Giddy Giraffee #1
It happened when I was in fourth grade, age 10. It had been such a dreadful year. It was the year of the big move, my mom’s 2nd marriage, my 1st time testifying in court and above all it was the year of a no lace, no frills, no tiny pink rosebud, plain jane training bra my mother insisted I wear.
I remember the precise location of my life altering book. Third floor of my grandparent’s house, in the office, back wall bookcase, fourth shelf, 6th book from the left. It was jutted out a few inches as if it was jumping off of the bookshelf. In all the hours I’d spent pouring over this bookshelf, I’d never noticed it before. I knew right away something was special about this book. It was old, worn out and smelt funny.
Sitting cross legged on the floor I examined my peculiar find. It was red leather bound, weighed at least a ton and had more pages than a bible. Barely visible were these light scratches on the front cover, READ AND DIE. I slowly traced the words with my finger, then completely disregarding the warning label opened the book to an ear marked page.
Last night I had sex with Daniel
Twice
Simultaneously I yelleped, slammed the cover shut and turned around to see if anyone else was in the room. I stuck my head into the hallway just to make sure I was alone then slowly re-opened the sex book to page one.
My name is Marlene M. Remele. My friends call me Molly and my stupid brothers call me pigface. This is my journal.
I giggled silently over pigface because I know what it is like to have brothers. I turned my attention back to the first name. Marlene M. Remele. Hmmm. Slowly it dawned on me Grandma M must stand for Grandma Marlene and this must be her journal and *gasp* she had sex with Daniel, *gasp, gasp* twice! I wanted to know who this Daniel person was and more importantly my 10 year old mind wanted to know more about the, you know…. S word, but I didn’t think my mom or grandma would approve of me reading this journal. It took me .2 seconds to decide. I memorized the location of the book, threw it into the bottom of my backpack and ran downstairs putting on what I think is my most non-criminal face.
Over the next few nights I spent hours hunched on by bed with my flashlight reading the forbidden journal. I read about sex with Daniel, but that wasn’t the best part. In this massive book I read about my grandma’s first kiss, about how badly she wanted to go to school like her brothers, about not having a pretty dress to dance in, about how rough her hands were from picking grapes all day. She wrote a lot about grapes. She despised them; she dreamt about dancing in a country club and drinking wine. “I’ll be the one drinking the grapes, not the one stuck picking them.” She didn’t want to hold hands with Daniel, she was too embarrassed of her “field hands”.
Gradually the entries had more and more of a time lapse between them; sometimes it was 5 years between entries. She got married and started a vineyard of her own. I remember the shock of reading she was going to have a baby and hoped it was a girl. I literally clapped my hands with joy because I knew it was going to be a girl and better yet it was going to be my mom. On the next page my mom was born, and it wasn’t a happy entry.
“Birth of my first child a girl, my very own. I have nothing to give her. I have no pretty dresses and food. I can’t promise her life and I can’t give her cleean hands. I feel hopless because no matter how hard I try I won’t be able to give my child the things I grew up wanting. My child will be a feild worker. Like me, like mom, just like always.”
My Grandma went on to have many more children and do many great things. When my mom was 6 they left the vineyard and left California, driven by my grandma’s desire to find a better life.
Fourth grade, age 10. It was the year Grandma M died from cancer. Cancer is a slow, painful process. She was bedridden and constantly slipping in and out of consciousness for two months. Towards the end my guilty soul forced a confession. Sobbing, I grabbed her hand and explained how I stole the journal, but meant to give it back. And that I read it, but wouldn’t tell Grandpa D about Daniel and that I loved her and that I thought she was the most courageous person in the world. After a few moments of silence I told her something she already knew, Grandma I said, “I’ve never picked a grape in my life, I don’t even think I’ve ever seen a vineyard. And I’m going to go to college and I can’t dance but I have a pretty dress. We made it. You made it.” I can’t be certain she heard me, or she that she understood what I meant, but she was peaceful when she died. I believe it was because she knew she had given her family a better life.
This red, leather journal is one of my most prized possessions. Not only did it rock my world, but it is my world so to speak. It is the physical reminder of the sacrifices my family made for me. As a ten year old my chest swelled with pride for my family name. I will be fighter, a hard worker and a survivor; like my mom, like my grandma, just like always.
I remember the precise location of my life altering book. Third floor of my grandparent’s house, in the office, back wall bookcase, fourth shelf, 6th book from the left. It was jutted out a few inches as if it was jumping off of the bookshelf. In all the hours I’d spent pouring over this bookshelf, I’d never noticed it before. I knew right away something was special about this book. It was old, worn out and smelt funny.
Sitting cross legged on the floor I examined my peculiar find. It was red leather bound, weighed at least a ton and had more pages than a bible. Barely visible were these light scratches on the front cover, READ AND DIE. I slowly traced the words with my finger, then completely disregarding the warning label opened the book to an ear marked page.
Last night I had sex with Daniel
Twice
Simultaneously I yelleped, slammed the cover shut and turned around to see if anyone else was in the room. I stuck my head into the hallway just to make sure I was alone then slowly re-opened the sex book to page one.
My name is Marlene M. Remele. My friends call me Molly and my stupid brothers call me pigface. This is my journal.
I giggled silently over pigface because I know what it is like to have brothers. I turned my attention back to the first name. Marlene M. Remele. Hmmm. Slowly it dawned on me Grandma M must stand for Grandma Marlene and this must be her journal and *gasp* she had sex with Daniel, *gasp, gasp* twice! I wanted to know who this Daniel person was and more importantly my 10 year old mind wanted to know more about the, you know…. S word, but I didn’t think my mom or grandma would approve of me reading this journal. It took me .2 seconds to decide. I memorized the location of the book, threw it into the bottom of my backpack and ran downstairs putting on what I think is my most non-criminal face.
Over the next few nights I spent hours hunched on by bed with my flashlight reading the forbidden journal. I read about sex with Daniel, but that wasn’t the best part. In this massive book I read about my grandma’s first kiss, about how badly she wanted to go to school like her brothers, about not having a pretty dress to dance in, about how rough her hands were from picking grapes all day. She wrote a lot about grapes. She despised them; she dreamt about dancing in a country club and drinking wine. “I’ll be the one drinking the grapes, not the one stuck picking them.” She didn’t want to hold hands with Daniel, she was too embarrassed of her “field hands”.
Gradually the entries had more and more of a time lapse between them; sometimes it was 5 years between entries. She got married and started a vineyard of her own. I remember the shock of reading she was going to have a baby and hoped it was a girl. I literally clapped my hands with joy because I knew it was going to be a girl and better yet it was going to be my mom. On the next page my mom was born, and it wasn’t a happy entry.
“Birth of my first child a girl, my very own. I have nothing to give her. I have no pretty dresses and food. I can’t promise her life and I can’t give her cleean hands. I feel hopless because no matter how hard I try I won’t be able to give my child the things I grew up wanting. My child will be a feild worker. Like me, like mom, just like always.”
My Grandma went on to have many more children and do many great things. When my mom was 6 they left the vineyard and left California, driven by my grandma’s desire to find a better life.
Fourth grade, age 10. It was the year Grandma M died from cancer. Cancer is a slow, painful process. She was bedridden and constantly slipping in and out of consciousness for two months. Towards the end my guilty soul forced a confession. Sobbing, I grabbed her hand and explained how I stole the journal, but meant to give it back. And that I read it, but wouldn’t tell Grandpa D about Daniel and that I loved her and that I thought she was the most courageous person in the world. After a few moments of silence I told her something she already knew, Grandma I said, “I’ve never picked a grape in my life, I don’t even think I’ve ever seen a vineyard. And I’m going to go to college and I can’t dance but I have a pretty dress. We made it. You made it.” I can’t be certain she heard me, or she that she understood what I meant, but she was peaceful when she died. I believe it was because she knew she had given her family a better life.
This red, leather journal is one of my most prized possessions. Not only did it rock my world, but it is my world so to speak. It is the physical reminder of the sacrifices my family made for me. As a ten year old my chest swelled with pride for my family name. I will be fighter, a hard worker and a survivor; like my mom, like my grandma, just like always.
posted by Anonymous at 6:22 PM
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