When Mom Ran Away

Published in The Memoirist

When Mom Ran Away

She Abandoned Us Long Before the Trip

In my third grade classroom, every few days, Mrs. Edgerton called on a student to come up to the bulletin board and place a colored pin on the map of the world. I'd begun to hate the days we had to follow where my mom was on her trip around the world. My teacher’s voice rose higher. She talked to us like we were first graders. She acted excited, like we were going to have an ice cream party. It didn't feel that way to me I laid my head down on my desk and stuffed wadded up pieces of paper into the old unused ink holes.

"Today Mrs. Tucker is in Egypt, who wants to mark the spot?"

Everyone wanted to be selected to go to the board and place the colored pin on the map. I didn't care and never put my hand up.

"Bobby, do you need any help finding Cairo Egypt?”

Everyone knew Bobby Resnick was the smartest boy in class. He dutifully placed the green pin on the city. I didn't lift my head to see where he put the dumb colored pin.

She stood behind him, her hands clasped behind her back, the chalk always ready in one hand. She was the first lady I've ever seen with no ankles; her legs went straight up and down the same size, exactly like the playground poles. Mrs. Edgerton clapped her hands to call the class to order, somechildren weren't paying attention. I was one of those: a daydreamer.

I'd stare at the classroom map, always puzzled at how it could be made to look flat. The globe in on my parents’ desk tilted to one side but didn't fall over. One time I asked dad why it looked crooked. He tried to explain the reasons, but it was all too hard for me… I started sucking my thumb and fell asleep. He carried me to bed. I woke up as Daddy was carrying me, I didn’t open my eyes and pretended to be asleep so I could feel that feeling of his big hands around me. Safe. Sometimes I smelled beer, but not always. I knew he would tuck me in tight. And he did.

“Does anyone remember where Mrs. Tucker was on Friday? That was three whole days ago." I wanted to raise my hand, but I already felt embarrassed with the follow Janie's mother game. Plus, I knew my face was red from hearing my name out loud. "Does anyone remember?”

Pam's hand shot up. “Yes, last week she was in India where all the starving people live.” I didn't like Pam one bit. She had stringy blond hair that smelled like old towels, a runny nose, and eyes that bugged out like a cartoon character. One time when we were in ballet class, she put a booger on my elbow. I shivered remembering that time. Pam stood next to her desk.

“That's exactly right Pamela, you may sit down now.” You had to stand up to answer questions in 1963. And no one referred to children as kids; a kid was a baby goat. "Next week, our class will mark the map again and learn more about Mrs. Tucker's trip. Aren't we lucky ducks to follow Mrs. Tucker on her adventure?" Mrs. Edgerton sat down behind her huge wooden desk and began writing.

No, we weren't lucky ducks to follow my mother on her adventure. Not lucky at all. At night I missed her most and I wondered if she missed me too. Every day Dad and Grandma let Jennifer and me take turns making an X with a crayon on the wall calendar, counting off the days until Mom came home. They probably thought that would make me feel better and I'd stop crying at night. But when the days turned into weeks then to a new month and we turned the page, I quit looking at the calendar. The crayon disappeared.

I loved school and looked forward to getting school supplies every year, especially a new cigar box to keep everything all nice and neat. Horace Mann school was old, so old that the glass in the tall windows was wavy. I’d get dizzy when I look at them slowly from top to bottom. My mother and grandmother attended this very same school. At age 8, I couldn't picture any adults as children. I could only imagine them as miniature adults looking just as they do now.

The best part of my classroom were all the letters of the cursive alphabet lining the walls above to blackboards, stretching from A to Z. Each letter large enough to copy, with neat arrows pointing in the correct direction for upper and lowercase letters.

One time I went into my sister's fourth grade classroom. The first thing I noticed was the blank space above the blackboards. The single object above the board was the round clock with a black minute and hour hand, which never moved, while the red second hand jutted forward all day long. Not one cursive example to follow, to glance up, in case you forgot. I felt scared for the rest of third grade about what I would do… without the letters to copy.

After reading time and seat work, the recess bell rang. We weren't allowed to all jump up at once and run out the door. Mrs. Edgerton called on the quietest and most cooperative row first. That wasn't fair because Tommy T. sat in my row and he was a troublemaker. Almost every week he'd be sent to the principal’s office. On those days, we all sat in frozen silence, not wanting to move or do anything wrong.

Thwack, thwack, thwack echoed down the hallway. We all looked at each other thinking the same thing: four times and it was only Monday. My row did not go to the playground first. Ever.

We played hopscotch and foursquare. I loved foursquare but the fifth grade girls were playing in all the spaces. The concrete playground was perfect for writing numbers and squares, but it also made for lots of scraped knees. Half the school had Band-Aids plastered to their knees. While we waited for a ball and a spot, we talked.

"My grandfather called my grandmother over the weekend," I said. Everyone knew my mother was on the trip with her father.

"Did not," someone said. "You can't call from the other side of the world."

"Yes so. He called her. Grammy told us," I said.

"I'm pretty sure they can do Morris’s code or telegrams, but they can't call on the phone," Wendy, my best friend, chimed in.

"Well, do you think my grandmother made up a story that's not true?"

"Not exactly," Wendy said. "What did she say?"

“She told us how Mommy and Papa rode camels. They rode camels across the desert. Really fast!" I answered. I noticed a couple of other girls, not in our group, move in closer, to listen.

"Camels?" Patti asked like she didn't believe me.

“And rode them fast? Oh Janie! You mean like a horse?" I heard girls snickering in the background.

"Liar, liar pants on fire!" They sounded like a chorus.

“Yeah, and did they have cowboy saddles too?" An older girl asked.

Then everyone was laughing. At me, not with me, because I wasn't laughing. I felt mad at them for making fun of me for a few seconds, and I wanted to kick someone, hard. Then, a minute later, I felt embarrassed. The recess bell rang. Everyone ran to their room lines.

The whole rest of the day I didn't talk to anyone. The only time I was good was when the last bell rang: the dismissal bell. But on my way to the cloak room (where the smell of old winter coats, wet socks and feet lingered). Mrs. Edgerton called me to her desk. I had never been called to the desk after school, only the bad students had to go to the desk. I never did anything wrong.

"Jane, one of the playground teachers reported that you were telling stories at recess." She looked at me and I stared down at my scuffed up black and white saddle shoes. I couldn't look at her. "Is it true you told a fib at recess? I want you to look at me while I'm speaking," she said.

"No, it's not true. I didn't make anything up. I told the truth about my mother and my grandpa riding camels in the desert and about the long distance phone call." I couldn't look right at her face, so I counted all the bobby pins in her hair.

"You are never in trouble if you tell the truth, but you cannot make up stories like that. Do you understand what I mean Jane?" I nodded that I did, even though I didn't. She sat down and looked at her papers. "You are dismissed."

Debbie, Jennifer, Wendy, and Linda walked home without me. I looked up the block, but they weren't there. I walked the eight blocks by myself. The rule was that Jennifer was supposed to wait for me. There was a dirty man who came out from under the spruce tree couple of times and unzipped his pants. We were supposed to walk fast and cross to the other side of the street after that happened. I never saw him. But Kim and Debbie did. I passed that blue spruce tree and ran as fast as I could for two blocks.

Our babysitter was Mrs. Thompson. She wouldn't do anything about Jennifer not waiting for me or breaking any rules. She watched soap operas all day. She was barely as tall as a 10-year-old. Something was wrong with her stomach and she didn't eat regular food. She had to eat Gerber baby food from tiny jars. I told one of my friends about our babysitter and she thought I was joking until she saw her at our kitchen table, dipping her spoon into a jar of Gerber.

Cricket, our miniature schnauzer, was the only one to greet me when I got home. He sniffed and licked me. Jennifer and all the neighbor girls were in the backyard playing on the swing set. I went to the backyard and sat down to watch from the back porch patio table chair. I started crying, really crying. Cricket sat right next to me. I rubbed his silky ears. Then Wendy and Linda stopped swinging and came over. I couldn't explain anything. I couldn't talk. I sobbed. Linda went inside, got a bunch of Kleenex and shoved them onto my lap. Wendy told Jennifer, my sister, what had happened at recess… all about the camels and the long distance phone call from Egypt. Since Jennifer was in a different class, she wasn't at recess at the same time.

Jennifer jumped off her swing and ran over. For once she just stood there quiet, listening. Then she turned red and mad. She sounded like a teacher or an adult yelling at everyone about how what I had said was the truth. Wendy looked like she was shrinking right into the patio.

Jennifer said she was going to talk to my teacher and tell her everything. The angrier she got, the lighter I felt. Jennifer might act like she hated me. She'd hit me and I'd hit back. Still, if anyone ever said anything bad about me or I was in trouble; she was always the first person to stand up for me. To fight for me.

My sister, Jennifer and me. Photo property of author.