Page 20 of I'm Not Yours
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I could not stand living without color in my dad’s house. It reminded me of our dull, dreary trailer, and almost made me ill. I knew I would list the house and land for sale as soon as I had a job and knew where I would live, but I couldn’t stand to live in the bleakness anymore.
I went shopping and bought blue-and-white flowered slipcovers for two chairs, and a blue slipcover for the sofa I had covered with my mother’s red-and-white flowered quilt. I bought throw pillows with designs in red, blue, and yellow. I also bought two pillows with apples on them, one with a hummingbird.
I bought bright woven rugs for the family room, kitchen, and my bedroom. I bought two floor lamps and three table lamps with flowered and striped shades to bring light in. I bought two plaid tablecloths, and red cushions for the kitchen chairs. I bought a new bedspread in bright yellow with a swirling design, and four huge yellow pillows. I bought white towels and white bath mats and thick red ceramic dishes and mugs.
I bought two pots of chrysanthemums for the deck. I bought scented candles. I bought three vases to display wildflowers in my bedroom, on the kitchen table, and in the bathroom. I hung up photos of my mom and I in Bigfork, kissed my finger and brought it to her smiling face.
My dad’s place had been transformed.
There was life in it.
Cheerful, bright life.
The clinging, dirty, dangerous trailer feel started to recede, along with that sick power my dad had had over me.
I took the dogs for a walk.
The squirrels taunted Bob.
Later that evening I turned on the oven, found a cutting board, then settled down at the table to chop the apples I’d picked from the orchard to make an apple pie, my first in a long time.
My mother and I made apple pies here in Oregon when I was younger, and later when we moved to Montana. We made one the day before she was killed in an avalanche in Montana when I was eleven years old.
She was skiing with two friends. Ironically, it was the first time we’d ever been away from each other. One of the husbands offered to babysit the kids of all three mothers. We had so much fun until that terrible news stalked us down.
My mother, MaeLynn, was a pretty woman with wavy, long brown hair, like mine. I inherited her golden eyes, tipped a bit in the corners. The resemblance between us was startling. After we escaped from my dad, we lived in a blue, two-story house in Bigfork, Montana, and I loved it because for the first time I wasn’t living in an unpredictable war zone.
She worked as a waitress, and after rent was paid we did not have much money, but she showed me how to make used clothing, bought from Goodwill or garage sales, look modern and stylish.
My mother encouraged me toShow your Montana style!Looking back, I realize she was simply trying to charge me up and make me feel more confident about looking different from the other kids because we couldn’t afford new clothes.
We sewed on lace, ruffles, and satin to make boring shirts or skirts fun. We made earrings, necklaces, pins, and bracelets out of beads, crystals, and charms she found at garage sales. Other kids loved them and wanted to come over and make them, too.
We sewed on fancy patches to hide the holes in my jeans. I wore cool belts made out of rope or leather, fastened up withbuckles wrapped in glass beads. I wore embroidered headbands and wristbands and ribbons that matched my outfits. We even added silk flowers or ribbons to hats, and I’d wear those to school, too.
My mother knew how to make regular clothes original, and she taught me everything she knew. Most especially she taught me how to keep my chin up.We may be temporarily poor, honey, but hard work will change that. Chin up, shoulders back. We’ll show the world who we are!
After her parents died in a car accident, she found out they had left her enough money in their estate to go back to school. They had disowned her when she married my dad, hoping the pressure would make her walk out of the marriage. She went back to school while waitressing full-time, earned her teaching degree, and taught second grade at my school.
My mother had been the principal’s favorite waitress:She knew how to make her customers feel cared about, so I knew MaeLynn would do that for the kids, too,he’d told me.
I remembered how scared she was with my dad, how she cowered in corners, how he intimidated and insulted her, called her stupid and worthless, backhanded and shoved her. She was never allowed money and he accused her of having boyfriends, yelling right in her face. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere; she could not drive his truck. Looking back now, she was incredibly brave to leave and take me with her, because he had crushed her spirit and her will.
I remembered how he came to see us in Bigfork about two years after we left. My mother had changed her name, so he probably couldn’t find us at first, and when he got good and fed up with no one to browbeat, I’m sure he’d had to hire an investigator.
When he landed on our doorstep, my mother took the gun off the top shelf of our bookcase, opened the door, and pointed it at his forehead.
“Get the hell off my property, Ben,” she said, real quiet, then cocked the gun. My mother had become a new woman since she’d escaped from his violent clutches.
My dad could not have been more shocked if a monkey had dropped from the sky. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he told her.
She shot clean through the deck about two inches from his feet and I saw him jump in shock. She shot a second time when he didn’t leave. He swore at her something awful but turned around and backed off. He was running by the time he got to his truck, and she shot two bullets right into the cab.
He didn’t come back. She looked at me and said, “I will not let you live with that monster again, my love. I failed you once, but I will not fail you again. Let’s make apple muffins, shall we?”
We both trembled that day, making the apple muffins, but she was taking no more crap. Hence the gun, to help alleviate the crap.
