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This is the post I wanted to trash.
I was reading Jupiter's Hunter's post about her first memory. It was a wonderful bit of prose filled with warmth and texture. Beautiful, what memories should be.
My first memories were none of that, and more!
My first tangible memories were of the Apollo One rocket that caught fire on the launch pad. I was roughly two years old so I really don't recall much detail of it. I remember seeing the fire on the huge black and white television set. I also remember Montene. And Montene was ironing.
What is a Montene, you ask?
Montene was this 80+ year old "old maid" that my folks had hired to keep the kids while they were at work.
At first glance you'd think she was just some sweet old lady. She always wore a black cardigan that had pearls stitched into it. She had white, page-boy styled hair. And she wore those (I don't know the name of them) old lady shoes that were black leather and had square heels. Orthopaedic shoes, or corrective shoes of some sort I guess. From what I remember her build was very slight, but she was bigger than me. I was two or three at the time.
The woman couldn't hear, she could barely see, she didn't drive and she could barely walk.
Mary Poppins she wasn't. Of course she was my parent's prime candidate to take care of their three kids (ages 2, 10 and 12). What possessed my mom and dad to hire Montene? Only thing I can think of she must've been real damn cheap! Why else would two somewhat marginally sane parents entrust the care, feeding and safety of their beloved children to someone who obviously belonged in a nursing home?
Oh did I mention that Montene was EVIL?!?!
Let me say that again, Montene was E. V. I. L. That woman is still my benchmark of mean, despicable and decrepid.
Montene relished in her nastiness. I've got this mental image of her coming home (home? dare I say lair?) from a long day at our Torture Pit and doing a wicked little happy dance in those evil black platform shoes. Cackling in an evil witch laugh about the misery she could heap on us poor kids.
Cruel miseries like making us take cold baths in teaspoons of water. Maybe the concept of indoor plumbing was more than she could comprehend, but the baths were heartless. She would make me get undressed, then she would run water into the tub. Cold water. Not even enough water to cover the floor of the tub. Then she'd make me get in it. Of course I'd cry or wimper 'cause it was unbearable. She'd scream at me in this really strong, vile, wicked, southern dialect.
Another cruelty in her bag of tricks was her cooking. I remember her making us eat cold grits that she oversalted (with ground glass I bet).
I was talking to my sister about Montene the other day and she said she recalls an incedent where I had made "Mrs. Montene" a valentine. My sister said Montene threw it back at me and said "it's Miss Montene". Like I knew the difference. My sister wanted to tackle her... "here was this sweet little boy making a card for her, and she had the audacity to bitch about it".
I must admit though, vengeance is sweet. When I was 11 or 12, my best friend and I would sneak into her house (she lived about a mile away) when she was gone. We wouldn't steal, detroy or vandalize anything, we would just move stuff around. I'm not talking about small stuff like coffee cups or dentures... I mean really moving stuff, like her couch. I figured I'd send her to spinster Hades as (pre) payback for all of the therapy sessions she would eventually cause. Kind of a different spin on the concept of "Pay It Forward" I guess.
If I get turned away at the pearly gates and wind up in hell, I'm sure I'll see Miss Montene ironing and screaming "git een dat baahh-th boah!"
2/28/2004 11:17:02 AM
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