Her daughter’s name was Alice. Alice was a grade-school
classmate, who, as I recall, had long, mousey blonde hair that camouflaged the
withdrawn demeanor that marks one wounded or weak. One easily made fun of.
Maybe Alice was just shy. Or maybe she had had the fight
smothered out of her, but one thing was certain—her mom sure hadn’t.
No, even though she lived in a run-down affair off what we
called the Dump Road, and was married to a man who went to jail (I suspected it
was for doing things we didn’t talk much about back then, like exposing himself
to my sister as she walked home from school one day) Alice’s mom had pride. And
she had fight.
And if there was one thing she’d fight for, it was her
daughter.
Back then (I don’t know if schools still do this) the nurse
would come around periodically and do a lice check by running a pencil through
our heads. After one such inspection, for some mean reason, I whispered it
around that Alice had lice.
At home, later that day, my mom told me someone wanted to see
me. I didn’t see a car in the driveway, but when I stepped outside, there,
standing in the hot afternoon sunlight were Alice and her mom. Apparently they
had trudged the miles down Dump Road, along Falls Road, and up our road,
stopping at my front door.
“Come here,” Alice’s mom commanded in a voice reserved for
mothers and generals. One that left no room for argument and melted the
cockiness right out of me. She lifted a hunk of Alice’s blonde stringy hair and waited
until I edged near. “Look. Look. Alice says you’re saying she has lice. Do you
see any lice?”
Properly mortified, I peered at Alice’s pink scalp. No, no I
didn’t see any lice. No, no I hadn’t seen the nurse find any either. Yes, yes I
had spread those rumors. Yes, yes I was sorry (I hope I truly was, and not just
trying to get out of my own uncomfortable mess.)
Satisfied her daughter’s reputation was vindicated, Alice’s
mom straightened her shoulders, took her daughter’s arm and marched backed down
the driveway.
My mom taught me much about faith, and perseverance, and love of learning, which I’ve shared before, but today, in thinking about moms and
daughters—all these decades later, I see Alice’s mom standing there in my
driveway, defying a punk kid to mock her daughter.
I salute you Alice’s mom. And Alice, I truly am sorry.
