ILES PARK
She almost died. Her crisis came about because she was incredibly stupid, even for age 13, but she didn’t realize that until she was 65 proving how little intelligence she had accrued in the interim.
First memory: It was around 1958. The previous day had seen torrential Midwest rain which had only stopped shattering the sky this morning. She got on her bike and rode to her cousins to see if anyone was up for a ride or wanted to hit some baseballs around. Her youngest cousin was game and off they went to Iles Park, their usual haunt.
But this was no usual day. As they crossed the tracks at Ash and rounded the curve, they could see the park was under water! This had never happened in their lifetime!
As it put a serious crimp in ball practice, she and Phil put their gear and bikes down and started wading tentatively into the park, each step sinking them a little lower into the water. She hadn’t ever realized how much lower the Park was than the area bounding it. So while none of the surrounding streets were flooded, she yet sank deeper and deeper as she walked towards the center of the park with the maximum rising just over her hips. What fun! A well known, to her, second home, suddenly transformed by nature’s work into a quasi-swimming pool! A natural one! Not like the concrete and chlorine ones she was used to and enjoyed regularly. This was different and thrilling in an odd way and soon she sank down and began to splash around in the deepest area. Did Phil? She didn’t think so, looking back. At the time, she might have thought him ‘afraid’, and so was ‘showing off’ by submitting herself to the water. Or perhaps a boy’s propensity to pee often anywhere they wished, told him something I couldn’t hear. Nah, he was just smarter.
She swam and splashed and rolled over to float briefly on her back, soaking her hair thoroughly. She contemplated swimming through the tennis courts, but the water wasn’t as deep there, the concrete rising slightly from the grassy surrounding park and she would only have scraped her knuckles.
The day passed as days did with children, hopping from one swing to another bench, to ride around the block, to a teeter-totter, to whatever and then to home.
Second memory: She lay on her grandmother’s davenport in agony. She had been ill yesterday, feverish, her throat on fire.
But today, however possible, was even worse. Her entire mouth was a nightmare of fever blisters infected and oozing pus just like her inflamed throat. Her nose throbbed red and tender with acrid mucous. She ached in every part and felt chilled to the bone despite the raging fever. Her grandmother tried to feed her tea and toast. Though she had not been able to get anything past her swollen fiery throat for days she still was not hungry. When her grandmother insisted and placed the tiniest bit of toast dipped in the tea at her lips, she tried, but could not get it past her swollen throat.
At that moment, she knew with more clarity than she perhaps had ever had in her young life so far that she wanted to die. Nothing else. It was not a sad thought. She turned her face from her grandmother’s hand while that thought settled into every corner of her being.
But she lived. The doctor came later that afternoon, pronounced the illness strep, gave the antibiotics and left.
Perhaps it was this, her current illness at age 65 that made her remember that other, younger, much more dire one. And in a flash, she realized that swimming in Iles Park, then afloat with years of dog feces and their accompanying worm egg sacs, the vomit of drunks, the semen of midnight rendezvous sloughed off in prophylactics or spread on the ground to name just a few of the hazards not offered in a concrete, chlorinated pool must have led to the strep. What had she been thinking? Or rather, how could she not have thought of that? She didn’t know. Too much trust in nature’s mini-miracle? A glistening lake on a hot day, free of charge? Showing off for her cousin? Had her grandmother warned her about not going into flooded areas? She had no recollection of that, but a faint guilt lingered over the memory, because her grandmother still thought she might have a stray brain cell or 2. And here was dead set proof of their absence. And it had been her grandmother who saved her life by calling in the doctor. For a grandmother on meager Social Security, who could squeeze a penny till it shrieked it was quite a financial sacrifice. Her grandmother had been 65 at the time. Same as her now.
In her slim, weak defense, there was never much ‘splainin’ in her house. Kids were just sposta already know. Teaching was in short supply. Yeah, she should’ve known better. She shouldn’t have been willing to show off for a younger, albeit in hindsight much wiser cousin. But it wouldn’t be her last time for showing off, with concomitant ruinous results. Nor should she have allowed herself to be blinded by the wonder. It may have been the first time, but it wouldn’t be the last time wonder and nature and a sparkling surface laid a shiny, luring mantle over a sickening presence. And tried to kill her.
First memory: It was around 1958. The previous day had seen torrential Midwest rain which had only stopped shattering the sky this morning. She got on her bike and rode to her cousins to see if anyone was up for a ride or wanted to hit some baseballs around. Her youngest cousin was game and off they went to Iles Park, their usual haunt.
But this was no usual day. As they crossed the tracks at Ash and rounded the curve, they could see the park was under water! This had never happened in their lifetime!
As it put a serious crimp in ball practice, she and Phil put their gear and bikes down and started wading tentatively into the park, each step sinking them a little lower into the water. She hadn’t ever realized how much lower the Park was than the area bounding it. So while none of the surrounding streets were flooded, she yet sank deeper and deeper as she walked towards the center of the park with the maximum rising just over her hips. What fun! A well known, to her, second home, suddenly transformed by nature’s work into a quasi-swimming pool! A natural one! Not like the concrete and chlorine ones she was used to and enjoyed regularly. This was different and thrilling in an odd way and soon she sank down and began to splash around in the deepest area. Did Phil? She didn’t think so, looking back. At the time, she might have thought him ‘afraid’, and so was ‘showing off’ by submitting herself to the water. Or perhaps a boy’s propensity to pee often anywhere they wished, told him something I couldn’t hear. Nah, he was just smarter.
She swam and splashed and rolled over to float briefly on her back, soaking her hair thoroughly. She contemplated swimming through the tennis courts, but the water wasn’t as deep there, the concrete rising slightly from the grassy surrounding park and she would only have scraped her knuckles.
The day passed as days did with children, hopping from one swing to another bench, to ride around the block, to a teeter-totter, to whatever and then to home.
Second memory: She lay on her grandmother’s davenport in agony. She had been ill yesterday, feverish, her throat on fire.
But today, however possible, was even worse. Her entire mouth was a nightmare of fever blisters infected and oozing pus just like her inflamed throat. Her nose throbbed red and tender with acrid mucous. She ached in every part and felt chilled to the bone despite the raging fever. Her grandmother tried to feed her tea and toast. Though she had not been able to get anything past her swollen fiery throat for days she still was not hungry. When her grandmother insisted and placed the tiniest bit of toast dipped in the tea at her lips, she tried, but could not get it past her swollen throat.
At that moment, she knew with more clarity than she perhaps had ever had in her young life so far that she wanted to die. Nothing else. It was not a sad thought. She turned her face from her grandmother’s hand while that thought settled into every corner of her being.
But she lived. The doctor came later that afternoon, pronounced the illness strep, gave the antibiotics and left.
Perhaps it was this, her current illness at age 65 that made her remember that other, younger, much more dire one. And in a flash, she realized that swimming in Iles Park, then afloat with years of dog feces and their accompanying worm egg sacs, the vomit of drunks, the semen of midnight rendezvous sloughed off in prophylactics or spread on the ground to name just a few of the hazards not offered in a concrete, chlorinated pool must have led to the strep. What had she been thinking? Or rather, how could she not have thought of that? She didn’t know. Too much trust in nature’s mini-miracle? A glistening lake on a hot day, free of charge? Showing off for her cousin? Had her grandmother warned her about not going into flooded areas? She had no recollection of that, but a faint guilt lingered over the memory, because her grandmother still thought she might have a stray brain cell or 2. And here was dead set proof of their absence. And it had been her grandmother who saved her life by calling in the doctor. For a grandmother on meager Social Security, who could squeeze a penny till it shrieked it was quite a financial sacrifice. Her grandmother had been 65 at the time. Same as her now.
In her slim, weak defense, there was never much ‘splainin’ in her house. Kids were just sposta already know. Teaching was in short supply. Yeah, she should’ve known better. She shouldn’t have been willing to show off for a younger, albeit in hindsight much wiser cousin. But it wouldn’t be her last time for showing off, with concomitant ruinous results. Nor should she have allowed herself to be blinded by the wonder. It may have been the first time, but it wouldn’t be the last time wonder and nature and a sparkling surface laid a shiny, luring mantle over a sickening presence. And tried to kill her.
posted by CHRIS at 5:48 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home