- Saturday, September 27, 2008
The Blue Room
When I was young, we would visit my grandmother once a week, usually on Sundays. My cousins would be there with their parents too. We would spend the first half of the day visiting, and then have lunch, prepared by grandma, who is probably responsible for my love of food and cooking. After the meal, the grown-ups would smoke cigarettes and play cards or dominoes, and we (the children) were left to entertain ourselves. We often gathered in one of the three bedrooms in my grandmother's house, usually the BLUE ROOM.We all called it the blue room because the carpet was royal blue (distinguishing it from the rest of the house which had green carpet). The room was sparsely decorated; having a double bed in the center with a window on each side, a dresser with a vanity mirror, one of those console stereo cabinets and a cedar armoire. A large painting (it was either oil or acrylic), created by my uncle while he was in prison (that's another story) hung above the stereo console. Two closets stood on the wall opposite the windows, and another door joined the blue room to the third room, occupied by my great-uncle.
My four cousins and I, ranging in age from five to eleven, would sit in a small circle on the floor of the blue room, and tell "scary stories" Sometimes, we made them up on the spot. Other times, we repeated stories or legends most of us have heard before; (Bloody Mary, the one with the guy with the HOOK, terrorizing the young couple who had PARKED, among others.)
One weekend, my cousin gave a very scary recount of "the scariest movie she had ever seen," Friday the 13th. (Why a parent would take their SEVEN YEAR OLD to see this movie is beyond me... but that is beside the point). At the time, people did not have cable tv or VCRs or DVDs. She told us about the killings, in vivid detail. We all listened, our small bodies tense with excitement and anxiety.
Another weekend, after the sun had set (It must have been during the winter), an older cousin told us the legend of Bloody Mary. I looked at him in disbelief and proclaimed him a "fag", (which at the time was just something kids would say to imply that a person was stupid or weird, and had nothing to do with cigarettes or sexual orientation.) He responded by closing the drapes to the room (which made the room frighteningly dark) and "double-dared" me to say her name three times while looking in the mirror. I managed to choke out two of the three before I questioned my doubts that Bloody Mary's ghost would appear in the mirror and scratch out my eyes--I lost my nerve, and was so afraid that I almost started to cry. He called me a wimp, and I was then exiled from the Blue Room by my young relatives. (O.K., so I was a wimp, but I was only about eight years old).
The Blue Room had become a place associated with "scary things". Ironically, this was also the guest room in which we were always placed when we slept over. When I was in high school, I stayed at my grandmother's for a week. During that week I read the book Pet Semetary) and stayed in the BLUE ROOM. On one of those nights, I had dreams of Victor Pascow busting the door to the blue room, waking me up and wanting me to follow him... somewhere.
Labels: childhood
pero @ 6:04 PM | œ | 0 comments
Mother, May I?
These small, seemingly harmless candies were mentioned in a post on royally speaking. It reminded me of something from my childhood. (I had to guess, I would guess that I was four.)I had accompanied my mother on a trip to the grocery store, which was walking distance and located around the corner from our home. She purchased a few items (most likely milk and other items that people tend to run out of between big shopping trips.)
While my mother was placing the items on the counter in order for the grocer to enter them into the cash register, the man behind the counter (I guess he was the owner) handed me an individually-wrapped orange slice candy. I smiled at him, but said nothing. I looked at my mom, who was busy sorting her grocery items and tried, without success, to show her the candy.
After my mom paid for the groceries, we headed home.
She had the bag of groceries in one arm, and held my hand with the other. My other hand held the orange slice, which remained unopened. We approached our house, walked under the carport to the side-entrance. As she was unlocking the door, she noticed the candy in my hand.
Addressing me by my full-name --that always means trouble as most of you know-- she said, "What is that you are holding?"
I looked at her and replied, "A candy."
"Well, where did you get it?" she asked. Her voice had taken on an edgy tone, which I associated with getting into a LOT of trouble.
"From the store", I answered, quietly. (Well it was the truth, after all.) I was afraid to tell her about the store owner handing it to me, because to me, he was a stranger, and I knew better than to take candy from a stranger.
She opened the door, and put the milk (and whatever else she had purchased) away. She then took me by the hand and marched me (and the candy) back to the small grocery store, scolding me as we walked (very quickly) the entire two blocks. Along the way, she informed me that I was "VERY BAD." She accused me of being a thief, explaining in detail how God and Mary, and Jesus were all very disappointed in my actions. She talked about sin and hell. She told me what I was going to say to the owner once we got back to the store.
As we walked in, my eyes began to spill over with tears. The man approached us and my mother, gently pushing me towards the man, said, "Well? What do you say?"
I held the candy out to the man and said, "I took this, and I am sowwy."
I don't remember if he ever explained to my mother that he had given me the candy and it was not stolen, and I do not remember my mother apologizing to me if he had mentioned that it was a gift.
pero @ 10:30 PM | œ | 0 comments
Fish Out of Water
When I was growing up, the Parent Teacher Association hosted a Fair each year at the end of the summer. This had many carnival type events, such as a dunking booth and games with prizes. One of the booths was set up on one of the long tables you would find in the school cafeteria. The table was lined up with several rows of small fish bowls. A quarter would buy you three chances at landing a ping pong ball into one of the bowls. Success at this task won the prize - a gold fish in a plastic bag and the bowl, with a few teaspoons colored fish gravel.
When I was somewhere around 7 or 8 years old, I won the ping pong ball toss, and selected a brown colored gold fish. I named him Sunset. This seemed like a great name for a brown goldfish. When I got home, I put Sunset on my desk, which was at the foot of my bed. I watched him for a long time before I finallly fell asleep the first night.
After some *undetermined* amount of time, Sunset departed this world (as goldfish will do). I provided him with a private funeral service (all drains lead to the ocean). That night, and on several nights that followed, I had a dream that seemed to loop; I'd walk in my room, spy the dead fish, and when I'd lift him out of the bowl with a spoon... and I'd vomit. This dream looped all night long.
pero @ 11:34 PM | œ | 0 comments
Sleepless-ness
I got tired relatively early, it was only midnight. I could no longer keep my eyes open, so I shut this vile machine down, turned out the light and closed my eyes. I fell asleep pretty fast... or at least drifted into that void between awake and asleep.- floating - ? I guess that is a good word for it.
I was half awake/ half asleep and images were forming around the edges of my brain, none of them particularly memorable.
Then it felt like all of the air got sucked out of the room or like the air was too heavy to breathe; and I had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen.
(It was one of those dreams that once you wake up from it - you can't remember what you were trying to get away from.)
I remember the struggle to wake up - or at least the start of my trying to wake up. I couldn't move (of course - that happens to people all the time).
(Still asleep, but dreaming that I was awake)
I reached out to the lamp on my bedside table. I could even feel the ridges of the little knob - the one you twist to turn the light on or off.
click - click - click - click (panic)
I think I actually yelled out - 'f~¢k'.
I tried to push myself up off of the mattress, and again I couldn't move. Laying on my stomach. Being held down by something unseen.
I KNOW I called out, "I can't wake up!. I can't wake up!" - and then
(still dreaming)
I leapt out of the bed - towards the stairs (which my home does not have, and which were on the wrong side of the bed from the side I had been laying, trying to turn on the light). -- Standing at the top of the stairs, it was totally dark.
Blacker than black dark. I couldn't even see moonlight through the spaces between the blinds type of dark. No light from any of the digital clocks, no glow from the indiglo light in the bathroom... NOTHING. Nothing but a sound that smoke might make, if we were able to hear it.
Whoosh - hiss hiss*.
(I am not afraid of the dark, but I think that anybody - whether or not they have a fear of it - would rather be able to see if they found themselves in an unfamiliar place).
I yelled out something else (don't know what)... and then I finally managed to force myself awake. I looked at the clock and it was 12:57. I closed my eyes again and within a few minutes more distorted images and shapes danced behind my eyelids. For some reason I found them disturbing. I got out of bed and got a drink of water. I still can't reclaim sleep.
Since I woke myself up screaming /? Whatever it was... the cat has been glued to me. Right now, I'm laying on my back with 2 pillows under my head and the laptop - on my lap. The cat is ON my right arm, which makes it very difficult to type. He is purring loudly and no matter how much I try to shake him off of me he won't budge.
* While typing this, I recalled a (meant-to-be-humorous) radio-show that I heard as a child - It was on a vinyl record narrated by Arch Oebler. He told a story in which "The Dark" turns people inside-out. It did this by grabbing their upper lip, jerking up up with a quick rip and then peeling it back... (complete with a voice-acting cast and sound effects. It is funny to me now -- scary to me as a child).
pero @ 1:19 AM | œ | 0 comments
