381 Wagonwheel Way, Bonita, CA 92002. it doesn’t exist anymore. They took away the zip code when I was in 8th grade and made it into 91902. It took me a long time to remember the new zipcode. 92002 was ingrained in my head probably because of my parents who put the fear of God in me about getting lost and being raised by a new, strange, caucasian family. If I ever got lost, I needed to tell whoever found me where I lived…right down to the zip code. I also had an ID necklace that I used to wear at all times. It was oval, silver, and one side had my information on it. the other side had Jesus etched into it. his arms are outstretched and there are little baby lambs at his feet. I bet you my parents picked it out for me. I remember thinking that his hair was so odd. Flat on top and thick at the bottom. Middle parted and wavy. Jesus, I thought, had two New Hampshires on either side of his head.
I lived at 381 Wagonwheel Way from the age of 5 to 14. I loved this house. Every room in the house had a different color carpet. Mine was light pink. My parents was peach. My brother was blue. Downstairs was magenta. The bonus room was teal. The living room was two toned because the carpet installer mismeasured the room’s width and ran out of magenta. So we took the carpet that was left over from my parents room and made a peach border. It was okay to do that back then because it was the 80’s. We had a pool in the back, a hammock in the garden, and lots of snails that made me cry because they were so gross.
Erin Cory lived across the street from me. My phone number was 619 475 1379 (easy to remember because the last four numbers were the corner digits of the keypad). Her number was 619 267 5845. It’s amazing to me that I still remember her phone number. I couldn’t even tell you the area code of my brother’s phone number now. Cell phones took over the part of my brain that remembers phone numbers.
Erin is beautiful. As a child, my mother used to always say “Erin looks like Elizabeth Taylor from National Velvet.” And she was right. Dark lovely eyes, smooth white skin, chestnuty thick hair, and red red lips that were always a little parted. She even had beautiful teeth. They reminded me of the tile in the bathroom my brother and I shared. White. Exact. She cried all the time and could cry on cue. “Erin, Erin! Can you cry? Then maybe we can spend a night at each others house again.” Erin, sensitive, beautiful, soft, sympathetic, empathetic Erin. She cried. And she didn’t cry because I asked her to…she cried because she wanted to spend the night…she cried because she was sad at the terrible thought of spending the night away from her best friend, Irene. Erin, I thought, is amazing.
My mom tucked me into bed every night when I was little. She would ask me “Irene darling. Do you have anything you want to ask God?” “Yes Oma. Can you ask God to give me a nose like Elizabeth Taylor?” I asked this every night for years. My mom would then take her forefinger and thumb and squeeze my nose presumably into the shape that she thought Elizabeth Taylor’s nose was like. I would close my eyes and be comforted that one day I would have a nose like Elizabeth Taylor. A nose like Erin Cory my beautiful, sensitive, precious best friend.
“Dear God. Thank you for allowing us to live another day in your glorious world. Thank you for watching over Irene and Steven. Thank you that they are healthy and thank you that they are happy. Please Lord, give Irene a nose like E.T.”
My eyes flew open. I felt annoyed…my mother had the tendency to turn everything into an acronym. I tugged at her arm. “Oma. Do you think God knows what you mean? Do you think He knows that you mean Elizabeth Taylor and not E.T?”
“Of course, darling” my mother would say. “Why would anyone ask for a nose like E.T?” I guess that's a fair point.
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