More of May 2009

The Preparation Continues Alternating between packing the house and setting up the RV continues. A male friend asked where I would put all my things in the small RV. I answered I would increase the storage space, to which he asked, “How?” I laughed. As an avid shopper I am “out there.” I know everything in most stores. I also know all the storage solutions not requiring tools. (Tools and I do not get along.) Into the RV came plastic boxes with drawers, metal baskets hanging over doors, and holders with suction cups that cling to glass and tiles. Small white wire shelves doubled the shelf space in cabinets. Then the RV was dressed up with doilies and colorful dresser covers made from shelving paper. At night I envision where items will be placed the next day. The target date is now the first week of June. Emptying the house seems endless. The ARC of Spokane (a charitable organization) did a second pickup of boxes today. I am thankful they pick up. Boxes are supposed to be left on the curb. Mine made it as far as just outside the door. I pushed and pulled them up and down the stairs and out the door, running out of breath and sweating long before the last few boxes are outside. The men never complained as they carried the boxes two or three at a time. A student walked through the house last weekend, selecting items for her new apartment. There is so much stuff! I think many Americans have too much stuff. Downsizing feels good. To be hypocritical, I bought a couple new CDs. I won’t live long enough to play the music I have. Still, there are songs I remember that will not leave my mind; so I buy them to learn the message they hold. “He’ll Be Back” is a song released by the Players in the 1960s. My older sister’s group would cry while mine, four years younger, would hold each other closer. The song tells of a letter a girl’s boyfriend receives and “now he must join the boys in Vietnam.” The song assures her he will return “with victory in his hand and you’ll be proud that he is your man.” Listening to the song several times for several days, I remember the fateful day my older brother, my closest friend, a person I had known for my whole life, received his draft notice. My world was suddenly still. There was no air left in the world to breath. Our friends joined our all night vigil on his last night trying to laugh, though the laughter sounded hollow. We knew a disproportionate percentage of Black men were sent to the front lines. We knew a disproportionate percentage of Black men did not return home. We knew many who did return from the police action were without limbs and/or were haunted by the events they participated in and witnessed in that far away land. We knew far too many men never came home or did so broken and lost. Too many mothers were left with too much grief. Too many fathers were left in a silence no one could penetrate. Too many little sisters never again saw their big brothers. My prayers go out to them. My father fought in WWII; joining the segregated army at the tender age of 17. We children were not to ask him about his experiences or play “Taps” on our plastic bugles. I remember only being told two stories of his time at war. He told me a little about the unfair treatment fighting in a segregated army. The other was that as he would crawl on his belly his buddy next to him would blowup. When morning came our vigil ended. I went to school in a daze. I envisioned my brother’s soft curly dark hair being cut off and his faded jeans being changed to army green. Then he would be taken far from me. I dreaded going home, a home without him; to sit and wait to hear word, yet afraid to hear word for however long he was gone. But he was home! 4F!; my favorite number and letter! 4F!; and they sent him home. No new letter would arrive calling him away. The air returned and the Earth stated to turn again. As my brother and I now both face our 60th birthdays (his a year and a half before mine) I think of all the fun we have had and will still have. We both moved to Washington. We have supported each other through marriages, divorces, and the birth of his two daughters. He cheered me own while I continued in school and I listened as he mastered African drumming. There have been so many adventures, so much life we came so close to missing because of a letter. My first RV stop is Seattle to show my big brother the RV and to play with my two nieces. Then I am off on another adventure and he will be there cheering me on!