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Rod's class picnic at the end of the year was
held at Boomer lake, a site I had never visited. There was a large,
covered deck, built out over the water. It was a big and heavy platform
and even walking out across it didn't cause any movement of the floor
which was directly over the water. At one end of the space was a juke box
filled with the latest dance music. The rails around it allowed a person
to be able to look down into the red, sienna colored, water which had run
off the red clay soil during the spring rains. That hue was so strong the
waters looked to be mud moving and rippling. Benches lined the outer edges
and there was plenty of room for seating for the folks who were onlookers
of the dance floor.
My husband was relaxed and seemed well acquainted with everyone there. The
men and their wives were on a first name basis with each other and I felt
a little hurt and left out when it was made apparent the group had been
socializing for the entire year. This was the first suggestion in our
married life that there was to be a separation like this and it was the
beginning of having to deal with this arrangement. Apparently it was for
this reason Rod has spent most of his time away, rather than studying at
home. For the most part of the day I remained aloof, staying apart, and
not making any attempt to get to know any of those who were there. I had
been slighted and It was a little late in the year to become friends as
far as I was concerned. Maybe the joy of association might have relieved
some of the heaviness of grief but apparently these people were little
interest, in fact weren’t even aware of what I was suffering. This was
almost fifty years ago and just the beginning of my realization that the
majority of people would be largely uninterested in the pain of a disabled
person or of the people caring for that person. From that experience I
made up my mind, no matter what, I would put on a smile, a happy face,
totally ignoring anything to stand in the way of what was a Trojan horse
filled with divided unity. I didn’t even realize then that I would never
fit into Rodney’s world and he would find it difficult to accept mine,
although he valiantly tried. Race, religion, the rancher’s culture, beside
Rodney’s oil field family’s unbreakable determination, too, gave us a
separation in many ways but instead of creating a barrier that seemed to
just stimulate our will to work through all of it.
Rod had made a decision, alone, in his usual
way, to look for work in Oklahoma City. This too, would become a pattern.
All that was left, in Stillwater, was for us to clean up a few small
debts, say goodbye to friends of my faith, and to his Uncle's family.
After all, they had been my friends and confidants.
His aunt had taken me in and treated me as
well as one of her own daughters. She seemed genuinely proud of me. Mary
Jane had her master's degree in Home Economics and had taught at the
college. She was a well-spring of virtual knowledge as far as running
their business, sewing wardrobes for her own college girls, running a
small café for their sales lot, and was just generally managing any of the
work and services about the town. Her girls were busy with their lives,
and she was left to pick up the work there at the cattle sales lot. I
learned a lot from Mary Jane Selph Flood. I enjoyed the stories she told
about her own family. Her father was a banker and her grandfather had been
a doctor who was “engaged” in treating some of the early day outlaws who
hid out in his small town close to Stillwater. They simply made payment
for the fixing of their gunshot wounds with a sack of money left on the
table. Of course, the doctor would not and, in fact, could not ask any
questions. Mary
Jane's husband, Ross, suffered a heart attack that year and I remember the
day she came by the house to tell me. It was the first time she showed
anything that was close to worry. After she had stayed a while to play
with the baby, she was up and gone. Her usual personality with a positive,
bright, attitude prevailed. We remained friends for all the years and I
called her on occasion to visit even after we moved back to Ponta City.
“My friends told me how you have paid off your
small debts here,” Mary Jane smiled to me as she went out my door for the
last time. “I'm proud of you,” she said.
Pictures of Stillwater, The yellow house is
almost identical to the one where we lived:
http://www.reslife.okstate.edu/recruitment/stwpics.html |
