X365, week 12

74|365
Mrs. Sutherland, 1967
I have only impressions of a crisp, white uniform and the smell of sandalwood soap. You were a live-in nurse devoted to the care of newborns, and moved from family to family, staying where you were needed until mother and baby were settled. It seemed to me as though you lived with us for years, but I really have no idea — it could have been a couple of months. I'm certain you were an absolute godsend.

75|365
Jamie, 1976
You were my boyfriend in sixth grade and we used to have kissing contests with our friends, but we could never hold out the longest because we would start laughing. I liked your dark curly hair and your jumpy energy. Once you went to Quebec and brought me back some maple sugar candy. Sure, it was sweet and innocent, but still, I can’t imagine my sixth grade daughter kissing a boy.

76|365
Tim, 1984
Why I had a crush on you, I have no idea. Maybe because you paid attention to me and you had smooth, yellow hair. You were tall and thin and maybe a bit effeminate. Just a momentary diversion early in my junior year.

77|365
Friedy, 1970
You were our housekeeper, moving through the rooms silently and efficiently. You worked the giant steam iron in the laundry room that you would feed the clothes into, and its heavy, menacing rollers pressed the wrinkles out of (or into) the fabric. I liked being with you in the laundry, with its smells of steaming damp cotton, and listening to you talk in your lilting accent. You called me your shadow.

78|365
Lisa, 1978
You were serious about gymnastics and had the ideal physique for it — petite, lean, powerful. You could do walkovers and handsprings when the rest of us were just trying to complete an orderly cartwheel. I had a clear view that time you ran full out down the floor, flicked your body into an aerial but didn’t make it. You kind of bounced on your neck in a horrifying, unforgettable way, and the gym teacher dropped to the floor and held you and started massaging your neck — her second error that day — but you were apparently okay.

79|365
Bill, 1980
The first time I ever saw pot was in a little baggie that you had left on our kitchen table. Your Ralph Lauren cologne wafted in the air in your wake. You liked fashion and pretty things, tradition, fun, drugs and evidently men. The dissolution of your family was heartbreaking, but anyone paying attention could see it coming.

80|365
Tina, 2007
For a tiny girl you have an unusually husky voice, but it suits you. You are focused and adept at karate, much more skilled than your husband, who you constantly seem to be directing. Not only are you more skilled, but you put so much more effort into it than he does. From everybody else you keep your distance, with a wry smile that conceals what you are truly thinking.

Comments

[Vicki]

Jenny,

You need to start writing again. I really did read this at least once a week or every other week.