“WHERE ARE WE?”

The sun wakes me gently with an expansive beam cascading playfully over my bed. When I open my eyes I can tell from the intensity of the light it is going to be another hot summer day. I listen as buzzing insects upstage the birds’ harmonious medleys. Does every place in the world have some kind of morning conversation with nature? I only know the Kansas version, with its familiar sounds that mean “home”. I like waking up in the summer without an alarm clock or an intrusive knock at the door. Awakening to the sweet cacophony of morning sounds delights me and starts my day out “right”.

In my mind I slowly begin to piece together my activities for the day—like an intricate needlepoint design emerging one tiny stich at a time. It will be a “regular” summer day. Grandma is expecting me at her house first thing this morning to work in her yard before it gets too hot. Then there is the delima of how I am going to convince my mother to let me go to the swimming pool to meet up with my girlfriends in the afternoon. I am in high school after all, and need some autonomy and control over my own life! It is too far-fetched, though, to think Mom will give in easily without a fight.

I puzzle about why my friends only talk about boys these days. I listen, baffled by why they care about them so much. Boys our age are awkward and know very little about how to express themselves, especially around girls. My little “party of five” as we are known have been close friends since kindergarten. Going through school year after year together has solidified our connection. We know each other backward and forward. Even this new development of “boy-crazy talk”, while confusing to me, brings up strong feelings of loyalty and “being there” for my friends no matter what.

I love my girlfriends. I appreciate our companionship and how real we can be together. We laugh a lot when we’re together. How can they possibly want more than that? Why do they even think boys could ever top what we share? I like being loved without question. My family has so many strings attached to their loving. It is a relief to be able to be myself, knowing my friends accept me no matter what I do. I might be a little afraid that boys could take my friends away.

I hesitate before putting my feet on the floor. I know once I am up, I will be pulled into the world and it won’t feel as comfortable as now. I am also certain if I don’t get up soon I will surely get Mom’s “lazy lecture”. I don’t feel like spoiling my morning with a rant.

My sister left last weekend for her freshman college orientation. It is odd being the only kid in the house. I didn’t experience much of a shift when my brother left home seven years ago. Our age and different interests guaranteed our lives rarely crossed paths. My sister, however, is both my nemesis and ally. We bicker about everything, all the while knowing we have each other’s back. I am surprised by how much I am missing her. I am beginning to realize what it means to be the single focus of Mom’s attention. My sister’s relationship with our mom has always felt easy compared to mine. My first memories are of my sister running interference between Mom and I. She has only been gone one week and I can already feel tension building.  What am I going to do?

I meander into the kitchen. Just as I reach into the refrigerator for milk Mom comes around the corner. My shoulders stiffen and I realize I am holding my breath. “Good morning, Honey! How did you sleep?” I am shocked to be greeted kindly, like a real person. I know something is up because our typical interaction is usually fraught with judgment, restriction and control.

Then she tells me, “I have planned a picnic with the family this evening. Can you be back from the pool by 5? We’ll be leaving at 5:30 to pick up your dad and meet everyone at Aunt Grace’s at 6.” I can’t believe what I am hearing and quickly agree. Wow! I have just been given permission to go to the pool without asking or having a fight!

After spending the afternoon at the pool I come home a little early. When I walk into the house at 4:30 I can see Mom has been busy preparing for the picnic. The old wicker picnic basket is sitting next to the door, full of fried chicken, potato salad and deviled eggs. The blue and white cooler, packed with ice and drinks, sits next to it. There is even a washtub covered with an old rag rug that I know contains a metal canister of homemade ice cream. I cannot overlook how peculiar this situation is. My aunts always share the cooking by bringing a dish to pass. Grandma always fries the chicken. This time Mom has spent the entire day doing everything herself. Something weird is definitely going on.

We pick Dad up from work and drive out to Aunt Grace and Uncle Jimmy’s farm. My two aunts and uncles, several of my younger cousins, and Grandma and Grandpa are all waiting on us, as usual. The adults decide we will take 3 cars. I ride with my aunts and the cousin closest to my age. I am so used to not knowing what is going on, it doesn’t occur to me to ask where we are going. I sit up and looked around when we stop. We are stopped at a pasture. Dad is getting out of Grandpa’s car. He slips the wire loop over the hand-hewed pole. Then he pulls the wire gate into the pasture until it is open enough for our cars to pass through. He carefully shuts it when all the cars are in the pasture.

This is when I begin to seriously pay attention. Mom is driving in the lead with Grandma sitting in the passenger seat and my youngest cousin bouncing around in the back. She is driving like a bat out of hell—the same terrifying way she drives when we’re on the Kansas Turnpike. Looking out in front of the car I see there is no road! We are driving across a wide expansive prairie and are traveling too fast for me! Where are we? I’ve been to my relatives’ farms many times but have never been here. Are we on someone else’s land? How does Mom even know about this place? Why did she bring us here? Is everyone wondering the same thing?

My aunts are trying their best to follow the family code of conduct of not talking about what is actually going on. Even with all their years of experience at staying silent, this situation eventually gets to be too much even for them. I hear Aunt Grace say a little too loudly to her sister, “Where in the hell is she taking us?”

I grab the edge of the bench seat; increasingly alarmed at the speed we are traveling. Several times Mom stops, gets out of her car and turns around in circle slowly. I barely recognize her as she gazes out far away. Then she gets back into her car and tears off again. One of these stops Grandpa and my aunts catch up with her. They hastily roll down their windows to talk. There is a heated exchange but I can’t understand exactly what Mom is saying.

I am feeling really frightened now. Mom’s behavior is all wrong. I have never seen her act in such an erratic way. She is always dependable, resolved to do what she is supposed to do. She never does what she wants and “caves in”

to whoever is around, especially her family.

We have made our way up the hill and are high up on a flat mesa that stretches several miles ahead and behind us. I have no idea where we are. There are no recognizable landmarks to provide a clue. Our car slows down and Grandpa’s comes up alongside ours. I can hear loud but muted quarreling coming from inside his car where the men are riding. Their voices are raised and they sound really angry.

After three more stops my mother parks her car and walks toward the West. The sun is low and is hiding behind some clouds. The high-pitched drone of the cicadas and the colors in the sky capture my attention. I watch Dad and my uncles carry food and chairs over to a spot behind the only tree. They are attempting to light a fire for us to sit around but are having trouble because of strong gusts of wind. When it blows, tall brown grasses bend almost to the ground. They keep trying to light the fire long after they know it is of no use. I suspect they are just anxious and trying to do anything to make the evening take a turn for the better.

My grandfather sits silently like a stone, alone in his car with the windows up. I can tell by his profile he is FURIOUS. My cousin and I are restless to get out of the car but my aunts tell us with a look to stay put. They lean in toward one another and whisper in low voices so muffled it is impossible for me to understand the words. I can tell from their animated gestures and facial expressions they are upset.

I look out over the countryside below, letting my eyes follow my body as it involuntarily turns and circles the horizon. It is so beautiful it takes my breath away. Farms with fields a thousand shades of greens and golds are planted in rich black dirt. They spoon the hills and dot the landscape like a patchwork quilt. I am caught up looking deeply into this amazing panorama when a sudden movement to my right catches my eye.  When I turn in that direction I see my mother. She is near the edge of the mesa facing the setting sun. Her aura is highlighted in a thin pink glow. The colors in the sky are wild. Intense purples, pinks and oranges blaze across the azure sky.

Her arms are outstretched to the heavens. The image of golden light pouring through her into the earth comes to me. I quietly open my car door and slip out into the cool air. I edge forward, riveted by her hypnotic choreography. Sitting on the hard ground nearby I am mesmerized as her story unfolds.

She is beautiful. Her blond hair falls onto her shoulders and I have to do a double take because I can’t tell if she looks young or old. She has braided some of the dry grasses and they sit on her head like a crown. As I watch, her arms sway back and forth as she slowly makes her way around a large circle. I can hear her softly chanting a song I do not recognize. I don’t think she is even aware I am here. I hear Aunt Janelle snap to her sister, “Has she lost her mind? She seems too happy!”

From the first moment I lay eyes on her I am suspended in a timelessness that feels like it contains the past as well as the future.  Excitement electrifies me as I watch. Her dizzying movements inspire me and render me speechless as she paints a picture of her life right in front of me.

Released from the internal torture and lofty expectations that imprisoned her all her life, my mother is free at last. As she stretches her arms to the sky I see strong elegant wings lofting upward. She rises, letting go of the earthbound weight that has always taken away her life’s meaning. She is peering down now, observing her life from her own new vista, and glorifying the miraculous catharsis with immersive joy. I am awestruck in the face of her emboldened power. As she moves through her ritual, she gracefully occupies her life like the dream she has never lived.

I am brimming with Mom’s “celebration” and feel extraordinarily happy and satisfied. The dichotomy between the Mom I’ve always known and the one she is today is mindboggling. I am so taken by the whole experience I actually can’t remember the sequence of events that gets me and my family from the pasture to Aunt Grace’s house. I vaguely remember scurrying to leave when the fire doesn’t start, the wind won’t stop blowing and darkness begins to close in. At my Aunt’s house we have our first “inside picnic”. Everyone is agitated and out of sorts but no one talks about what just happened.

Not a day goes by without this experience popping into my mind. I treasure the profound images and know I have been given a precious gift. Many questions remain unanswered. Perhaps I’ll never know where we were that night. I don’t know why Mom took us there to witness the transformative moment when she reclaimed herself. This memory is forever imprinted upon my heart. It is the only time I ever saw my mother express who she truly is. Every time it comes to me, I am astonished all over again. Seeing Mom celebrating her life gives me strength, power and joy. I can’t stop smiling!