Cathy, Feb 1955
1954-1955 • San Jose ~ On my knees in my flowered flannel nightgown, my blonde head bowed, I leaned against the bed, hands folded together, and said my nightly prayers. Reciting the Our Father and Hail Mary, I ended with “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” scanning each day, from morning till night, making sure to include anything I had done wrong, could have done wrong, or anything I even thought about doing wrong, my venial sins all falling into the “impure thoughts” category. Then I blessed Dad and Mom and Larry and Carleen and Betty and Claudia. I blessed my grandparents, even the dead ones, and my aunts, uncles, and cousins, even though I hadn’t met most of them. It took a long time since there were a lot of them. Then I blessed all the poor babies who were in Limbo because they died before they had a chance to be baptized. I blessed my guardian angel and asked for her help. Then I prayed:
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Please let me die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Every morning I’d wake up and still be there. On weekdays I got myself up and dressed, downed a bowl of Cheerios, and delivered myself to school. After school, I was on my own. I seldom ventured out much past the house, afraid I might get lost or the neighborhood dog would bite me; I mostly stayed inside and read Carolyn Keene: The Clue in the Diary, The Secret in the Old Clock, The Hidden Staircase. Then I’d fix some toast.
I climbed the tree out front, but not past the lower branches. I collected orange poppies and delicate wildflowers from the yard and placed them in torn sheets of folded wax paper, pressing them between the pages of our big, green-bound encyclopedia. I saved them for a time when the weather was gray, for a time when I needed flowers.
At the age of six, I led an interior life, my mind chattering away. I had tea with my paper dolls and read my Nancy Drew books.
I sometimes took the Greyhound bus to see Dad. Mom bought me a bus ticket and a handed me a dime to keep in my pocket just in case, told me to keep an eye on the clock, then left me on the bench waiting for the bus. Losing myself in The Mystery of the Moss-Covered Mansion, the world around me disappeared. At the end of each chapter, I’d ratchet back to earth, look at the clock over the top of my book to check the time, panicked that my bus might have come and gone. With everyone rushing around, all the buses coming and going, and the noisy echoes caroming off the scuffed plaster walls, I was constantly worried I might miss mine. It always worked out though. Sometimes I’d ask, or someone would come along and sense my confusion and make sure I boarded the right one.
Greyhound Depot, San Francisco
I always tried to sit up front to the right of the driver so I could see out and not get carsick. An hour later, Dad would be there waiting for me at the depot on 7th and Mission, catching me as I vaulted three feet from the opened door into his outstretched arms.
to be continued…
© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.
Geoffrey Elliot says
I had forgotten that I read all those Nancy Drew books as well. The titles bring it all back. Makes me wonder how I came to read “girls” books as well as the Hardy Boys. All the Black Beauty books, too. Our totally different childhoods shared the reading obsession. I, however, could not imagine braving the Greyhound station by myself as a seven year old! Necessity forces adaptation, and in the long run your adaptations worked!
Catherine Sevenau says
I wanted so much to be like her: bold, indendent, and fearless.
Juliette says
I was ten. I took the bus to Chinese YWCA for my piano lessons. Once I was waiting a long time and worried I had missed my bus. I asked a man if it had already passed by. He whispered… “I sure would like a BJ” and not in the initials as I wrote. I took off and ran back home zig-zagging up and down different streets afraid he would follow me. BTW I don’t know how I knew what he meant but I did.
Larry Clemens says
In 1954-55 I was 20 years old living near you in San Jose and yet I never one time was asked to drive you to SF to see Dad. I was working full time as well as a full-time college student and could not afford to leave work or class, and yet I did not even know that you were taking a bus to see dad. I would gladly have taken you or brought you back to San Jose for mom or dad. Now some 64 years later I feel guilty that a tiny sister of mine had to take that bus trip by herself. Next time I will give you a ride when you need it.
Catherine Sevenau says
I know you would, thanks.
Gail says
OMG… It’s a wonder you weren’t snatched up while waiting at the bus station. ‘Please let me die before I wake’ …yikes!
Barbara Jacobsen says
Sad as that time was, I’d guess you learned to appreciate your own company and develop a rich inner life. Reading was my solace in those days, too… often under the covers with a flashlight. You might relate to Silvina Ocampo’s writing. I’m reading “Thus were their Faces”… from the library.
Susan Dalberg says
Wow! Did your lovely writing hit a dead old sweet memory. I LOVED TAKING THE BUS TO MY GRANDMOTHER’S TO SPEND TIME ALONE WITH ONLY HER!!