Letters to My Girl

Earliest Memories : The Ocean

Holà, princesa,

You're an adult now, I should call you "reina" instead, but I haven't met you yet. I only know my young adult, and you may not read this at all, or not until it's too late to correct me. I hope death doesn't frighten you anymore. Either way, I'm writing this book of letters so you have a chance to know who I was, who I became, and if you have children, so they can know their Granny Crow.

I'm leaving everyone's name out except mine, for the sake of respecting privacy, but for the most part, you'll know to whom I'm referring. Also, bear in mind that I suffer from (among a host of other ailments) CPTSD and memory loss from (among all other forms of abuse) being beaten and mentally abused by multiple parents, so some of these recollections may be incomplete, inaccurate and/or revisionist, but it is all true to the best of my knowledge. I will not lie, outright or by omission, nor will I sugarcoat. At some points, these letters will be difficult to read and/or believe. At others, they will be hilarious.

My earliest memory is of the ocean. I don't know how old I was, or who the man carrying me was. He had black hair, was Caucasian, and wore red shorts. I was looking over his shoulder at my first sister, who was on the shore, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for him to bring me back. I learned later that back then, she was afraid of the ocean. I smiled and waved at her, telling her it was okay, that it was fun, and to come in with me. She didn't stop screaming until he brought me back to shore. I don't remember anything else about it except trying to help her feel better.

The first name I was given at birth was Cori, middle name Michelle. The first surname is a matter for some debate, as my own mother is/was fiercely private about her personal life for most of my life. At some point, the father of my third and fourth sisters adopted my second sister and me, and it's his surname that is on my birth certificate. I am not sure that was a legal thing that could be done at that time, but I'm no student of 80's family law and Vital Records. Besides, at the time of writing this letter, my government name is my necronym, and only matters medically and matters of international government. My real first name is Little Crow, Lille Kråke in Norwegian. When I change names legally, my surname will be Lunde, Puffin Bird in English. I don't have a middle name.

I'm trying to recount my life in the order it happened, but when you're very young, it's easy to mix up the memories' order. After the first, I may get them a little out of order until age 8, please bear with me. I was born in California, and lived there until the middle of my 10th year.

I love the ocean. The west coast has the Pacific on loan from me while I'm away. Other children wanted to meet Superman or the president, but all I ever wanted was to meet a mermaid. Every time I went to the beach (and the time my second grade church school class went to the ocean,) I sang to them, trying to call one to the shore. It was just singing "ooh" in different notes, and probably atonal, so if there are merfolk, I probably did more to drive them away than summon any for a chat.

My sisters and I would collect copious amounts of shells every time we went to the beach, back when there were that many to be found where we lived. As an adult, I suspect our parents would take them back without telling us, for if they kept all the shells, they could cover every wall in the house with them. My mother used to work for the Imperial Pearl Company, an MLM (multi level marketing) that supplied oysters for her to sell to friends and family. They got to keep the pearl(s) inside them, and could purchase jewelry and findings to put them in. If I recall correctly, one woman found a black pearl in her oyster one night, and while I was too young to know then how rare wild black pearls are, everyone was so excited about it that I decided to check every shell I found from then on for pearls. For a long time, I even dreamed of finding hundreds of pearls just scattered about the sea floor.

Sea World was my favorite animal park, though now I know that capturing and training ocean animals for the amusement of humans is anathema to everything I love about the sea. Back then, I would try to pet the dolphins they had near the entrance, but wasn't ever tall enough to reach one until I was 28, and then only managed briefly. We used to go there frequently, and while I will never go again, they were part of some of my favorite memories. They used to have an indoor fountain show that was illuminated and set to music. It was the best part of the park to me, no trained animals, just water colored by lights jetting up like liquid fireworks, and I was thrilled when California Dreamin' was played. Having been born in California, I loved that and the Beach Boys' California Girls, and really, any song that mentioned it.

I don't know how old I was, but there was a beauty pageant held on our beach once by Hawaiian Tropic, specifically the suntanning oil part of the company. It was the first time I'd ever heard of a pageant, and I didn't see much of it other than a few smiling ladies in bikinis wearing sashes. There were also red Jeeps that the lifeguards sometimes drove on the sand, and that is why I always wanted to drive a Jeep. As you know, I got a white one instead of red, but mission accomplished!

There are a LOT of memories that I have about the ocean, but these are the earliest I recall. To close this letter, I'll share one of the rare ones that happened at night. On the 4th of July, we'd go to Mission Avenue, a block or two from the pier, and watch a firework display. To our parents' immense amusement, I would loudly declare the fanciful names I decided each one had, based on color, size and volume. My first sister would do the same, and we didn't argue, so apparently each one had two names.

I miss my pretty girl. I hope you are doing well, that you're safe, healthy, happy and prosperous. I hope I get to meet you before I die. If I don't, I still count myself lucky to have given birth to you. If you're reading this, luckier still. Whether I'm alive or not when you read these letters doesn't matter as much as you knowing that I love you, who you were and whom I have yet to meet. I will wait for you until I am no longer here, and then, these letters will wait for you for me.

Love and bright blessings on you and yours,

Mom