My sister and I spent that day touring Alhambra, our old hometown. Of our Catholic school, Saint Thomas More, I wrote:
I rolled a tree stump over to the window of my first grade classroom to peer in. It looked the same except for a television in the corner. The chapel's stained glass looked much brighter than I remembered, like candy. And in the school auditorium where I had crossed the Brownie bridge to become a Brownie, the room was decorated for a party. I felt the school’s isolation, its sense of self, how it embraces and shelters its beliefs, its mood.
I could hardly play Four Squares anymore—the squares were too small.
We climbed up a muddy, trash-strewn hill across the street to the domed temple at its peak. It had always been a mystery, a “forbidden fruit.” Once inside, it seemed like a toy version of an early Christian Church. Before leaving, I stopped to look at candles and trinkets laid out for sale by the door, and thought to take one because no one was around, but didn’t.
I get these impulses from time to time and hide them away, but think that if I keep a list of things I have impulsively desired I may see a trend and get a better understanding of myself.
Last night we were all watching a movie called “Fright,” except for Mom and Bob. I think I would do well to be hypnotized and maybe recall my past life, similar to the lady in the movie. This movie, like today’s newspaper article, was another tap on the shoulder, another finger pointed. So many premonitions in such a short space of time, I cannot ignore.
I finally took the messages to heart and made a happy renew year resolution…to pursue the depths of my reincarnation.
We are all travelers
Going home
Going home
Going home.
Later that day my sister and I visited the park and playground we used to frequent as children.
We played on the teeter-totter and merry-go-round and slid down the giant double slide, then climbed up the hill where a bold, new building stood. My sister was attracted to this higher place, so I went down alone to the field where I once threw up when Aunt Betty was playing baseball with us, and peered through the chain link fence into the trees and bushes where we used to sneak in and run around like Indians or cavemen—that sort of closeness to nature. Three little girls walked by me and couldn’t seem to figure out what I was staring at.
I went over to where we did basket weaving in the summer and found the big sink used to soak fibers. Up in the drinking fountain there was a grating, old and antiqued by weathering, and an endless line of people. I felt like taking the concrete fountain away with me, as though it would nourish others wherever I was going. Very strange, this impulse! Then I walked around behind the playground where we used to go Easter egg hunting. I lay on the grass by some white flowers floating like miniature water lilies to stare at a very much alive tree across the way, and fell to dreaming into the ground, sinking into the sky.
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