Firefly

    It was as Indian summer. All that was missing was Forsythia against the white washed fence.  The big round lilac bush, when blooming, the smell was unaddressable.  Tall poplars in the very back of the yard stood tall and stately against the fence.  Rose bushes and peonies out there.  Sometimes Dan and Carol grew corn, or radishes. There was a pear tree3, and peach as well, and a rose of Sharon right off the patio. The crab apple particularly beautiful during late spring.  The family was getting ready for fall, which would be here soon enough.  But tonight they were getting ready for the last bar-b cue of the summer.  One could smell the steaks and sweet onions  in tin foil , smothered with butter.  These were the specialties of the house.  Dad was the grill god.
   I wasn't perfect by any means.  but I was just so very much like him. I was also alot like mom, a blended mixture,  the worst and best of both.
    This had been a wonderful day.  Mom told me she had wanted to be a singer or dancer.  Her voice was quite beautiful.  Mom ,in her loving way, told me, "you should always have liquor in the house."  Dad was an alcoholic, as I had always thought.  However this was not something  I could nor could not say            

                                                           Firefly                                             

       I ran up the hill of the lawn in front of my house.  My arms were above my head, and I brought back nothing.  She stopped, and waited for the fly to light ,then she chased after it again, and the ritual of rising arms ,running, and "Yes, I got one, mark, come here with the bottle".  The bottle became home for a caterpillar, butterfly or occasional frog.
      Inside, to make the bottle a cozy home, Mark and I had arranged long green leaves, and twigs poking holes in the top cover (their firmament), the metal top was screwed right back .  After I screwed the top back on, I carefully made sure the lightning bug was safe.  I sat down and looked through the bottle at my firefly. This might be, beside the lady bug, I thought, was the only other friendly bug.  I held the bottle carefully between my knees.
     Unscrewing the cap, I gently stuck my hand inside the bottle.  I could see her long black body with the slim orange strip. Slowly , I dipped my hand in the bottle and took the bug out. I  slowly opened up my hand.  Then suddenly a bigger hand slammed mine.  The firefly fell to the ground. I could see a big foot, it wanted to step on my bug.  I wouldn't let it.  Trying to push it away, I realized he was just to big.  He stamped on my hand and i pulled it away.  My firefly, its phosphorescent streaked on the cement.

Life with Sister Sibling

Easier for the reader, Sister will go by the name Kara.

Life with Sister *sibling abuse*

One of the worst days of my life was the day I watched, as my sister wrapped her hands around my mother's throat, trying to choke her to death.  To my great dismay and sadness, this was only one, of many times, I would be a lonely watcher to scenes such as this, and more.

    These scenes of extreme fright and anxiety,wreaked havoc with my mental health.

     There are so many things that have been completely blocked from my memory.  I remember my first day of school. I was four and was wearing a red dress with a white peter pan collar. I had a friend who lived next door. He and I were inseparable. He wasn't able to go to school as he was still to young. I was starting school at four years old, because that year the cut off date for registration was a few days after my birthday,which was the end of December.

    I don't remember at that time, any particular fears of leaving my house,or my mother. As well, I can't remember anything about my sister.

     Soon enough,however I remember being frightened whenever I would have to leave the house, and especially ,my mom. It was an uncomfortable feeling I would have in my chest and stomach. Many times I became nauseous for no reason. I didn't understand, because I wasn't sick, didn't have a fever.  Just this tingling, uncomfortableness. What I wouldn't have done to take that feeling away.

    At times I would remember, as this inevitably would happen time and again,sister got extremely angry and would go into the bathroom located across from my bedroom, and slam the door as hard as she could. And then of course the constant slamming loosened the door jam. Then she would be locked inside the bath.  As her frustration grew, so did her anger, until I thought many times, she would break the door down.  For some reason I remember my dad being there to always be able to get the lock open with a butter knife.  Maybe that was because he didn't always have a steady job. Maybe this was a good thing, but ,it was also a bad thing.

    In the years of the early 1950's my parents moved from a small town which bordered New York, and New Jersey. In 1951,when I was born, I remember our family going out to where mom and dad had bought and were building a house for themselves as well as sister and I.  Before this, we all lived in a big house in valley spring. All of us, extended family, grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, lived under the same roof. Sister was not a great source of comfort for them either.

    We, sister, myself, mom and dad, would visit our home as it rose from the lush soil of Long Island, which before the housing boom, after the war, was awash with farm after farm of potato fields. The soil did produce beautiful plants, that, though, was later on.

    Everyone seemed to think it was the greatest thing in the world. Move from Brooklyn, or Queens, and get a house in the suburbs, the country. "it's cooler there." was the required statement. I don't know that it was required, but everyone said it, so, it must have been true, right?  And everyone thought "this will be wonderful for sister and Debra, as well." Everyone also said that, so that must also turn out to be true, right?  On this particular question I can affirm that everyone was wrong.

    At this time, there was an entire neighborhood growing up. I, since that first day, have loved the smell of raw lumber. Or maybe, I loved that smell as I spent so much time with dad at lumber yards.  He was always building something. A fence, a patio, a bird house, something.  And I did so love the times we shared together, and always would. As I would with my mom, going to the grocery store, or the small clothing store ,'Wolffs'.  Every where we went, after a purchase, mom would have a receipt with bunches of green S & H stamps in the palm of her hand.

    b

to be continued