Fortunately, in spite of the way I looked, I made a new friend. Her name was Pamela, and she looked like the paintings of little girls with huge eyes that used to hang everywhere. Pamela was too pathetic and forlorn looking to be pretty, although she had all the features of a pretty girl. Her parents were Greek, so she had olive skin, dark eyes, and thick black hair cut in a short bob. Her parents didn’t dress her in frilly clothes either.
I spotted Pamela because she was a misfit like me. At recess, she found a place far away from the other kids and sat with her head down. She never spoke up in class, and when the teacher called on her, she seemed to go into shock and simply could not speak. The other kids looked at her with the same strange look they gave me.
I liked Pamela because she showed the world how she was really feeling. She didn’t hide it under a false bravado of strength and brashness like I did. She probably liked me because I was so outgoing and friendly. We complemented each other. I acted the way she wished she could act and she reminded me of how sad I really felt.
Pamela’s parents were rich—at least compared to my mother. They lived less than a mile from us but they might as well have lived in another town. Their part of Bakersfield was called Hillcrest and was filled with massive, ranch-style homes reserved for the doctors and lawyers and business owners of Bakersfield.
After school Pam and I walked to her house, where we played for hours in her toy- and doll-filled bedroom, which was almost as big as our entire apartment. Her room, with its princess bed and shelves full of dolls and stuffed animals, was our safe house, our respite from the cruel world outside. We were isolated and alone, but we were safe. We had no one scrutinizing us, no one demanding we act a certain way, no one asking anything of us.
Pam and I were kind to each other. As we played quietly in our make-believe worlds, we seldom spoke, each in our own fantasy world. But we were connected. I’d look up and see Pam’s dark, sad eyes, and without a word she would tell me all about her pain and loneliness. She would look at me and smile, silently communicating her unconditional acceptance of me.
Pam’s mother stayed in bed all day long. I don’t know if she was sick or sad or what her reason was, but “taking to bed” was a common thing for women to do at that time—at least in Bakersfield. When I got older, I always thought that life had just become too much for these women, and so they retreated to their bed, the way Pam and I had retreated into her room and into our fantasy worlds.
I felt sad for Pam. She was as alone as I was. Even though her mother was home, she might as well not have been. The house was very long and Pam’s bedroom was on the opposite end of the house from her parents’ bedroom. Even when we took the long walk down to her mother’s bedroom for an occasional visit, she seemed distant and removed. She was a beautiful woman and smiled sweetly when we came into the room, but she didn’t have much to say and we soon knew it was time to leave. Pam hardly ever saw her father either. Mr. Delis owned a farm supply store and worked long hours, well into the evening.
Pam and I were like orphans who had to raise ourselves, and we clung to each other like lifelines. She became my best friend and more. She was my soul mate, not because we were so alike but because we were opposites, each filling in the gaps in the other’s personality. I was the leader, she was the follower. These were the roles we took on in life—roles created for self-preservation. I was naturally gregarious but this was also a necessity: I had to make my way by myself, so I needed to be able to connect with others, to assert my needs, and, most important, to withstand my mother’s neglect and high expectations by being vigilant and self-sufficient.
Pam, on the other hand, needed to be passive. She may have been that way naturally, but it also worked for her. She was also neglected, but she received the clear message that she needed to “lie low,” not express her needs, and certainly make no demands. Even if she had, there would have been no one around to meet them.
I think Pam liked my take-charge attitude because it meant she didn’t have to take the risk of coming out of her shell. I liked her quietness because sometimes my noisiness was too much even for me.
Because of Pam, I learned that having a family and a big house doesn’t mean that you’re any better off. Pam was as impoverished as I was, even though her parents could buy her anything she wanted. I had the personality, strength, and courage to make it in the world alone, while Pam would have been crushed outside the protection of her cage, like the little, fragile bird that she was.
chapter 7
At about the same time I started first grade, Momma found a nice lady to babysit me after school and on weekends while she was at work. She usually worked until late at night, so I’d either walk the few blocks to Mrs. Jones’s house after school or, if I went to Pam’s after school, I’d walk from Pam’s house to Mrs.
