Free Dwarf: A Memoir by Tiffanie Didonato, Rennie Dyball Page B
Authors: Tiffanie Didonato, Rennie Dyball
were hauled inside. I squeezed
past the movers, who barely seemed to notice me at all, and into my new room. I immediately
zeroed in on the huge, floor-to-ceiling window. I’d have no problem gazing out on
our sandy lawn. Things were looking up . . . until I noticed the closets. Two accordion-style
doors were pulled open to reveal a single white wire shelf mounted high above my head.
How would I hang up my clothes? I thought frantically. How could I find Mom’s cookbooks
in all those boxes? Did we even remember to pack them? What if we hadn’t?
Mom interrupted my panicked thoughts. “It will be easier to use this rather than looking
for books and things to stack,” she said, appearing in the doorway with a smile. I
turned around to find her holding a grayish-blue Rubbermaid plastic stool.
I couldn’t decide what I hated more: Mom thinking that Icouldn’t help myself or the fact that I’d be forced to use yet another tool.
When the moving men finally pulled away from our new home, the sun began to set. I
had hardly made a dent in unpacking my boxes, but I did manage to find my stuffed
animals and Barbies. With the perfect sleeping companions selected, I began my climb
up under the covers.
“Wait, no!” Mom shouted. “You can’t just get into your bed here. Always check the
sheets first.”
“For
what
?” I asked.
“Anything,” she replied, demonstrating how to carefully check every inch of the covers.
I pictured all the creepy bugs that lived in Texas and shivered at the thought of
them in bed with me.
Once Mom had determined that it was safe for me to squeeze between the sheets, she
kissed me good night and switched off the light. I heard her walk toward the kitchen
to continue unpacking and arranging all our stuff. I stayed awake for at least another
hour, staring out into the hall and thinking about all the dangers and inconveniences
in Texas: the insects, the closet, the heavy doors with rusted screens. And that was
only in the house. I couldn’t fathom what was waiting for me beyond our four walls.
The next morning in the bathroom, I was standing barefoot on my ugly blue stool to
brush my teeth when something small and yellow caught my eye. It moved abruptly, raised
its stinger over its body, and braced itself like it wanted to fight.
“Mom! Scorpion!”
She rushed in with her combat boot raised in the air, shouting, “I got it!” She swung
the boot downward and it hit the vinyl floor with a hard
slap
, the laces whipping at the wall.
The crunch of the bug’s skeleton made me cringe.
“I’ll call Housing,” she said calmly, scooping up the carcasswith a spatula and flushing it down the toilet. “Don’t forget to check your shoes
before you put them on this morning,” she added casually on her way out of the bathroom.
“Things are a little different here.”
“Don’t forget to wash the spatula before you use it again!” I shouted after her. I
heard her laugh from out in the living room. As I watched the remains of the scorpion
swirl around the toilet bowl, I decided Mom was right: things were different here.
While we lived in Texas, Mom worked as a nurse at Wilford Hall Medical Center. On
that first morning, we began what would become our routine: with her travel mug in
hand and a backpack over my shoulders, we’d leave Medina, drive a few miles down the
road, and then slowly roll through the gates of Lackland Air Force Base, where I went
to middle school. Men armed with rifles and outfitted in head-to-toe camouflage stood
at attention and saluted my mom when we drove through Lackland’s gates. I always smiled
and she did, too. It was so new, so exciting, and it made me feel like we might belong
in Texas after all. We were important, or at least my mom was. Maybe what we were
doing was important enough to leave our home up north, too.
“Want to see it again?” she asked with a laugh. I could feel how proud
past the movers, who barely seemed to notice me at all, and into my new room. I immediately
zeroed in on the huge, floor-to-ceiling window. I’d have no problem gazing out on
our sandy lawn. Things were looking up . . . until I noticed the closets. Two accordion-style
doors were pulled open to reveal a single white wire shelf mounted high above my head.
How would I hang up my clothes? I thought frantically. How could I find Mom’s cookbooks
in all those boxes? Did we even remember to pack them? What if we hadn’t?
Mom interrupted my panicked thoughts. “It will be easier to use this rather than looking
for books and things to stack,” she said, appearing in the doorway with a smile. I
turned around to find her holding a grayish-blue Rubbermaid plastic stool.
I couldn’t decide what I hated more: Mom thinking that Icouldn’t help myself or the fact that I’d be forced to use yet another tool.
When the moving men finally pulled away from our new home, the sun began to set. I
had hardly made a dent in unpacking my boxes, but I did manage to find my stuffed
animals and Barbies. With the perfect sleeping companions selected, I began my climb
up under the covers.
“Wait, no!” Mom shouted. “You can’t just get into your bed here. Always check the
sheets first.”
“For
what
?” I asked.
“Anything,” she replied, demonstrating how to carefully check every inch of the covers.
I pictured all the creepy bugs that lived in Texas and shivered at the thought of
them in bed with me.
Once Mom had determined that it was safe for me to squeeze between the sheets, she
kissed me good night and switched off the light. I heard her walk toward the kitchen
to continue unpacking and arranging all our stuff. I stayed awake for at least another
hour, staring out into the hall and thinking about all the dangers and inconveniences
in Texas: the insects, the closet, the heavy doors with rusted screens. And that was
only in the house. I couldn’t fathom what was waiting for me beyond our four walls.
The next morning in the bathroom, I was standing barefoot on my ugly blue stool to
brush my teeth when something small and yellow caught my eye. It moved abruptly, raised
its stinger over its body, and braced itself like it wanted to fight.
“Mom! Scorpion!”
She rushed in with her combat boot raised in the air, shouting, “I got it!” She swung
the boot downward and it hit the vinyl floor with a hard
slap
, the laces whipping at the wall.
The crunch of the bug’s skeleton made me cringe.
“I’ll call Housing,” she said calmly, scooping up the carcasswith a spatula and flushing it down the toilet. “Don’t forget to check your shoes
before you put them on this morning,” she added casually on her way out of the bathroom.
“Things are a little different here.”
“Don’t forget to wash the spatula before you use it again!” I shouted after her. I
heard her laugh from out in the living room. As I watched the remains of the scorpion
swirl around the toilet bowl, I decided Mom was right: things were different here.
While we lived in Texas, Mom worked as a nurse at Wilford Hall Medical Center. On
that first morning, we began what would become our routine: with her travel mug in
hand and a backpack over my shoulders, we’d leave Medina, drive a few miles down the
road, and then slowly roll through the gates of Lackland Air Force Base, where I went
to middle school. Men armed with rifles and outfitted in head-to-toe camouflage stood
at attention and saluted my mom when we drove through Lackland’s gates. I always smiled
and she did, too. It was so new, so exciting, and it made me feel like we might belong
in Texas after all. We were important, or at least my mom was. Maybe what we were
doing was important enough to leave our home up north, too.
“Want to see it again?” she asked with a laugh. I could feel how proud