220 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR #1

Two voices tell my story:

The voice of youthful innocence

and

The italicized voice of experienced insight

These early scenes are based on conversations with my mother.  Though we shared most of these experiences, the memory, in great part, is Mom’s—the commentary mine.

TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Scene 1

Society clings to conformity (to the detriment of individuality) in hopes that stability will counteract LIFE’s unpredictability.

My story begins in a neighborhood with an interracial population on the South side of a major metropolis—where the weather proves to be as unpredictable as life.  It’s a blustering kind of day, during the late fall of 1943. Trees are bare, and the russet colors of Indian summer have been raked away.

Several people, ducking their heads against a fierce wind, are scurrying down the sidewalk of a busy thoroughfare, lined with small shops on either side.  The cloudy sky, which had been darkening and grumbling, has released a sudden, driving downpour, drenching everyone in sight.

A young couple is running along the sidewalk, seeking shelter from sheets of icy rain.  As Jack spies a forest green awning just a shop or two ahead, he grabs his sweetheart’s hand and speeds toward it’s protective covering.

         Once under the awning, the two face each other and burst out laughing. “My gosh," exclaims Jennie.  “We’re soaking wet!”

 Jack, the ever-upbeat soul, wipes streams of water off his face while chuckling, “Well, that’s what we get for leaving the umbrella in the car.”

         Now that they're feeling protected from wind, rain (and tragedy?), the young lovers huddle close for warmth, and with arms wrapped around each other, they become aware of the book shop behind them.  “My teeth are chattering,”  says Jennie.  "Let's go in."   Jack opens the door and follows Jennie inside.

The mahogany shelves, lining the walls of this small, neighborhood shop showcase a variety of books, thus inviting a cozy sense of well being and warmth—a protective cocoon from the elements outside.  Holding hands and glancing over the books set out on display, the young couple browses from one spot to another.

As a book on a table captures Jack’s attention, he stops and stands quite still.  Staring at the novel’s title, his face lights up, and turning toward the lovely, soft brown eyes of his raven haired wife, he asks, “Hey Jennie, what about—‘Annie’?

Jennie looks up from the book she was eyeing and smiles at the animated expression on her handsome, young husband’s face.  “What did you say, Jack?  Something about—‘Annie’?”

“Yes, Annie!  If the baby’s a girl, let’s name her, Annie.”

Jennie is seven months pregnant with their first child (that would be me), and I’m to be named after Jennie’s father, the grandpa I’ll never meet, because he’ll have passed away several years before my birth.  Standing there in the bookstore, ‘Annie’ has an appealing ring to my parents’ ears, and since I’m destined to be a girl, Annie is my name.