There was a rock garden in our little backyard—just several large rocks placed in a circle, really, but I found them endlessly entertaining. For hours, I walked on top of them, round and round the circle, balancing myself as I hopped from rock to rock. I’d sing songs, tell myself stories, and make up scenarios in my head—like the one where I used the stones to help me cross a ferocious river.
When I got hungry, I went inside to make myself a sandwich. When we lived in Bakersfield Momma had always bought pumpernickel or rye bread, and even though I ate it, I never liked it. I’d always hound her to buy white bread like I’d had at Ruby’s house, but to no avail.
“That white bread they sell today isn’t bread at all,” she’d tell me. “It’s just tasteless fluff.”
But in Ceres she finally broke down and bought me white bread.
“I know you like it and I know you live on sandwiches when I’m not at home,” she explained. “Besides, it is a lot cheaper than the other bread.”
It did make more sense to buy the foot-long loaves of cheap white bread. That way, I could make sandwiches all week long out of one loaf.
Momma also broke down and starting buying me bologna. She had seldom bought lunchmeat in the past because it was expensive, but when she did it was always the kind she liked— olive loaf or headcheese. I hated these but always ate them anyway.
Now I could go into the kitchen and make myself bologna sandwiches with white bread whenever I got hungry. I was what Momma would call “living in hog heaven.”
Then I would play “Queen,” the game my mother had taught me. I pretended I was the Queen’s servant and I had to clean the castle before she came home or I’d be put in chains in the dungeon. I swept and dusted, made the bed, did the dishes, and took out the garbage. Then I rewarded myself by going to visit the neighbor on the other side of our house, a nice lady who would invite me in for cookies and milk. I don’t remember her name but she was very sweet to me and the cookies and milk always tasted so good after all my hard work.
After my cookies and milk, I came home and, with Sandy in my lap, sat on our front porch and waited for the real Queen to come home. I would start my waiting at least an hour before she usually arrived. There was something about waiting for her, looking for her to come down the street, that was always exciting to me. Somehow, waiting for my mother always made me feel less lonely. Even though she wasn’t with me, the anticipation of her coming made me feel happy.
Ceres was a sweet time for me. My mother couldn’t afford to buy beer and so I experienced a whole different person from the one who drank every night. She seemed to notice me more and even took the time to ask me about school. I’d catch her looking at me sometimes, as if she was trying to figure out how I was doing. And because she didn’t have any lady friends, she spent all her free time with me. Yes, she was unhappy, and yes, she was exhausted, but these things seemed to help her to appreciate me more. She let me know she was grateful for the fact that I was being so good and not causing her any problems. And for the first time in my life she told me she was proud of me—both for being able to stay alone all by myself and for keeping the house so clean.
I gained a new respect for my mother during this time. I’d never really thought about what she did all day when she worked at Thrifty’s, but now I could picture her walking up and down streets, knocking on doors, and selling her Avon products. And I saw how tired she was when she came home, which made me feel bad for her. She’d take off her shoes and tell me her feet hurt, and I would rub them with alcohol for her.
On Sunday evenings, Momma would usually make a big pot of navy beans and salt pork and we’d eat off it all week. I loved it when she cooked anything—even though she often burned the food. It felt cheery to smell the food cooking and it reminded me of the smells in Aunt Opal’s kitchen.
When the food was done, I’d make myself a big bowl of beans and then I’d cut off the skin of the salt pork and add it to my bowl. I usually wolfed down the beans, but I savored the pork skin since it was the only meat we had. If Momma had cooked it long enough, the skin was tender and juicy.
After dinner my mother and I would get into the big bed and she would read out loud the books she had checked out from the library. We had no TV and there was nothing else to do. Even though it was early fall the evenings were cold and so we lay huddled up together under blankets to keep warm. I wasn’t used to being physically close to my mother like that— she always needed her space—but on those nights she let me sit up close to
