The Ride

Mommy is taking my brother to a violin lesson on the other side of Topeka. She doesn't have time to drive us to our dance lessons. I think that means we won't be going to dancing today. At the last minute Mommy has an idea.

Things can change quickly with Mommy. One minute something can be happening and the next another thing entirely. Most of the time I don't even try to understand what is going on. Sometimes I get really scared and my tummy hurts when I don't know what is happening. Today is one of those times. I feel younger than my 6 years, as if time is being erased from my life and there is nobody around to notice.

Mommy parks our car on a small side street. We spread out as we cut across someone's yard to make it around the corner on our way to Gage Park Boulevard. Up ahead of us ia a little blue sign that has a picture of a bus on it. As we are walking toward the sign Mommy gives my big sister quick instructions: "Get on the next bus that comes by. Give the driver this money. Pick a seat and sit down. You know what Mrs. Thomas's street looks like. When you see it, tell the bus driver. He will stop and let you off. Then you can walk to your lessons.

Now my sister and I are standing by the bus sign alone waiting. The exhaust from the cars speeding by burns my eyes and I turn my face away from the road. I watch Mommy walk back to our car. She opens the door and gets in. It isn't until she starts to pull away from the curb I realize she is leaving us. Panic overtakes me and I bolt toward the car. I run as hard as I can, chasing her for two blocks. When I can't see the car anymore I stop and fall into a heap on the ground. For a while I can't see anything because I am crying too hard. Why is Mommy leaving us here? Feelings upon feelings collide in my head and I have no way of stopping the avalanche. Will I ever see Mommy again? Someone is pulling at my arm, trying to get me to get up off the ground. My hands are covering my eyes. I hope it is Mommy who has come back for me. I take one hand away and look up into the eyes of my sister. I wait for her to say something. All my life she has been there for me--my protector, even though she is only 16 months older than me. When I look into her eyes now I get really scared. The usual sparkle has drained away. Her eyes are blank, like she isn't there at all.

The metal doors of the bus open slowly and a sharp hiss of air puffs into my face. I stare up the big metal steps and don't know how I will ever make it to the top. I feel as though I will be swallowed up. My breathing is uneven. There are some adults behind me, impatient to get on the bus. With urgency my short legs struggle to climb. I use both hands and my knees. I try to grab the railing I see above me but when I reach for it I almost lose my balance. Finally, I get to the top where the floor is covered with a thick black rubber mat. Dried clumps of gritty dirt crumble under my shoes.

I am on the bus standing in the path between the seats, waiting in a line of people. My hands are dirty and a little red from climbing the stairs. I stand behind my sister as close as I can. I want to disappear. I have never actually been able to poof myself away from a scary situation but thinking it is a possibility helps slow my heart down. It is beating so loudly I am sure all the other passengers can hear it! My head is spinning. I shut my eyes to steady my queasy tummy. I sense the rigded stiffness in my sister's back. I lean in closer--trying to find safety in the grey squares of her plaid wool coat.

My sister has never ridden a bus before either. I try to fool myself into thinking she will know what to do! The sleepy little town we live in is about an hour from here. It doesn't have stoplights or even a stop sign. The only buses are orange ones that pick up the farm kids and bring them to and from school. Our town is so small we don't even have strangers.

That is really important because the thing Mommy says over and over and over every Saturday when we are driving to Topeka for lessons is, "Never, never, never talk to strangers, no matter what!" Does this mean if I don't know someone they will hurt me? Or if I do know them I am safe? There is no way my sister and I will be able to get all the way to Mrs. Thomas's today on this bus without talking to someone we don't know.

I peek at the driver who is sitting behind an enormous steering wheel. He is wearing a brown uniform with brown gloves without fingertips and a brown baseball hat. I can't read what it says on his hat because my glance in his direction is so quick. I do see the first word starts with the letters T O.

I can't stop looking at the driver's skin. It is much darker than the life quards at our town's swimming pool at the end of the summer. I have never seen anyone with skin like his. Is he sick? What kind fo illness would make your skin turn such a dark, dark black brown? I am torn between staring and wanting to shut my eyes. Is he one of those strangers Mommy talks about?

We are standing in front of the dark man. A man in a blue suit carelessly bumps into me as he tries to get around us--pushing me right into my sister. When she turns around to give me a dirty look, I see tears on her cheeks.

I think to myself, "Don't cry! I need you to be strong and keep me safe!"

Big tears spring form my eyes. I really don't want to cry. She always makes fun of me when I cry and tells me I am a baby. Now, look at us! I am afraid of what will happen if the other people see us crying, so I [put my head down and pretend to be interested in the floor again.

A large dark hand reaches toward my sister and takes the money she is clutching. The driver swivels around in his seat, reaches down and pulls out a little worn leather bag. He stuffs the paper money into the bag and takes out four silver coins. He drops three of them into the metal box beside him. The coins jingle and rattle clear to the floor. He hands my sister the fourth coin. She grasps onto that coin until her knuckles turn white, as if her life depends on it.

The bus lurches forward. My sister grabs my arm and pulls me into a cracked black vinyl bench seat beside her. I suspect the other people are staring at us, so I sit very still and look straight ahead. Every block or two the bus stops at one of the blue bus signs. Some people get on and others get off. When we are moving the sun goes shadow, light, shadow, light as the bus passes by the trees. The faster we go the more the light flickers like an old-time movie.

We sit and sit and watch people get on the bus and others leave. Pretty soon the bus slows down and stops. Everyone has gotten off the bus. The only ones left are my sister and I and the dark man. He stands up. I watch him stretch. He reaches his arms up so high he practically touches the ceiling. He comes walking down the aisle and stops, towering over us.

"Where you girls going'?" he asks in the deepest voice I have ever heard. I wait, willing my sister to answer.

"I don't know, " she whispers.

"Do you have an address where you're goin'". I think I want to trust him because I like his nice eyes--but he is a stranger.

"No" she says a little louder but with a quiver in her voice.

"Where is your mommy?" he asks.

"I don't know"...my sister looks down and her voice trails off.

He turns, walks back up to the front of the bus and sits down on his seat. He pulls his sleeve back and looks down at his wristwatch. His dark face reflects in a gigantic mirror above him and when he looks up and catches my; eye, he winks and looks quickly away. Then he drives around the block and pulls back onto Gage Park Boulevard where he begins stopping the bus and letting people on and off again.

When I hear my sister practically yell it startles me. "This is the street we want!"

The bus driver slows down and moves the bus toward the curb. The heavy metal doors fold in two like an accordion as they open. I stand at the top of the steps and look down. Going down looks scarier and seems more impossible than coming up. Suddenly I just sit down, shut my eyes and scoot down as fast as I can on my bottom.

A lot of cars are driving on the busy street today. Traffic stops from both directions and waits for us to cross. Once we get across the street my sister walks quickly ahead of me on the sidewalk. I have to run to keep up with her. When I see Dorothy Thomas's little white house I burst into tears again. Just then I see Mommy sitting in our car in front of Mrs. Thomas's house. I race toward her. I want so much for her to leap out of the car, pick me up and spin me around, holding me close and never ever putting me down. Instead, she doesn't get out of the car or even look in our direction. She sits, eyes straight head and does not move. She does not say a single word.

During the silence that follows, everything in my world tilts and goes into slow motion My mind starts turning, churning, tumbling over and over and over like watching a dryer at the Laundromat. I am spinning in my body at first and then I am floating in the air. My mind tries to figure things out. How upset is Mommy? How upset is Mommy? How upset is Mommy? Is she angry with us for being afraid? Is she angry with us for being afraid? Is she angry with us for being afraid? The words making up my thoughts stretch farther and farther and farther apart until everything is a jumble.

My sister breaks the spell when she opens the car door and we pile into the back seat. As soon as I feel the old quilt that cover the seat I feel safe again. As the car moves toward home my eyelids get heavier and heavier. I am happy now that we are with Mommy. I am okay now.

The Ride

My legs are barely long enough to climb the gigantic steps. I can see metal railings above me but there is no way I can reach them. When I finally get to the top I see the floor is covered with black rubber. Dirt and mud are scattered all around. I should know. I don’t take my eyes off it.

Mommy has forgotten she has to take my brother to a violin lesson on the other side of town at the very same time I have dance lessons. At the last minute she makes the split second decision to put my sister and I on the bus to make sure we don’t miss our classes. She parks the car around the corner from a metal pole that has a blue sign with a picture of a bus on it. As we walk toward the pole she gives my sister quick instructions: “Get on the next bus that comes by. Give the driver this money, pick a seat and sit down. You know what Mrs. Thomas’s street looks like, so when you see it, tell the bus driver and they will stop and let you off. Then you can walk to your lessons.”

When she drives away I burst into tears. Why is she leaving us here? Never in my life have I felt so many things all at once. My impulse is to run after her, but I can’t see the car anymore. She is gone. Will I ever see my mommy again? I look up at my big sister (16 months older than me), searching for support. When I see her eyes I get even more scared. The usual sparkle is gone and it feels as though she isn’t there.

Now, I am on an enormous bus looking at the floor. I stand behind my sister as close as I can. All I want is to disappear into her. I have never been able to poof myself away from scary situations but thinking about it helps slow my heart down. It is beating so loudly I am sure everyone can hear it.

My head feels fuzzy and I am so dizzy I am having a hard time keeping my eyes focused on the floor. How am I supposed to know when you don’t breathe you get light headed? I can feel my sister’s back is stiff and I draw closer trying to find safety in the grey squares of her plaid wool coat.

A thought comes into my mind, “I hope my sister knows what to do.” Then I realize, “There is no way she can know. Neither of us has ever ridden on a bus before!” We live in a sleepy little town an hour away. It doesn’t have stoplights or even a stop sign. The only buses are the orange ones that pick up the farm kids and bring them to and from school. Our town is so small I know everybody. The few I don’t know—know who I am. “You’re Alice and Howard’s kid, right?” or “You’re one of Phil Cosandier’s grandchildren, I’ll bet.”

It is a very safe place. No one locks their doors. I am allowed to roam around by myself as long as I check in once in awhile. Not one of the 800 people who live there is a stranger. That is important because the one thing Mommy always says over and over and over every Saturday when we go to Topeka is, “Never, never, never talk to strangers, no matter what”.

I peek at the man sitting behind the steering wheel. He is wearing a brown uniform with brown gloves without fingertips and a brown hat. I can’t read what it says on his hat because my glance in his direction is too fleeting and his head is facing forward. Plus, I am just learning to read and it is kind of a long word.

I can’t help noticing his skin. It is much darker than the kids who lifeguard at the swimming pool after being outside all summer. This scares me because I have never seen anyone with skin like this before. Is he sick? What kind of sick would make your skin turn black? All I am certain of is that he must be one of those strangers Mommy has talked about. We are helplessly paralyzed in front of him. He looks at us as though he has never seen two little pale girls before. I wonder from his sad look if he thinks we have some terrible disease?

People are trying to pass behind me and one man carelessly bumps into me—pushing me right against my sister. She turns around to give me a dirty look and I can see tears on her cheeks. I don’t want her to be crying. I need her to be strong and keep me safe! Spontaneously big tears spring from my eyes again. I don’t like crying. My sister always makes fun of me when I cry and tells me I am a baby. Now, look at us! I am afraid of what will happen if people see us crying, so I put my head down and pretend to be interested in the floor again.

The dark man sticks out his hand and takes the paper money my sister is clutching. He reaches behind his seat and pulls out a small beige canvas bag. He stuffs the money into the bag and takes out four silver coins. He drops three of them into a metal box beside him that goes clear to the floor and then he hands my sister the fourth coin. She grasps onto that coin until her knuckles are white, as if her life depends upon it.

I am still looking at the floor, tracing the patterns the dirt makes on the black mat with my eyes. Suddenly I feel my sister move away from me. That is when I realize I am holding my breath because I want to hold it now but I already am.

Just then the bus lurches forward and my sister pulls me into a cold, cracked black vinyl bench seat next to her. I think I can feel the other people staring at us so I keep still and look straight ahead. Every block or two the bus stops and some people get off and others get on. I try to calm myself by watching the trees speed by. I have no idea where we are. The trees all look the same.

We sit and sit as people come and go. Pretty soon the dark man stops the bus. All the other people have gotten off and the only ones left are my sister and I and the dark man. He stands up and when he comes back and towers over us I am certain he is a giant. “Where you girls goin’?” he asks in the deepest voice I have ever heard. I wait, willing my sister to answer. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “Do you have an address where you’re goin’?” I realize he is trying to help. “No” she says a little louder but with a quiver in her voice. “Where is your mommy?” he asks. “I don’t know”... my sister’s voice trails away.

He turns and sits back down on his seat. He pulls his sleeve back and looks at his wristwatch. I can see his dark face in the mirror and think he looks concerned. He drives around the block and pulls back onto the main street where he begins stopping the bus and letting people on and off again. The only thing that calms me is counting the trees as they zoom past.

Then I hear my sister clear her throat and say to the dark man, “This is the street we want.” He slows down and moves the bus over toward the curb. Then the heavy metal door folds itself in two and I sit on the dirty black rubber floor on the top step and scoot down the steps on my behind as fast as I can.

I follow my sister across the street. Lots of cars from both directions stop and let us cross. She walks ahead of me on the sidewalk and I have to practically run to keep up with her. When I see Dorothy Thomas’s little green house with the faded red door on the side that goes down to her dance studio I start crying again.

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Our mother is sitting in the car in front of the house. I run to her. I want so much for her to pick me up, hold me close and never put me down. Instead she doesn’t get out of the car, doesn’t look at us and doesn’t say a word. I can feel in that loud, long silence she is upset. My sister and I quickly pile in the back seat. All I remember before falling asleep is how happy I am to be safe and how quiet it is in the car compared to that big old bus.

“Cultivation Of Culture In Kansas”

My mother teaches practically every child in my little town piano. I sit under the old spinet and wait for her. I get very good at waiting and knowing the letter of each note being played and if one is missed knowing what it should be. I crave my mother’s attention but she is giving her patient, gentle, caring to another child and then another. I wait and wait for her. I am 3.

I am pleased with the shoes but they are different from any I’ve ever seen before. I wish they were not pink. I hate pink but am getting used to the idea that my mother is going to pick out pink clothes for me and I do not have enough power to change that. We are in Topeka. We go into a building I’ve never been in before. I am not told where we are going. I am with Susanne but she disappears as soon as we go through the door with other girls into the main part of the room. I panic without her. My mother is there. She is angry with me. She is pulling at my coat and I am refusing to take it off. I am crying. Then I feel hysteria overtake me. I must be loud by the looks the other mothers give who are standing near us, a bit too close.  It is hot and crowded. I sense their eyes on my mother and me and hear snickers, laughter and remarks that my mother should take me outside. I cannot breathe. I feel like the most important thing in the world is to keep my coat on. If it is on, I won’t have to go with the other girls and Susanne. Mommy gets angrier and angrier. She has stopped trying to take my coat off and is now bending down talking to me.  I only hear parts of what she says. She is saying things like: “If you don’t get out there...............” “I will never.............again.” “You were the one who wanted to do this and now you act like it! Look what you are doing to me?” I know I have never asked to do this, as I have never seen anyone dance before. I am pulling away from her because she is too close to my face. Then the people come into view and I lunge at my mother and cling to her leg. I am overwhelmed with anxiety and shyness! This is my first memory of feeling shame and embarrassment. I know I am a bad person because I have hurt and upset my mommy. I am 4 years old.

We have learned not to ask where we are going but our fancy dresses, lacy stockings and black patent leather shoes are carefully placed on our beds.. Susanne’s dress is blue but otherwise identical to my pink one. Our mother drives us to Topeka and we park in a lot behind a big grey building I don’t recognize. We go up some concrete steps and through some heavy metal doors. I see my piano teacher. She smiles and waves then comes over to us and hands my mother a folded paper with printing on it. My mother is fussing with our dresses. She tells me I am going to play “Tiny Tiger”, which is a piano piece I like to play a lot. She stands behind me as I peek out between heavy red velvet curtains. Lights pointing at a stage blind me. Mrs. Durine is talking through a microphone to the people in the audience. I have never heard a microphone before. She gets done talking and walks toward me. Then she gives me a little push and I am on the stage. I am paralyzed with fright. For a minute I cannot walk toward the piano, which is black and open to the sky and extends practically clear across the stage, nor can I go back. All my thoughts disappear. Tears are rolling uncontrollably down my cheeks onto my dress. There is an uncomfortable rustling in the audience. Finally, I run off the stage into the arms of my furious mother. She takes me to a corner behind the stage and is bending down talking to me. She is too close and her grip on my arms too hard as if she is going to shake me. Her face is red and I know she wants to yell but cannot because of all the people. I hear another child playing the piano on the stage behind us. Mrs. Durine comes over and my mother straightens and stands up. Mrs. Durine is unhappy with me but it is not the same kind of anger as my mother’s. Her anger is not about embarrassment or feeling humiliated like my mother’s. She is simply trying to convince me to go out and play my piece. I am crying and cannot catch my breath. I am too upset to find any words. She goes away and comes back many times. In between, she tells the next student to go onto the stage to play. Susanne plays her piece. Then she stands quietly next to my mother. This back and forth pattern of Mrs. Durine’s goes on for what seems like forever. Finally, Mrs. Durine says she will give me a doll if I will go out and play “Tiny Tiger”. I jump at the opportunity for someone to be nice to me. By this time everyone else has finished playing. When I walk out onto the stage everyone in the audience laughs. The children have played in order of age and the high school seniors have just finished playing. I remember bowing but do not remember playing “Tiny Tiger”. I am 4 years old. I never get a doll.

Mr. Fetter is teaching me violin. I want to play because I like the sound of the violin when my big brother, Phil, plays. Mr. Fetter’s office is in an old stone building at Washburn University in Topeka. It is large because the orchestra practices there when he isn’t teaching. He is smoking a cigar and I am holding back a wave of nausea from the putrid smell. Mr. Fetter loves Phil. He has a daughter who is in Phil’s grade. It is a well-known fact that Phil is “like the son he never had”. Everyone encourages this relationship. Mr. Fetter doesn’t particularly like me or enjoy teaching me. He does it because I am Phil’s little sister. I am very motivated in spite of his indifference and do very well. I am 6.

I am playing “Meditation from Thais” at church. I play it beautifully. Flawlessly. Inspired. After church, some little old ladies I do not know come up to me. “That was so moving and beautiful,” one says. “ It was almost as good as Phil.” I am 11.

Mrs. Flannigan is my piano teacher. I am playing Mozart and Beethoven Sonatas. I like them very much. She insists that I take a pencil and make a line every 4 measures on the pages through all the movements. Then I am to practice only one 4-measure group at a time. Over and over and over again. It is tedious and although I can see value in it, it is not enjoyable. Mrs. Flannagan sits in the next room and chain smokes. The house floats in a heavy blue haze. She barks out directives and criticisms. I can be there for an entire lesson and never see her. I do improve and music begins to make sense to me in a new way and takes on form, shape, depth and hue. I am 12.

I am preparing to play a solo for State Music Contest. Mr. Fetter has brought in an accompanist who is a student at the University. He is only doing it for the money and we do not hit it off. My best friend, Ron and I have been playing the piece together and doing great. I go to Mr. Fetter and tell him I would prefer playing with Ron. Without hesitation he says that is fine. Then, shortly after that, my mother tells me I am not going to take lessons with Mr. Fetter any more. She tells me he is extremely upset with me for going against his assignment of an accompanist. He doesn’t want to work with me anymore or see me ever again. I am 13.

I take on 5 piano students my mother doesn’t have time to teach. We start out slowly and soon they are playing advanced pieces well. It is the first time I have ever taught, except for Red Cross swimming lessons, which is completely different. I enjoy sharing music that I am starting to love SO MUCH! I am 14.

I am the drummer in a rock band called “Psychotic Reaction”. We play for dances in neighboring towns. I am having a blast playing trap drums and it gets me out socially without the pressure of having to talk to people. Even though I go with the guys in the band to the dances, my parents wait in their car through the entire dance and follow me home. One night I am wearing a red and navy hound’s-tooth pants suit and I am hot. A beautiful guy is there dancing with a number of different girls. I can tell that everyone finds him attractive and would do anything for his attention. He walks up to me at intermission and starts talking. His name is Dick Love and he is also a drummer. Would I go out with him after the dance? “No,” I say. “I have State Music Contest in the morning and my parents do not let me go out.” The next day I walk into the room where I am to play my violin solo and as I get ready to play I look up and there is Dick Love sitting smack dab in the front row. I am supposed to play a Mozart Violin Concerto and instead play the first movement of the Mendelsohn Violin Concerto, which I have never even read through but have heard Phil play. I do not realize I have played the wrong piece until the judge asks my why I played a different solo than the one listed. I never see Dick again...I am 15.

Mrs. Kew is a jewel. She is teaching me violin after Mr. Fetter has kicked me out of his studio. She pushes me hard in a gentle way and I am sounding better and better. She navigates my mother’s challenging ways by moving out the way like an Aikido Master. Soon after I begin working with her I earn the position of Concertmistress in the Topeka Youth Symphony, win the Topeka Symphony Young People’s Music Competition and play a concerto with them, play in an adult orchestra in St. Joseph, Missouri and start playing a series of recitals with my friend Ron. Mrs. Kew lives in Atchison which is 60 miles from my home. I hate riding in the car anywhere with my mother, especially long distances. We fight all the time now and my anger overtakes my reason and I find myself off balance. I feel trapped in the car with her. I need her to stop. I am 16.

I am riding in the car with my mother driving down Topeka Avenue, which is wide with large trees along the side. She is yelling at me and threatening to not let me go to college if I talk with a certain boy in my class ever again. It is because he is a Catholic, she says. I am hemmed in by the confinement of the car and feel as though I will explode. I am yelling back and my mother speeds up. When I cannot take the pressure another second I open the car door and roll out onto the road. My mother continues driving and I have to scramble up out of the way of traffic. I am scheduled to take a piano lesson with Ron’s teacher that afternoon. I decide to walk to her house, although I have no idea how far it is. As I am walking I realize I am going past Washburn University. I walk to the music building. Just as I walk through the front doors Mr. Fetter walks out of his office. He sees me and comes over and gives me a large hug. He asks if I have a few minutes so he can talk with me. We go into his office. He tells me he was never upset with me but had had “enough” of my mother. He just couldn’t take her “demanding nature” any more. He was disturbed that I hadn’t been told the truth. I leave and continue walking. My feelings are confused by our conversation. I am happy that he cares about me. I keep walking and arrive at my piano lesson exactly on time. The teacher, who has only met me once, doesn’t realize anything is amiss until she asks where my music is and sees tears in my clothes and tears in my eyes. She is concerned and makes some phone calls in the next room. In about an hour my sister shows up and drives me home. Nothing is ever said about the incident. We all pretend it did not happen. I am 17.

Dorothy Thomas has a clever racket going. She teaches groups of 10 girls half hour lessons in tap, ballet, modern dance and acrobatics. Every Saturday she teaches from morning until night. Marilyn Boone, Kathy Lever and Sheri Satin are her favorites—at least they always stand in the front so we can follow them. My sister and I are fleshy, tall and dark haired. Marilyn, Kathy and Sheri and the other girls are tiny with blond hair and blue eyes. They all live in Topeka and are friends. Their mothers wear stylish clothes and makeup and drive pink thunderbird cars and talk with each other during the lessons. My mother is overweight and feels bad about herself and wears dresses that are outdated and practically rags. I don’t know which is more embarrassing—my sister and me or our mother. To add more humiliation to this experience, every year Dorothy has a dance review at the auditorium theater downtown. We have costumes for each dance we are in. That means about a dozen each. Everyone else has outfits sewn by the same dressmaker. Our mother makes ours. Ours are always way off mark and obviously different from the others even from the back of the auditorium. I hate dancing and Dorothy Thomas and Marilyn, Kathy and Sheri and my mom and the other mothers SO MUCH! I have never been so miserable than at Dorothy Thomas’s and dread going there every Saturday. I beg to stop and finally am allowed to quit after 14 years. I am 18.

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I am playing principal second violin with the All Student Orchestra USA. We are playing a concert on the Eifel Tower in Paris. It is Bastille Day. As we play, large dark clouds gather and loom above us, threatening rain. We are outside on the first deck. I feel a sprinkle followed by several more. I do not wait for the conductor or the Concertmistress but get up and walk quickly under cover. Everyone follows me. I think this must be the most independent, powerful thing I have ever done. Is this because my mother is not here? I am 18.