[Critique Group 1] Chapter 8. December submission

[DQ Noriega]

Through Thick and Thin

 

 

When I went to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving, one of the young men I dated
during my senior year of high school visited me.  Mom and I had volunteered
as hostesses at the U.S.O.  I met several servicemen as a result of my work
and dated a few of the nicer ones.  Bob was a frequent visitor to my home.
He was a Seabee in the Navy due to ship out to Viet Nam.  He had been my
date for my senior trip to Disney Land.  He thought the answer to my
problems was marrying him.  He believed that having me listed, as his
dependent would solve the issue of my retaining my independence.  I didn't
agree.  It seemed unwise to marry someone for expedience.  I was fond of
Bob. He was sweet funny and kind.  It just felt like the wrong time for
either of us to make a major commitment like marriage.  The Viet Nam War was
drawing him away. I expected to do some growing and changing myself.   I
didn't want to step from the role of daughter and big sister to that of wife
without finding out who I was as a person.  Who knew who we would be after
months of separation?  I was also determined to prove to myself and everyone
else that I could cope as an independent adult.  

 

As winter set in, a group trip was planned for those living in the dorm to
go up to Yosemite for the weekend.  I was still finding it difficult to
manage on my sprained ankle received when Tammy bounded down the stairs to
greet our friend Curt.  Since I had already paid my fee, I decided to go.
Sandy and Virginia, the two girls from the room next to mine asked Curt to
drive us up into the Sierras.  Since he drove, the girls didn't want him to
stay in another cabin, in case we wanted the car. He got teased about his
four female roommates, three human and one canine.  However, we each had our
own bunks. Since all of us were quite modest young ladies, he wasn't treated
to any free floorshows.   Everyone got to practice getting into pajamas with
lights turned out.  Tammy loved the snow.  She thought catching and eating
snowballs great sport.  Also high on her list was burrowing through snow
banks rolling and snorting.  Of course this necessitated a vigorous rubdown
with a towel upon our return indoors.  The trip was fun and Tammy and I had
many more visits to this lovely valley in the Sierras over our years as a
team.  

Tammy loved the cold.  Whether we walked through the central valley fog and
rain or into a brisk sea breeze, her pace and pull increased as the
temperature dropped.  Best of all she loved walking through falling snow.
Her tail wagged constantly.  She could brace me over patches of ice if I
slipped, but loved striding out into a cold wind.  

 

            As Christmas approached, I put up a one foot Christmas tree in
my dorm room and discovered that my dog loved packages as much as I did.
Two of them were of particular interest to her.  She took every opportunity
to steal and try to open them.  The crackle of the paper always gave her
activity away.  When I heard that sound I demanded the return of the
plunder.  One gift was actually for her.  I don't know how she guessed that,
as it was in a box.  Perhaps her nose led her to believe that no one would
be giving me a rawhide chew toy.  The other present though was one meant for
me.  It was a closet sachet filled with some kind of scented mixture of
flowers and herbs.  This made me wonder if there was a comparable plant to
catnip that appealed to dogs included in the blend.

 

The week I spent with Cathy and the one I spent with Annie over the
Christmas break were pleasant.  They tried hard to make me feel at home.  I
had never been away from my family over a major holiday.  I missed all of
the little family traditions that were a part of how we celebrated the
Christmas season.  My mother learned to make tamales from my Apache
Grandmother.  It was our custom to spend a day in a family assembly line
making a huge batch of them to give as gifts and to have as part of our
Christmas Day dinner.  We all loved to sing.  On Christmas Eve, we gathered
to eat Indian fry bread dipped in Cinnamon sugar and drink hot coco and sing
Christmas Carols.  We five children each had his or her  own special
ornaments that we alone were allowed to put on the tree.  Mom always lit a
big gaudy square candle I had made for her when I was in the second grade.
Then we each chose one gift from under the tree to open before going to bed.
It was always exciting to consider which box to choose from those we had
given to each other or received from friends.  We tried hard to make our
gifts to each other look intriguing so what we gave would be the one
selected.  One year we had no money to buy a Christmas tree.  We strung
popcorn and cranberries and lovingly decorated a tiny pine complete with
cones our dad cut in the woods.  I couldn't help worrying about where my own
family was and if they were safe.  I received a postcard from my mother
mailed in Colorado but didn't have an address or phone number to contact
them until February.  

 

Juggling classes, hiring readers and arranging to have textbooks taped kept
me busy.  College life suited my Tammy.  Sometimes on the walk to or from
the campus, she needed to burn off steam.  She gave a few leaps into the air
to let me know she wanted to run.  I removed her harness and extended her
leash to its full length.  Then she raced circles around and around me as I
passed the leash from hand to hand.  She ran for ten minutes or more until
her tongue was nearly dragging.  Then she returned to stand beside me and
waited to be harnessed.  She resumed being the focused sedate guide.  Her
joy in the moment helped me push my worries aside and enjoy small intervals
of peace, savoring a sunny morning walk or the scent of flowers on the
breeze.  Watching her obvious pleasure in each new day encouraged me to
emulate her example.  

 

Her protective streak manifested itself in unexpected ways.  An English
professor wanted me to plumb the depths of the anger, bitterness and pain he
was certain any blind person-Native American-raised in poverty-- must feel
toward life.  My writing was too cheerful and upbeat to suit him.  He
couldn't get it that self-pity and pathos were not how I dealt with my
blindness.  He often shouted at me and dramatically tore up my efforts at
writing.  Tammy developed a profound dislike for the man.  Once when he
stood blocking the exit of his classroom, Tammy hit him hard behind the
knees with her shoulder to make him move.  He almost landed on the floor.
Since he liked to pace and gesticulate while lecturing, she waited until he
was in full motion and crept out to block his path.  She never did this in
any of my other classes, but remained curled quietly under my chair.  She
seemed to get enjoyment out of breaking his train of thought as he staggered
to avoid stepping on her.  One day, I was talking with friends, when I
remembered I needed to get to class.  One of the girls asked where I was
headed.  I answered that I had to go to this professor's class.  Tammy let
out a growl at the sound of his name.  She seemed to be saying, "I don't
like him!  He upsets you."

 

When we arrived in La Habra to visit Curt's family over the Easter break, I
had a lot of time to spend getting to know Curt's family while he worked out
in the garage with his dad.  They were rebuilding an engine in the car Curt
needed for school.  Curt's sister, brother and parents were wonderful.
Watching his parents' interactions showed me something about what a loving
long-term commitment could be.  It was obvious in the way they treated each
other that they still enjoyed each other's company more than that of anyone
else's.  Curt had already asked me to marry him, but I had requested that we
just remain friends.  Watching my own mother deal with two difficult
marriages had left me wary of that institution.  It seemed to me that people
might start out very much in love, but because they were so open to each
other, they could hurt one another more deeply when things started to go
wrong.  

One evening as I helped Curt's sister Cathy do dishes, his mother came into
the kitchen.  She put her arms around my waist and gave me a hug.  Then she
said, "Please marry my son.  He takes life too seriously, you can teach him
to laugh."  For the first time in months, I felt sheltered in the heart of a
loving family.

 

Such moments of security and relaxation were fleeting.  When we returned to
college, Sandy and I had a terrible argument.  Since we shared a suite of
rooms joined by a bathroom, we had become good friends.  I had told her many
things I had never told anyone else.  She said that I was only friendly to
Curt because he had a car and could drive me to the store and on other
errands.  I was deeply hurt that she thought I would manipulate anyone for
what he could do for me.  I cried most of the night.  For the first time
ever, I wondered whether my life was really worth living.  I had accepted my
blindness as a part of me, like the shape of my hand or my height.  When the
remainder of my vision was lost, I was a frightened eight year-old child.  I
railed at God for depriving the world of a ballerina or veterinarian.  I
concluded that God didn't need me to dance or doctor animals but wanted me
to walk a different road.  I had never doubted since then he would show me
how to use the gifts he had given me to live a worthwhile existence.  If I
asked a favor, did friends feel helping me was an imposition?  Did they
think I was so dishonest in my friendship that I would pretend friendship in
order to exploit them?  Being a blind girl, I needed help with having books
and assignments read to me.  I had to arrange to have examinations read.  I
needed help with transportation.  If I wanted to put two pieces of clothing
together that I hadn't bought specifically to wear with each other, I needed
someone to tell me if they matched.  I didn't want to live a life so
dependent on others.  Near dawn, I finally ran out of tears.  I stood at the
rail of a balcony and started to laugh at my own self-dramatizing.  I told
myself that if I did anything so foolish as to jump off, I would probably
manage to break a leg and be in that much worse a bind.  Besides, who would
take care of Tammy?  I made up my mind to stop depending on anyone.  The one
area where this didn't apply was in my relationship with Tammy.  She gave
her love and her support joyfully and accepted mine in return.  Thanks to
Tammy, I could walk miles to do errands.  I could take the Greyhound Bus to
visit friends.  I could explore San Francisco and do shopping without having
to ask a friend to help.  Each time I picked up her harness, she ran eagerly
forward to thrust her lovely head through the yoke.  She never made me feel
that she would rather do something else or that my needs were an imposition.
It was several years before I could ask friends for favors without having my
stomach knot up, wondering if they would be inconvenienced.  

I began feeling even more isolated and confused. Although my skin is lighter
than my brothers and sister and my hair is dark chestnut instead of black
like theirs, I had always accepted my Native American heritage as a given.
I was Quietwater, the name bestowed on me by my Chippewa great grandmother.
I was the daughter of Twilight Woman, granddaughter of Red Bird.  Like my
blindness and the shape of my face, this was an undeniable part of my
identity.  It never occurred to me that I would be mistaken for a flower
child or a dishonest manipulator.  Sandy and the girls who had wanted to
slip drugs in to my soda showed me , that people I had viewed as friends had
proved they did not really know who I was.  I felt a gulf opening between me
and the others living in the dormitory.  These experiences left me feeling
that the only friend I could be certain of was a large black dog.  She was
always what she appeared to be, a loving faithful friend, completely honest
and sincere in her affection for me. 

 

One night I woke to hear Tammy growling.  Her tie-down chain was near the
foot of the extra bed in our room.  She seemed to be standing at attention
with her back to me.  I sat up to speak to her and sensed we were not alone.
>From the increasing volume of sound from the ceiling fan located outside my
door, I could tell that someone was slowly pushing the door open.  I knew I
had locked it before going to bed.  I called out "Yes, what is it?"  No one
answered.  Tammy continued to menace the doorway and I felt sure someone was
standing in it.  Although this incident probably lasted minutes, it seemed
interminable.  Finally, Tammy lay down.  I slipped from the bed to shut and
lock the door. 

 

The next day I asked Mrs. Sinclair, the dorm supervisor if I could get a
chain put on my door.  She refused my request on the grounds that she needed
access if I became ill.  Her argument didn't make much sense as she could
easily have entered my room from the one adjacent to it.  I could tell she
didn't believe my description of what had occurred.  She tried to convince
me that it had been a dream or that I had imagined it.  Over the next few
months, several times someone opened my door.  Someone who never spoke to me
just stood watching me in the secure knowledge that I couldn't identify him.
I lay quietly until Tammy relaxed from her fierce protective stance between
my bed and the open door.  I then re-closed and relocked it.  I was careful
to lock myself in each night, but the person obviously had a key or a means
of circumventing the lock.  Money and small articles of jewelry disappeared
while I was out of the room.  I wasn't sure if these things were related to
the night stalker.  They added to my stress level and sense of insecurity.
Sandy and Virginia insisted that I leave the adjoining doors between our
rooms open so they could hear me call for help if my intruder actually
entered the room.  Tammy's menacing growl and position between the doorway
and my bed seemed to keep whoever it was at bay.  I worried that the person
harassing me might harm her.  I decided that the only answer to my dilemma
was to get special permission to leave the dormitory.

 

I made an appointment to see the dean of student affairs to apply for a
waiver of the rule that required freshmen to live in the dorm.  I tried to
present my case calmly but he was insistent that I needed parental
permission.  Tammy must have sensed my growing frustration because she
became agitated and finally began that choking sound that announces a dog is
about to vomit up yellow bile.  I asked the dean for his wast ebasket but he
kept asking what and so his carpet suffered.  Fortunately, I finally got
word from my grandma Luella that my family had reached Michigan safely.  I
was able to get a permission slip signed and returned before the winter
quarter ended.

 

There were two apartment complexes on the other side of the campus.  I
wouldn't need to cross a highway to get to classes and I wouldn't have to
depend on the kindness of classmates to give me a place to be over holidays.
I had confidence I could manage basic household tasks.  I was raised in a
large family where every pair of hands was trained in house chores.  I
washed dishes from the time I could reach the sink by standing on a chair.
I had earned pocket money by ironing neighbors' clothes at ten cents apiece
on Saturdays since I was thirteen.  Keeping my Dad's shirts starched and
ironed perfectly was one of my assigned tasks.  

 

Each Saturday morning my mother gave out assignments for the week.  Each of
the three oldest children were responsible for keeping one of the public
rooms clean during the upcoming week on a rotating basis.  While she went to
the market to buy food, we were to complete a joint task.  Once she asked us
to mop and wax all the tiled floors in the house.  We decided the best way
to polish the clean floor was to rub the paste wax into white gym socks.  We
skated back and forth to music to spread wax evenly and leave a high gloss.
When Dad arrived home, he slipped and fell three times before he reached the
carpeted safety of the living room. We grew up taking   turns preparing
meals and doing cleaning chores.  So that aspect of living in my own
apartment didn't trouble me.  One of the other girls was finding the dorm
food and noisy atmosphere of communal living a trial.  She and I decided to
share the rent on an apartment. 

 

We were able to locate a furnished one-bedroom apartment on the second floor
of the Far East Apartments.  Although Suzy Stevenson was inexperienced as a
cook and housekeeper, her cheerful disposition made her nice to have around.
She could read bills and help with shopping.  She had a car that made
bringing home groceries much easier.  I was surprised to learn that none of
the three sighted girls I subsequently roomed with were much help in cooking
cleaning and doing laundry.  Although they all came from different
backgrounds, it seemed that most eighteen to twenty year-old girls didn't
help out much at home.  

 

One of these roommates asked me what I put in my tuna casserole as I left
for a late afternoon class.  She had asked her boyfriend over for dinner,
forgetting that I would return too late to prepare the meal.  I rattled off
the ingredients as I gathered my things and raced out the door.  When I
arrived home I found my roommate nearly in tears.  She had combined the
tuna, frozen peas, milk, mushroom soup and elbow macaroni in a casserole
dish, topped it with a sprinkling of grated parmesan cheese and chow mien
noodles.  She baked and baked the ingredients but had failed to realize that
the macaroni needed to be boiled before adding it to the rest of the dish.


 

All of my roommates learned that if they came in late.  They would find a
fiercely growling dog crouched in the hall outside the bedroom.  It became
part of their routine to unlock the door and softly tell her who was coming
into the apartment.  Tammy was satisfied once she heard their voices and
returned to the rug beside my bed.  I may have gone out into the dark woods
like Little Red Riding hood, but instead of meeting a wolf with evil intent,
my loving amber eyes walked beside to guide and protect me.  She made it
possible for me to accomplish what I wanted to do.

 

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