| The
appointment was for 10 o'clock and Pat knew all she had ever dreamed
and worked for was riding on this one. She took a last cigarette, poured
a fourth cup of coffee and nervously fidgeted with both. Tiny beads of perspiration
dotted her upper lip as departure time grew near. No one was there to offer
encouragement or support and for the first time in years she wished for
that feeling. Pat was alone. Sometimes lonely, but mostly, simply alone.
Her first love was photography. Relationships were kept simple and uncomplicated...a
bit distant. Warmth for her many friends came easy, but passion for anything
beyond her work had been purposely disregarded for two years now. She glanced
about her small, cheerful apartment knowing a move would be necessary if
by some miracle this dream should come true. Her heart raced at the thought
of a stable and increased income, of more living space, of getting her darkroom
out of the bathroom. Finally, a room of its own! She wished she had time
to call Georgia and thank her for the recommendation but she knew she dared
not be late. Georgia could wait. Pat took a deep breath and headed out the
door. An hours drive after the morning traffic rush would give her time
to think. She knew her portfolio was good, though thin, particularly in
the areas of interest to these people. It was going to take some talking
to pull this one off. Pat's thoughts were wandering all about as she excitedly
wound her way over to the freeway. She knew the last three years, though
sometimes tough and lean, would eventually pay off if she could just hold
out... or on...which was it? Pat was the eldest daughter, third born, in
a family, which seemed to go on forever or at least until there were thirteen
birthings. She remembered with fondness how, when it was time, Mama would
grab her bag, call up all the children, to date, and kiss them good-bye;
then, several days later, return with another little wrapped, screaming
bundle. However, upon arriving home after number thirteen, as all gathered
about to view the new sibling, Mama firmly announced, "the baby factory
is closed!" Pat was the most relieved since it had fallen her duty
for years to tend, wipe, rock, feed, do dishes, do laundry, iron the boys’
pre-polyester shirts, etc., etc., etc.. Boys didn't have to do "women's
chores" in this family or in that day and time, and there were nine
so plumbed. Each was catered to by their Italian father while the girls
were surrogate mothers. Being the oldest; Pat obviously had the greatest
responsibility. As each became old enough to work, Dad demanded half their
earnings go into a “family pot” for the support and good of
all. Brothers and sisters alike highly resented this practice. Pat knew
she had to get out, to get far away, to go to college. She had an endless
thirst for knowledge, to think, to read, to listen to music. However, in
the Perrelli family, there was hardly a moment to be by oneself, to not
be doing for someone else. Plans and dreams waited until the quiet of night
and hope came from the peace of the darkness. Three days after high school
graduation, much to the chagrin of her parents, Pat left home. She loaded
her two hundred-dollar Plymouth with all her treasures and clothes and left
for Florida to visit an aunt and uncle. History and geography teachings
had her convinced there was a bigger and better world out there somewhere
south of New Jersey. |
And,
this is what has been said…
"You owe me a night's sleep!"
"Couldn't put it down! With only 20 pages to go at 2:30 AM, I had
to finish, then get up at 5:30 and go to work."
"Read it in two sittings."
"Best lesbian novel I've ever read!"
"Got to have a sequel."
"The Sandbox is a work of art, a gift for the rest of us." |
