Orifino

Before I started first grade my family moved around a lot. If you list every tiny town in the northern panhandle of Idaho, I have lived in most of them. My daddy was working for First Security Bank and so we moved with his job. Orofino is the town that I remember the best. If I close my eyes I can see many specific parts. There was our white house; inside was the kitchen that had a window peaking out onto the street. I remember the window because it was right above the sink. My daddy and I would stand side by side and do the dishes together at that sink--I of course had to stand on a chair to reach. Most people would think that I loved doing the dishes, I never complained about doing them with my dad. The real reason I didn't complain was because I loved that window. At night when we would do the dinner dishes it would be dark outside and the window turned into a mirror. I didn't care about looking outside--I liked looking at myself!

I thought I was cute and I am sure my parents never disagreed with me when I was that young. There is a song that goes something like this, "Skip, Skip, Skip to my Lou. Skip, Skip, Skip to my Lou. Skip, Skip, Skip to my Lou. Skip to my Lou; my darling." During this young phase of my life, here was MY rendition of this song: "Skip, Skip, Skip to THE loo. Skip, Skip, Skip to THE loo. Skip, Skip, Skip to THE loo. Skip to THE loo; I'M darling!" Not only does the last line reiterate what I said in the story of the window, but I was also singing about skipping to the bathroom in the first lines (the loo is another word for the bathroom or an outhouse).

When the darkness didn't turn that kitchen window into a mirror, the window looked out onto an old dirt road. The road ran parallel to our front yard and the next building it passed was my school. In Orofino I started Kindergarten. I would not finish there, but I would remember the classroom and my friends. A chain-link fence separated my house and the school, and the only entrance through that fence was all the way on the other side of the schoolyard. My older brother and I were told by the school and my parents to not climb the fence; we were supposed to go around to the entrance. Of course we never listened. I remember one day, after finishing school, my brother and I walked to the fence, which we always hopped, and we began scaling. I don't remember who went first; all I remember is that we both ripped our jeans that day.

Down a little further on that dirt road was a pasture of horses. Next to the pasture was Melissa's house. Melissa was my best friend from school. We were positive that we were twins and had been split up at birth. Melissa was Jewish and celebrated Hanukah with her family when mine celebrated Christmas. She had a wood stove and a mother with long, black hair. Her mom, Eve, loved to garden.

I don't remember ever going to my dad's bank and I don't remember what it looked like, but I remember it was further down that dirt road. I remember because my mom would let mike ride his bike down to go see dad when dad was finishing work at the end of the day. I am not sure why I never went to visit dad. Maybe it was because even at that age I was bad with directions, or maybe just because Mike was older.