We laid our sister to rest over a week ago. I sat with her twin, my brother, reminiscing about our childhood. We laughed, for she was a hilarious person, we shed tears, and we both wondered how we survived the years. By God’s grace, that’s how. This is just one of so many memories that involved the three of us.
In the early years, we lived close to our cousins, the Robertsons (not the Duck Dynasty Clan…hahaha), not too far from a dump created over time by some local Indian residents. The dump wasn’t large. But a dump is a dump no matter its size. It was situated about a mile away from our house and across the main highway, in the uncultivated desert. My mother warned us to stay away from that filthy place. She didn’t want us bringing back any more junk that others had thrown away. Did we listen? No. We were curious, always exploring, and doing things that often drove my mother crazy. My brother was the leader, Nita was next in command, and being the youngest, I just followed along.
Well, we went to the dump just to see what we could see. We joke around today and say that it was sorta like our own shopping mall. My brother found one of those old time typewriters that still worked, so he and Nita loaded it up on a wide board they found lying around and carried it home. They hauled it inside and proudly announced our find to my mother who promptly bawled us out for disobeying her.
“But, it works, Mama,” my brother excitedly explained. The typewriter was deposited on the floor. “Look!”
He then proceeded to bang away on the keys. A few seconds later, a swaying snake came popping out of the typewriter. And all hell broke loose! My mother, screaming, flew up on a chair. The rest of us also screamed and sought higher ground. We were all standing on chairs or on top of the table looking down, watching the snake, a garter snake, slither to the door we had left open. My mother’s broom eventually helped it along. I can tell you this, the three of us quickly followed the snake out the door because Mama’s broom took aim at us.
We talked about this event and many others at the funeral, and laughed so much. Laughter helps ease sorrow. My own two kids (adults) want me to write down everything about my childhood. They find our reservation stories hilarious and want them recorded for themselves and their children. Perhaps one day I will.
My sister was a wonderful girl. As she took her last breath, she said, “Mama! Mama, come sit over here by me.” And “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” I know I shall see her again and once more, we will laugh together.
