Going to bed at 7:30 was crazy. It wasn’t even dark. But that’s the way they did things at the Home for the Friendless in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The Home was an ancient brick building where my brother, sister, and I lived while our parents tried again to work out their problems. On our first night there, I bathed, brushed my teeth, put on nightclothes, and climbed into bed in the hot and stuffy dormitory.

Mrs. Stone, the monitor, shook her finger and said, “No more talking. Just stay quiet and go to sleep.”

“But it’s still light outside,” whined one little girl.

“Shhh.” As Mrs. Stone turned to leave, she stopped to add a warning. “If you get up during the night, don’t drink any water or you’ll wet the bed.” Then she disappeared into her apartment near the bathroom sinks.

Even though I was there with other girls whose families had problems, I felt terribly alone. It was miserable being separated from Dad and Mama and relocated to a strange place. I had pretended it was normal so my little brother and sister wouldn’t be scared. But that evening I couldn’t comfort them because they were in their own dorms. I knew I wouldn’t see them very often, and I already missed them so much I felt sick.

After flopping on top of the stiff sheets, I watched the last of the daylight spill over our beds from the windows. I felt abandoned. What were Mama and Dad doing while I was trying so hard to doze off? Were they arguing again or going to the movies? I got all twitchy, lying there thinking and waiting for cool air to arrive.

I could hear roller rink sounds from several blocks away. The organ was playing “Take Me out to the Ballgame,” and I could hear hundreds of skate wheels humming on the rink floor. The mingling of steel wheels and music in the air hypnotized me. I began to imagine how different things would be if I were a magician. I would soar back to the past and live with Mama and Dad again so we three kids could be cozy under one blanket and go to sleep after dark like normal people. It was not normal for my brother and sister and me to sleep during the daytime, in three different beds, in rooms filled with kids we didn’t know.

When the sun finally quit for the day, a kindhearted breeze wafted through the screens to cool my skin, and I finally drifted into slumber. I dreamed that I was flying with my brother under one arm and my sister under the other, and I was brave enough to fly wherever I wanted without asking permission.

It was fun zipping wherever I wanted to go, though something kept my flights from turning out right. It dawned on me that I had left Bobby and Patty behind, so I made a graceful U-turn back to the Home and into the boys’ window. Bobby was too scared to join me because he had forgotten that I knew how to fly. I grabbed the back of his pajama top anyway and whooshed into the nursery to scoop up Patty, but she was sound asleep. I fluttered above her, calling her name softly so as not to wake the other little kids.

My plan was to float through my parents’ window with Bobby and Patty and say, Surprise! But I didn’t know where they lived or if they remembered who we were. Mama and Dad were always moving. Why couldn’t they stay in one place for a while? It would make flying to them a whole lot easier.

Instead of gliding into my parents’ house, I found myself trapped inside a huge room that was inside another room that was inside another room. I got so airsick that I had to abort the flight.

I awoke tangled in my sheets. It took a while for me to go to sleep again, and then once more I was flying. That time we three kids made it to the great outdoors and were surrounded by blue sky instead of wallpaper. I loved the sensation, so I floated for a long time, holding Patty by her middle finger and Bobby by his thumb and kicking as fast as I could to stay up … until I saw telephone wires ahead. I dove under them and zoomed up, up, and away into wide open space only to find more telephone wires high above the earth.

I never did make it to freedom with my brother and sister that night, but since I didn’t know where freedom was, I decided it was a whole lot easier just to wake up.

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excerpt from The Home for the Friendless by Betty Auchard–illustration for this blog by Betty Auchard

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I was looking at all my old photographs and came across this one. The minute I saw it, I remembered why I took it.

In 1963, relatives from Kansas had been with us for three days. The activity and all that goes with house guests, their two kids and our four had just about worn me out. They hadn’t been gone long when I noticed that my youngest, three-year-old Bobby, had broken out with a rash. I had a feeling it was measles.

Right about now you’re probably saying, “What does this have to do with a pincushion?” Well, I’m getting to that.

While I was getting dressed to take Bobby to the doctor, he was jumping up and down on our bed when he fell off and landed on his wrist. He screamed in pain and couldn’t stop crying and his wrist started to swell. I was already frantic because of his rash and couldn’t find my shoes. I looked under the bed and saw my favorite old ancient pincushion broken open with sawdust and needles all over the bare floor. I was heartsick. The dog must have been playing with it when it split…then the dog split because I couldn’t find her anywhere.

There–that was the pincushion part. But keep reading.

The most important thing  was to get Bobby to Kaiser while protecting his wrist in a sling fashioned from a dish towel. I suspected it was broken…his wrist, not the dishtowel.  I called the doctor. This was my first visit because we were brand new members. The doctor warned me to try and keep Bobby away from other people while getting him to the pediatrics floor because to get there we would be going through obstetrics. Pregnant women must not catch measles. I considered putting my little boy in a bag with a toy to play with so he wouldn’t expose any women who were “with child.” I was a nervous wreck.

Upon arrival at the pediatrics floor we were hustled off to the waiting room to keep my little boy isolated. The doctor examined Bobby and ordered an x-ray which was way downstairs on the first floor. He also warned me again to keep Bobby away from pregnant women and to come right back upstairs as soon as possible.

“As soon as possible” was the only thing that stuck in my mind that was already a little bit messed up.

Down Bobby and I went again down to first floor for the x-ray. I delivered the important request form to the clerk. As soon as she took it, I left with Bobby to get back upstairs fast as the doctor had ordered. Again I kept Bobby away from pregnant women and returned to our little room and waited. My three-year-old was hyper and all over the place. I was losing my mind. I waited some more and the upstairs doctor came in apologizing for how long it was taking, and I waited longer. Then he returned, studying me me with a guarded expression and said, “Mrs. Auchard, did you even have the xray taken?” His expression questioned my sanity

Only then did my senses return.  I said, “Oh my goodness…all I was thinking about was getting back up here as soon as p0ssible so as not to expose pregnant women.”

So, back down to first floor to the x ray department where I got another weird look from the receptionist and then another one from the doctor. I felt like Mrs. Dumbo. I waited for Bobby to have an x-ray of his wrist, went back upstairs to our little room…and waited. Finally, the doctor received the x ray which showed that Bobby’s wrist was not broken but sprained. He also said that yes Bobby had the measles and he wrapped Bobby’s wrist and gave me one last weird look. I imagined that he wondered if Bobby was safe in my custody. He added the same warning: “Avoid pregnant women on your way out.”

By that time Bobby and I were exhausted and made it back home where I got him settled in front of TV. I took two aspirin and  tackled the mess under the bed: my favorite old pincushion that had spilled its guts.

Then I took this picture.

Even if the old, split open pincushion does NOT illustrate this story, I would not have remembered what happened that day without this photograph as a prompt.

A few days after this happened a letter arrived from our relatives in Kansas saying that both of their boys got measles. They wanted us to watch Bobby in case he, too, broke out with a rash. I never confessed that Bobby gave THEM the measles, and with any luck, they will never read this story.