[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments on Val sub.

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

This is a first from you. 

At least I can’t remember a memoir from you. 

In it I can see that in your early years youshared the same  love of special musicalartists that you have today. 

Jo, who I assume was your sister, wasn’t verynice. 

You weren’t supposed to speak to Julie because she was a little different. 

What was Jo like. 

That episode doesn’t speak well of her. 

What was your relationship to her?

How did she treat your blindness? 

Your family seened to have an active involvementin the community. 

Perhaps through the church

. They felt sad enough for one of them to cryfor Julie’s death. 

Yet they didn’t know how to reach her by phone directly

.  A lotof information was cramed in this short effective memoir.  

It was poignant and sad. 

Her death effected you verey much as it wouldhave today. 

It is true, you never did forget her. 

 

 

 


Julie, Memoir--p.2 for gr2 critique session, Feb, 2022-

 

"Do you love a boy, too?"

"Yes. His name is Davy, he's part of TheMonkees."

"I know the song he sings--Valleri. Does hemake you happy, too?"

"Very much, Julie. I like the other Monkeesand have their records, too."

"V-a-a-ll-eri," Julie sang, thenstopped and drew back as Joann appeared

in front of me.

"Didn't you hear me calling? Your mom'slooking for you to go home."

Jo didn't glance at Julie as I said goodbye.

Why are you talking to her?" Jo whisperedas we walked away. "She's

dippy."

"I don't think so," I stated.

"Oh, exc-u-s-e me!"

 

Time passed and it was several months later Ilearned Julie was sick.

"Her mother gave her a little birthdayparty for turning 13 and she got

the flu."

"Maybe I can call her," I suggested.Mom said I'd have to other relatives

for the number and I finally connected withJulie's mom.

"She's sleeping, but she'll be so happy youcalled. She really loved

talking to you at Vinnie's wedding."

"I loved talking to her," I told her.

 

Entering the house on a Monday after school, Ifound several relatives at

the kitchen table with coffee and pastry.

"We have to go to a Wake," my AuntLoretta said, beginning to cry.

My stomach tightened. "Who?"

"Julie died," she sobbed. "Itseemed like a Flu, but it wasn't. Those

children never live long."

Someone asked if I wanted coffee, but all Icould do was shake my head.

 

The Funeral Home was quiet as we made our way tothe room where Julie

lay. A gentle light fell over the pink partydress and her peaceful face

with her brown hair about her shoulders. Abouquet of pink and white

flowers was in her small hands. She looked sweetand kind and I wondered

if

someone had thought to place her wallet withBobby Sherman's pictures in

the casket. I stood by her, then knelt on thekneeler by the casket to say

a prayer, but all I could whisper was"Goodbye, Julie. I'll never forget

you."

 

Valerie Moreno

2-11-22

All the darkness in the world cannot extinguishthe light of one candle.

-Saint Francis of Assisi

________

spiritwind at pmpmail.com


Julie's Gift

 

As a young adult, I often regarded wedding receptions boringcompared to

the beautiful ceremony.

 

In 1972, Italian weddings were bigger than life with a hugehall,

catering, live band and close to 500 guests.

"do I have to go?"

"of course," mom declared. "It's your cousin!Besides, we paid for your

dinner and don't want to waste money."

"I hate these Receptions," I complained. "AllI do is sit in a corner

after dinner being ignored while everyone around metalks."

"Then, listen to the music."

"Usually, it stinks! I'm not in to '40's stuff."

 

My parents never acknowledged how excruciating these socialevents were

for me. Few relatives took time to say hello let alonerespond when I

tried

to start a conversation. It was times like these when mypartial

blindness

felt like a barrier too thick to break.

 

The meal was excellent and the band played modern songs byJames Taylor

and The Jackson Five.

 

When the band stopped, I wandered in to a side lounge whereit was cooler

and quiet. A young girl in a pink party dress sat on anoversized white

sofa, her hands clutching a large pocketbook.

"Hi," she said softly. "I'm Julie. I gotlonely in there," her words were

slow with a thick lisp.

 

Julie. Somewhere I'd heard of a little girl in the family,but never met

her. She was Mongoloid--whatever that meant. I sat down nextto her. "I

got

lonely, too."

"You're V-Val," she said. "I hear my mom anddad say you can only see a

little. Are they right?"

"Yes," I smiled.

"Do you go to special school like me?"

"No, regular school."

Julie opened her huge purse, her long braided pigtailsfalling over her

shoulders.

"I have a secret," Julie whispered. "My mommyknows--now, I want to tell

you." She blushed, handing me a wallet. "I love aboy," she said in a

rush.

"He's pretty, he sings and his pictures are inthere."

Opening the wallet, I recognized him immediately.

"Bobby Sherman!"

Julie bounced excitedly. "Yes! Mommy finds his picturesfor me in

magazines and I have his records. He sings "Julie, doyou love me! It's

another Julie, but it still makes me happy hearing it."

We sang the chorus together and Julie beamed.

I love you, Lord, you are my lamp...who lightens mydarkness.

-Psalm 17

 
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