Do You Believe Me Now?
Snippets of True LifeBy Bonnie Smith KrenzAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Bonnie Smith Krenz
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-5587-9 Contents
Not So Fast................................................................1Dancin' With Dad...........................................................3Satisfaction Brought It Back...............................................5Smitty.....................................................................7Wham! One..................................................................9Butts......................................................................15On The List?...............................................................17The Bird...................................................................21My Heart Bleeds............................................................24California Here I Come.....................................................30Tenderloin.................................................................32In The Cage................................................................35Penthouse Frank............................................................38A Bug?.....................................................................41The Secret.................................................................44What Time Is It?...........................................................47Thank God For Rollers......................................................50That Smith Grin............................................................52Many Years Later ... Grown Up Whether I Like It or Not.....................57Lucky In Love..............................................................59Here Kitty Kitty...........................................................62BAF........................................................................64Wham! Two..................................................................67Judge UR Pink And The Pink Flamingo Saga...................................71Get The Key, Bob!..........................................................76Scorpions And Dutch Rumps..................................................79Drunken Moons..............................................................82Sagging Reflections........................................................84Hail Mary..................................................................86Fit For A King.............................................................89The Icky Room And Broccoli.................................................92We Hear Dead People........................................................96Postscript.................................................................99
Chapter One
DANCIN' WITH DAD
Piano music, especially ragtime, is one of my dad's passions. After a few adult beverages, he loves to listen to that music. The record playing on the stereo, beer in hand, he sashays into the kitchen, takes my mother in his arms, and they dance. I can see that Smith Grin on his face. Eventually, Mom goes back to making dinner for the family. Dad returns to his chair in the living room and talks about taking piano lessons. He never gets around to it, but he does the next best thing.
Enter the Player Piano.
It's the largest piano I've ever seen. Dad removes the back door and its frame to get the piano inside the house. He and a few of his friends struggle with this huge instrument and somehow it safely makes its way into the basement party room.
Rolls upon rolls of music are in the piano bench. Dad inserts a roll of music into the player by matching up pegs to the holes in the paper rolls. As he pushes the pedals on the piano with his feet, the keys depress, and music plays. There's also a switch that allows it to play automatically. Magic!
Many times Dad dances with me to those tunes. I put my feet on the top of his shoes so that I can be taller and follow his steps easier. It is so much fun! At Christmas, Santa brings me a dancing doll that is taller than me. I put my feet through the elastic loops on its feet and my hands through the elastic loops on its hands. So I always have a dancing partner even when my dad's not home. I put the player piano on automatic and dance all around the basement.
My favorite song to dance with my dad is something about dancing with a dolly with holes in her stocking. We sing the song and dance the dance.
I can be seen dancing in every family movie during my childhood and in every family video in my adult years. Dancing gives me joy. Now I know why.
SATISFACTION BROUGHT IT BACK
Sixth grade is tough. I don't know whether to play with Barbie dolls or boys. My teacher at school is male, which doesn't thrill me at all. When I ask questions, he doesn't answer them very well. I asked him what "rape" meant, and he said, "Curiosity killed the cat." What kind of an answer is that? I'll ask my mom as soon as I get home. The word gives me the heebie jeebies, so it must mean something bad.
Mom is dusting the piano keys when I get home from school. "Mom," I say, "what does rape mean? I asked my teacher, but he said 'curiosity killed the cat.'"
She immediately stops what she is doing and asks me where I heard that word.
I explain, "I heard it from Brian Jenkins. I babysat there last night. After I fed the two little kids dinner, they were off to bed. I went into the bathroom to look in the mirror while I brushed my hair. You know their older son, Brian? Well, he walked into the house just then. The Jenkinses told me he wouldn't be home before they got home. Anyway, he grabbed my arms, dragged me down the hall into his parents' bedroom, and threw me on the bed. He laid on top of me, Mom. He held my arms up over my head. He said, 'I'm gonna rape you.' I was scared, Mom. I felt creepy. Then the phone rang. Brian got off of me and ran out the front door. I thought about it all day at school."
Mom sits down beside me. She holds my hand and asks me embarrassing questions. She wants to make sure that Brian didn't hurt me. She tells me that rape is when a man has sex with a woman without her consent. The way she is looking at me and talking so softly, well, it must be pretty bad. I am not exactly sure what has sex means, but I'm not going to ask my mom about it right now.
My dad pulls in the driveway, home early from work. He walks in the door. Mom gives him that secret "meet me in the bedroom we gotta talk" look. Well, they think it's a secret look, but all us kids know what it means. "Bonnie, watch the twins," my mom says as she disappears down the hallway with my dad. The twins are my little two-year old brothers Pat and Mike.
Later that night, my parents meet with the Jenkinses. When they return home, my dad tells me that Brian has serious mental problems. He will be sent away in the morning. He will not bother me or any of the other neighborhood girls again. He will be sent away.
I wonder what that means. To his grandma's? To his aunt's? Do they live far away? Will he be able to walk back here?
I leave the room but I can hear bits and pieces of my parents' conversation. Agreement. Mental institution. Police. Charges. School. Rape. Teacher. Conference. I feel a little safer now.
"And Bonnie," my mom calls out, "the teacher who told you 'curiosity killed the cat'? Tomorrow you tell him 'Satisfaction brought it back'!"
And I do.
SMITTY
Popcorn everywhere. On the counters. Caught in the grates on the stove. In the toaster. On the floor. Grandpa's at it again! His Sunday routine of popping corn in the pressure cooker. Off comes the lid before the popping is finished. Us kids love it! It's so much fun. We are on a search mission, finding all the popcorn and eating it as we do, even if it's on the floor. "Neal!" my grandma scolds in an effort to halt his silliness. But it does no good. He's had a few-or more than a few-beers by now. Why, it's already one o'clock in the afternoon.
My dad, uncles, and grandpa call all us kids to attention. We're leaving for the corner bar. Some of us walk, but grandpa drives his car because he can't walk that far, which is just a few short blocks. I don't know if it's because he's old or loaded. Perhaps both?
We get to the bar, and all us kids get to sit on the bar stools. I order a Shirley Temple with extra cherries, while I spin around on the barstool. Dad and Grandpa are talking. Then Grandpa's friend joins in. They don't think I pay attention to the stories they tell each other, but I do. This one's a doozy! I hear Grandpa's friend say to my dad, "Jimmy, did Smitty (that's grandpa) tell ya 'bout Friday?" He goes on with his story:
"Thick darkness all 'round me but with a flicker of candlelight. On my back. Can't move my legs, not 'nuff room. My arms 'r crossed over my chest. My head's on sumpin very soft, probably a pillow. I feel a tie 'round my neck. I'm wearin' a tie? Damn, my head hurts. My mouth's dry as a cotton ball n' my tongue's stuck. I'm thirsty. Spread my legs far's I can. They don't move much 'fore they touch the side of ... of what? I feel around. Think I'm in a box. A long box. What the hell! I'm in a dark room, candles a glowin' ... in a box. I'm in a coffin! I'm at my funeral! I yell out loud, 'But I'm not dead!' "Then Smitty comes, turns the lights on. With a bottle of whiskey, laughing like a hyena. 'That'll teach ya to get drunk at my house and pass out!' he says. "'You SOB!' I say. 'I thought I was dead. Gimme some of that whiskey!'"
My dad has that Smith Grin on his face through the whole story. All the men laugh at my grandpa's mischievous sense of humor. It gives them all an excuse to have another round of boilermakers, and I get another Shirley Temple, with lots of cherries.
In a story to come, those cherries will be in a Southern Comfort Manhattan.
WHAM! ONE
While walking down the steps of the school bus, I think about this being my last year at Jane Adams Junior High School. My legs break out in goose bumps as the cold winds attack my bare skin. Stepping onto the street just as I lose sight of the front of the bus, I see a car heading right at me, but it's too late for me to step back out of its path. Wham! I feel the hit. I y up in the air and fall down onto the pavement; my body skids and I finally come to a stop. I cannot move for a few seconds, and everything is stone quiet. I sit up. I see the bus driver running over to me. The lady who hit me is out of her car and also coming toward me. Faces are up against the window glass of the bus straining to see the commotion. Sound slowly returns and I hear words: see ... her ... Okay ... are ... police. The words turn into sentences: I didn't see her ... are you okay? Call the police ... I'm sorry, I didn't see you.
I put my hand out to the bus driver to help me stand. I feel okay. Just a little shaken up. I walk over to the side of the road. The bus driver and the lady who hit me follow.
I hear sirens. Before it all registers, police officers are on the scene asking me if I'm all right. I assure them I am. They record my name, address, and telephone number and do the same with the bus driver and the lady who hit me. Since I don't appear to be injured, they release me, and I walk home; it's about six blocks.
I open the front door of our house and see my mother in the kitchen. She looks up at me to express her displeasure in my tardiness.
"But Mom, I got hit by a car."
She purses her lips and then over-pronounces my first and middle name, which she does when she's upset with me, "Bonnie Jean!"
Well, clearly she doesn't believe my story. She walks over with her nger in the air, ready to scold me. My legs start to throb, so I pull up my skirt. I look down at my thighs and see that they are missing a lot of skin and blood is oozing out of the skinless parts.
"See, Mom! I really did get hit by a car."
My mom gasps, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" and I think that I won't get grounded for being late from school after all. She leads me into the bathroom and attends to my wounds; then it's off to the hospital for x-rays. On the way, I answer all of her questions about the accident in great detail.
My dad is home from work. I can hear my parents talking about the accident. I watch as my dad goes into the kitchen and dials the telephone. He is talking to the police department, giving them hell for letting his young daughter walk home six blocks after a car hit her. He's yelling into the phone. "I should sue your asses!" I hear him say.
He doesn't. Sue their asses. Little does he know, he will have that opportunity on my behalf in April of 1967.
And then it's February 1962, just about a year later; I am a freshman at Kimball High School, Royal Oak. My girlfriend Sue and I are walking to the shopping center at Fourteen Mile and Crooks Road. As we cross Crooks Road, I am up ahead of her. Sue calls my name. "Bonnie!" I stop in the middle of the road, turn to look at her, and Wham! A car hits me, right in my chest. I'm airborne for what seems like minutes, and then I hit the ground. Splat! I start to sit up and see a big, black hearse right in front of me. Is that what hit me? Is there a dead body in there?
A tall man dressed in all black runs to me. "Young lady are you all right ... Are you hurt? ..." as he takes my arm to help me walk, leading me toward the hearse, "Come, I'll take you to the hospital to get you checked out ..."
I pull away from him and yell, in no uncertain terms, "I am not going anywhere in that thing!"
He looks at me with surprise. I know he can't force me to get into the hearse. No way. Sue runs to my side. The man in black asks me a few questions, including my name, phone number, and address, which I give him. Accepting that I am not going with him to the hospital or anywhere else, the man in black leaves the scene. He probably has to get to a funeral. Sue and I continue on to the shopping center and talk about how creepy that was.
We are walking home now and I'm starting to feel sore, very sore. I have pain in my chest. I walk in the door and see my mom in the kitchen. "Mom, a car hit me ... a hearse!"
She looks at me in disbelief, "Bonnie Jean!" until I lift my shirt, and she sees my entire chest is turning black/ blue/gray with streaks of dried blood. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Not again! What happened to you?"
My mother insists on taking me to the hospital to get x-rays, again. No broken bones. I'm just sore as hell. We are back home sitting in the living room telling my dad the particulars of the accident. "Did you get the guy's name and phone number, Bonnie?"
I tell him no but that the driver took mine. My dad, forever the optimist, flipped sides, "Oh! That's just great; he's not going to show up and ..." Ding dong. Someone is at the door. It's the man in black; the driver. He's come to check on me to make sure I'm not seriously injured. He offers to pay for any medical treatment I may need. My dad's optimism is restored.
And then it's spring 1962, and I'm a sophomore at Kimball High School. My girlfriend Lee snatches her dad's brand new convertible to drive to school. He never allowed her to drive his new car, but he's out of town. I'm in the passenger's seat, sitting with my back leaning against the door. Lee turns left heading into the school parking lot, while we conspire to hide the fact that she borrowed the car, and Wham! A car runs the light and t-bones us on the passenger's side door, right where I'm sitting. The impact throws me into the backseat behind Lee.
The police are quick to arrive, and this time they don't leave me on my own accord but drive me home. How pleased my parents will be! The two police officers hold on to me, one on each side, to help me walk to the front door of my house. My mother sees us through the picture window, and because I am flanked by two police officers, she concludes that I somehow broke the law. She opens the door and has her lips pursed in that look of disapproval. I blurt out "Mom a car hit me!" And she responds, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" And we repeat the ritual of her checking me out, getting x-rays at the hospital, and discussing it with my dad; the same procedure we follow each time I get hit by a car.
I am again free of any broken bones. However, my lower back is bruised and sore as hell, and I am forced to sit on a blow-up cushion, which I carry to each class at school for about six weeks. How embarrassing!
Because we can't come up with a good story as to why the car is totaled, Lee confesses to her dad that she took his car without permission. She's grounded from driving and any fun activities for a month. My parents join in the punishment, and I am grounded too. My dad calls the police department; this time to thank them for escorting me home.
And then it's fall 1963, and I'm a junior at Kimball High School. Being from a Catholic family, I'm enrolled in catechism, which is a weekly religion class for kids. I'm driving my mom's 1952 Chevrolet. My girlfriend Niki is in the passenger's seat. My parents believe we are going to catechism, but instead we are cruising Woodward Avenue. We stop for a red light and Wham! The guy behind us stepped on his brakes a little too late and didn't stop until he crashed into the rear end of my mom's car. Niki has a gash in her forehead from hitting the dashboard but does not require stitches. My chest smashed into the steering wheel, but other than that, I feel fine. We exchange personal information with the other driver; then Niki and I continue on our way to the Big Boy Drive-in. We decide I will tell my parents that we went to the Big Boy after catechism and that's when we got hit.
My parents buy my story. My mom is a little shaken up because of all the times I've been hit by cars and expresses her fear that I won't make it to graduation. My father calls the guy who hit me, and they agree on money damages. They further agree not to report the accident to the police or to the insurance companies. I am not sure why.
A few days later, I notice there's a palm tree in the bathroom. Knowing that we could never afford such a luxury, I ask my mom where it came from. "Your dad bought it with the money from your accident." So, my mom's car has no rear end, but we have a palm tree in our bathroom. That's my dad!
BUTTS
My mother thinks my driver's license is a gift from God, because she doesn't have to continue to drive me to catechism on Monday nights as she has done for years. I get to drive myself. Yeah, right. To catechism. To religion classes. I take the Woodward Avenue route, where all the teens cruise up and down the roadway and make stops at the Big Boy and Ted's Drive-in.
It's Monday night, and I'm getting ready to leave. It's winter and very cold outside, so I dress warm. I notice that my father brought home a brand new car from the dealership. It's white with white leather seats. I put on my most responsible-looking face and sweetly ask him if I can drive the new car to catechism. To my delight, he is in a groovy mood and hands me the keys. As soon as I pull out of the driveway and get down the street a few feet, where I am out of my parents' view, I light up a butt. I pick up my girlfriend Niki, who lights a butt from my butt as soon as she gets in the car. We head directly to Woodward Avenue. We make a stop at the Big Boy Drive-in and share an order of french fries with tartar sauce and have time to spare to flirt with the boys that are hanging around.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Do You Believe Me Now?by Bonnie Smith Krenz Copyright © 2010 by Bonnie Smith Krenz. Excerpted by permission.
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