What I Remember About Him - Carol Arnold

I don’t remember much about my Pop but more than anything, I remember his feet. They were extra large, sticking out from the end of his legs like big old skis. I used to jump on them for a ride, hanging on to his skinny waist as he limped us around the living room, both of us laughing so hard we’d almost fall over. Groucho would jump up and down in the air yipping like a moonstruck coyote. Delores would come out of the kitchen with a smile on her face, stirring something in a bowl and telling Groucho to shut up. Kiki would laugh too, all of us happy there in the living room, sunlight shining in like heaven.

All of that was before, before Dad’s oil well came up with nothing but smelly brown water, before he took the old Ford and drove it in the river, before Kiki went swimming at Camp Pleasant, before Delores got attached to her Brandy sniffers. I’m trying to write about all this in my song, the one I’m singing to Sally, but I get stuck sometimes, not able to think of the words. And I’m only at the beginning. How will I ever get to the end?

But maybe the end hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I am only in the beginning, that living here with Mr. A and his mother and Bernice, Horace out there in the barn, and Sally, and the turkeys in the yard, maybe this is just the start of things. I still dream like I did with Kiki, telling our dreams to the ceiling stars in our bedroom. I don’t have any ceiling stars, but I can look out my attic window and see real stars. Those will have to do for now.

The one I like best is the Patsy Cline dream, me up there with a big spotlight on my face, my white hair gleaming and my blue eyes shining, singing my heart out. In that dream, I’m bigger than now, I’ve got boobs more than just little bumps and hips that I can stick out from side to side, I’ve got long arms that fly out to the side when I hit the high notes.

I love to sing! It feels so good just opening my mouth and belting it all out, all the heartache, all the scariness, all the dark nights alone in my little bed. But mostly only the tune comes out. The words are having a harder time.