THE PESSARY CHAPTER ONE ALASKA BOUND

 

It’s always been hard for me to appreciate weakness. Someone told me that once, and though I denied the accusation, I knew inside that this was true. I don’t think my lack of appreciation made me any less sympathetic or empathetic than the next guy. In fact, looking back, I believe my stoic response to folks flailing their way through life, is perhaps, what both attracts people and shields me from cracking.

I was in Nome, AK about to board a bush plane for the first time that would take us 100 miles out over the Bering Sea to the island of St. Lawrence where I would  teach. I was so outside my comfort zone I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the next minute would bring. Clothed in my blue jeans, my favorite black Oregon Sea Aquarium sweatshirt with the white otter on the front, backpack slung over one shoulder, Danner hiking boots, and a warm jacket, I sat on a cold hard plastic seat at the minimalist terminal, observing the others who would be occupying the other 5 seats on my plane.

Today, I barely remember who was there. But one person stood out. She was small, dark, and petite. And she exuded weakness. She made it known that she was afraid of the flight about to carry us into the unknown.  I never really thought that she was as nervous as she led everyone to believe. But, because of her childlike appearance, everyone was cajoling her, reassuring her. I was  probably just as ‘scared’ as she. No one was reassuring me. This was typical in my world. Little petite females receiving attention, while I was left to my own brave facade.

I think I know when my disregard for weakness began. Elementary school. Yes, elementary school. Although I wasn’t a big girl, I was more developed and older looking than many of the other girls in my class. It was obvious to me that the little girls in the classroom were treated differently than me. Picked more often by peers in the classroom. Allowed to chat with the teacher at her desk. Offered help.  Received a smile from teachers and peers that I did not. At an early age I knew my life was not one of cajoling and reassurance, but of expectations of independence. I didn’t know any more about the world than my fellow classmates. But I looked like I should. And so, I decided to take on the role of “self-assured, independent girl” given to me by my teachers and peers. In addition, my parents depended on me to always make the right choice as my delinquent older brother drained them of their happiness. I was the girl the weak could depend on for reassurance, adults for helping, and my parents for doing the ‘right thing’ always.

 

Off we flew, the six of us, the pilot, and his copilot. The view was spectacular. The rumble of the engine makes one’s ears ring. I was half stunned due to the overwhelming newness of the world and lack of sleep. Blue, blue, blue, until the dark green island came into view. I could not recall ever being on an island. This one was 90 miles from tip to tip and 22 miles wide. A treeless tundra, green hills, and a gravel spit that I would call home for the next 9 months. The plane made a sharp veer to the left and circled back for landing. The manuever caused me to lean hard against the wall, my face pressed into the little window.  I could look straight down into the dark water below as the pilot  straightened the plane and headed for an empty dirt strip.  The wheels hit hard upon the tarmac, and we rapidly came to a halt, seatbelts strapping us tightly against our seats. Without hesitation, the pilot and copilot exited the plane through their little doors. Through the window I could see a small crowd of the locals surrounding the plane, standing, or seated on 4 wheelers.

One by one we exited through the small door and down the shaky metal stairs. Our luggage was sitting on the ground. I had brought a flat of 42 eggs on the plane holding them on my lap. A woman reached out for them, and I automatically handed them to her. She took them, laughed, and turned to walk away. I realized she was planning on keeping them. Before I knew what to say, she laughingly brought them back to me. Everyone chuckled at the joke, including me. This was the first of many, “I jokes.” My suitcase and guitar case were loaded on the front of a 4-wheeler and I, for the first time in my life, climbed on the back side, legs dangling,  hands griping whatever exposed metal I could find to keep from falling off.

 

We roared under the gray overcast sky, across the sand and gravel toward one-story buildings in the distance. The driver sped along, dodging large white bones, and scrubby stands of plants. I saw sand flying up in the distance as if someone were flinging it. As we approached, I could see the tops of men’s heads who were down in grave size holes digging and flinging the sand up and out. The scene was a perfect beginning to a horror film. After about 10 minutes we arrived at a boarded-up building. The old school. It was dark inside but for the gaps in the boards on the windows. There was a faint stench of garbage and stale air as I walked down the dark hallway to my apartment which was a converted classroom. The main room was very large with two windows and furnished with a worn-down couch. One side was the kitchen counter, sink, and stove. The floor was linoleum throughout. There were three doors leading off the main room. Two bedrooms and a bathroom. There was a window in one bedroom. Where, I thought, is the box of kitchen equipment supposedly left for me by the previous tenant? This was not the one-bedroom apartment I’d been told I’d have. I had paid a departing teacher to leave me her kitchen equipment in the apartment I’d been assigned.

 

The bedroom with the window had a bed. The other bedroom had no furnishings. And, I had a roommate. Anna, the adorable, petite, girl from the plane. Both of us were in a type of survival mode and politely confused about the prospect of living together for the next 9 months. After introducing ourselves we began to explore the dark hallways in search of others. We discovered the subtle stench emanated from a large foyer where an accumulation of several dozen garbage bags was dumped. This had once been the entry to the school. Now the doors were no longer used, and the space was an indoor trash heap. We also discovered a bedframe and brand-new mattress leaning against the wall. As we made our way down the old dark halls I kept thinking about scenes from The Shining and expecting a couple scary twin girls to be standing off in the dusky distance. They certainly would’ve fit in with the bazaar shadowy lighting, empty rooms, and general ominous ambience.

 

We found a young couple, newly married; he is a fledgling teacher and she an artist. They informed us that the windows were boarded up to prevent them from being busted by the local children during the summer months. The principal was not yet on the island, so there was no one to inquire about our living arrangements. The guys digging holes were searching for old ivory to use for carving. And, that the next day, we would be flying out to another village, back on the mainland, for a district orientation.

 

Anna volunteered to sleep in the windowless bedroom. We dragged the bedframe and mattress in from the hall to make a place for her to sleep. We retreated to our rooms for the night. I crawled into my sleeping bag. I was exhausted and feeling the onset of claustrophobia from the dark rooms, boarded windows, and the lurid smell of urine, disinfectant, bug repellant, and air stale air that had been jailed inside since the last teacher who lived there left months ago. I considered catching the next plane and going home. I wondered if Anna was thinking the same. The sunlight seeping between the boards kept me grounded as I fell asleep in the silence and reveled in an absurd sense of adventure.