I'll stay. If not, I'll do something else. Anyway, at least I'm closer to you. And if I can, I want to get a job at a factory because you have weekends free, where if you work as a waitress you always have to work weekends, & after you start back to school that's the only chance I'll have to see you. And I want to spend some time with Mother Wise. I hadn't seen her in so long & she's not getting any younger. You know when I was a little girl, I lived with her for a couple of years, & she's always been like a second mother to me. After Daddy died, I felt so bad because I hadn't spent more time with him. I don't want to make the same mistake with Mother Wise.
I got a letter from David yesterday. He said he'd get out of the hospital in about a month. He sounds like he's doing o.k. I need to send him some cigarettes. I sure hope I get a job.
Well honey, I guess this is all. Write me here at Nanny's. Have you heard anything from Charlotte? I wish I could see all of them. Well, I'll close now. Write me & be sweet. I love you very much.
Love,
Mother
*It's good you'll be spending time with Mother Wise. She's in the early stages of Alzheimer's you'll soon learn. She doesn't have long so your instincts were right. I'll spend a month of summer with you at Nanny's. You'll find a job at a nearby factory. During the afternoons while you're at work, I'll watch soap operas with Nanny, help her garden, run errands with her in her Cadillac while Ronnie Milsap sings, "I'm having daydreams, about night things, in the middle of the afternoon...". You'll be tired each night when you get home from work, so I'll sit on the floor at your feet and rub them. They're so calloused but I find them beautiful. My memories of this summer will be full of Nanny's okra gumbo, rhubarb pie, picking tomatoes, petting her cats -- Sam and Bitty-Bit -- and feeling at home with you so close. I've missed you so much and this visit feeds a terrible hunger. We'll walk over to Mother Wise's trailer next door and play the organ and sing. After this visit she'll begin to deteriorate. I'll never see her again. This is also the last time you'll see Nanny until 1983 when she decides to call a truce on your off and on war, and you'll go to her hospital bedside to tell her good-bye.
Dear Teresa,
Hi honey. I'm sorry I didn't get to call you today but I'm kind of low on money, so I'll just write.
I left Houston & I'm spending some time at Nanny's (in Greenville). I haven't decided yet weather [sic] I'll stay here & try to get a job or move to Fort Worth. Without a car it might be best to stay here a while. Mother said they're hiring at some factories here and that you can always find a ride to work. So maybe I could save enough before long to get me a car. Then I could move back to Fort Worth (you just about have to have a car to live in Fort worth). Anyway, I'm closer to you now & I can get up to see you more often. Of course I don't have a job yet. I'll just have to wait & see if I can find something. If I do get a job I guess I'll stay. If not, I'll do something else. Anyway, at least I'm closer to you. And if I can, I want to get a job at a factory because you have weekends free, where if you work as a waitress you always have to work weekends, & after you start back to school that's the only chance I'll have to see you. And I want to spend some time with Mother Wise. I hadn't seen her in so long & she's not getting any younger. You know when I was a little girl, I lived with her for a couple of years, & she's always been like a second mother to me. After Daddy died, I felt so bad because I hadn't spent more time with him. I don't want to make the same mistake with Mother Wise.
I got a letter from David yesterday. He said he'd get out of the hospital in about a month. He sounds like he's doing o.k. I need to send him some cigarettes. I sure hope I get a job.
Well honey, I guess this is all. Write me here at Nanny's. Have you heard anything from Charlotte? I wish I could see all of them. Well, I'll close now. Write me & be sweet. I love you very much.
Love,
Mother
*It's good you'll be spending time with Mother Wise. She's in the early stages of Alzheimer's you'll soon learn. She doesn't have long so your instincts were right. I'll spend a month of summer with you at Nanny's. You'll find a job at a nearby factory. During the afternoons while you're at work, I'll watch soap operas with Nanny, help her garden, run errands with her in her Cadillac while Ronnie Milsap sings, "I'm having daydreams, about night things, in the middle of the afternoon...". You'll be tired each night when you get home from work, so I'll sit on the floor at your feet and rub them. They're so calloused but I find them beautiful. My memories of this summer will be full of Nanny's okra gumbo, rhubarb pie, picking tomatoes, petting her cats -- Sam and Bitty-Bit -- and feeling at home with you so close. I've missed you so much and this visit feeds a terrible hunger. We'll walk over to Mother Wise's trailer next door and play the organ and sing. After this visit she'll begin to deteriorate. I'll never see her again. This is also the last time you'll see Nanny until 1983 when she decides to call a truce on your off and on war, and you'll go to her hospital bedside to tell her good-bye.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Eating Her Addiction
I tiptoe behind her -- I'm 9 -- toward an immense room with gunmetal walls, no light, just endless grays and floor to ceiling portraits of ghosts. She feeds me frozen nails and I eat them while she cradles me in bones and paints my tongue the ash color of her words.
I can't separate the mother from the monster, the two from myself.
There's no choice in that room for days, weeks, sometimes years without light. I swallow down nails, coins, a pound of gray flesh as she watches me with staple gun eyes, her hair muddy tinsel, her voice gravel and rocks washed from gutters. It rains day and night, sheets of tin crashing while our tomb's gray-blue gloom rises high enough to know there is no ceiling, no floor, no hope.
When her chains stop rattling I spit out the metal and ash, bury the cold bloodless memories.
I can't separate the mother from the monster, the two from myself.
There's no choice in that room for days, weeks, sometimes years without light. I swallow down nails, coins, a pound of gray flesh as she watches me with staple gun eyes, her hair muddy tinsel, her voice gravel and rocks washed from gutters. It rains day and night, sheets of tin crashing while our tomb's gray-blue gloom rises high enough to know there is no ceiling, no floor, no hope.
When her chains stop rattling I spit out the metal and ash, bury the cold bloodless memories.
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