Blueberry Hill: a Sister's Story(10)

“Son of a bitch,” Donna says.

For several minutes, she sits there without speaking. Then she turns to me and says, “Brace yourself.” She pulls out, guns the motor, and goes roaring down the street. I have no idea what she is planning, but she does. Just before we reach Cyndi Lou’s house Donna swings the car to the other side of the street, thumps over the curb and part of a lawn, then makes a fast right and ploughs into the driveway, ramming Charlie’s car from behind. The sports car crumples and smashes through the wooden garage door.

As Donna backs out of the driveway, Charlie comes running out in his underwear. Cyndi Lou follows him, pulling a robe over her nakedness.

“Crazy bitch!” Charlie yells.

Donna gives him the finger and drives off. His car is demolished, but the only damage to the fifteen-year-old tank she drives is a broken headlight.

~

That was the end of their second marriage. Donna told Charlie she’d take the kids and he could have the house. And that’s what happened.

I questioned such a move. “Don’t you think you should tell him to get out and keep the house?”

“Nope,” Donna answered. “It’s his house. His mama bought it for him and he’s entitled to keep it.”

“But…”

“Forget it, Bette. I’m done with Charlie, his house, and his mama.”

“But legally…”

“I don’t care about legally,” she said. “I wanted a daddy for my kids. Charlie’s never really been one, and he’s sure as hell not gonna be one now!”

That was the end of the conversation, and Donna never went back on what she’d decided. She took both kids, and they all squeezed themselves into a garden apartment that would’ve been cramped for one. They didn’t have much in the way of material things, but they surely had a lot of love.





As the Years Passed




From time to time I hear someone talk about a person who doesn’t have their priorities straight. That wasn’t the case with Donna. Oh, it’s true enough that she made some bad choices, but when it came to priorities, she knew exactly what hers were: the kids.

Donna was not a by-the-book mom. Things like schedules, curfews, and discipline had nothing to do with the way she raised the children. She was more of a friend than a parent. When I look back at these years, I picture my sister with seven or eight kids squeezed into her Volkswagen Bug; their heads hanging out the windows and poking up from the open sunroof as she drove through town beeping the horn to celebrate a football game win. The truth is Donna was the biggest kid of all.

I think those years, when she still had the children with her, were the happiest of Donna’s life. Nobody can know for sure because while she was quick to share good times and fun, Donna never shared her heartache. Not even with me.

Sometimes I caught a glimpse of it. Times when Charlie’s name came up or when she heard a song he sang. Times like that she’d light up another cigarette and move on without ever acknowledging the empty hole he’d left behind. The sad truth is that despite how little he had to give, Donna loved Charlie. An even sadder truth is that she kept on loving him for as long as she lived.



Donna remained in New Jersey until the kids were out of school and on their own. Then she moved to Baltimore. Outside of Mama she didn’t know a soul in Baltimore, but that didn’t stop her.

“What’s in Baltimore?” I asked.

Donna laughed. “Mama,” she answered and that was all she said. There was no further explanation.

By that time our baby sister Geri and I were both married and pretty well ensconced in living our own lives.

The thing about being married is that you don’t love your sister one pinprick less, but your days are wrapped up in the million things you have to do: work, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and the mile-long list of errands to run. Looking back I wish I’d have said To hell with the laundry and gone out with Donna every Saturday. I didn’t see it that way then; I always thought there’d be another week, another Saturday, another time when we could get together and have fun. Having a sister is like having a thumb; you simply believe it will always be there, because how could you possibly get along without it?

Geri and I were doing fine, but Mama needed a friend. After Daddy died, she married a man with a hearing impairment and now spent most of her time hollering out questions or pointing to what she was talking about.

“Lord God,” she told Donna, “you’ve got to come down here and keep me company, or I’ll go stark raving mad!”

In a twist of fate few could predict, the child who caused Mama’s nervous breakdown was the one who came to her rescue. Donna found an even smaller garden apartment two blocks from Mama’s house, then packed up the handful of things she owned and moved.



Mama and Donna had a number of good years together, years when they were more like girlfriends than mother and daughter. Now that Donna had acquired banking experience, getting a job was no problem. She’d go to work during the day, and when the bank closed at three o’clock she’d drive by, pick Mama up, and off they’d go.

When I picture Mama and Donna driving off together, Donna’s always got a cigarette in her hand. I picture it that way because that’s how it was.

“Those things are gonna be the death of you,” Mama would complain.