Baby...

My grandmother Manuelita, whom I never met, strolled north to the Rio Grande one day, and managed to get her beautiful, part Yaqui Indian self over the border. She ended up married to a serviceman, and had at least two daughters. I know that because I’ve heard the story about how she and the Shawns argued over which girl they were going to adopt. They both wanted the older girl, and in the end the Shawns had to accept Dawn, the booby prize.

Outwardly, the Shawns were a fine upstanding Christian couple who eventually ended up in Texas. I went to a genealogical library with a friend one day, and while she did her thing, I wandered around, looking at the bookshelves. The name Shawn jumped out at me. Impossible, I thought, but I took the book down and actually found myself listed. Turns out my grandfather was way into the genealogy thing and had printed a book of his own about the family. I gave them a call. Apparently my mother had remarried some guy named Johnny, had four more kids, and then disappeared. Grandma Shawn urged me to come for a visit, then told me gently that I shouldn’t bring my husband, he being of the black persuasion. You know how people are, she said. I never spoke to her again, not even after the divorce.

I have two photos of my mother: one a head shot, and the other showing her lolling on the grass, baby Kody in her lap. She was so beautiful it was almost unreal, and I suddenly understood why nobody ever threatened to toss wetback grandma back to Mexico. Everyone said I looked just like her.

Daddy said I was the baby people dreamed about having. Never fussed, always ready to laugh, and frankly adorable. When I was six months old, he made a pinhole camera. I don’t understand exactly how it worked, but it demanded a long exposure. He took a photo of me, sitting up and smiling radiantly. Whenever I turn the photo over and read the exposure time he jotted on the back, I’m always stunned. How do you get a baby to sit still for two and a half minutes?

The photo was taken just after she left. My aunt Willy said she couldn’t understand it. She took such good care of us, our mother did, and seemed so attached. It couldn’t have been because of Daddy. She called now and again, wanting to get back together. Just adopt the kids out, she’d say, and he’d say no way.

When mom told dad she was pregnant, he says he fell smack in love with her. Not that he didn’t like her before, of course. When he told Grandpa Shawn he wanted to marry her, the man said okay, but he ought to know she was no good and a terrible liar and he’d have to watch her like a hawk. Just beat her up good every week or so to keep her in line, he said. Daddy ran out and tossed his cookies into the nearest bush.

My mom went to a psychiatrist on the base. He said she’d married too young and didn’t know what she wanted. He advised her to start dating. Daddy tried to be supportive, staying with me and Kody while she was off getting to know several other men. One night, a couple of hours after she’d left, he saw a car pull up out front, close enough to the streetlight that he could kinda see them. Twenty minutes later, he twitches the curtain again. Oh yeah, they were glued to each other. He cleans the kitchen, washes and dries the dishes, then takes another peek. Damn. He’s pacing now, picking things up and putting them down again. Okay, the doc said she needed to date, and he wasn’t happy about what that might have entailed. But he’d been supportive, understanding that her childhood had been anything but happy. Still, did she have to put on a show right in front of the house? He paced some more, picked up a toy and shredded it, When he just couldn’t stand it anymore, he stormed out to the car, screaming, “Don’t you think it’s about time you gave that a rest?!” as he yanked the car door open. The guy turns and the woman’s face swims into the light. It wasn’t mom. Oops.

So what I wonder is this: did she leave because a new baby and a two-year-old had become too much to handle? Or was she afraid she’d end up treating us as she’d been treated? Why did she leave those other four kids? Where did she go? Whatever happened to her?

I’ve looked at my own darlings when they’ve been six months old, when they’ve turned two, and try to imagine… My chest tightens, my throat closes. Anything but that…anything, anything. I don’t know how she managed it, and I’m so, so glad that I don’t understand. What was it like for her? I wish I could find her. I’d put my arms around her, cuddling and soothing. It’s okay, Mom. Everything’s all right.