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Description
When I woke up Tillie was already gone. She'd left a key to the apartment and a note telling me to have whatever I could find for breakfast and wished me happy exploring. It ended, “Don't get lost!” I located some Shredded Wheat and made myself juice from some huge oranges I found on the counter. Tillie wasn't the world's greatest housekeeper and there were lots of dishes in the sink so I washed them up, straightened stuff on the coffee table and emptied her ashtrays and figured I'd done my duty. After reading the newspaper a little I stretched and looked outside. It was foggy but not raining so I put on my jacket, left the apartment and walked down towards the Bay or where I figured it was.
There were lots of cool looking people on the street with long hair and colorful clothes and few of them seemed in any hurry. I walked through a park where I spied a circle of hippies sitting on the grass. One of them had a guitar and was strumming it like crazy. The others were shooting the breeze and there were a couple of pretty girls with long hair and decked out in strange old fashioned clothes, headbands, hats, with colorful patches everywhere. I wished I could join them but couldn't think of what I'd say. As I walked by, one of the girls noticed me. She was dark-haired and tall with lots of beads around her neck. She smiled and I smiled back and then she waved and blew me a kiss. I walked backwards away from her hoping for more of an invitation but she turned and got in a conversation with a guy who had a beard and long hair and some kind of woven shirt with what looked like American Indian patterns on it.
I turned back around and kept going, trying to keep track of where I was, not taking too many turns. After while I arrived at the water where a lot of boats were docked up and I watched them coming in and out. There weren't as many hippies here, some scruffy fishermen and older people with well-pressed clothes and tourists with kids and cameras. In front of a few shops there were street musicians with hats out for money. I stopped and listened to a guy and girl playing folk songs with a guitar. I put some change in their case and they smiled at me. After that I went into a shop and looked at the posters and clothes and jewelry. I picked through some rings and examined a few before putting them down again. I heard a voice behind the counter.
“What's in your hand?”
I looked up. A blond behind the counter with pale pink lipstick, too much eye shadow and a smoldering cigarette was scrutinizing me. It took me a second to realize she thought I'd stolen something.
“Nothing.”
“Let's see.”
I opened my fist and it was empty.
“And the other one,” she said irritably.
I opened my other hand and it was empty too.
“Now the pockets,” she said coldly.
“Oh, come on! I didn't take anything!”
“Pull them out or I'm calling the cops.”
Of course there was nothing there but the key and some lint.
“OK, now get out.”
I did so as quickly as possible. I guess my clothes weren't in the best shape or maybe I didn't smell that great from five days of being on the road but why did she have to be such a bitch? I walked down to the marina, trying to calm down. Seagulls flew around fishing boats, hunting for food. They wheeled and dove and fought with each other for what they found. Some liked to pick on others over some little scrap or just for being next to them.
I took a different route back to Tillie's. The traffic was heavier and I walked against it. Sometimes in between all the usual types of cars were some painted up in swirling colors or with words like love and peace written on them. The occupants of these usually had long hair and seemed to be happier and more alive than the rest. A wildly painted school bus passed by and I heard the Beatles singing about lonely people not belonging anywhere.
The sun began to poke out through the fog as I cut over and walked through the same park as before. The girl that smiled at me was sitting alone with another girl. They didn't see me at first and I was almost even with them when the tall one turned. A big smile flashed across her face and she waved.
“Yoo-hoo, sailor!”
I stopped at the edge of the grass and tried to think of something to say.
“What's happnin' baby,” she said.
I smiled. “Not much.”
“C'mere cowboy. Take your shoes off. Set a spell.”
The other one laughed. “Is he a sailor, a baby or a cowboy?”
“All three I warrant,” said the tall one.
I walked towards them feeling nervous and sat down on the grass next to them, cross-legged.
“What's your name, brother?” asked the shorter one.
“Jim.”
They both laughed.
“It's Jim.” The tall girl said it funny, exaggerating the j sound and making it into two syllables. “Jee-im.”
The other one said it very quickly and repeated it. “Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim.”
Then the tall one said, “Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy,” very fast.
“James,” said the other with severe mock seriousness and a British accent.
They both laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world. I tried to smile.
“What's your names?”
“I am the Empress of Chocolate,” said the tall one, standing up with a bow and flourish.
“I'm the Chrysler Building,” said the other. She stood and pointed her arms above her head. They both burst into laughter again. I felt sweat trickling down from my armpits.
“So, Jimbo my love, what has brought you to this pristine moment?” the Empress asked. The Chrysler Building flopped on the grass and lay on her back looking at the sky.
“I just got into town.”
“Didn't we all,” said the Building. She snickered.
“From whence?” asked the Empress with a theatrical cock of her head.
“Kentucky.”
“Oh my God! What a word!”said the Building.
“What a place!” said the Empress.
“Kentucky Kentucky Kentucky Kentucky,” the Building began to chant.
“And why did you leave fair Kentucky?”
“It's full of assholes,” I explained.
Both girls screamed in laughter. After a moment they calmed down but then looked at each other and started up again.
“He's too funny,” said the Building to the Empress.
“He is too funny. We're going to have to sober him up.”
“Just exactly how is that done?” asked the Building.
“Watch and learn,” replied the Empress. She turned to me. “Jim, my lad, how would you like to fuck two hippie girls?”
My jaw must have dropped about foot. They both screamed with laughter. I had no idea what to say.
“Aw, he's just a little puppy!” said the Empress. “Isn't he cute?”
“I want a puppy!” cried the Building.
“You want a puppy? We'll get you a puppy, little Miss Moppit.” The Empress stood up. “We have to go now, Jimbo. Little Miss Maypo is in sad need of a puppy.” She pulled the Building to her feet.
“But don't think it hasn't been a pleasure,” she continued as they began to walk away.
“Because it has!” yelled the Building.
“Bye bye. We'll see you in the bye and bye.” The Empress threw me another kiss. They both turned and ran away, laughing.
I sat there and watched them go. My heart was pumping. Girls in Central City weren't anything like that. My hands were shaking. I wondered if she was serious about fucking them and what I should have said. I lay down on the grass and looked up at the sky. It seemed more blue than the sky in Kentucky. Clouds floated by and I could almost feel them inside me. I reached down and brushed my hand on the fresh grass. It was smooth and silky and tickled.
After while I sat up and wondered what to do next. I stood up and brushed my pants off and started walking across the park aimlessly. I came to a set of swings and got in one and swung back and forth. I went as high as I could, almost toppling down. It was warmer now and took off my coat. The sun beat down pleasantly on the back of my neck.
I turned into a quieter side street with some interesting houses on it and inspected each one as I walked by. A few people passed me. They were all pretty straight compared to the girls in the park, a man in a suit with a briefcase, two older women chatting as they strolled along with their handbags, a boy on a bicycle in a hurry.
The street turned into a rising hill. I heard some classical music coming from an open apartment window, a delivery truck shifted gears and mounted the incline, a jet plane crossed the sky overhead. I climbed all the way to the top. There were some very interesting old mansions and a fantastic view of the city with the Bay on one side, the ocean on another and the undulating streets between. It was all teeming with activity, alive and vibrating. I took a deep breath and continued down the other side. I felt like I could just go forever.
I used to take long walks out in the country back home except then I often felt depressed about my folks, school, the cliques, the boredom, the stupidity, football and basketball, pep rallies, the clothes you had to wear, the right pants, the right shoes, the right shirt, the right haircut. That Southern accent made everybody sound like a moron. I kept to myself, doing what I had to do to survive, trying not to attract attention. I read a lot and of course they laughed at me for that too.
Then there were the bullies, mean, ugly guys who took pleasure in cutting out anyone who was different and terrorizing them. I had to share a locker with one named Zeke who was in my home room. He delighted in picking on me and pushing me around in the halls. Once he told this big, slow-witted Arab kid I called him Ahab the Arab and the kid knocked me flat in the hallway with a big crowd watching. Zeke and his mangy pal Ernie got a big kick out of that. Another time I had a copy of The Prince and the Pauper in the locker that he tore almost in half. I never accepted his ongoing invitation to meet him after school to fight but once when we were alone in an empty hallway he squeezed my head so hard I was afraid it was going to burst.
Most of the teachers seemed as stupid as the kids with all the busy work and dumb rules and droning lectures. I had one teacher I liked, an strange old bird who taught sophomore English. Her name was Edna Forstner and she was tall and thin with a man's haircut, a big nose and an odd twisted face. She could be quite harsh to most of the kids, trying to stuff something into their thick skulls. But to me she was kind and gentle. She was very open minded and liberal and gave me some amazing books like Catcher in the Rye, On the Road and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. She was the daughter of a wealthy tobacco farmer and he'd sent her to a finishing school in the East. She told me she hadn't fit in there and took refuge in literature and art. Her father died and the estate was eaten up by lawyers and back taxes so she went to work teaching school. She lived in a messy, cluttered old house with her ancient mother. I visited there a couple times a month, even in my junior and senior years when I didn't have class with her anymore, and we'd talk about books we'd been reading or movies we'd seen or current events and politics. I learned a lot from her.
I entered a Japanese neighborhood and was amazed by the transition. I looked in the shop windows and at all the interesting people on the street. By then I was hungry and slipped into a restaurant. Lucky for me the menu came with English translations but there were still a lot of words I didn't understand like tofu, sushi, and hijiki. I decided to be bold and ordered something with squid in it. It was strange and delicious.
When I left the restaurant I thought I'd meander back to Tillie's but soon realized I was lost. I didn't remember what street she lived on but I knew the nearest cross street so I just headed back north and figured I'd eventually run into it and then follow it to Tillie's. It was a good hour before I found the place again and by then I was exhausted and flopped on the couch and fell asleep.
I woke up when Tillie got home at 4:30. She had some groceries with her and I put them away while she put her feet up and had a glass of wine and a smoke. We told each other about what we'd been up to. She taught kindergarten in a school in a crappy section of town where the kids were mostly black. I visited her classroom once when I was younger. She loved her job and did a lot of creative and exciting things to keep the kids engaged, to help them gain a little self confidence and trust and learn how to express themselves.
One problem area for Tillie was men. She was not the good little housewife type and had no qualms about sharing her feelings, whatever they were. Her relationships tended to last for a while and then go down in flames. She said she hated how men would get possessive and demanding like they owned you. Her current flame was a black man named Roscoe, a social worker she'd met at school. He'd asked her several times to marry him but she always refused and now she was suspecting him of seeing someone else. Then she asked me about my love life.
I'd had one sort-of girlfriend for a few months. She was in the debate club at school I went to a few meetings of. We never really dated but sometimes I walked her home. Once her parents weren't there and we sat on the couch and I gave her a massage, the first I'd given to a person. She said it was amazing and then we made out for a while. I actually finger-fucked her but didn't mention that to Tillie. That was just before the end of junior year and then she moved away. We'd written a few times but she dropped it for unknown reasons. All the other girls at school seemed to be of a few basic types, the perky, modern Southern Belle, the field hockey players and the hillbillies with bad teeth. Many of them seemed obsessed with hair and clothes. The cheerleader was the pinnacle of status along with having a sports hero for a boyfriend.
There was a pretty black girl who sat next to me in algebra. We helped each other with assignments and she liked to tease me. I fantasized about her sometimes but there was no way we could ever get anything going. Once one of the assholes who picked on me called me a nigger lover just because of being friendly with her. He told me if he ever heard I touched her he would personally beat the shit out of me.
Eventually Tillie got around to asking me about Mom. It was a sore subject because she'd gotten so messed up. She had multiple doctors who gave her multiple prescriptions and then there was the booze. Often when I'd come home she was lying on the couch in a haze watching some idiotic daytime TV program. My sister Ellen ended up doing most of the housework and cooking. Dad used his favorite tactics of intimidation and violence on Mom for a while but when that no longer had any effect he began to disengage completely, living another life with his whore from work. Often he'd be gone for days. The house was depressing and I'd retreat to my room to read.
Tillie thought I should call home and at least let Mom know where I was. I wasn't against it but didn't want to end up talking to my dad. She suggested we try in the morning when he'd be at work and she'd make the call to be sure we got Mom.
For dinner we had a delicious chicken Tillie baked in an earthenware covered dish in the oven. After that we talked about her side of the family and how they'd come to America back around the turn of the century from Eastern Europe. Tillie had some neat old photos of her grandfather and his young family not long after they landed, as well as some from Grandma's youth and marriage, none of which I'd ever seen before. There were some of Dad as a child and an amazing panorama of Grandma's wedding which over a hundred people attended. Tillie knew most of their names and had some funny stories about certain ones. It was all fascinating because Dad never seemed to have any interest in his family history and certainly never passed any information down. All I knew was that he had a terrible relationship with his step-father. His real father had died when the three kids were quite young. This step-father was a drunk and beat all of them, sometimes quite severely. Tillie had several memories of being personally brutalized, slaps to the face, whippings with a belt on her bare behind and other sadistic punishments for little reasons. It helped me to understand why Dad was so fucked up. After Tillie went to bed and I snuggled into the couch for the night, I lay awake for a long time thinking about it all before I finally fell asleep.

Description
When I woke up Tillie was already gone. She'd left a key to the apartment and a note telling me to have whatever I could find for breakfast and wished me happy exploring. It ended, “Don't get lost!” I located some Shredded Wheat and made myself juice from some huge oranges I found on the counter. Tillie wasn't the world's greatest housekeeper and there were lots of dishes in the sink so I washed them up, straightened stuff on the coffee table and emptied her ashtrays and figured I'd done my duty. After reading the newspaper a little I stretched and looked outside. It was foggy but not raining so I put on my jacket, left the apartment and walked down towards the Bay or where I figured it was.
There were lots of cool looking people on the street with long hair and colorful clothes and few of them seemed in any hurry. I walked through a park where I spied a circle of hippies sitting on the grass. One of them had a guitar and was strumming it like crazy. The others were shooting the breeze and there were a couple of pretty girls with long hair and decked out in strange old fashioned clothes, headbands, hats, with colorful patches everywhere. I wished I could join them but couldn't think of what I'd say. As I walked by, one of the girls noticed me. She was dark-haired and tall with lots of beads around her neck. She smiled and I smiled back and then she waved and blew me a kiss. I walked backwards away from her hoping for more of an invitation but she turned and got in a conversation with a guy who had a beard and long hair and some kind of woven shirt with what looked like American Indian patterns on it.
I turned back around and kept going, trying to keep track of where I was, not taking too many turns. After while I arrived at the water where a lot of boats were docked up and I watched them coming in and out. There weren't as many hippies here, some scruffy fishermen and older people with well-pressed clothes and tourists with kids and cameras. In front of a few shops there were street musicians with hats out for money. I stopped and listened to a guy and girl playing folk songs with a guitar. I put some change in their case and they smiled at me. After that I went into a shop and looked at the posters and clothes and jewelry. I picked through some rings and examined a few before putting them down again. I heard a voice behind the counter.
“What's in your hand?”
I looked up. A blond behind the counter with pale pink lipstick, too much eye shadow and a smoldering cigarette was scrutinizing me. It took me a second to realize she thought I'd stolen something.
“Nothing.”
“Let's see.”
I opened my fist and it was empty.
“And the other one,” she said irritably.
I opened my other hand and it was empty too.
“Now the pockets,” she said coldly.
“Oh, come on! I didn't take anything!”
“Pull them out or I'm calling the cops.”
Of course there was nothing there but the key and some lint.
“OK, now get out.”
I did so as quickly as possible. I guess my clothes weren't in the best shape or maybe I didn't smell that great from five days of being on the road but why did she have to be such a bitch? I walked down to the marina, trying to calm down. Seagulls flew around fishing boats, hunting for food. They wheeled and dove and fought with each other for what they found. Some liked to pick on others over some little scrap or just for being next to them.
I took a different route back to Tillie's. The traffic was heavier and I walked against it. Sometimes in between all the usual types of cars were some painted up in swirling colors or with words like love and peace written on them. The occupants of these usually had long hair and seemed to be happier and more alive than the rest. A wildly painted school bus passed by and I heard the Beatles singing about lonely people not belonging anywhere.
The sun began to poke out through the fog as I cut over and walked through the same park as before. The girl that smiled at me was sitting alone with another girl. They didn't see me at first and I was almost even with them when the tall one turned. A big smile flashed across her face and she waved.
“Yoo-hoo, sailor!”
I stopped at the edge of the grass and tried to think of something to say.
“What's happnin' baby,” she said.
I smiled. “Not much.”
“C'mere cowboy. Take your shoes off. Set a spell.”
The other one laughed. “Is he a sailor, a baby or a cowboy?”
“All three I warrant,” said the tall one.
I walked towards them feeling nervous and sat down on the grass next to them, cross-legged.
“What's your name, brother?” asked the shorter one.
“Jim.”
They both laughed.
“It's Jim.” The tall girl said it funny, exaggerating the j sound and making it into two syllables. “Jee-im.”
The other one said it very quickly and repeated it. “Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim Jim.”
Then the tall one said, “Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy,” very fast.
“James,” said the other with severe mock seriousness and a British accent.
They both laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world. I tried to smile.
“What's your names?”
“I am the Empress of Chocolate,” said the tall one, standing up with a bow and flourish.
“I'm the Chrysler Building,” said the other. She stood and pointed her arms above her head. They both burst into laughter again. I felt sweat trickling down from my armpits.
“So, Jimbo my love, what has brought you to this pristine moment?” the Empress asked. The Chrysler Building flopped on the grass and lay on her back looking at the sky.
“I just got into town.”
“Didn't we all,” said the Building. She snickered.
“From whence?” asked the Empress with a theatrical cock of her head.
“Kentucky.”
“Oh my God! What a word!”said the Building.
“What a place!” said the Empress.
“Kentucky Kentucky Kentucky Kentucky,” the Building began to chant.
“And why did you leave fair Kentucky?”
“It's full of assholes,” I explained.
Both girls screamed in laughter. After a moment they calmed down but then looked at each other and started up again.
“He's too funny,” said the Building to the Empress.
“He is too funny. We're going to have to sober him up.”
“Just exactly how is that done?” asked the Building.
“Watch and learn,” replied the Empress. She turned to me. “Jim, my lad, how would you like to fuck two hippie girls?”
My jaw must have dropped about foot. They both screamed with laughter. I had no idea what to say.
“Aw, he's just a little puppy!” said the Empress. “Isn't he cute?”
“I want a puppy!” cried the Building.
“You want a puppy? We'll get you a puppy, little Miss Moppit.” The Empress stood up. “We have to go now, Jimbo. Little Miss Maypo is in sad need of a puppy.” She pulled the Building to her feet.
“But don't think it hasn't been a pleasure,” she continued as they began to walk away.
“Because it has!” yelled the Building.
“Bye bye. We'll see you in the bye and bye.” The Empress threw me another kiss. They both turned and ran away, laughing.
I sat there and watched them go. My heart was pumping. Girls in Central City weren't anything like that. My hands were shaking. I wondered if she was serious about fucking them and what I should have said. I lay down on the grass and looked up at the sky. It seemed more blue than the sky in Kentucky. Clouds floated by and I could almost feel them inside me. I reached down and brushed my hand on the fresh grass. It was smooth and silky and tickled.
After while I sat up and wondered what to do next. I stood up and brushed my pants off and started walking across the park aimlessly. I came to a set of swings and got in one and swung back and forth. I went as high as I could, almost toppling down. It was warmer now and took off my coat. The sun beat down pleasantly on the back of my neck.
I turned into a quieter side street with some interesting houses on it and inspected each one as I walked by. A few people passed me. They were all pretty straight compared to the girls in the park, a man in a suit with a briefcase, two older women chatting as they strolled along with their handbags, a boy on a bicycle in a hurry.
The street turned into a rising hill. I heard some classical music coming from an open apartment window, a delivery truck shifted gears and mounted the incline, a jet plane crossed the sky overhead. I climbed all the way to the top. There were some very interesting old mansions and a fantastic view of the city with the Bay on one side, the ocean on another and the undulating streets between. It was all teeming with activity, alive and vibrating. I took a deep breath and continued down the other side. I felt like I could just go forever.
I used to take long walks out in the country back home except then I often felt depressed about my folks, school, the cliques, the boredom, the stupidity, football and basketball, pep rallies, the clothes you had to wear, the right pants, the right shoes, the right shirt, the right haircut. That Southern accent made everybody sound like a moron. I kept to myself, doing what I had to do to survive, trying not to attract attention. I read a lot and of course they laughed at me for that too.
Then there were the bullies, mean, ugly guys who took pleasure in cutting out anyone who was different and terrorizing them. I had to share a locker with one named Zeke who was in my home room. He delighted in picking on me and pushing me around in the halls. Once he told this big, slow-witted Arab kid I called him Ahab the Arab and the kid knocked me flat in the hallway with a big crowd watching. Zeke and his mangy pal Ernie got a big kick out of that. Another time I had a copy of The Prince and the Pauper in the locker that he tore almost in half. I never accepted his ongoing invitation to meet him after school to fight but once when we were alone in an empty hallway he squeezed my head so hard I was afraid it was going to burst.
Most of the teachers seemed as stupid as the kids with all the busy work and dumb rules and droning lectures. I had one teacher I liked, an strange old bird who taught sophomore English. Her name was Edna Forstner and she was tall and thin with a man's haircut, a big nose and an odd twisted face. She could be quite harsh to most of the kids, trying to stuff something into their thick skulls. But to me she was kind and gentle. She was very open minded and liberal and gave me some amazing books like Catcher in the Rye, On the Road and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. She was the daughter of a wealthy tobacco farmer and he'd sent her to a finishing school in the East. She told me she hadn't fit in there and took refuge in literature and art. Her father died and the estate was eaten up by lawyers and back taxes so she went to work teaching school. She lived in a messy, cluttered old house with her ancient mother. I visited there a couple times a month, even in my junior and senior years when I didn't have class with her anymore, and we'd talk about books we'd been reading or movies we'd seen or current events and politics. I learned a lot from her.
I entered a Japanese neighborhood and was amazed by the transition. I looked in the shop windows and at all the interesting people on the street. By then I was hungry and slipped into a restaurant. Lucky for me the menu came with English translations but there were still a lot of words I didn't understand like tofu, sushi, and hijiki. I decided to be bold and ordered something with squid in it. It was strange and delicious.
When I left the restaurant I thought I'd meander back to Tillie's but soon realized I was lost. I didn't remember what street she lived on but I knew the nearest cross street so I just headed back north and figured I'd eventually run into it and then follow it to Tillie's. It was a good hour before I found the place again and by then I was exhausted and flopped on the couch and fell asleep.
I woke up when Tillie got home at 4:30. She had some groceries with her and I put them away while she put her feet up and had a glass of wine and a smoke. We told each other about what we'd been up to. She taught kindergarten in a school in a crappy section of town where the kids were mostly black. I visited her classroom once when I was younger. She loved her job and did a lot of creative and exciting things to keep the kids engaged, to help them gain a little self confidence and trust and learn how to express themselves.
One problem area for Tillie was men. She was not the good little housewife type and had no qualms about sharing her feelings, whatever they were. Her relationships tended to last for a while and then go down in flames. She said she hated how men would get possessive and demanding like they owned you. Her current flame was a black man named Roscoe, a social worker she'd met at school. He'd asked her several times to marry him but she always refused and now she was suspecting him of seeing someone else. Then she asked me about my love life.
I'd had one sort-of girlfriend for a few months. She was in the debate club at school I went to a few meetings of. We never really dated but sometimes I walked her home. Once her parents weren't there and we sat on the couch and I gave her a massage, the first I'd given to a person. She said it was amazing and then we made out for a while. I actually finger-fucked her but didn't mention that to Tillie. That was just before the end of junior year and then she moved away. We'd written a few times but she dropped it for unknown reasons. All the other girls at school seemed to be of a few basic types, the perky, modern Southern Belle, the field hockey players and the hillbillies with bad teeth. Many of them seemed obsessed with hair and clothes. The cheerleader was the pinnacle of status along with having a sports hero for a boyfriend.
There was a pretty black girl who sat next to me in algebra. We helped each other with assignments and she liked to tease me. I fantasized about her sometimes but there was no way we could ever get anything going. Once one of the assholes who picked on me called me a nigger lover just because of being friendly with her. He told me if he ever heard I touched her he would personally beat the shit out of me.
Eventually Tillie got around to asking me about Mom. It was a sore subject because she'd gotten so messed up. She had multiple doctors who gave her multiple prescriptions and then there was the booze. Often when I'd come home she was lying on the couch in a haze watching some idiotic daytime TV program. My sister Ellen ended up doing most of the housework and cooking. Dad used his favorite tactics of intimidation and violence on Mom for a while but when that no longer had any effect he began to disengage completely, living another life with his whore from work. Often he'd be gone for days. The house was depressing and I'd retreat to my room to read.
Tillie thought I should call home and at least let Mom know where I was. I wasn't against it but didn't want to end up talking to my dad. She suggested we try in the morning when he'd be at work and she'd make the call to be sure we got Mom.
For dinner we had a delicious chicken Tillie baked in an earthenware covered dish in the oven. After that we talked about her side of the family and how they'd come to America back around the turn of the century from Eastern Europe. Tillie had some neat old photos of her grandfather and his young family not long after they landed, as well as some from Grandma's youth and marriage, none of which I'd ever seen before. There were some of Dad as a child and an amazing panorama of Grandma's wedding which over a hundred people attended. Tillie knew most of their names and had some funny stories about certain ones. It was all fascinating because Dad never seemed to have any interest in his family history and certainly never passed any information down. All I knew was that he had a terrible relationship with his step-father. His real father had died when the three kids were quite young. This step-father was a drunk and beat all of them, sometimes quite severely. Tillie had several memories of being personally brutalized, slaps to the face, whippings with a belt on her bare behind and other sadistic punishments for little reasons. It helped me to understand why Dad was so fucked up. After Tillie went to bed and I snuggled into the couch for the night, I lay awake for a long time thinking about it all before I finally fell asleep.