taskmaster that needs her to lay low. It tells her she will die if she brings attention to herself. The voice believes that to know her merits is dangerous. Such knowledge would put her one step away from becoming arrogant or proud and both of these very human qualities would then lead to her standing out in the crowd. To be outstanding would bring attention, and to bring attention would make her a clear target. The voice tells her she is most safe when she is below the horizon line and behind the scenes. When she tidies up, helps without complaint, and follows the rules, all is well for her. Anything else, any large expression, is disaster.
This is how she makes it as Richard and Peggy’s daughter—Jenny Duemore.
On the surface.
But deep below the surface of herself, there lives another truth. It is a seed, awaiting the mysterious conditions necessary for a new self to emerge. One day, those conditions will exist and the voice in her head will stop ordering her to drop down low and she will rise from her hiding place, scramble over the edge, and stand to her full and glorious height. She will dust the dirt of the past off her shoulders and legs and then, she will take flight. A phoenix rising won’t be her metaphor. Such a suggestion will be too puny and passé.
She will be without a name, an awe-inspiring sight, and will rise as bright as the sun. Right away, in one blink, she will merge into that light.
Most won’t see the ascension of the small human who once lay so low. When people finally look, trying to see this magnificent sight, she will be no more than a speck in the forever blue sky.
FOURTEEN
ONE THING I DO KNOW
“I’M GOING TO COLLEGE.”
Despite the nullifications of being made into a Duemore—I was firm in my belief that had been implanted by my father. “Go to college, Jenny,” he had told me. “Education is freedom. Go to college. It’s important.”
Did Bud actually say these words or was this conviction contained in my cells? It’s hard to know. Memory is so cagey and also such a prison. I can only say there is evidence in a file at the VA. Apparently, a man—just prior to my being adopted—had interviewed me. I have the fuzziest memory of him in the living room of Richard and Peggy’s house just before the adoption day.
“What do you plan to do when you grow up, little girl?” he asked. A clipboard was balanced on his lap.
“I’m going to college, sir,” I said.
I remember the man laughing and writing these words down. He wrote, “This child is quite adamant about her higher education
and her guardian and aunt has agreed to save all benefits received for said higher education.”
RICHARD AND PEGGY moved five times over the six years we coexisted as a family.
Moving from Stead, we lived in the city of Reno. Next, we went to a double-wide mobile home on the outskirts of Reno, and then moved to an apartment in a damp Washington town called Longview. In Longview, Richard, Peggy, and Kimmy stayed together and I was packed off to live with Richard’s younger brother, Irv.
Irv had a young wife named Dede and they had two big hound dogs—Duke and Earl. Irv, Dede, Duke, and Earl were all wedged into a single-wide mobile trailer in a tiny town called Toutle, which was little more than a few paved streets, a scramble of wild blackberry bushes, and acres of pine trees. There was a river, the Toutle River, and it ran down from Mt. Saint Helens. It rained so often and was so humid that mold grew on mold.
For one school term, I jammed into their tight, damp world. During the day I went to school and at night slept on a fold-out sofa in the minuscule living room.
Every night, Duke and Earl took mountain-sized shits and pissed rivers of bitter urine on the floor around my bed. Every morning, I woke to Irv skidding, barefooted, through the mess while he said, “Shit, goddamn, piss.”
Richard, Peggy, Kimmy, and me finally regathered and settled, for a few years, in
This is how she makes it as Richard and Peggy’s daughter—Jenny Duemore.
On the surface.
But deep below the surface of herself, there lives another truth. It is a seed, awaiting the mysterious conditions necessary for a new self to emerge. One day, those conditions will exist and the voice in her head will stop ordering her to drop down low and she will rise from her hiding place, scramble over the edge, and stand to her full and glorious height. She will dust the dirt of the past off her shoulders and legs and then, she will take flight. A phoenix rising won’t be her metaphor. Such a suggestion will be too puny and passé.
She will be without a name, an awe-inspiring sight, and will rise as bright as the sun. Right away, in one blink, she will merge into that light.
Most won’t see the ascension of the small human who once lay so low. When people finally look, trying to see this magnificent sight, she will be no more than a speck in the forever blue sky.
FOURTEEN
ONE THING I DO KNOW
“I’M GOING TO COLLEGE.”
Despite the nullifications of being made into a Duemore—I was firm in my belief that had been implanted by my father. “Go to college, Jenny,” he had told me. “Education is freedom. Go to college. It’s important.”
Did Bud actually say these words or was this conviction contained in my cells? It’s hard to know. Memory is so cagey and also such a prison. I can only say there is evidence in a file at the VA. Apparently, a man—just prior to my being adopted—had interviewed me. I have the fuzziest memory of him in the living room of Richard and Peggy’s house just before the adoption day.
“What do you plan to do when you grow up, little girl?” he asked. A clipboard was balanced on his lap.
“I’m going to college, sir,” I said.
I remember the man laughing and writing these words down. He wrote, “This child is quite adamant about her higher education
and her guardian and aunt has agreed to save all benefits received for said higher education.”
RICHARD AND PEGGY moved five times over the six years we coexisted as a family.
Moving from Stead, we lived in the city of Reno. Next, we went to a double-wide mobile home on the outskirts of Reno, and then moved to an apartment in a damp Washington town called Longview. In Longview, Richard, Peggy, and Kimmy stayed together and I was packed off to live with Richard’s younger brother, Irv.
Irv had a young wife named Dede and they had two big hound dogs—Duke and Earl. Irv, Dede, Duke, and Earl were all wedged into a single-wide mobile trailer in a tiny town called Toutle, which was little more than a few paved streets, a scramble of wild blackberry bushes, and acres of pine trees. There was a river, the Toutle River, and it ran down from Mt. Saint Helens. It rained so often and was so humid that mold grew on mold.
For one school term, I jammed into their tight, damp world. During the day I went to school and at night slept on a fold-out sofa in the minuscule living room.
Every night, Duke and Earl took mountain-sized shits and pissed rivers of bitter urine on the floor around my bed. Every morning, I woke to Irv skidding, barefooted, through the mess while he said, “Shit, goddamn, piss.”
Richard, Peggy, Kimmy, and me finally regathered and settled, for a few years, in
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