memoir

Visiting and Revisiting the Ghost of Who I Was

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If I were to put on Wind Song perfume, I would remember that once upon a time I was 16 and insecure and made shy by circumstances that changed my life dramatically on my 15th birthday.   The circumstances, really, are not important.  One just needs to know that I was uprooted, again, and moved to a locale where I knew no one and no one knew me.  That was not a new experience, but these new kids were not military brats.  They did not welcome me with open arms.  They were not unkind.  I was simply someone they didn’t know in a tight-knit community at an age where one doesn’t really socialize outside their tribe.

I had no tribe. I was invisible.

I did have the third floor of a brick house as bedroom to myself.  As do teenagers, I spent hours holed up in my attic.  The princess in exile in the tower.

I can slip into the steaming hot water of the claw footed bathtub and wash my hair with Herbal Essence shampoo.  Luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of the water while tears silently slip down my face.  Another lonely day is about to begin at school.  More than a year’s worth now. 

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Donnie’s Wake

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Donnie talked about Pocahontas County all the time. Camping there. I wasn’t interested. We were neck deep in converting the barn and my whole life was a primitive camping trip. I didn’t think I needed to wander into the Wild and Wonderful to experience more awkward cooking attempts and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. My life was full of such.

She continued to wax poetic. Lyrical, an ode to the Williams River and I told her I was sure it was beautiful. But declined.

And then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And then it metastasized before we were even able to process the news.

She wanted a last trip to the river. And we agreed to go along.

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Come Hear Me Read

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Come hear me read! I’ll be reading from my essays for the Museum of the American Military Museum as well as from my memoir and novel (both in progress) and my blog. If you have a military background of any sort, the readings may provoke nostalgia. If you don’t, you’ll get a glimpse into a world you didn’t know existed.

The bio in the photo reads:

Connie Kinsey is a former military brat who has put down deep roots in a converted barn on a dirt road at the top of a hill in West Virginia. She is pursuing happiness, one cup of coffee at a time. Her award-winning writing has been published online and in print.

She is also a spoken word artist and the Writer-in-Residence for the Museum of the American Military Family. Connie has blogged at https://wvfurandroot.com since 2008 and is wild about comments. You can reach her by email at c_kinsey@frontier.com or on Facebook at http;//www.facebook.com/ConnieKinseyWriter.  Her Twitter handle is TRConnie.

Enjoy the beauty and power of your whatever.

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The two of us, Charlene and me, were either giddy or angry, one or the other, at this stage of life.  Of course, we were.  We were 13 and hormonal as only pubescent teenagers can be. 

The air smelled of fried foods and popcorn, horse manure, and the first hint of cool, crisp autumn days.  It was October in coastal Carolina and the heat was waning.  We actually had long sleeves on.

Photo by Devon Rogers on Unsplash

The sound of barkers, the music from the individual rides, the roar of the roller coaster.  Our senses were on high alert with all the stimuli – the smells, the sounds, the feel of cool air and a breeze rippling our long hair. – Charlene was a blonde, and I was a brunette — both of us impossibly skinny and tall.

The night of the carnival we were giddy – in love with life, comfortable in our friendship, full of laughter, and looking to meet our true loves.  Or at least someone interesting. 

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