Open Writing

P.G. worked on the rig only a short time before disaster struck. The rig collapsed, trapping him beneath a quarter ton of heavy metal. When the other workers finally pulled away the wreckage, they discovered RG.'s hip was broken. He spent the rest of the summer laid up in the hospital at Farmington.

At the same time, there was a housing shortage created by the energy boom that inflated rental prices. We had little money but we still had the tent we had been living in. We noticed an old house on Broadway with a backyard shaded by large cottonwood trees.

Mama knocked on the door and introduced herself. "I'm Bee Anderson and my husband's laid up in the hospital 'til his broken hip mends and me and my girls need a place to pitch our tent 'til he gets well."

Harold and Rosemary Firstenburg lived there with their four kids. The Firstenburgs were from Arkansas and Harold worked at the local radio station. Harold took one look at us girls and Ring in the pickup and said, "That would be okay with me. All I ask is that you help with the water bill."

Mama was grateful. "Thanks very much we will more than pay our share."

That was the beginning of a lasting friendship with the Firstenburgs.

After a few days, Mama explained, "Bertie, we can't get by on RG.'s state comp check. I'm gonna have to go to work and you're gonna have to watch after the girls. I'll try to get a job so I'll be home at night. I don't want you by yourselves with just the dog for protection." So Ring and I took care of Phyllis and Reita while Mama worked in the Avalon Restaurant.

In order to contribute to the family income I babysat a few times for our landlady, Rosemary, who was pregnant. With the first money she paid me, I bought some fabric, embroidery thread, and ribbons and hand-stitched a baby dress for her baby. Tears came to her eyes when I handed her the gift. "Honey, you shouldn't have done this," she said. "You should have made something for yourself."

Actually she was right. All of us still had very little in clothing. In spite of our best efforts we all looked raggedy.

When P.G. finally got out of the hospital, Willie came to Farmington and helped us move back to Artesia so that P.G. could recuperate there. I started school in the seventh grade that fall.

P.G. couldn't work and he and Mama didn't have a job so they spent a lot of time in the old Smoke House Bar in Artesia with his cousin, Mattie Shockley. As with most people who drink a lot they often got in loud arguments. Those arguments always scared us because we didn't know if our folks would end up in the hospital or in jail, by the time it was all over. When they were out at night, it was up to me to take care of my sisters and see that they had supper and were ready for school the next morning. Phyllis and Reita, now seven and six, sometimes resented my supervision, and were depressed that our folks weren't around. As for me, at thirteen, I often felt put upon for having to do my parents' job while they went out drinking.

One day we were dropped off by the school bus and were not surprised that Mama and P.G were not home. We assumed correctly that they were at the bar with Mattie. When suppertime came, I heated a can of chili and we ate supper. The girls grew restless waiting for our folks. It was getting close to bedtime and I told Phyllis, "You need to get in there and take a bath and wash your hair."

"I don't want to wash my hair. You're not my boss."

"It's dirty and it needs washing," I argued.

"I'm not gonna do it, and you can't make me."

I grabbed her hair just as she jerked her head back. "Oh, you hurt me," she screamed, "I'm gonna tell Mama. She was still mad when our parents finally came home and met them at the door. "Mamma, Bertie pulled my hair, make her quit doin' that."

"I was just tryin' to get her to take her bath," I said. "Besides, her hair is dirty."

"Bertie, you didn't have to pull her hair, no matter what," Mama scolded.
P.G. said, "Bee, if she can't start being nicer to the girls she can just go live with her Daddy too."

I was stunned. I had never heard P.G. say anything like that. He had always bragged on me. It hurt. I felt he wanted to be rid of me just like he had driven away Jessie. It was obvious they had been fighting earlier and tension was still high. Before I could say anything else, Mama turned to him and glared.

"Bertie ain't goin' anyplace. She's stayin' right here." I didn't listen to the rest of the conversation but I had the feeling that perhaps P.G. was trying to get even for something they had argued over before they arrived home. I knew Mama liked to have me there to take care of Phyllis and Reita, but I also knew she loved me very much.

I ran to our room and was followed by Phyllis. She patted me as I lay on my bed. "Bertie," she whispered, "I don't want you to leave. Please don't leave."

When I woke the next morning, there was no more discussion of my leaving, but P.G.'s stinging words stayed with me although I knew Mama would always stand up for me.