Day 115
(This is Part V of the story I’m posting … The Scent of Lilacs. Parts I, II, III, IV are posted on days 108, 109, 110 and 111.)
So, my independence grew until I am where I am – on the porch – all day. On days when it’s rainy or too cold to be out here, I sit inside by the stove. I’d much rather be outside looking at the sky and feeling the breeze, if there is one, and listening to the birds and bugs talkin’. It gets tiresome looking at that old worn linoleum floor all day.
There’s a path of sorts from the porch door to the bathroom; otherwise the areas are almost too narrow for my chair. When I’m hungry I take lunch out of the cooler Aunt Grace has left by my side – someone at church donated it to “the cause”. I guess that’s us, ’cause we got it. It is convenient, since otherwise, I’d have to wheel myself into the house past the bathroom and into the kitchen. That was just a lot more work, getting into the kitchen, and this seemed to work out just fine. Aunt Grace made my lunch for me anyway, and it was easier to set it in the cooler for me than in the old Frigidaire in the kitchen. It is hard for me to get the porch door open as the latch is sticky and fussy at times and that old refrigerator door is just too big and heavy.
I couldn’t see the clock in the parlour through the window – the lace curtains hid more than they revealed – but I guessed from the angle of the sun that it was about lunchtime. Anyway, my stomach didn’t care what time it was; it was hungry.
What was lunch today? Aunt Grace always called the meal at noon, dinner (I called it lunch except on Sundays when it was dinner) – and the meal that I called dinner, and sometimes supper, was always to Aunt Grace supper. For awhile, after I arrived, it was very confusing – though it didn’t matter ’cause I didn’t feel much like eating anyway, no matter what time of day it was. My guess was that today’s sandwich would be tuna, cheese or peanut butter. Those were the usual sandwiches; on white bread, with butter, of course. Sometimes it was just bread and butter though, when our supplies were low. I haven’t eaten meat in a long time. Aunt Grace says I’m just about the only person in the whole United States that doesn’t eat meat. She says she’ll be damned if I die of malnutrition while she’s taking’ care of me. At least she has resigned herself to my ways and she makes sure I get plenty of food other than from sweet animals. I only heard of one other person who doesn’t eat meat – that’s old man Pasque. It’s been said that he lives by himself off back by the train tracks – they’re no longer used, so there’s no danger of him gettin’ run over. They say he has no teeth. Aunt Grace reminds me all the time that if old man Pasque had teeth, he’d certainly be eating meat and then I’d for sure by the only one not eating meat in the United States. How did I come to be so stubborn in my ways? It was on account of poor Petey. I stopped eating meat when I realized what probably happened to him.
It was the Easter I was 8. I had on my favorite outfit of all time – the dress was sheer marigold yellow dotted Swiss with white daisies imprinted on the fabric. It had an underlay of yellow voiles with a white banded collar that tied into a big bow at the back of my neck with two long sashes hanging down to my knees. The best part (besides my white gloves and white straw hat with the flower on it that almost looked real) was that Mama surprised me with new shoes and a matching purse. These were not the usual white I’d had before, but also in that sunshiny yellow! I looked like some young fashion model from a catalog. After dinner, Daddy asked me to go to the yard and make sure we hadn’t overlooked any eggs from our morning egg hunt after church. The grass was that perfect Spring green and the sun was warm and there in the middle of the yard was something – something whitish-yellow, something small and fuzzy … a duckling! She was so soft and tiny. I remember squealing with delight and turned to see Mama and Daddy in the doorway, hugging. I do believe Mama had sunbeams coming from her smile. It seemed to take me forever to walk back to the house carefully cradling my new treasure. It was the best Easter I’d ever had … yellow shoes and a matching purse and a duck! I named the duckling Polly until Daddy told me it was a boy duck, then I changed his name to Petey. I sounded like the perfect duck name and it, too, had just the right amount of letters.
Petey followed me everywhere – he must have thought I was his mama. I’d never had a pet before and having him was so wonderful. I took care of him and played with him all spring and summer; it was blissful. By the time the leaves were changing and the air was getting that “change of season” nip, Daddy said Petey was too big and it was getting too cold for him to stay outside. And Mama said that there was no way she was having duck live inside the house with us so, she and Daddy thought that my darling Petey would be happier over in the next town at Mr. Wiley’s duck farm. I didn’t understand why Petey couldn’t stay outside – I knew other ducks stayed outside all winter, but Mama and Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. I was upset that Petey had to leave us, but happy that he would be with other ducks. And, how fortunate that there was a nice man who let ducks live on his farm, in a heated barn! Daddy arranged to take Petey there one day on his way to work and, after a tearful good-bye, that was that.
Less than a year later I read an article in the newspaper about Wiley Poultry – the largest commercial poultry farm in our area. They sold ducks and chickens to only the best restaurants in the south. I cried for three days. After that, I vowed never to eat meat again. Aunt Grace says tuna is the meat of a fish – but I figured they were okay to eat as I’ve never known anyone having a tuna as a pet.
(Watch for Part VI.)