Array Seka - Inside Seka

The home would have outings and field trips. They would take us swimming in a man-made lake because we didn’t have a pool. That was where I got really sick. I contracted spinal meningitis from contaminated water. When I went to bed, I was fine. I was tired because I had been in the sun and swimming all day. But when I tried to get out of bed the next morning, the only thing that could move were my eyes and mouth. Everybody was up getting dressed for school. The lady who was head of the house, Ms. Booker, stuck her head in the door and said, “Get up; you’re going to be late.”

I said, “I can’t move. Really, I can’t move.” I was scared to death. I was wondering what the hell was going on. She grabbed one of the other girls and they tried to help me up. I was rushed to a local hospital.

They put me in isolation and it frightened the hell out of me. Everybody wore hats, masks, gowns, and goggles. Even their shoes were covered. There was a door they would go through and a sanitary area where they’d put on their gowns. When my grandparents visited there was a chute and they actually had to throw their clothes down it to incinerate them. I felt like I was going to die.

As I lay in bed, I kept thinking of my dad, who always loved to travel. He was always on a plane or a Greyhound bus. I dreamed of going to some of the places he told me about: France, England, the Nordic countries. He had a thing for blonde women. Maybe subconsciously, that’s why I became a blonde.

One day a team of doctors came into the room and told me what I had. They actually said, “Four out of five people usually die from this.” Pretty blunt. Then they threw in that if someone survives, they’re usually brain-damaged, which could explain certain things about me. Ha! They told me they had to tap my spine to make me better. I had to lie on my stomach. They swabbed me down with alcohol and a horrible-smelling orange substance, and they brought in a huge tray. The needle on the tray looked ninety feet long. It was almost cartoonish. They said I could not move. I had to remain on my stomach for a really long time. I don’t remember it hurting, though. Maybe they gave me a painkiller, or maybe the fear squelched the pain. If things weren’t bad enough, the fluid kept re-contaminating itself and they had to do it two more times.

My father would visit and stay all day in a mask and gown. He’d sleep in the chair next to my bed and it would be a comfort to me when I’d wake up in the morning and he’d still be there.

When I finally got better, they told me I could never give blood because the virus remains dormant and can wake back up and be passed onto someone else. It’s a shame because I like to help people if I can, but I’ve never been able to donate.

I was terrified the whole three weeks I was hospitalized. Yet, it wasn’t like I had a home to look forward to returning to.

Having my spine tapped repeatedly was like seeing the Grim Reaper three times. My reward for surviving was being sent back to Wytheville for several more numbing years. My only reprieve from the monotony was when family members would take me away for a bit of a vacation.

My mother’s sister Anita, who we called Aunt Sis, was one of my favorite relatives. She was a spunky old broad, a hard-working grocery clerk. She had dark black hair with brown eyes and always had a cigarette hanging from her mouth. When she hummed, she just hummed; it was never an actual song. It was kind of weird because she never realized she was doing it. My Uncle John was also wonderful. He was a tollbooth attendant for the Virginia Department of Highways. Tall with broad shoulders, he had big blue eyes. He was bald and what little hair he had left was white. He had been a flaming redhead in his days of glory. John was just a very jovial, gregarious kind of guy. Very handy. He also loved to cook and was really good at it, making the best corn bread and scalded lettuce on earth. He used to sit at the end of the kitchen table with a cigarette and a Ballantine. My uncle gave me the nickname Peanut, because I was shaped like one.

It was the mid-sixties and they had three children of their own, but they were grown and out of the house. Wytheville allowed us a two-week summer vacation each year, so when I was middle-school age I wrote them, asking to visit. They lived in Hopewell, Virginia, which was about four and a half hours away. In spite of the distance, I’d seen them more than most of my other relatives and I loved them dearly for it.

We drove back to their house and my vacation with them was the most fun I had in a real long time. Their granddaughter Diane and I were about the same age — thirteen — so we’d do things together. There was a lake we would go to. Needless to say, after contracting spinal meningitis I wasn’t that big on swimming in it. Hanging out with all the neighborhood kids, I stood by the lake and watched as Diane and her friends from school had a grand old time. Even though I was too scared to swim, it sure was nice to be around new people and away from Wytheville. Since I didn’t know anybody, she introduced me around.

Uncle John worked the midnight shift and was free during the day. He would tinker on his old Rambler, working on the spark plugs and such. He always had his beer while fixing his car. He said, “You’re going to be a young woman soon, so if you’re ever stuck in a car in an emergency you’ll need to learn this stuff.” Uncle John would put me on his lap and I’d steer the car so I could learn to drive. He made me promise not to tell Aunt Sis because she would have killed us both.

My aunt would give me a list of chores to do and John would look at me and raise his eyebrows like, “Here we go again.” Sis was a neat freak. When I was younger, I’d actually see her lug everything out of the house, and I mean everything. The curtains, the furniture, everything. Outside in the street, she’d furiously scrub it all down, and then bring it back in the house. It was a pain. Between my mom and her, I’d gone from one extreme to the other.

There weren’t any special events those two weeks, like going to Disneyland or anything like that. But it was special to me because I was spending time with my family and away from that home.

Nobody but I knew at the time that I had no plans of going back to Wytheville. I’d had enough of the children’s home. I was done. And I had a plan. I didn’t care if I ever got my belongings back. I didn’t care if they gave away everything I owned. I was planning my escape.

As the two weeks were coming to a close, I was getting pretty nervous. We were in my bedroom one evening after Sis had gotten out of work. Just as I intended, my tears started pouring. They were real, though, and came from deep inside of me. They were the only weapon in my arsenal as I begged her to let me stay with her for good. But she said, “You can’t stay. You have to go back. I’m sorry. I don’t have the authority to keep you.”