Open Writing

i wasn't mad at my mama, nor was I spiteful. I just wanted her attention. In my three-year-old mind, the best way to get it was to pee my pants. She would then be forced to turn her attention from starting a fire in the wood cook stove to changing my soiled underpants.

I had felt slighted earlier that morning when she slipped from our warm bed and whispered, "Bertie, you just stay warm and snug while I run next door to borrow some coffee from Rosalee." Rosalee lived in a little two-room house that was a duplicate of our own barren living quarters. Rosalee was almost as beautiful as Mama, but unlike Mama, who was just twenty-three and already had three children, Rosalee had none. I was jealous of any time Mama spent at her house because the minutes seemed like hours when she was away.

"But Mama, I want to go too," I whined.

"No, I'll only be a minute. You stay right here." She pulled the door firmly shut as she left. I lay there looking at the stains on the ceiling and studying the torn wallpaper that had been patched with cardboard in places. Even at the young age of three, my creative self was intrigued by the shapes of the roses and leaves on the faded wallpaper. I considered just peeing in the bed but because Mama knew I was awake she would never believe it was an accident. I wished she would hurry up and come back as I wiggled my toes and waited impatiently for the door to open. She loves me, I thought, so maybe she'll hug me and say she's sorry when she sees how sad I am. She ignored my pouting when she returned to start a breakfast of biscuits and gravy. That's all we would have this morning. Yesterday my brother, Jessie, had used a biscuit to sop the last of the syrup from the Brer Rabbit Syrup can.
My two brothers slept in the other room of our two-room house and Mama and I slept on a bed in the same room as the cook stove and table. As she dipped water from a bucket and poured it into the coffee pot I slid out of bed onto the rough planked floor and stood staring at her back. She seemed to take no notice of me.

My plan to gain her attention took shape as I watched her stir the biscuit dough. She had scraped the dough onto the flour scattered on the table top and was beginning to knead it when I quietly backed to the door and slipped outside. I squatted, and proceeded with the messy task of deliberately wetting my pants. I was intently studying the growing pattern of the little flood I was creating between my feet when I was startled by the sound of footsteps coming around the corner of the house. I looked up to see my seven-year-old brother, Willie, walking along the path from a visit to the outhouse. Willie stopped in his tracks as his eyebrows shot up in surprise then lowered and squinted into a frown when he realized what I was up to.

"Bertie, what do you think you're doin'?" he scolded. "Only babies pee their pants."

Willie was my hero as far back as I can remember. Some people are just born good and being so comes naturally to them. Willie is one of those people. He was very responsible for his age and helped Mama look after my five-year-old brother, Jessie, and me much of the time.

"I didn't mean to, my pants got stuck," I whimpered as tears filled my eyes. "Don't tell Mama, please don't tell Mama."

Willie led me, still dripping, back inside. "Mama, look what I caught Bertie doin'."

I stared at my pee splattered feet and Mama scolded, "Shame on you, Bertie." She handed me a clean pair of underpants from an old trunk in the corner where we kept our clean clothes. "I think you're big enough to change your own dirty britches now."

Realizing I had used a rather indefensible act in order to gain my mother's attention, I ducked my head and muttered, "I won't do it any more, Mama." Even as the words left my lips I was trying to develop a more sophisticated means to achieve my goal. My change in strategy would include a bonus of relief from a chapped butt and offensive odor.

I was too young to realize that at the time Mama was struggling with a failing marriage to my daddy who was away most of the time on his job as a trapper. She was doing her best in his absence to take care of my older brothers and me while living in a two-room house with no electricity and no indoor plumbing. The house was located near the middle of the tiny village of Weed, New Mexico. In addition to her personal stressful situation, World War II had just started, bringing with it the military draft as well as the rationing of gas, tires, cooking oil, sugar and other necessities. Talk of the war was a favorite subject in those times and I was too young to understand most of it. I once said to Mama, "Mr. Hitler must be a very bad man, why is he so mean?"

She sighed, "Some people just never seem to have enough; they always want more."

"Well," I said while staring at the empty sugar jar, "I sure wish we could have more."

I'm sure she did too. It had been two weeks since Daddy had been home to give her money for groceries. She and Rosalee were sitting at our kitchen table the night before when I overheard Mama say, "I guess I'll try to get some groceries on credit down at Goss's store 'til Hollan comes home. I hate to ask. We just got him paid off from the last time. Besides, me and Hollan have been havin' some more trouble lately and I'm not sure when he is gonna make it home."

I didn't like the worried tone in her voice and figured she didn't say more because I was listening. Then it got quiet and Mama said, "Watch out for big ears on little children."

A couple of days later, we awoke to a rainy morning that continued into a gray afternoon so we couldn't go outside to play as we usually did. We had few toys and after awhile we got tired of cutting things out of the Sears catalogue. We were bored with our confinement. Mama gave us a bowl of pinto beans and cold biscuits for lunch then sat quietly patching the boys' pants with a needle and thread. She sang softly the tune to Jimmy Roger's old song about a lonesome hobo. Sad songs were especially popular at that time following the Great Depression. Mama had a beautiful voice that sounded especially sad that day. She may have been thinking about Daddy or maybe the rain just had her feeling blue.

Sensing our restlessness, Mama repeated the same thing she had told us earlier that morning, "I think your daddy will be home today, if he don't get stuck in the mud somewhere."

Each time she had a hopeful note in her voice.

Jessie loved Daddy to distraction and missed him every minute he was away. Her promise was all it took for Jessie to run back and forth to the window where he pressed his nose to the glass. "When, Mama, when do think he'll be here. Will it be before dark?"

"I don't know Jessie, we'll just have to wait and see. And stop askin' every five minutes."

Willie was attempting to repair his slingshot with a strip of rubber he had cut from an old discarded inner tube. A half-hearted squabble erupted between Jessie and me. Mama broke it up with another promise of Daddy coming home. We then stood at the window watching raindrops make their way to the bottom of the pane. The rain turned the usually dry ravine that ran through the village near our house into a flowing stream of muddy water. The sight of the rushing water fascinated us.

"Do you want to go swimmin'?" I whispered to Jessie.

He hesitated. "I don't think Mama wants us to."

I leaned close to him, looking directly into his pale blue eyes. "Oh she won't care."

After a moment he nodded. "O.K., but I don't have a swim suit."

I thought for a moment. "We don't need any. Let's just wear our underpants."

Our excitement mounted at the prospect of wading in the muddy water that now raced through the ravine. Hidden from Mama's view, we slipped out the back door.

"Hurry up, Jessie," I urged as I tucked the bottom of my dress into the top of my panties.

"Do you think anyone will see my underpants?" Jessie asked worriedly.

"No, just hurry up!"

We stepped into the water and goose bumps immediately appeared on our arms. "Boy, this is cold," Jessie said.

"Yeah, and I can't walk very good." I struggled to maintain my footing.

We waded in far enough that the swirling water hit our thighs and our footing was becoming less sure. I grabbed Jessie's arm to keep from falling. We were laughing and splashing and did not hear Willie yelling. "Mama, come here! They're in the creek."

Our good time came to an abrupt halt when over the rushing water we heard Mama's terrified voice, "No, no," she screamed, "my God, stop!"

Her terrified shriek startled me and my feet slipped out from under me just as she grabbed my hand. She dragged us by the arms to the muddy bank, shouting every slippery step of the way. Her continued scolding stung but her words contrasted with what her embrace told us as she knelt and held us tightly.

"Don't ever do somethin' like that again," she said in a shaking voice. "What would I ever do without my babies?"

We returned shivering to the house where Mama washed and dressed us in clean clothes. We continued our vigil in anticipation of Daddy's return home. We could not have imagined that his return would end in heartbreak for us all.

***

To be continued next Sunday.

To see some of Bertie's picures please click on http://www.google.co.uk/images?hl=en&q=bertie+stroup+marah+pictures&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=5vpkTNykBtKR4gbsgJmWCg&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CBUQsAQwAA