A High School Memory

 

It was, most everybody said, an unusual and highly unlikely friendship.

Dawn was a golden girl, a child of wealth and privilege, gifted with more beauty than brains but with a good heart and an unexpectedly strict sense of fair play. She was more at home on the tennis court than the classroom and she stood her ground fiercely when it came to choosing her high school, refusing the private venues her parents had selected and opting for a public one. What’s more, she wouldn’t even consider using the family’s driver. She would ride the transit bus, same as 99% of her classmates, spring and winter weather notwithstanding. When the school choir needed a soloist, it was always Dawn they turned to, the rest of us were just backup singers. She and I had known each other for years as both our families attended the First Baptist Church and we’d been friends since junior high. Despite her background and upbringing, despite her blonde hair and fair peach skin, despite how easily everything (except a high GPA) came to her, you got used to her genuine smile and easy manner and how she treated everyone as equals. It was impossible not to like her.

June was the daughter of immigrants who lived perilously close to the sleazy side of Cambridge in a triple decker on a poorly lit and neglected side street. She was tall and slim, dark haired and olive skinned with an athletic build and a competitive spirit that made her perfect for the high school basketball team. We’d known each other since elementary school, had done projects together and played on the same Philadelphia Kick Ball and softball teams. In fifth grade, we were the only two girls to pass on the ballroom dancing class in favor of field hockey. Her family, loud and rambunctious and generous, welcomed me with open arms, genuine affection and always full plates of pasta and hot buttered garlic bread. We’d been choir mates since junior high and shared a love of music and cheap romance magazines. In sixth grade, I helped her with English classes, she helped me with math and somehow or other, we both managed to pass Conversational French.

The three of us came together in our first year of high school. We didn’t know it then but June would be Dawn’s first serious competition for the role of primary soloist for the choir. We more or less expected some resentment or jealousy from Dawn but that sense of fairness got in her way and she opted for sharing the spotlight. The choir had one of it’s best seasons in years.

As so often happens, the closeness we had in high school didn’t last after graduation and we lost touch. Rumor had it that Dawn had gone on to finishing school and then to two or three failed marriages and then to a quiet and well funded retirement condo in Daytona Beach. June got a scholarship to Northeastern, played four years of basketball as a star forward, graduated with honors and married a ROTC candidate. Several years later, I heard that she and her husband had renovated the old triple decker and become active in the gentrification movement of her old neighborhood but I never knew about either of them for sure. Sometimes, people, even good friends, come and go in our lives like the weather. You have to appreciate the fair, get through the foul, and be grateful for both. Everybody we come across is a lesson.

Fire & Flood

 

It isn’t going to be the fires and floods and earthquakes but the little things that do me in. Like not being able to remember if I let all of Michael’s dogs back in, changed the kitty litter or the name of an actor from an old (or new) movie. Like how I routinely forget to enter a transaction in my checkbook or can’t come up with a particular word when I’m writing. All I really have to do is leave things (glasses, keys, purse, etc) in the same place each and every time and I would never lose things. I weary of wondering if I locked the door behind me or put that last cigarette out or turned off my headlights. I tell myself it’s absentmindedness (and that I’m entitled) but I don’t always seem to convince myself anymore. I sometimes feel a sense of dread that senility isn’t as far off or traveling as slowly as I’d like.

Just today, I left class to make a quick trip home to let Michael’s and my own dogs out. I hadn’t been back more than 10 minutes when I realized I couldn’t remember letting any of the dogs, mine or his, back in. Michael and I both knew the chances that I actually hadn’t were somewhere between slim and astronomical but it’s not something you can risk so as sure as I was that all the dogs were exactly where they were supposed to be, I made a second trip, just so I was absolutely, unshakably positive. It really should be a little easier to trust your instincts – Michael’s three were calmly sleeping in the front room and my two were in the sun room, napping peacefully on the love seat. Just as I had left them. Just as I knew they would be. It was a silly waste of time, energy, worry and gasoline.

These golden years are tinged with rust and these senior moments are (pun absolutely intended) getting old.

Pioneer Days

 

The Storm of 2021 was no surprise. It was the after effects that did us in.

You’d have had to be six feet underground to have missed the warnings and the forecasts and the dire predictions so on the last day of our suspiciously mild winter, I trudged to the grocery store and stocked up on dog and cat food, kitty litter, diet cokes in glass bottles, Ghiradelli caramel squares and cigarettes. I felt quite secure about the coming storm, naively optimistic that the doomsayers were wrong when the said we could expect 5 -8 inches of snow followed by a full week of well below freezing temperatures. This was, after all, Louisiana and such things were unheard of even in our northwest section of the state. I went to sleep feeling confident at being prepared and slightly foolish for letting worry get the best of me.

Sleet against the windows woke me around 5 am and when I looked out, I was shocked to see the world had turned a pristine and deep white. Everything from the lawns to the street and the trees and the vehicles, including my own, was blanketed in snow and it was still falling. It was amazingly beautiful and serenely still, like a painting. It was also, I dimly realized, deadly.

I dug out a layer of thermal underwear and pulled on sweats and a second pair of socks then woke the dogs.

“Brace yourselves, guys,” I warned them, “This is something you haven’t seen before and you’re going to have to be very brave.”

There was easily over a half foot of snow on the deck and while they each started out willingly enough, all it took was a couple of paws into the icy cold before they retreated and gave me an unbelieving stare, a patented “Are you on drugs?” kind of stare. This, I saw, was not going to be a cakewalk. I put on my leather Nikes, hunted up my knit cap and gloves, and resistance aside, tucked one dog under each arm, carried them outside and set them down in the snow and sleet. Being small dogs, they were both immediately half buried but they managed to do their business and then tunnel their way back inside, coats glistening with ice and shivering from muzzle to tail.

“What good, good dogs I have!” I told them and gave them double biscuits before setting about to feed them and the cats.

I checked the thermostat and was relieved to see it holding at 72, a result no doubt of having replaced all the plastic duct work with metal a few months before. At the time, I thought the cost had been obscene but now I found myself grateful even if I didn’t live long enough to pay it off. I still had water at that point, the prior day’s grocery run had been a true blessing, the cable was still on. Things looked rough but not bleak. I had no idea of how wrong I was.

Day Two dawned cold, bright, icy and well below freezing. The forecast was for “A wintry mix of precipitation” which translated to more snow, sleet, freezing rain and the possibility of an ice storm. I decided to give the weather folks the benefit of the doubt and scrounged old towels and plastic trash bags and duct tape to wrap the outside faucets and set all the inside ones to dripping. I was anxious about the pipes freezing or losing power but not panicked. I did my best to concentrate on what was happening and tried to keep what might happen at bay.

Things escalated on Days Three and Four. A second storm brought several more inches of snow plus more sleet and freezing rain. Ice formed underneath and on top of what was already there and it took everything the poor dogs had to stay upright when they went outside. Reports of power outages became common and widespread, the shelters filled to overflowing, water mains froze and cracked all over the city, and every other story on social media seemed to be about animals left outside to die. A Days Inn across the river caught fire and burned to the ground and a homeless man froze to death on a downtown street. Water pressure evaporated in one neighborhood after another and by the third day, thousands were without any water at all and thousands more were without power. And still the arctic cold and snow continued, downing tree limbs onto roof tops, collapsing carports, freezing roads and trees and anything in its path.

The interstate closed with mile after mile after mile of 18 wheelers jackknifed or frozen in place.

Travel was out of the question, not that there was anywhere to go.

By Day Five, the hospitals were without water and in crisis. Medical personnel couldn’t get to work and those who were there already couldn’t get home. Tow trucks couldn’t get to stranded motorists and the National Guard was called in to deliver water and medical supplies and staff newly opened shelters. There was not a hotel or motel room to be had for 20 miles. Private citizens were on the streets, clearing wrecks and accidents and checking on neighbors.

By Day Six, a Thursday, there was speculation about a potential warm up for the weekend and people began shoveling out as best they could. One chain grocery store managed to open with reduced hours and rationing and was immediately cleaned out of everything from drain opener to canned vegetables and anything in between. Though fragile and painfully uncertain, there was at least the hope of a thaw. Looking like a refugee Eskimo, my neighbor, Kevin, appeared to break up the ice on my steps and make sure my car would start. Still without water, we began collecting snow to melt – we boiled it for drinking and then collected more so toilets could be flushed and dishes could be washed. We filled buckets and bath tubs and sinks and ice chests and said prayers of thanks for gas stoves and heaters.

“Snow coffee is really awful!” my friend Michael texted me, on Day 7, “When is this nightmare going to end?”

The thaw began on Day 8. It slowly warmed up to almost 45 and being out of dog food, I had to chance driving. I stayed on the main streets, avoiding any road that hadn’t gotten sunshine and inching my way through intersections of slush and black ice, driving only in the ruts and never more than 20 mph.

“S’posed to be almost 60 tomorrow,” Kevin told me when I got home, “You got everything you need?”

Everything ends, of course, and a week or so later, the storm was mostly a memory. Spring, complete with flowers and 80 degree temperatures arrived, making us all feel as if we were waking from a bad dream. Sadly, not everything survived and in many places what should have been green and growing was dirty brown, bare, and leafless. AT&T’s underground cable system was severely damaged and entire neighborhoods were without telephone and internet for the next month. Repairs to the battered water infrastructure took less time but busted pipes sprung up like a measles epidemic and the city’s water department was kept on overtime for weeks. All in all, we took to telling each other, it could’ve been far worse. We really would have made pitiful pioneers.