Page 19 of And Still Her Voice
“Let it out,” Betsy whispered. In that moment, I realized this was something missing in my life; something very foreign to me and yet so vital. The soft human touch. I’d seen such displays of affection on TV, never in our home. I felt a release of tension and broke into sobs.
Once we got into the stadium, there was talk of burning draft cards. Ben took out his shiny, brown leather wallet and pulled out a card. He then tore the paper in half, letting the breeze carry it off with a passionate speech by an actor I recognized at the podium. “The primary reason for our being in Vietnam today is our refusal to admit a mistake,” he said. “In our attempt to make Vietnam a Pro American, anti-communist state—”
A counter-demonstrator shouted out, “Don’t listen to him!”
Swept up by a tide of passion, I also knew first-hand what it was like to be invaded by an intruder. Grandma was America and I was Vietnam and the time had come to get strong and stand up to this foreign enemy who’d dug into the trenches of my brain, part of which was still ripe and ready to be fertilized with new ideas.
And then a beautiful Black woman with a white corsage pinned to her lapel came to the podium. I recognized the wife of Martin Luther King, Jr., and when Coretta Scott King got to the part of her speech, “When the heart is right, the mind and the body will follow,” I knew it was a matter of listening to my own heart, something I didn’t share with Grandma. I wanted my heart to beat as one with this movement. I wanted to take control of my body.
“Let’s go home,” Grandma said.
“No,” I said digging in my heels. I saw certain parallels and a connection that might give me strength to take charge of myown destination. There were so many choices to consider and probably just as many battles with Grandma to conquer. It felt as if I were being called to climb a steep mountain and with every step, I would get stronger. Again, it felt as if I had a bigger purpose than the whole Grandma thing. I just needed to find it.
Lazarus Rising, a band I’d never heard of, took the stage. The lead guitarist blew me away. All the vocals were done by the others. There were no females in the band, which wasn’t unusual, but it might have helped, if you were to ask me. The last two bands came on, again groups I’d never heard of like Steve Miller or Country Joe and the Fish or the Big Brother and the Holding Company, and then we left.
***
Sitting in the parlor back at the house, Poppy being down for the night upstairs, Ben opened a bottle of wine and poured us a glass. “Cheers!” he said, clinking Betsy’s glass and then mine. When Betsy started talking about the events of the day, Ben got up and excused himself to go upstairs to do some reading. He kissed Betsy goodnight and took his glass. She got up to pour the rest of the bottle, offering me some. I shook my head. There were still a couple of swallows left in my glass. I already felt a slight buzz. She poured herself the rest and I sat back looking up toward the ceiling thinking about the day as she kept talking about this and that. She scooted next to me, placing a hand on my lap. “What a day,” she said, twisting toward me.
“I’d say it was prettyfar out.”
She laughed. “And you, you’ve been holding out on us.”
I took a sip of my wine, preparing to have to talk about Grandma. It might be a relief to tell someone.
“Not just a pretty face, but you have a beautiful voice. You can go places.”
“Thank you.” I knew I was good on the piano and even the guitar, but I never thought my singing was so special.
She then put both hands on my cheeks.
“Such a face, so innocent.” I was only a few years younger than she was. She kissed me and as it lingered, she slid her arms around me. Human touch. I didn’t know how to react, but I didn’t do anything to stop her. She tasted like warm grapes, like I could have plucked and devoured her kisses one by one. But as soon as I put my arms around her, it was over, leaving me utterly confused. I mean, Betsy and Ben are a couple, but they aren’t married. But they have a child. Why would she kiss me like that? Earlier in the park, there’d been talks about free love; talks about making love not war.
“Goodnight, Anna. Sleep tight.” She vanished upstairs, leaving me alone to wonder what the hell had just happened.
How am I supposed to sleep? I lay in bed still buzzing from the day ending with a kiss. Grandma wanted to go home. Home? I began feeling more at home running away from it, besides I’d started to develop somewhat of a girl crush on Betsy and thought it needed more exploration. Totally confused about my feelings, at first, I’d thought of Betsy as a big sister or a mother, or even a shrink of sorts—one who didn’t let the patient talk. Mixed up about relationships, both female and male, and then after what just happened downstairs, I was thoroughly baffled, maybe if I read more Gertrude Stein.
“I’m not ready.” Besides, I wanted to be a part of this change, be a part of something bigger than myself, bigger than us. I felt I must fight to end the war and for equal rights and for women’s freedom.
“Anna, you’re still so young. Young people are idealistic and full of passion.”
“But I’m not stupid.”
“Nor are you naïve, and I am simply trying to protect you from a lifetime of struggles. I don’t want you to repeat my mistakes. I’m so tired of them all.”
“Seriously? So, then just die already! This is my life! You had yours to fuck up.”
“Indeed, Anna, and I learned so much—some good information and some bad. I know the difference now and that’s why I want to guide you in the right direction.”
“Oh my God! How do you know what’s right or wrong for me? What do you know?”
“I know history repeats itself. But sometimes it’s more like a pendulum swinging so hard one way and then even harder the other way. I don’t want that for you.”
“Well, I don’t want to go home and turn into a subservient suburban housewife like Mom or like her mother before her.”
“Darling, that’s not your only choice.”
“Oh yeah, what do you know?” I rolled over and put the pillow over my head, an act in futility.
