Where the Airplane Now Is

At the airport, there's an old fighter plane on a pedestal, pointing towards the sky that, as a child, I'd throw rocks at or look waaaaay up there and imagine a man flying. Where that plane is, used to be a house. And in that house is where my Mom spent the first years of her life.

Mom says she can remember when none of these houses were here--it was all wheat fields and orchards of apples and cherries (that's why this area of Lewiston is still called "up in the orchards"). She, with her older brother Ray and younger sister Debbie and best friend Janice, would play hide and seek in the tall weeds for hours.

Janice was a bossy protector: a year older, quite a bit taller and heavier than my mom. She was always trying to diet. Mom remembers: "She had dishwater blonde hair, red cheeks and tiny, red bumps on her skin (she always had cracked heels and ingrown toenails). She had a slight speech impediment...she couldn't say her 'r' correctly...kind of like Bostonites." Janice was the daughter of Monga's best friends Don and Rita Sumpter, a married couple who lived down the way.

Whenever we look at old family photos, Mom talks about growing up in the house where the airplane is. How Monga and Rita did everything together. Monga would cross (what's now an airport and a few houses) to Rita's place to can peaches, bake pies, and laugh.

The Sumpter household was a comfortable, 'Leave it to Beaver'ish kind of place. Don and Rita showed affection, and did things with their kids (vacations and camping). Mom remembers, "There wasn't all the fighting and dysfunction that was felt in our house".

There's a photo of Monga--her dark, curly hair (it had probably been in rollers all night)pulled glamorously back from her face, affected by a slight breeze. She's holding a puppy, looking down at it with an amused smile. Monga's waist is tiny, defined by a white blouse that's tucked into a hugging dark skirt. She looks like a movie star. You can see through the black and white picture to the red of her perfectly lined lips. Monga's vibrancy blurs the house and trees in the background. She could be Jackie O. or Judy Garland.

In this picture, everything's youthful. Monga's frozen in a moment of what looks like true happiness.

This photograph always makes me wonder what happened to bring about such an expression in Monga, and what happened that wouldn't let it stay...

Eventually, the Sumpters moved away. Monga turned inward and took with her: youthfulness, spontaneity, and the freedom to smile.

The plane is propped there, pointing towards the sky.