Mother Superior To The Rescue!!
©C.R.Hovey, 1989,all rights reserved
WHAT I DID FOR RELIEF
OR
MOTHER SUPERIOR TO THE RESCUE
There are many wonderful experiences recalled from my central Iowa upbringing. Farm life was an enlightening, yet somewhat naive lifestyle compared to "city life," as anything to do with traffic lights and concrete streets was generally referred to. There were advantages the city possessed missing from most farms or at least from ours, girls, nightlife and the resulting experiences. This is not to say farmlife was not instructive, but urban dwellers were a bit more progressive. My teenage years were in the early 1960s and I was eager for knowledge not strictly from books. This was time of dissension and violence to many, but to me it was a period of spreading my wings towards perceived adulthood-the mythical age of 21 (cars, credit, alcohol>whatever that tasted like) and yipee!); and have I mentioned, learning more about the opposite sex during balmy summer nights?
One beautiful summer evening in 1964, my friends and I left our farms to cruise the nearby Marshalltown city loop in search of a seemingly rare species-young ladies desirous of our company. Bob was the quiet one, but prone to sudden creativity fits much to our chagrin since many were implemented while the car was moving. Denny was and still is the Dick Van Dyke act-and-look-alike whose best moving vehicle act was singing the song, Supercalifragilisticexpealidotious, complete with dance from the hit movie, Mary Poppins. It was always a treat to see him spring into action the moment anyone remotely suggested a little excitement was needed. Dick, my cousin, acted like the absentminded professor, but possessed a mind like a steel trap. He was always eager to utilize his mental agility in a variety of ways, normally culminating in some type of practical joke. Round out the group was myself, whose innocence is beyond reproach pending further analysis. So there we were, four so strong, in a 1957 Chevy two-door hardtop, white over blue, draggin main street while simultaneously checking out car occupants no more than five feet away. It was totally awesome to four rural teeens at age 16 and rewarding at times to.
After an hour or so of this maze-running, Dick suggested we pick up a six-pack, the ultimate challenge of the early 1960s teenager. My Uncle Clyde owned a local filling station which provided the height of total exhilaration, Pepsi Cola, ice cold and back to main street we went even more super cool than usual. The leaning out of car windows, pounding seats in excitement and emitting various wolf howls brought about inevitable-a pit stop for myself. Being the exquisite gentleman, I announced the earnest need of my body functions and immediately, Denny offered to sing and dance for a donation. Smiling, I declined, but noticed Dick's cheshire grine which have put my antennas on high alert. He was driving a suggested a wonderful place for such a personal activity with privacy to boot. I trusted him as far as I could toss a raging albino Texas longhorn in the middle of a field covered by knee high grass, but could ill afford to ignore Mother Nature's callings much longer.
Since it was after the bewitching hour, 10:00PM, we had to be very careful to avoid to avoid all city police. The streets rolled up in Marshalltown by this hour and local authorities took a special interest in eforcing the curfew. We considered rousting parents out of bed by telephone to claim their curfew-breaking children an abnormality akin to professing the Beatles were from Amarillo, Texas, but police took an odd joy in this form of teen harassment knowing the punishment come at home. Our noble vehicle, a vigilant mounted patrol searching the city-lit darkness for the enforcers while I simultaneously begged, pleaded, cajoled and finally threatened to do the dirty wet deed in the back seat unless a spot was found soon. Dick drove around for a few more minutes until I blustered him to just pull over or else the severest thunderstorm to dat would seem like a spring shower in the back sheet. Again, the mocking grin was not caught, but the others apparently did as he finally stopped in a large parking lot. There was no moon and my only ambition, my life goal, my earnest desire, was to slowly exit the vehice, without jostling, perform the natural function and jump back into the car for more cruising. Those who have held your bladder for any period of time can certainly appreciate my suffering. It is pure hell over each bump, start, stop, acceleration, sudden motion and turn; one curses every drop, every molecule, every atom of liquid drunk and, of course, those who force you to like my three friends who placed a funnel in my mouth to do so. Fate, unfortunately, took another course for me.
Exiting a 1957 Chevy two door hardtop with a distended bladder takes skill, finesse and daring. Dick, the driver and chief suspect, had to lean forward while simultaneously pushing the seat release with his right hand while pulling the seat forward with his left. Then I had to slowly rise in agony, bend over even more in acute pain and take the first step out, deeply upsetting an already rebelling vital organ. It is an art form subsequent generations will hopefully never have to perform unless they have equally cruel inhuman friends. Dick, Denny and Bob were more than helpful in assisting me exit the vehicle which sent a multitude of warning flags up and down in my fuzzy brain. I considered the untimely kindness, but ingnored it in my dire time of painful need. Slowly I walked away from the car approximately ten feet and turned for some reason to look at the trio. They resembled cherubs, smiling from inside the Chevy as if performing a gracious deed for humanity. Standing there in the dark of night, three good friends behind me and finally gaining relief was all I needed.
Oh, what heaven sent joy!!! All was going well then Denny jumped out of the car to begin singing his trademark song with accompanying dance. Bob initiated searchlight procedures with a giant flashlight (allegedly for a missing contact which didn't explain why I was the receipient); and Dick was displaying his musical skill with a car horn rendition of the currently popular Stop In The Name Of Love by The Supremes. Dick finally stopped this somewhat melody after the other two told him they were unable to identify the melody and thus he joined their efforts much to my dismay. Suddenly, they turned the headlights one and Bob caught me completely with the searchlight as I froze with right hand extended around a very personal part of my anatomy. I began praying to a variety of deities to extricate me from this situation in great haste, bu the god ignored my plea typically as suddenly the entire area lit up as bright as day. There I stood, my face a perfect Opie Taylor imitatin, displaying a terrified grin, with right hand still extended around personal member greeting the newfound sun with trepidation.
The sounds of jocularity behind me were matched tendfold by those leaning out their girls' dormitory windows enjoying the free peep show. Dick, in all infinite wisdom and absolute family devotion, had deposited me in a local parochial school girl's dormitory parking lot. At first, I refused to believe hundreds of females were gazing down upon my pitiful plight with absolute glee, but that rapidly change when some were noted with field glasses and telescopes. I was rapidly losing faith in the goodness of womanhood. Never to be one who was inactive, I found myself immovalbe in my current mentioned position with all my thoughts revolving around how would I ever explain this to my Mother who would invariably ask: how did your evening go, son? It was hopeless and my buddies could not be depended upon to keep quiet meaning the whole county would be aware within 15 minutes or so. Woe is me!!
The parking lights went unexpectedly out and then some turned back on again with not as much intensity. My lights blinked to adapt to the darkness and focused on an apparition standing in the doorway fully outlined by an entry light. It was completely black with only a tinge of white surrounding a hidden face, if one existed. I knew this is what society had promised for those caught in vile acts of lawlessness. Crime was not an easy life and here I stood with hand and member still extended as the inspiration of every gothic horror story came slowly down the cement steps towards me. I closed my eyes, whispered "it's only a bad dream," followed by a more emphatic "there's no place like home," and opened my eyes in desperation only when the horrible footsteps were almost upon me. I quickly yelled out, "Niktu, Clod, Barada," but couldn't remember the exact phrase from the Michael Rennie movie. A hand reached out for me and I shuddered in disbelief; too young to die in a Twilight Zone episode or to repeat this time warp over and over again. Forget law school; no fraternity pranks (in utmost innocence, of course); headlines in the Marshalltown Times Republican, "Local Teen Caught With Talleywacker In Hand." My life was going rapidly in front of my eyes, but a silent scream came boiling up from deep within me: "I want to live!!"
The hand touched my shoulder again while I stood transfixed with fear and eyelids painfully shut. If I looked, I would probably turn into a pillar of salt or was it a werewolf? The black shrouded entitiy moved closer to my face and hot breath was felt upon my face smelling of spaghetti overladen with oregano, garlic and parmesan cheese. I attempted to pull away when a voice said: "Why not just put it away and zip it up!." Made sense to me, but this couldn't be so since this line was never used in any horror move ever seen. Stung back to reality, I quickly tucked said member in, zipped up and looked up to catch a woman's smiling face. "This creature of the darkness won't fool me," I told myself with complete knowledge of changelings from The Twilight Zone. She then placed her arm around my shoulder and urged me to relax while we took a little walk. My defenses were wilting as fast as an Eskimo Bar in the hands of a ten year old on a hot summer day. Maybe she was a real nun rushed through my thought channels along with pulsating waves of embarassment, anger and promises of various torture forms towards my three friends. Of course, this acquiesed in the presence of recognized piety and the sister convincingly gave me direction with her stout arm while softly asking if I were Catholic.
"No," I replied quickly hoping for the best with simplicity.
"Too bad," she said actually smiling at me, "you would be ripe for at least five to ten years worth of Hail Marys."
"Who are you?" I stuttered.
"I'm Mother Superior and suspect you are one of the local boys."
"Yes, I am," immediately recognizing that she may not know me. Ah ha, a chance to get out of this unknown yet.
I began laughing nervously wondering if Mother Superior might have pity upon a non-Catholic, but a semi-believer of sorts after this evening prompting her to forego any mention of this incident to anyone, anywhere, anytime, anyhow, shall we say for the next three to four decades. Mother Superior, now the kindest and most generous woman in the world, left me at the sidewalk and pointed down the street where my errant friends still doubling over in humorous ectasy. She told me to take care of myself and added I would be a legend for awhile, but eventually the dorm girls would forget. I shook my head speechless, but almost giddy at the prospect of getting out of this situation without anyone knowing my name. Meekly I thanked her for the kindness and then turned to walk towards the my friends still in the arms of uncontrollable humor.
I was almost at the point of full escape when Mother Superior called out. I turned to face her and she said the words totally engraved in my psyche:
"Give your mother my regards and tell her I will be calling her very very soon to gather some writings."
My meek and humble reply was "yes, Maam. I will."
I could have sworn Mother Superior was stifling a smile as she said it. There were greater concerns, however based upon what she had said being cause for great torment-yikes, back to being a 47 year old pledge. The 1957 Chevy crept up to me, ivory teeth glistening from the windows and offers to appear on the Johnny Carson Show "in hand" from the "three wise men" witin. Any attempt to convey emotions regarding impending doom were met with continued offers of another Pepsi Cola. I gave up completely to my fate.
For several years, I was convinced this dark secret had been kept from my Mother and GrandMother, but this only indicates naive thinking. I returned home shortly after being discharged from the military and during discussion of my future plans, my Mother casually mentioned a conversation had with Mother Superior. I smiled, attempted to change the subject, but then opted to fate my destiny. She continued her conversation revolved around a parking lot incident a few years ago. I immediately confessed the whole sordid affair and naturally blamed the other three (it was the post-Nixon era). Both Mothers had apparently shared great laughter over this, but kept it to themselves. The object lesson is simple>parents and grandparents always know and if they don't, by some divine omission, they will find out somehow. It is simply something all children have to come to the full realization of before its too late.
One last thing, to this day whenever there is a need to use the great outdoors, I find myself recalling Mother Superior, respectfully and impulsively looking around in each direction before procedding.