Laura, Thy Name is Passion

PREFACE

I am told the amygdala, an almond shaped mass of sub-cortical gray matter critical to memory and emotional processing, links actual historical experiences with fanciful perceptions to create our dreams. Nevertheless, early one morning a couple of years ago, I awoke with a start as Laura’s story bid goodbye to my amygdala, picked up steam, and roared headlong into my conscious awareness.

Most of my dreams I easily push aside, quickly shifting back to the reality of my own busy world, but Laura caught my attention and would not let go. Not some vague plot line, Laura’s story, like a riveting feature length film, etched vivid details in my memory. And though I am not a writer, I felt compelled to put her story on paper.

I grew up in Hazard during the fifties and sixties, but this story is not autobiographical. The setting does not pretend to be historically accurate, and neither are any of the characters meant to represent or portray any people I know or have known. But, oh how I love the mountains. Eastern Kentucky (my people and the places I call home) have always been deeply rooted in my heart, and telling this story has brought me closer than ever to this joyful part of who I am.

Rightly or wrongly, I was taught early on that there is a clear distinction between good/moral and evil/immoral with very little gray in the middle. Likewise, I ingrained these moralistic attitudes into my four boys as they grew into manhood. So, I am no stranger to strong, opinionated views and prejudiced interpretations. But the battles Laura fights seem not so clear-cut, and as I wrote, I often found myself trying to identify the enemy.

Still, I was caught off guard hearing the distressed emotional reactions that a couple of my sons expressed after reading Laura’s story. My sons are very familiar with my usual didactic approach, and they could see absolutely no reason why I would want to put Laura’s story on paper. One son could not understand the lack of appropriate boundaries, and the inability of devoted parents to protect their children. He was disapproving of Laura’s choices and shocked that her relationship with Wayne took center stage in the book.

Another son was apparently searching for the moral to the story and was surprised when I reiterated that I was only telling a story and had no ulterior motives. I tried to explain that the characters are meant to simply be themselves. They are not role players in a morality skit. With my amateur writing skills, I may have failed to present these characters accurately, but in my mind I see each of them as distinctly human. Sometimes they make good decisions, sometimes bad. But either way, they pick up the pieces and continue to make the best of whatever life dumps in their laps.

Understandably, the reader will make judgments about the characters or the writing. But the story itself is not inherently good or evil. I hope the reader will just read and let the story speak for itself.

CHAPTER I

IN THE BEGINNING

Call it passion, perseverance, or just old-fashioned grit. Whatever you call it, once Laura knew her heart, she never turned back, never gave in and never let go. I could see it in her eyes the last several days before Wayne came home. Everything else in her life was ticking along as usual, but her heart was set, and she was quietly, patiently waiting… waiting for his return.

WAYNE WALKER had only two weeks’ leave before shipping out for Vietnam. A stiff breeze turned the midday Texas sun into a blast furnace, and after tossing his last bag behind the seat, he peeled a sweat-soaked shirt off his back, slipped behind the wheel, and cranked down the windows. What a grind! Record highs, no air conditioning, and Kentucky a million miles away.

Two days later he pulled to a stop in his own driveway. He leaned back in the cool shade of the big oak and slowly exhaled. It was good to be home.

Laura was waiting on the Walkers’ porch swing, listening to the radio, but when Wayne’s car pulled up, she jumped from the swing, danced across the porch, and met him halfway. She flung both arms around his neck. Ebeth is over in town helping your mom with groceries. She told me to collect hugs for her if you arrived before she got home.

It was exactly what Ebeth would have told Laura, and he laughed as he encircled her waist and drew her into his arms. He hugged Laura just as he would have hugged his sister Ebeth, but the body he held now seemed to belong to a young woman instead of a sister, and the sensation briefly caught him off guard. Slightly embarrassed by his own feelings, he gave her another little squeeze to signal that the hug was over, and Laura released him from her embrace.

Her brown eyes twinkled as she laughed. We’ve been missing you, but I guess you’re just back for a home-cooked meal and free laundry, right?. Ebeth was so hoping she’d get back in time to greet you.

Before Wayne had a chance to reply, his mother pulled into the drive, and Ebeth screamed in delight as she hopped out to collect a long-overdue hug.

Eva laughed. Why am I always the last to get a hug? Doesn’t age or motherhood count for anything these days? It’s sooooo good to have you home, Wayne. His strong arms welcomed her into his embrace, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head letting her know that he had saved the best till last.

Hey, Laura, guess what I got for your brother, Jeff. Wayne opened the passenger door, and out jumped a little beagle pup, all skin and bones but incredibly friendly. I stopped at the rest area west of Memphis, and this little stray was running around begging for food. Somebody must’ve dumped him off.

He’s so cute! Laura exclaimed, as the pup circled her ankles. But he doesn’t have much of a tail. I think Jeff should call him Stump. And, if Jeff doesn’t want him, I’ll keep him. He sure acts hungry.

He likes hamburgers. He’s eaten three since we left Memphis. Jeff told me at Christmas that he didn’t think Woof was going to make it much longer. I thought a new pup would perk old Woof up a bit.

As the girls helped Wayne unload his car, Ebeth squealed, Ewwwww, Wayne! How can you let your car get so grubby? You’ll never snag a girl like this. And, while Wayne was digging the last of his stuff out of the back seat, Ebeth wrote Wash Me in the dust on the back window of his red ’64 Tempest.

Now, look what you’ve done, Ebeth. I hope you know you just signed yourself up to wash my car, right after lunch. I must admit this ole hot rod’s been needing a good bath for weeks now.

After lunch Ebeth washed dishes, Wayne dried, and Laura cleared the table. A lot had changed in the nine months since he was home in December. This was not the Laura he said goodbye to at Christmas. She was now fourteen. Only one year older than Ebeth. Yet, she had dramatically developed the curves and shape of an attractive young woman.

His eyes and attentions instinctively followed her around the room. He tried to remind himself that she was still a schoolgirl, his baby sister’s best friend, but he was not immune to her charms. He resisted as best he could. That was all he could do.

They finished up in the kitchen, and Wayne moved his car out back to the garden hose. The September sun was blazing as he hosed down the car. A fine spray of water, cool and refreshing, splashed against his hot skin. Perfect day for a car wash. He filled a bucket with warm, soapy water and yelled to the girls to bring rags, towels, and brushes.

Ebeth dumped a pile of towels on the back step and resolutely planted her hands on her hips. I washed my hair this morning and can’t get it wet, but I’ll be glad to help dry after you two wash and hose it down.

Wayne protested, Hey, Sis, this wasn’t exactly the deal.

But Laura quickly grabbed a sponge and dipped it in the bucket. I don’t mind, really. She lathered soapy water across the hood for Wayne to spray, and it wasn’t long till they were both covered in suds.

After a couple of minutes, Laura called to Ebeth to bring over an extra sponge. Wayne was on the opposite side of the car hosing down the tires, but just as Ebeth stooped to hand the sponge to Laura, a stream of water came over the top of the car, catching her squarely in the back and soaking her head to toe.

Ebeth screamed. And Wayne quickly offered a pseudo-apology. Oops, Ebeth, is that you over there?

Ebeth fumed, accusing Laura of being a co-conspirator. Somebody’s gonna pay. Laura was closest and got a sponge-full of soapy water splashing down her back.

Wayne was laughing and alternately spraying Ebeth and Laura. Surely Ebeth knew better than to—

But Ebeth, already soaked beyond repair, was going full-throttle. She grabbed the bucket of soapy water and chased Wayne down, dousing him good. Wayne yelled, and Ebeth quickly persuaded Laura to join forces with her against Wicked Wayne.

A full-scale water battle raged for nearly twenty minutes till Wayne yelled, Truce, Truce, Truce. I surrender.

Don’t trust him, Laura. Ebeth emptied a final bucket of water down Wayne’s back.

Covering his head with his hands and bowing submissively before them, Wayne, now totally drenched, pled again, Trust me. Trust me. I’ll not spray a drop more. I promise. He timidly put the hose on the ground. You beat me fair and square.

Bubbling with laughter and excitement, a gooey wet sponge ready in each hand, Laura threatened to smear his face. Then, glancing at Ebeth for her final verdict, she reluctantly tossed them at his feet.

Ebeth raised a sponge in victory. I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Wayne. And then she added, Remember, you owe us big time now.

Continuing to bow before them, Wayne humbly acknowledged defeat. OK. You win. I definitely owe you both a huge favor, but since we’re all soaked, let’s finish up the car.

EVA INVITED LAURA to stay for supper, and apologized to Wayne that it wasn't his favorite, Cowboy Spaghetti.

I’m starving, Mom. It’s home-cooking and it smells great. His mouth was already watering, and after they sat down, Wayne ate twice as much as anyone else.

Ed passed his son the roast beef one more time. Hearing your voice at supper makes all the food taste better, Wayne.

Everyone agreed, and Ebeth asked Wayne if he wanted the last serving of broccoli casserole.

After supper, no one was in a hurry to get up and do dishes. Then, Ebeth begged, Mom, would it be OK if Laura and I go to the movie tonight. We would need Wayne to take us, of course.

Eva raised her eyebrows slightly. I don’t mind your going, but Laura needs permission from her folks. And you will need to fight your own battles with Wayne. He’s a grown man and he does what he wants. If he’s going to take you, you’re on your own to persuade him. I think he’s planning on hiking up the ridge to watch the sunset after supper so you probably have your work cut out for you.

Ebeth leaned over and grabbed Wayne’s hand. Pleeeease, Wayne. You can hike up the ridge anytime. But you may never have another chance to take two gorgeous women to the movie. And besides, you owe us for helping you wash your car.

Wayne gave in without a fight. OK. You’ve got yourselves a deal. Mom never allowed dating when I was your age, and I know that hasn’t changed, though I would make a great chaperone. However, we do have room in my nice clean car for extra friends if you wish.

Two heads leaned immediately together, and after the quick pow-wow Ebeth said, We’re gonna take a rain check on the chaperone service and let you be our date for tonight.

OK. That means we have time to clean the kitchen before we bust out of here, and you two better be ready at seven-thirty sharp, or we’ll be late for the show.

The girls were dressed and beautiful five minutes early. Wayne drove around to the front of the house to pick them up in his newly washed car. What fun. A relaxing evening with his girls and a chance to show them a good time. He was the perfect date, complimenting them lavishly and escorting them, one on each arm, into the theater. He provided tickets and refreshments and then carefully selected the best seats in the house. The movie was perfect, and Wayne settled down between them offering a shoulder for each girl to lean on during the show.

As they left the theater and got in the car, Wayne said, We’ve had a grand time. No one is as lucky as me with two fabulous sisters.

Dates. They corrected him in unison.

After the movie Wayne drove over to Laura’s house. He helped her from the car and escorted her through the gate. They walked hand-in-hand to the front door and stopped.

Laura folded her hands in front of her. Thank you, Wayne. This has been like a dream.

He brushed back her hair so he could look more clearly into her soft brown eyes. She looked up hesitantly, obviously wary of appearing too forward after her bold attack on him earlier in the day. He smiled to reassure her. Then, he drew her close, letting her arms curl naturally around his neck. Her heart beat wildly against his chest. Goodnight, Laura, you are very special to me.

She released him with a simple Thank you, then waved goodnight to Ebeth who was waiting in the car.

Wayne waved too, acknowledging that Ebeth was watching their every move and perhaps reading between the lines. But there wasn't much for her to read. From outward appearances his goodnight hug for Laura was warm and affectionate, but nothing more or nothing less than the incredible hugs he always gave Ebeth.

Thru Mama’s eyes:

Roots and Traditions

Of course, I knew Laura had a crush on Wayne. After all, I’m her Mama. But her story is more than the story of a teenage crush. It runs deeper than a simple love story. Laura’s story spotlights the passions of a precocious teenager struggling to emerge from a not-so-cozy cocoon. Yes, it’s a story about Laura, but to hear it best you need to hear my voice and see her thru my eyes. I am her Mama. My name is Janet.

As I said, I knew all along about her crush. How could I not know? As close as they had been all these years, I expected a crush, and I thought I was ready to deal with it. I was ready to deal with the intense admiration. You know, the kind of awe and idolization that a younger sister might have for an older sister—or an older brother.

And maybe that’s what it had been until recently. But with teenage hormones fanning her emotions, I was now concerned that her feelings might be moving in a more romantic direction.

Her father knew I’d been concerned about this crush. Maybe he had concerns of his own, or maybe he was picking up on my feelings.

Wayne was a fine person. He had done nothing to encourage her and certainly nothing inappropriate. And, yes, I knew Wayne would be overseas in Vietnam for a year, so I probably shouldn’t have been concerned. Still, something within me wouldn’t put it to rest. Several times I had started to sit down and talk to Laura. But something kept holding me back.

My mind wanders back trying to piece together the events; the emotional ups and downs; and the experiences and influences that were shaping and molding her. Without question, Laura was a product of her heritage, her family roots, and traditions. Thus, if we are going to have a true picture of the forces in her life, we need to look back even before Laura’s birth, maybe to my own teenage years.

I am from Letcher County, Kentucky, and my parents were hard-working, honest people who loved Jehovah and served the Lord. There was never extra money, though there was always enough. Our wealth was family and friends. I have one sister, Carole, who is two years older, and no brothers. Our family has always been close and our family ties strong. Our faith is a very important part of our lives. We were faithful members and regularly attended the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I met John Mitchell because my family lived directly across the street from the auto salvage, commonly called the junkyard in Letcher County. Everyone agreed that we were an impossible couple—an utter, absolute miracle. Webster defines miracle as an event that appears to be contrary to the laws of nature and is regarded as an act of God.

John said that he never believed in Jehovah until the minute his eyes met mine. And I believe him. Inexplicably, God plucked us out of two different worlds and placed us together in a world of His own. A shy, timid girl from a devoutly spiritual Jehovah’s Witness family and this audacious junkyard man without a splinter of religion in his soul? Impossible. Yet, somehow John teamed up with Jehovah to make the impossible possible.

I can vividly recall the day it all began…

I WAS SEVENTEEN, a senior in high school. It was after school on a Friday afternoon in early September 1949. I was kicking off my shoes and sipping iced tea on the porch. A young man with sandy blond hair and a broad smile stopped in front of our house, poked his head from the window of a tow truck, and waved to me. Hey, could you let me use your phone to make a quick call?

I nodded and showed him the phone in the kitchen as we introduced ourselves.

His call lasted only a few seconds while I poured myself a refill—plus an extra glass because he looked hot and thirsty.

He smiled as I handed him the tea. You saved my life. I would’ve had to drive all the way back across town to where I work at Smith’s Auto Parts to get this information, and by then it would be too late. And thanks for the tea. He downed the last of it and stepped back out on the porch.

I waved as he bounded down the steps and jumped in his truck. He waved back and was gone.

I was sure I would never see him again, but when I got home from school the next Tuesday afternoon, a mason jar with daisies and black-eyed Susans sat on our gatepost. Tucked under the jar was a Smith’s Auto Parts business card and on the back in careful block letters, To Janet. Thank you. John.

Friday afternoon rolled around, and I was again sitting on the porch when his red tow truck pulled up exactly as it had before. I saw the same sandy blond head again, and I waved. If you keep this up, I’m going to have to start charging you.

John laughed. For the tea or for the phone call?

I walked down the steps and met him at the gate. Thank you for the flowers.

He said he stopped by to thank me again. But this time he was not in such a hurry. I must have driven by here a hundred times. It’s odd that we haven’t met before.

I smiled. I guess it’s because you never asked to use my phone. What about a glass of tea?

No thanks, I need to get back. But he didn’t rush off and we continued talking for probably another ten minutes. Since he graduated two years earlier, he had been working full time at Smith’s. He was a year older than my sister Carole, but never knew Carole had a younger sister in high school. Wow, he said. Are you graduating this year?.

Yes, I’m a senior. I just turned seventeen last week.

Congratulations! That’s great. Happy Birthday. He took a step back and glanced at his watch. Hey, I gotta get moving. See ya later, Janet.

I waved as he climbed into the truck.

Twice the next week I found little notes or surprises waiting for me on the gatepost as I came in from school. I was excited and flattered, and on Friday I hurried home after school, freshened up my hair, poured an extra glass of tea, and waited. I couldn’t keep my eyes from searching back and forth on the road toward town. A few minutes later my heart skipped a beat as his red tow truck came into view.

I must have been excited since I got to our gatepost with iced tea in hand before John got out of the truck. And, when he did, he had in his hand a neatly wrapped package about the size of a shoebox with yellow balloons hanging from the ribbons. He handed it to me smiling nervously and running his fingers through his blond hair. As I accepted the package, he cleared his throat and tried to sing a few bars of Happy Birthday. But as soon as I realized what was happening, I put my hand up to stop him.

John, you are sooo thoughtful, but— and my voice broke. But, I can’t accept this.

Somewhat bewildered, but not willing to be denied, he asked, Janet, are you kidding? Is it my off-key singing or the fact that I’m a week late?

No, John, it’s neither, and I can’t tell you how special this is. The truth is— I am a Jehovah’s Witness, and we aren’t allowed to celebrate birthdays or accept birthday gifts. My shoulders slumped. I knew this was the end of my parade. I lowered my eyes and said, I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.

It was then that the miracle began. I felt his hand under my chin lifting my lowered head to look into his eyes. It’s OK, Janet. Remember, this is not your birthday anyway. Give me a few seconds in the truck, and a little abracadabra will instantly transform this unacceptable gift into a Happy Friday Afternoon present.

I wiped my eyes while he disappeared over to the truck where he removed the birthday card and birthday wrapping paper. He returned with the box, the ribbons, and the balloon. Wheeeee. Don’t you just love Friday afternoons? He handed me the box once again.

I laughed and smiled. I couldn't believe that he had taken a terrible situation and transformed it so miraculously into a magical moment. I removed the ribbon and draped it around my neck with the balloons trailing down my back. I took the top off the box to find a beautiful indigo vase cradled in the packing. As I lifted it out of the box, the afternoon sun glistened through the delicate glass splashing indigo rainbows over the two