The wind whipped around our little house. The heavy wooden kitchen door gave a little shudder. The handmade wooden awnings that were already in place to keep out the summer sun gave a little bang against the outside walls.
My father stopped sipping his coffee to give a listen. He drank the coffee that was really too hot to gulp in one go. He put on his old banged up outdoor jacket. He grabbed a screw driver. He headed out the door to battle the wind that was buffeting his house.
He stuck his head back into the kitchen a few minutes later.
“Uh, Ellie? The wind is getting ferocious. You know that whole spring thing. In like a lion out like a lamb………..” he said in her general direction which was the sink full of sudsy water.
The wind coming through the kitchen door actually gave out a howl and a shriek.
“Dear God! Ralph! Get to the point and shut that door!” my mother said without turning around.
“The clothes line, Ellie. It is strung with all your unmentionables………….you know……lace and elastic and well……….you know, bras………….maybe you want to do something about that before they get blown all the way to Glastonbury. I’d like to help you out but I have to get out the ladder to do something about this awning.” he explained as the wind slammed the door shut on him.
“Oh, crap!” my mother exclaimed as she craned her neck at the kitchen window. She could see some of the clothes line from there.
“Put on your coat, Darlene! Now!” she said as she grabbed her old woolen coat from the back of the basement door.
I did as I was told.
Mom grabbed the laundry basket from the corner. She took hold of the door knob and turned to me.
“That wind is wicked. I’ll hold the door open. You get out of its way quickly. I don’t want it banging into you. Run for the clothes line. I’ll meet you there.” she said as the door almost flew out of her strong hand.
I was experienced at clothesline etiquette by the time I was ten years old. Close neighbors on both sides had everything to do with the lineup on the rope. My father’s drawers and tee shirts got strung first. When they got wheeled all the way to the end of the line they were in full view of five back yards. My mother did not care about my Dad’s BVD’s blowing in the breeze.
Her bras and undies were another matter. They hung closest to the house. There was a lot of greenery coverage there. No one could judge her cup size that close to the siding of our little house. I had been taught to pin her underwear a certain way to the line. I eventually figured out it was to make them look smaller.
Yeah, I know. My mother REALLY cared what the neighbors thought.
The line had been full an hour before. The wind had done its job and blank spaces told us that we were missing underwear. Lots of it. My mother’s face went as white as the bleached briefs.
She put her hand up. I had been about to say something but her hand stopped me. I thought she was about to make a pronouncement. But, instead, she was testing the direction of the wind.
She pointed to the row of hemlocks at the property line.
“Crawl if you have to. Five of them! They’re expensive. I’ll cry if I lose them. They’re so comfortable. I’m missing five bras. Go find them. Tube socks and your brother’s tee shirts are nice. But, you’ve got to find my bras while I take the rest of this down. ” she screeched louder than the wind.
I crawled among the bushes and shrubs. I got a bit scratched up in the process. Oh, I’d done this before. But, that had been at Easter when the prizes were in the form of chocolate eggs and little bags of jelly beans.
The wind howled over my head as I stuffed damp white clothing in all forms down the front of my shirt. I had quite a collection when I finally gave in to the falling darkness.
I jumped up and down in the kitchen a little while later to divest myself of all the collected clothing. Bleached white items were now covered in mulch and pine needles. My mother pounced on anything made of lace lying on the linoleum floor.
She counted. My father laughed. She glared. He subsided.
“Oh, thank goodness. You found all five.” she declared as she clutched her favorite undies to her chest. “You did good.”
My father laughed again.
“I don’t know what you think is so freaking funny, Ralph! I’m not a little girl. Do you know what each one of these cost you? I buy them in six packs. So, why don’t you just go and laugh in the next room.” she said as she swept it all into a ball that was headed for the washing machine.
Dad went into the next room to have his laugh.
Darkness fell. The washing machine chugged away contentedly. The wind died down with the darkness.
A strong spring sunshine shown the next morning. The doorbell rang. Our next door neighbor walked into the kitchen before the bell had stopped chiming.
The next door lady was wearing a humongous bra on her head. Oh, it was pretty. It was pink with copious amounts of lace. The construction was substantial. Wires and bows made the piece of female frippery stand up straight on this lady’s head.
“Lose something, Ellie? This was hanging off of my husband’s car antennae this morning when he went to go to work. He knew it wasn’t mine……….for obvious reasons.” she said as she looked down at her slightly rounded chest.
My mother’s cheeks blushed red. Someone’s husband had thought this overly large bra perhaps belonged to her. She clasped her hands in front of her chest in an awkward greeting. She flipped her hands in such a way as to be taken as an invitation to sit down and take some tea.
I sat down at the table too. I stared at my neighbor with the pink frilly cups on her head. I knew what she needed and what my mother wasn’t giving her.
I laughed and I laughed and sputtered while pointing at her head. Actually, the pink frothy undergarment looked very pretty sitting atop her tightly permed silver hair.
“Oh, Mrs. S! That is the prettiest Easter bonnet I’ve ever seen!” I screeched as I punched her in the shoulder.
She was loving it and laughed along with me.
My mother? Not, so much.
I was used to my mother’s tea parties. They happened every day. I was allowed to greet a neighbor lady in our kitchen but I was never allowed to stay. I was shooed into the next room where the television and my coloring books lived. I was never allowed to stay and hear the good stuff.
Except, for this day.
“Darlene! I will pour the tea. Please, put some of those cookies onto a pretty plate. Get the sugar and creamer out of the cupboard. I think you are old enough to pour some cream out of the bottle without spilling. Then, sit down and zip your lip.” my mother told me.
Mrs. S was impressed.
“I always wanted a daughter.” she exclaimed as I scurried around doing my mother’s bidding. “They’re kind of like little servant girls that look like you.”
She gave me a wink to tell me that she was just kidding. I was being allowed to stay because I had crawled around on my hands and knees in the bushes the day before. I had saved all of my mother’s special undies. She didn’t have to purchase more. Her favorite bra was not adorning any neighbor’s head at this particular moment in time.
She was being grateful and gracious to me. I knew it so I sat and zipped my lip.
The ensuing conversation was pretty spectacular. Well, it was fifty years ago now and I haven’t forgotten it.
My mother and her next door friend verbally went from house to house in their imaginations trying to figure out who this huge pink bra belonged to.
I made myself small in my chair. I took quiet little bites out of the butter cookies. I didn’t slurp my tea. The conversation was so good I didn’t want to be noticed. I didn’t want to be noticed and exiled to watching cartoons in the next room.
“This bra is expensive.” said Mrs. S. “Look at the lace. Triple hooks! And, I want to know what detergent was used to wash it. It smells like heaven! Could it be Sheila’s?”
“Sheila!” my mother exclaimed.”Come on! She’s robust but not that big. And, I know for a fact that she washes in Downy. Let me sniff. No, that’s not Downy. Not Sheila’s.”
Both ladies took big sips of tea and pondered.
“Well, how far could it have blown?” asked my mother. She was going to do her Sherlock Holmes. Or, at least Watson on a smart day.
“Well, it was howling.” said Mrs. S. ” Mr. G’s trash can blew up the hill! I’ve never seen a can blow up the hill before. We may have a Bolton Street bra here. We’ll never figure out where it came from.”
They both chewed on their lips with sad faces. They really needed to know who this belonged to. They didn’t know too many women on Bolton Street. This might be one of those mysteries that never gets solved. Like…………….who ate the last jelly doughnut?
“Well, the wind was blowing that way.” my mother said as she waved her arm in a big arch. “It had to have come from below. Maybe it’s Joan’s.”
They both burst into laughter. They slapped each other’s backs. My mother got up and poured more tea.
I had to take my chance. I had to be noticed because I had to know.
“Why couldn’t it be Joan’s?” I asked quietly as I stared down at the blue plastic place mat.
“Because, she’s as flat as a pancake. Poor soul still wears a training bra, I think.” said Mrs. S.
I chanced one more comment.
“Breasts need to be trained?” I whispered.
I sure wasn’t looking forward to getting them now. You had to train your breasts I thought as I stared down at my chest. I smoothed my shirt to make sure that my ten-year old body wasn’t betraying me with growth right at that very minute.
Train breasts? Could you teach them to sit? Roll over? Play dead? I was so confused but I didn’t dare breathe another word.
My tea was too hot so I went to the sink to put a little cold tap water into my cup.
I glanced out the kitchen window. I could see the neighbor lady one street over walking around her back yard. The foliage wasn’t in bloom at this time of year. Usually you couldn’t see much of that yard.
She was a pretty lady with a laundry basket on her hip. She was walking back and forth in a perplexed manner. She was searching high and low and in the bushes for something.
I took a closer look at her. Yes, she was indeed a lady that could fill out that frilly pink undergarment. I thought she’d had plenty of time to train her breasts into submission.
“Um, Mom? I think I know who that bra belongs to.” I said.
Both women stopped crunching on cookies. They turned and looked at me.
“Who?” my mother asked.
“Her.” I said as I pointed out the window.
Both women jumped up and knocked me out of the way. They took a good look out the kitchen window. My mother took the bra off of Mrs. S’s head and put it into a brown paper lunch bag.
They marched out the kitchen door. I heard my mother say to Mrs. S. “Let me do the talking.”
The ladies went to the back property line and made a new friend.
growinguponcolumbusstreet 