Authors: Annie Katz
The quilt I loved best was a
different pattern, one Lila called rainbow world. It was solid colored squares
that created a diamond pattern from the center point. Simple and bright, it
pulsated with color and energy.
Lila said, "That's one of my
favorites, too. Good choice for hanging on the wall across from your bed, so
it's the first thing you see in the morning. It can get very gloomy here when
it rains day after day." She shrugged and laughed. "Raining forty
days and forty nights is not unusual for Rainbow Village."
"Like the Bible story," I
said.
"You know the Bible? My dear
child, you continue to amaze me."
"I haven't read the whole
thing," I said. "Grandma Betty gave me a kid's version. It has some
good stories."
"Wonderful stories," Lila
said. "Of course it's like lots of other history books, way too many
chapters about battles, wars, lies, and political intrigues. Ignorant boring
slaughter." She shook her head and sighed.
"But," she continued, her
impish smile returning, "there are also gorgeous love letters to God.
Beautiful words that have been inspiring people for thousands of years. Read
the Bible, the Koran, the Gita, the Tao, and the scriptures of the Buddha and
Rumi and Confucius, all beautiful stories and poems, all fingers pointing to
the Great Mother."
I stood looking at her thinking my
reading list was growing longer by the second. I sure hoped those books were in
English.
She got out a cookie tin that held
pushpins, tacks, cup hooks, and nails, and we worked together to tack the
rainbow quilt to the bedroom wall using lots of clear pushpins.
"Where did you get all these
quilts?"
"I made them. The first two
years I lived in this house, I read, studied, prayed, walked on the beach,
wrote in my journal, and made quilts. It was my time to heal."
She sat on the bed and smiled at
me, only it was a sad smile, the first time I'd seen her light go dim.
"Ray, your grandfather, died of a stroke six months after we lost David.
That's when I left Moscow and moved here. The first two years in this house
were my healing years. The ocean, my books, these quilts, they called my spirit
back to my body. After I'd healed enough, I wanted work, so I opened my shop and
started cutting hair again.
"I was lucky,” she said. “For
a while there, I didn't know if I would make it."
"But you did," I said,
wondering what it felt like to have a spirit.
"Yes! And now here you are in
this little room with me. Miracles abound!"
That night before I went to bed, I
found a list of the house rules hanging on the back of my bedroom door. They
were typed on a pretty piece of stationary bordered with hearts and flowers.
Seven simple rules. They sounded
reasonable enough, but Lila was right. In the weeks to come, I would be tested.
Lila Blue's House Rules: 1. Be
impeccably honest. 2. Stay clean, safe, and sober.
3.
Be responsible
roommates.
4.
Communicate clearly and completely.
5.
Solve
problems wisely.
6.
Support one another.
7.
Be happy here now.
I looked up impeccable. I knew it
meant clean, but I wanted a deeper meaning. I found out impeccable comes from
Latin and means without sin, blameless, perfect, incapable of wrongdoing. So,
squeaky clean honest. That might be a challenge in real life. Didn't you have
to tell little white lies to keep the peace and be nice? Nobody's perfect. How
could Lila make perfection a rule? What right did she have to make up a list of
stupid rules for people anyway?
I looked up sober, because I always
got the connotations of it mixed up with somber, and I didn't think Lila would
advocate being stodgy or glum. I really liked the sound of that rule, though,
and I hoped my mom's sobriety was impeccable. Having never lived with a sober
person, I wanted a chance at it.
My dictionary made this
distinction. Sober means not using alcohol or drugs, being clearheaded and
straightforward. Somber means dark or gloomy or serious and comes from Latin
words that mean under a shadow. If Lila was any indication, sober could be the
antithesis of somber.
I wrote Lila’s rules as well as the
definitions for impeccable, somber, and sober in the beautiful jade journal
Shelly gave me. As I closed my journal and put it on the bedside table, I heard
Lila playing the piano and softly singing "When You Wish upon a Star."
I snuggled under Lila's quilts and thought about Jiminy Cricket assuring
Pinocchio that dreams come true. When I was a little kid, my heart believed
him. Now I didn't know what to believe.
The next day, Tuesday, we spent
pretty much like the first day, getting to know one another and sharing the
space. My third day at the beach was Wednesday, a workday for Lila.
"Your timing is perfect,
Cassandra," she told me that morning at breakfast. "When I turned
sixty-five in May, I decided to cut way back at work. Herbert, the barber who
works with me, wants to work all the hours he can get, because he's paying off
his house loan. He'd work twelve hours every day if I'd let him."
"That seems weird," I
said.
"Weird is normal for
Herbert," she said. "But you can judge for yourself when you meet
him."
Lila got a typed list off her
refrigerator and sat down to go over it with me. It was an itinerary of her
week and a list of her friends' phone numbers. She worked five afternoons a
week and took Monday and Tuesday off.
Another page was a whimsical map
showing Lila's house on the beach and the two-lane coast highway three blocks
inland. Little shops lined both sides of the highway. Lila Blue's Family
Barbershop was labeled along with all the other little businesses in that area
of Rainbow Village.
The Bakery Boys was on one side of
Lila's barbershop and Franny's Flowers and Sunshine Books were on the other.
Across the highway from her shop were The Salty Dog Taffy Company, Kitty Lynn's
Yarn Shop, Happy Hearts Soup & Salad, and Rainy Hardware. I wished my
friend Shelly could be here. She'd love the bakery and taffy shop. Sweets were
her favorite entertainment.
"Here's my schedule,
Cassandra. You're welcomed to come anywhere with me, and you're also welcome to
choose your own path through each day. Here's the house key." It was
looped on a red ribbon, which Lila slipped over my neck. The neck ribbon was
long enough so I could wear the key comfortably under my shirt.
"Rainbow Village is a safe
place, and I trust you know how to look out for yourself, coming from the city.
Please leave me a note telling me where you are and when you'll be home. Rule
number four." She pointed to a message board hanging beside the kitchen
door.
"It gets dark late now,"
she said. "Be home before the sun sets."
"Okay," I said. "You
mean I can stay here while you're at work?"
"Yes, if you want to. Or you
can come to work with me or go to the library or walk on the beach or get a
job."
I thought, a job? Does she think
I'm a grownup? Do I have to pay rent?
"Rainbow Village is a fine
place for a young woman," she said. "I know practically everyone in
town. I cut their hair."
"My mom never lets me do
anything alone," I said. "One time the police put me in a foster
home, so she's scared." I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess she hasn't
noticed I'm taller than she is."
"Ah," Lila said, studying
me and nodding her head. "Do you want us to call your mom and see if my
idea is okay with her?"
"No!" I shook my head.
"I mean no, I think you and I can work out something safe." I grinned
at her. "Rule number two."
Lila clapped her hands and yipped.
"You remembered."
"Well, I saw your rules on the
back of my bedroom door."
"Good for you."
I played with the key dangling from
my neck. It was gold colored and shiny new.
"That's to the front
door," she said. "If you misplace that one, there's another hidden by
the cat door. Come, I'll show you."
So that's how the cats appeared and
disappeared all the time! They had plastic flaps where they could go into the
garage from the kitchen and from the garage to outdoors.
Chloe and Zoe were free to come and
go whenever they wanted. Apparently I was too.
Suddenly, for the first time since
I'd left home, I missed my mother. My heart ached with longing for her. I clutched
my chest, afraid I was having a heart attack.
When we got back indoors, I asked
if I could call my mom.
"Of course. Call her any time
night or day. And call your friends too. Invite them to come here. This is your
home as long as you want to stay."
At that moment, all I wanted was my
own mother, not this new grandma who gave me too much too fast. I was sick with
possibilities.
Lila put an extension phone in my
little bedroom so I would have privacy. My mom answered on the first ring,
which surprised me. Ten in the morning and she was out of bed?
"Mom, it's me, Sandy," I
said.
"Baby, are you okay? Is
something wrong?"
"Can I come home?" I
said.
"What happened? Are you
hurt?"
"No, I'm okay," I said,
but then I started crying, and I was so mad at myself for being such a big baby
that I hit myself hard on the leg.
"What's wrong, Sandy. I
thought you would like it there. Did Lila upset you?"
"No, Mom. She's nice. I miss
you is all. I love you."
"I love you too, baby. You
know that."
My homesickness left as suddenly as
it had arrived. I only needed to hear my mom say she loved me. "How come
you're up so early? Did you have last night off?"
"No, I worked. Roger's taking
me to lunch, so I got up in time to get ready."
"Oh. Roger."
"Now don't start that. We're
friends. He's sweet, really. He has an old fashioned idea about long
courtships. Women give up too much when they try to be equal in
everything."
"Are you sober?" It came
out harsher than I'd intended, but I let it sit there. Impeccably honest.
"Yes, Sandy, I haven't had a
drink since you left. Almost five days now."
It really bothered me that she
connected my leaving with her not needing alcohol any more. "That's good,
Mom."
"Well, baby, if you're sure
you're okay, I need to get ready."
"I'm fine. Really. I only
needed to hear your voice."
"That's really sweet, Sandy.
Love you."
"Love you, Mom." I heard
the click of her phone and the homesickness came back again, but I knew that
the ache in my heart couldn't be cured by going back. My heart ached for something
besides the mother I knew. Maybe I needed to call my spirit home. "Cassandra,"
I whispered to myself.
I stood up and looked in the oval
mirror on the wall above the dresser. My hair was frizzier than usual and stood
out in all directions like a lion's mane. The key necklace hung around my neck.
"Cassandra." I tried to make the name fit the image looking back at
me.
While I was trying to look into my
eyes the way I'd peered into Lila's eyes when we'd talked on the beach steps
the first morning, Lila's rule number seven came to mind,
Choose happiness
here now.
I smiled at myself, made prayer hands, and bowed to the God in
me. "Namaste, Cassandra. Namaste."
Then I called Shelly. She told me
all about her crazy cousins and their water skiing on the lake. She had bikini
lines and there were cute boys to flirt with.
I told her about being banished to
the wilderness, the bus trip, and how much I loved the jade journal she gave
me.
"The Oregon Coast is like
winter in Sacramento," I said.
"Yuck," she said. "What's
there to do?"
"There's a beach with
beautiful shells and some shops you might like. I haven't seen them yet, but
Lila said they make the best salt water taffy at the one across from her
barbershop."
"Ooh. Taffy. Send me a giant
bag," she said. "Promise?"
"Sure," I said.
"Hey, my cousins are back. I
have to go. Call me again."
"Okay, and you can call me.
Anytime. Lila wants me to feel at home here."
"She sounds cool," Shelly
said. "I miss you."
I told her I missed her too, and we
hung up. I was homesick again, but it didn't scare me this time.
I stayed at the beach house that
afternoon while Lila worked. I wanted to have the whole place to myself. I
wanted to find out how it felt to be alone.
To start with, I took a short walk
on the beach. The rain had stopped and shafts of sunlight pierced the clouds as
I walked down the beach stairs. I went barefoot, and my feet were practically
numb with cold and shock by the time I got to the wet sand. It would take a
while for the poor soles to get accustomed to freedom.
I told them to toughen up and
walked down to the surf line, and with my jeans rolled up, I strode along into
the wind, which bit into my cheeks. It seemed impossible that it was hot in
Wisconsin and hot in Sacramento and cold at the beach in Oregon. Was there any
such thing as summer here?
The seagulls were arranged on the
sand like little battalions of soldiers, all hunkered down, beaks to the wind.
If a dog or walker disturbed them, they all spread their wings and lifted off,
flapped a few times, hovered fifteen feet above the sand until the disturbance
was gone, and then landed in formation to get on with naps or contemplations or
whatever they were doing. I wondered why they weren't hanging around some beach
in Mexico, or at least San Diego. Maybe they thought the whole world was windy
and rainy and cold. Had they no imagination? No hope for a better life?
When my nose and ears were as cold
as my toes, I turned around and was pushed down the beach toward home. I
panicked for a second when I couldn't spot Lila's house. There was a gray rock
house, only it wasn't on a hill. Farther down the coast than I thought it
should be, there it was, and I was so relieved I practically ran back.
Chloe and Zoe ambushed me near the
foot of the stairs. Since Lila wasn't there, both cats came to me for petting,
and I was surprised how soft their fur was and how bony their shoulders and
spines. They meowed at me and I meowed back, which seemed to satisfy them, and
they raced up the stairs and were sleeping on the couch by the time I rinsed
off my feet and joined them in the living room.
Rather than get out a footbath tub,
I took a long, warm shower. It felt delicious to know I had at least three more
hours all by myself.
After drying off and getting clean
clothes and fuzzy slippers on, I went looking for the TV Guide. I hoped my
programs were on, because one of the things I really enjoyed was watching my
silly game shows in the living room with Shelly while my mom watched her silly
soap operas on the TV in her room.
Shelly and I were friends because
we were the smartest kids in our class, we were both only children, and we
couldn't get excited about the latest nail polish color. Otherwise we weren't
that much alike. She was brown and curvy and liked boys, especially tall,
skinny older boys with blonde hair and blue eyes. Most boys turned into
drooling idiots when she walked by, so she had her pick.
She had two parents, and she lived
with them in a huge house with elevators. The whole third story of their home
was devoted to entertainment, including a pool table and bar and ping-pong
table and big TV and stereo. Her mom was from southern India and her dad was
from northern Wisconsin, and they ran some kind of international advertising
company, so they had work parties at their house.
Sometimes Shelly and I watched game
shows on their TV, but only when we could convince my mom there would be an
adult guarding us at all times. Shelly's parents were looser about adult
supervision than my mom was. They trusted Shelly and they believed the world
was a friendly place.
I rummaged in the basket beside
Lila's couch, where there were some brainy looking magazines about science and
nature and philosophy, but no TV Guide. I thought Lila must keep it by the
television set, and that's when I realized I hadn't seen a TV anywhere in the
house.
I looked in every cabinet and
cupboard and closet. I even snooped in Lila's bedroom. No sign of a television,
radio, or stereo. I couldn't believe it.
Upstairs, I thought. That makes
sense, a whole entertainment room like Shelly's parents' third floor. I'd seen
the puzzle and books, so the TV and stereo must be in a cabinet upstairs. I
switched on the light at the bottom of the narrow stairway and raced upstairs.
No television. No stereo. Not even a little radio alarm clock. Nothing. I
couldn't believe it.
Every second my mother was in our
apartment, the television or the radio was on, usually both. I had to go in my
room and close the door if I wanted to read or do homework, and still there was
the constant background babble of TV voices or pop music, like the constant
roar of the surf on a beach.
Here in Rainbow Village, the
constant roar of real surf must have lulled my brain so much that it took me
three days to figure out Lila didn't have a TV. I'd never imagined a person
could live that way. I was pretty sure people all over the world had
television. Could it be the Oregon beach had such terrible reception that they
were cut off from the rest of humanity?
I plopped myself down on the
upstairs window seat overlooking the ocean and stared outside. Soon the cats
joined me there, and we napped in the patches of sunlight that broke through
the afternoon clouds.
When I woke up, I went downstairs
and called Lila's barbershop.
"Lila Blue," she answered
in a friendly business voice.
"Grandma," I said,
"I can't find the TV."
"Cassandra?"
"I looked everywhere. I
couldn't even find a radio."
"Oh, well, I don't have one. I
think there might be an old battery radio in the garage for emergencies, but
the batteries are probably dead by now."
"I didn't look in the
garage," I said. I waited.
After a few seconds, Lila spoke in
a very calm, patient tone of voice she might use with an insane person.
"Having no television must seem odd to you. Are you missing a special program?"
"What about the news? Everyone
watches the news."
"Listen, dear, I'm in the
middle of a haircut. Why don't you walk down to the shop? Look at the map. It
will only take five minutes. When you get here, I'll take a break and show you
around."