Day 118
(This is Part VII of the story, The Scent of Lilacs. The first part of this story was posted on Day 108. Parts II, III, IV, V, VI are posted on days 109, 110, 111, 115, and 116.)
My mind has wandered, again, and I find an error in my crocheting, so I begin to pull out the stitches. How easily all that work unravels … like thoughts. One thing leads to another along the pathways of our brains. I look up and realize the sky out west has darkened. A storm must be coming our way. Aunt Grace didn’t mention a storm. She usually closes the windows but I know that the two in front, at least, are open; my bedroom and yes, the one in the bathroom, too. I wonder if she’ll get home before the rain starts.
A memory washes over me … everything is white and smells different from what I’m used to. I’m in someone’s bed … and there are bandages on my arms.
Those are the only recollections of the hospital that I have from after “The Accident”. I don’t recall the accident itself at all. “It’s a good thing”, I’ve been told so many times, that I no longer listen.
It was an early May morning … the promise of a beautiful spring day in the air. We were going for a picnic as Daddy had borrowed the car from his boss. We didn’t have a car yet, but Daddy’s boss had taught him to drive and loaned him the car for the day. I imagine for someone to do that they must have thought real highly about Daddy. No one in his or her right mind would ever lend a car to someone unreliable or irresponsible.
All I remember is laughing and singing – Daddy driving, me in the middle and Mama next to me. The windows were down and the warm air was gushing in … and the next thing I remember is a little bit about the hospital, and Mama’s casket, and then Daddy leaving me here … with two broken arms and paralyzed legs. The doctors said I’d be in a wheel chair for the rest of my life – only an act of God would ever make me walk again.
Daddy said he never saw the truck – a lonely country road and only two vehicles on it. How likely is it that they’d collide? Somehow Daddy’s injuries were the least of all of ours – probably because the truck hit Mama’s side. She died the next day. They tried to save her and the baby – but neither of them made it. I would have had a brother. They were together in that white casket covered with lilacs.
I look at my legs – oh, how I used to love to run in the field behind our house! I was a pony – wild and free. I’d never be a wild pony again. How I wish I could get up and walk away from this – away from this chair, this porch, this house, this life – even away from Aunt Grace. Even after all she’s done for me – taking me in and all – I’d walk away, in a heartbeat. It is not that Aunt Grace is cruel or ugly towards me – well, not most of the time – I just know I am a burden and she is old and tired and doesn’t really want me.
The sky has darkened more and in the distance I hear the rumble of thunder. I don’t mind storms. I find comfort in them, especially at night when I’m cozy in bed and the rain drums against the tin roof. Rain’s comforting but a dog would be better. I’ve often asked Aunt Grace if we could get a dog – I’ve heard of those dogs that help blind people; Aunt Grace said I wasn’t blind and all she needed was another mouth to feed. I was a handful, but at least I didn’t have fleas. It’s too bad I don’t have a dog to keep me company. It sure would make the days go by nicer and the nights would be warmer … and I’d have somebody to talk to. Aunt Hattie said she took care of a stray for a while and it was so nice comin’ home to someone else. She said she nearly talked its ears off – and maybe that’s why it just up and left one day. She said she was mighty sad when that critter left. I have a “thing” for animals. They seem to like and trust me. Even squirrels come to me. Aunt Grace says they’re just rats with better tails and chases them with her broom. There aren’t many trees around here, so I supposed they live down by those Cottonwoods and the creek, but why they come all the way up here to hunt for food is beyond me. It’s not like they’re goin’ to find any nuts around here anymore. The last time I mentioned a dog to Aunt Grace she scoffed, again, at the idea when I suggested it and muttered something that I didn’t quite catch. I’m sure it wasn’t anything too pleasant so I didn’t ask her to repeat it.
(Watch for Part VIII.)