One a bright August morning in 1942 I rolled over on my cot, opened my eyes, and stretched. I’d heard her get up and I kept my eyes tightly closed, feigning sleep until she started down the stairs.
I enjoyed the waking up process. In the quiet of the early morning. I found I could get in touch with a part of me that waited, fresh and new, each dawn. Lately, there’d been a lot of dialogue.
Stretching myself over the edge of the cot, I could see the clock on my dressing table. It was 6:30 am. Good, I had some time. As always my mind began to tick, along with the clock.
This is my room, and I love it. I’m going to miss it when I go away someday. A while after Grandma came to live with us, this room was fixed, just for me. She gave me my dressing table. It’s creme colored and dainty looking makes me feel so female. I can see the back of my hair with the movable mirrors. I love you Grandma.
I used to sit there every night and brush my hair, before bed. Now my brushes and combs are in a drawer, and her’s are sitting out. Mom thought it would be nicer for her that way. I have to brush at another time. I’ll be glad when things are normal again.
There’s the sun shining through the big front windows -sparkling, here and there, splashing over the bed. Damn, she didn’t make the bed, again. Well, I can make it -the War effort you know. I know this is temporary, but I’d like to wake up again with those sunbeams all over me.
I don’t understand this conflict called “World War II.” even though we’ve studied it in school. And there’s the newspapers, and the radio, with all their analyzing. It’s been terrible in Europe for a long time.
What the Japanese did at Pearl Harbor, last December, doesn’t make any sense to me. Why did they suddenly want to cause such devastation? I have Japanese friends -gone to school with them all my life, and I like them. This hurts them. I can see it in their eyes, when we’re together. It’s all so far from here. It’s hard for me to feel anything about it. I just want to live my life.
Still that’s why Jean Etta’s here, sleeping in my bed. There are not enough places to live in town for all the new help needed on the railroad. She’s been here two months, now. Feels like a year. I wonder how much longer? Oh, well, whatever-
“Othello is a little jerkwater town.” Those weren’t her exact words, but I know that’s what she thinks. She can hardly wait to move on to bigger and better things, she keeps telling me. Well, I can hardly wait for that time for her either.
Mom said, “Lena Marie” (She has a way of saying my name that makes me feel like a twelve year old. After all, I am sixteen),
“I expect you to be hospitable about this,” as she told me that to help the war effort, she’d offered a young woman temporary living space in our home. Jean Etta’s only three years older than I am. Mom never calls me a young woman.
Well, I sure know what she meant now. “Being hospitable” means giving up my bed, half of my dressing table, half of my closet, half of the bathroom, and whatever other space can be confiscated. Now, I sleep on a cot, in the back of my room, where the morning sun I love can’t reach me.
“Lena Marie, you’d better get down here pretty soon, if you want to have breakfast with everybody.” My quiet is shattered as mom’s shrill voice pelts up the staircase “Okay,” I call back, as I come out of the bathroom, and go over to the cot, to put on some clothes.
I don’t want to have breakfast with everybody. I want to have breakfast with Daddy and Grandma, like I used to, with Mom standing at the stove turning hot cakes for us.
Now we got all this different stuff to eat, and everybody sits there and listens to Jean Etta talk. How can anybody have so much to say all the time? She never shuts up. Doesn’t she think anybody else has a life?
Daddy’s right, I guess. She is away from her family for the first time, and maybe there is this need to know that others are interested in her, and her hopes and dreams.
So, what about me? I have hopes and dreams, too. Nobody seems to want to hear them anymore. Well, one day they’re going to listen, because as soon as I graduate, I’m leaving here. I’m going to Spokane and get some secretarial training, and find work in that big city. If Jean Etta would lay off for awhile, maybe I could get my folks to help me make some plans.
And another thing -there’s the piano. It’s mine. I clean its keys, keep it dusted, and I play it, too. I wish she’d remember to leave some room for my music.
“I can play “Trees” in the key of E, with four sharps,” she said, the first day she was here, pushing my music aside. “Want to hear it?”
“Sure.” I said, smiling like a true patriot. What else could I say, with Mom’s “be hospitable” still ringing in my ears? I hear it a lot. Also, we are often treated to her singing voice. I notice Grandma’s not too keen on her lite opera concerts.
I hate dinner. It’s a nightmare. She babbles on, and what other conversation there is, seems to revolve around her. Mom bustles about, like she was her mother, instead of mine. Daddy sits quietly, listening. I sulk.
She’d better take it easy with Daddy. She’s tampering in my special realm there. On top of that, Mom told me the other day, my hair didn’t look very nice. Maybe Jean Etta could help me. I don’t want her to help me. I want her to leave.
I don’t like dealing with all of these nasty emotions, banging around inside me, like big black balls. She is kind of talented though, and I try to like her, but she makes it so hard.
I know that people overseas are making great sacrifices, and what’s happening here will change in due time. And, I know I can handle whatever is necessary and I will, but I don’t have to like it.
Again Daddy’s right -everyone can learn something from every situation, and I have. Some day, I’m going to be living away from home, and I’m going to remember that there are other people around who might have something interesting to say. There is one thing, though. I’ll probably play Trees in the key of E with four sharps, for anyone who’ll listen. I do that very well, now, -very well, indeed!
“Lena Marie,–”
“Coming, Mom, soon as I finish the bed.”