A Tourist in Mayberry

1/4) More about Magdalena from my Diary Journal: Connections

Backstory: providing the history or background for a character or situation in a story. 

Both Magdalena and I are different from most kids because we love school. The end of Summer, with Fall on the way, is my favorite time of the year. Everything is getting ready for dying or hibernating, but I think of beginnings because school starts back. School days mean new crayons and pencils with points and squeaky new shoes and at least one completely new outfit. Most of all, school starting back means a fresh start. It is like a do over for kids. I bet teachers feel the same way.

No matter how poor we are, my mom makes sure I have a new outfit to wear to school the first day. That is how Magdalena and I met. On the first day of school, as we walked through the doors of our new classroom, we could not help but notice each other. We were wearing the exact same Walmart outfit from top to bottom. Our shoes even matched. Most kids would be embarrassed by this, but we were a little naïve in those days, and we thought it was magical and fate sent us to each other.

We learned we shared other things in common. We both loved the outdoors and spent most of our free time in the woods or caves surrounding the trailer park. We painstakingly fashioned bows and arrows, rudimentary in design but surprisingly effective and sharp enough to pierce a pie pan dangling in a tree. We were Robin Hood and his band of merry thieves or William Tell shooting the apple off his son's head. We were savage, bloodthirsty Indians seeking cowboys to scalp. Magdalena taught me the ways of the woods. She taught me how to squat in the woods and pee so I did not pee on my shoes - though my often soggy pant legs were evidence I never quite mastered this skill.

There are other things we share. Magdalena and I have watched injustice most of our lives so we have a strong sense of right and wrong and would never let a playground bully hurt another with fists or words. I am exaggerating about this of course. We talk about standing up for others, but the truth is that while we picture ourselves as tough, we are not. There were too many times of watching your mama get knocked around with the occasional slap thrown in for you too because - " Why you looking at me that way?" - has no correct answer.

Bravery is something we value. We read lots of adventures about heroes and some of their fearlessness was bound to rub off on us, or so we thought. When we were young, we talked about bravery, in hopes that when the time came, when the shit hit the fan, we would be ready.

We are working on being brave. Working on standing up and looking fear in the eye. Magdalena and I try to be brave, and we vow if we ever have the opportunity, we will help anyone in real danger, including each other.

From day one of our friendship, Magdalena and I decided there would be no secrets. This is how I learned Magdalena's dad pushed her mom down a flight of stairs when she was nine months pregnant, and her mom lost a baby. This is how Magdalena learned the final straw for my mom was when my step-dad punched her twice in her swollen stomach and killed my baby brother.

Magdalena and I know the real truth. We know the law does not protect the weak. A piece of paper called a restraining order becomes instead an invitation to a madman's party. Fear for yourself and your children becomes the real restraining order. Fear keeps you at home hiding instead of choosing the flight or the fight people are supposed to choose when in danger.

Filicide - is what it is called. It means to kill your own child. There should not be a word for this act, but there are many atrocities that don't deserve their own word. Let me say here that if you think two girls who shared baby-killing dads is too inconceivable, listen to this cold, hard fact. I learned this when my mom decided to better herself at the local community college. I read this in my mama's college nursing textbook, and it is a proven fact. Most men who beat their wives, hit them for the first time when they are pregnant. Unbelievable, huh?

Have you ever heard of the University of Texas tower sniper shootings? It happened in the 1960's and was the first mass shooting on a school campus. The sniper shot many people, including an 8-month pregnant lady who was his first shot from the tower. Then he shot another to-be-mama. The sniper shot two obviously pregnant women and killed their babies. This means he looked through his scope and picked these women. This infuriates me. There is nothing more big and helpless and vulnerable than a pregnant lady. They have the mama instinct thing going on, and they are emotional and cry sometimes because their feet are swollen and look fat. This is how my mama was when she was pregnant. She was still my same mama, strong and determined as usual, but she was weak too because of all those hormones raging and the extra pounds and achy feet making her slow and clumsy.

It is strange what drives people together and makes them connected in ways nothing can separate, and, sad as it is, baby-killing-father-figures is what linked Magdalena and me from day one of 3rd grade.

Author's Notes: Sharpened arrows through dangling pie pans is a shout out to my Daddy Snow who made bows and arrows for his girls to play Robin Hood, or cowboys and Indians, or a weird game we called Tiger People.