Those Who Teach Courage, Part 2

After sneaking around apartment and fearfully watching the mom gather items from her bedroom, the three of them sprinted down the stairs and loaded into the car.  It didn’t feel safe until they had pulled out of the carport and travelled the three blocks to make a right turn onto the street of the little house she shared with her mother.   From that day on, the girls played like sisters.  This was fun because they were already such good friends.  They shared her bedroom, went to school together, and hung out basically all the time. 

Suddenly they were roommates, like Three’s Company but with four people and no boys.   It was just so much fun after being the only child in an adult world for so long.  They played Barbie dolls, built Legos, played dress up and watched Solid Gold together on the little TV in the back room.    Her friend had the Speak and Spell; and so now that toy lived at their house!  They danced to Saturday Night Fever music and made their own matching “Pink Ladies” jackets to copy from Grease. She watched her bestie’s nightly ritual of washing and then wire brushing out those tight ebony ringlets.  It looked and sounded like torture; She was grateful for her own soft, straight hair.

Her best friend’s mom was very different from her own.  Her mother was very petite, almost in an Audrey Hepburn way.  But none of the Audrey Hepburn sparkle.  Any sparkle in her mother’s eyes was extinguished long before by her own harsh upbringing and an alcoholic ex-husband who didn’t really keep his distance. Best friend’s mom had a stronger vibe and seemed more outspoken and 1970’s hip. The moms didn’t explain much to their daughters, except that they’d be sharing a home for a while. Oh, and do NOT let anyone outside of this house know about the arrangement. 

Keeping that secret seemed fun, like a game.  And the reward was the best.  A live in playmate and more variety at dinnertime.  She hoped that it would go on forever.  She disliked being alone so very much. But the bruises on stronger mom’s face got lighter, and time seemed to slip by quickly.  Before she knew it, they packed up their housemates and accompanied them to a small apartment 40 minutes away from the little beach city.  She never saw her friend’s dad again.  The last view was him sprawled face down on that bed, passed out.

The moms and daughters remained friends.  They’d exchange over nights here and there.  Birthday parties were celebrated at each other’s homes.  Into adult hood, she and that bestie would keep in touch but, they never spoke of that morning discovery of the mom locked up in the bathroom or the red asphalt eye.  She never forgot that desperate sound her friend had made upon entering that bathroom…deep with anguish.

Later, much later she would make an escape of her own.  She did not find herself in a situation where she had to hide black and blue from an assailant.  Then again, she had the recollections of her elementary experience with a situation like that. Her young adult self knew better and watched out for such abuse.  Her older, adult relationship situation would take her years to figure out, partly due to so many moms around and no real dads.  Her own road to escape took much longer to recognize and her wounds were harder for the outside world to see.  Her scarring internal and psychological from years, decades spent with what she was convinced was her fairy tale man.  But, looking back it was the two moms that taught her courage to do what needs to be done.  Ever grateful for them, teaching her how to save herself, her kids, and how to mom.  Better courage late, than never.