Doris and Nancy

Doris' older sister Nancy lived near us, 1971, long before I met Doris .

On the day before Day was born, my 23rd birthday, I walked down the hill from our house to Scenic Loop, a long bumpy walk, hoping to get labor started.  I turned the corner onto the road where Nancy lived.  

I had gained 65 pounds--they didn't caution against weight gain back then.  Tony was with me, my German Shepherd who didn't need a leash to walk beside me.  That was his job, protecting me.  Soon he would have an additional gig, protecting the baby girl who was taking her sweet time showing up. 

We'd park the stroller while we rode motorcycles on our track, his 250 Bultaco, my 250 Montessa.  Two red dirt bikes, Tony standing beside the stroller chasing flies and bees away from the baby human. 

We lived atop Beckman Hill on 65 acres.  To see another human, you had to walk all the way to the street on our rutted road.  Then you walked a mile on Scenic Loop.  There were no other houses on Beckman Hill. 

You could hear young Willie Nelson singing at Flores on Saturday nights. We listened from the porch.  We sometimes  tailgated with a case of beer, humming along to "Georgia on My Mind," "On the Road Again"....

On my 23rd birthday, Tony and I walked past Nancy's house. I barely knew her.  She called out "Any minute now?" (pointing to my giant belly)  and invited me inside her house. 

She smashed an avocado and spread it on toast.  Poured coffee.  I told her I didn't drink coffee, never had, never have still.  

Did I want a boy or a girl?  When was it due?  

Way past due, two weeks ago, I said. 

52 years later, her sister is telling me that Nancy's husband was an abusive alcoholic.  He once threw a fire poker at his daughter.  He made fun of his wife, called her fat--and worse. What would it have taken for her sister to leave that man? Doris wondered. 

(As it turned out, it took dying.) 

I saw her as a cheerful older woman (in her thirties!)  who mashed avocado and spread it on toast, who opened her house to a young pregnant stranger.  I had no idea what went on in that house, so close.  We didn't tell each other things like that back then.