Mark Your TERRITORY, Part III (Final)

(For Terry... you, sitting over in your Cheap Seats, will get a GOOD laugh out of this.)

Click here for Mark Your TERRITORY, part I.
Click here for Mark Your TERRITORY, part II.

You know…

Certain questions come up in your life. . .certain questions people ask. . .

I don’t know, they’re not meant to be answered.

And that was a perfect example.

“What’s wrong with you black people? I don’t understand that sh**. What the f** is wrong with you all?”

I was stunned.

Speechless.

Yet screaming, quaking even, inside!

She was waiting for an answer.

I looked up at the TV.

Shrugged.

Then went back to scribbling on my papers.

And hoping for a moment when I could uh, snap my fingers and disappear into thin air excuse myself to my blue room.

“You know,” she continued when I didn’t respond with a verbal answer. “I just don’t like black people.”

Shoot.

“Oh, but you’re okay, hon.” She leaned over and patted me on the forearm, smiled her biggest "no teeth in" smile. “You’re a nice girl, you are. But, I just don’t like your race.”

I. remained. quiet.

Somehow, a good half hour later, I was able to sneak off to my room.

That was the first time she'd mentioned her dislike for black people, but DEFINITELY not the last. (Thank God she didn’t say “coloreds”. I believe I would’ve fainted.)

I’d learn to sit quietly at the table and eat my food while she ranted about something that happened that day on the news.

Didn’t matter. This was a temporary issue. I was content to pay my $105 every Friday. I wanted to write her a check, but she frowned up on that.

“Cash only, hon. I love my country, but Uncle Sam’s a b*tch.”

Ooookay.

*LadyLee stopping at the ATM every Friday to get cash for Ms. Clara.*

She’d get all gussied up from time to time. She’d put on a purple leisure suit, a pair of purple matching ankle boots. The outfit was rounded out by purple bracelets, a purple bead necklace, and a matching purple purse. Oh yeah… and she’d sweep her hair high up on her head, and place a HUGE purple flower in it. And her face was made up in purple: purple blush, purple lipstick, the works.

Shoot, I thought Prince was gonna jump up out of the floor and dance with her or something.

LOL!!!!

When she'd get all gussied up like that... you know I had to egg her on. You know it!

“You know you looking good, Ms. Clara,” I’d say. “You got a hot date or something?"

She’d straighten her back, prance around with her purse on her arm and bat her eyelashes.

“No hon, just dinner and drinks with some friends. There’s a fella there that I’m keeping my eyes on, though.”

“Watch out, now!” I got a kick out of egging her on. “Go on with your bad self.”

“Don’t wait up for me,” she’d say. She’d wink her eye hard.

And I didn’t wait for her. That Old girl didn’t get in til real late.

And even when she got in all late... she was always up with me, sitting there at the table with her morning coffee and cigarette, talking to me while I ate my cereal.

But...

One morning, she was fighting mad.

Now, she was active in the community. Told me tales of going down to city hall and raising hell when one of the neighbors would ride his horse down the street on the weekend.

“That muther*****. I would run outside and shake my fist at him every time he galloped down this street. Turns out that there's a city ordinance that says you can’t keep a horse at your residence but the horse can visit on the weekends. That’s a bunch a bulls***!!! Blaah, blaaaah, BLAH!!!!”

I learned more about community awareness, the power of protests and city legislature while living at the boarding house than at any other time in my life.

But like I said, one morning she was fighting mad.

I was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking my orange juice. She, of course was up, and I heard her coming down the hall, grumbling, a frown plastered on her face.

I didn’t want to ask, but you know me. I was trying to be respectful.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Clara?”

“That muther*****”.

Wow. Wondered who pissed her off so early in the morning? I didn’t say anything. I knew she would continue to talk about what had her so mad. I noticed that she was drinking coffee, and the coffee cup was much larger than usual.

“You know, I go outside and there’s sh** all out in the yard. Dogsh***. There’s a dog from up the street coming down here and sh***** in my yard! That muther*****!!!!!”

I wanted to laugh, but I knew I better not. “Do you know whose dog it was?”

“Yes. And I told them about it. And he’s still coming down here sh****** in my yard. Can’t stand that muther******!!!!!!”

Boy, she was HOT. I looked at my watch, it was time to go.

“I got something for that muther****** though.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You calling the dog pound?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m gonna Mark my Territory.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t care. I continued drinking my orange juice.

“I got a big gallon bucket I’m keeping in my bathroom. I’m gonna drink my coffee, collect my pee, go outside and spread it all over the yard.”

I almost choked on my juice. I grabbed a blue napkin and wiped my mouth. “What??”

“Oh, you may find that funny, but that’s the way they use to do it in Texas, out on the range, you know. If you had a bunch of sons, the father and the sons would go outside and piss on the fence posts. That kept the coyotes away. A coyote smell that, he says to himself ‘That’s a big ol’ son of a gun there’, and he runs for the hills!”

I just stared at her. She guzzled her coffee down. “Well, gotta go pee again.”

Geez.

I hurriedly washed my blue glass and sat it in the dish rack to dry. While she was hanging out in the bathroom, I used it as an opportunity to gather my things so I could get the heck out of dodge.

I hurried outside to my car. I usually walked across the lawn...

Not anymore. I stayed on the sidewalk and driveway.

I was outside, sitting in my Nova, letting it warm up, when out comes Ms. Clara. She had a large white bucket in her hand and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. She smiled and waved at me.

She splashed piss all along the curb.

I shuddered.

It didn't really bother me until I got to work and told folks the story. I got sick to my stomach thinking about that craziness.

All week, I heard tales of that dog coming down to her yard, sniffing around, and running fast back to his own house. (Yeah, she sat in the window, spying).

Hmm.

“Nothing in the world like Marking that territory, LadyLee!” she’d yell. “Bet he won’t come down here no more.”

She was proud of her accomplishment. She smiled hard (without her teeth in.)

Oh. My. God.

And some ten years later, I really don't care to walk across lawns. Don't want to step on
"marked territory".

This woman Ms. Clara really tripped me out. I mean there was something new everyday. She had one colorful life.

The day I left, we sat at the table and ate lunch together. I told her I wanted to take a couple of pictures with her.

“Hold on! I don’t have my teeth in. Let me go get my teeth!!”

I took pictures of her with her dogs.

I gave her a hug. Poor woman, didn't want to let me go. I had to pry myself loose.

When I left, she stood in the middle of the street, crying like crazy.

Weeping, hollering, even.

I knew then, with all her idiosyncracies… she was crazy, but she was alright.

And she’d gotten attached to me.

In the midst of her rantings about black people, she said something that I will never forget.

“LadyLee, I got a daughter about your age. And you know, I don’t care much for black people, but you're the same age as my daughter. I figure if I’m good to you, take good care of you, then well... someone out there in California is looking out for my daughter."

Now, there is some good "food for thought" up in there. I’ll let you figure out what that is. I’m still trying to figure out. But I must say, there is not a week go by where I don't think about that statement.

And wonder why I just ain't there yet.

She was real territorial with me. I was territory, and she'd marked her territory, I suppose, if only for the moment.

I'm wondering if I will ever get to that place, where I can pull a curtain over my emotions and feelings and idiosyncracies, and just “do what I gotta do".

And, I also wonder if she was worried about her daughter. She didn’t talk about her much, only mentioned that she was a nurse out in California. Not even sure if she saw her that much.

All I know, she always got up with me every morning, and drank her morning coffee, and told me a good story (chock full of cuss words). I learned much from her in the midst of all that...

I have no idea what became of Ms. Clara. The last memory I have of her is of seeing her in the rearview mirror, She was standing in the middle of the street, waving and crying.

I really don't know what to make of all of this. It's one of those interesting life experiences. How often do you meet people THAT colorful. Plus, she is the inspiration for the character Elba in one of my short stories (might even be a novella at this point).

You know it's a trip when my teacher constantly uses the character Elba as an example in some technique we're working on.

(Look out for an excerpt soon, and you'll see what I mean, lol)

My short five week stint with Ms. Clara made me feel special in that I now recognize that everyone I've ever met in my life has crossed my path for some reason. Whether that person is good for me or bad for me, I learn something that will make me a better person in the process.

That makes me feel special.

Now, If I haven't learned anything else useful, I've learned one very important thing:

If I ever have a problem with a neighborhood animal doing his bizness in my yard?

I know full well how to "mark my territory".

And now, you do too.