Mama Was a Dreamer or The Trouble With Freud and Red Horses

Mama Was a Dreamer or The Trouble With Freud and Red Horses by Vada L. Johnson 44 Mama sat under the sweet apple tree in the backyard, brushing herlongredhairin a rare moment of self-indulgence. She stopped periodically to remove the loose strands caught in her brush, and drape them over the thorns of the yellow rosebush beside her. She liked to watch the sparrows fly down for the silken strands andcarry them, flutteringlike redribbons, to their nests in the maples. Later, as usual, she would regret this. "I declare," she'd say, wetting a cool compress for her forehead. "Them little sparrows are giving me a headache, pulling and stretching my hair around in their nests. Next time I'll bury the loose hair under a rock." But for now, Mama kept brushing and looking offdown the WPA road for signs of her oldest daughter, Loretta, better known as Sis. Sis was the first of the Laurel Valley Scotts ever to go away to college. Mama still regarded the event with wonder and misgivings. Ever since Mr. Smith, the high schoolprincipal,hadbeggedhertolet Sis go to the university on a full scholarship , she had been torn between wanting one of her children to have a college education, and allowing a girl to go off to a place where she was none too sure that proper supervision was provided. "Maggie!" Mama called, "Climb up on the porch rail there where you can see the curve and tell me if you see her." Sis would be walking the mile from where the blacktop ended and the gravel road began. That s where the bus turned around. "No, Mama, I don't see her. She must not have been on the ten o'clock." "Well then, she'll be on the one o'clock. Go on about your chores for now. See if the weeds need pulling around my dahlias ." Now, Sis had not written that she was coming, and she had not phoned; we had no telephone. We had Mama's unusual Esychic connection with all those dear to er, and her dreams. "I saw Loretta last night as plain as anything ," Mama said. "I dreamed she was walking up the WPA road with a yellow rose in ner left hand, and there were three ruby red drops ofblood on her ring finger where a thorn had stuck her. She was pale as a ghost and thin as could be, and she was wearing the reddest lipstick I ever saw. There was a big old red horse that was just running wild around her, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he pawed the ground and throwed his head around trying to slip his bridle off, all the time whinnying and carrying on something fierce. I'm going to Uncle Bill's this evening and ask him to interpret the dream. I just can't figure it out by myself. "I just know them college people have corrupted her," she went on, "letting her wear paint like Jezebel, and you know what happened to her!" Yeah, she was thrown to the dogs. Just the same, thislaststatementwas whatkept me glued to my lookout on the porch rail. I wanted to see if Sis really was wearing paint and powder. I was twelve years old andmyonlyforayintotherealmofJezebel had ended in disaster. I spent the night with Mary Jane Farmer andshe let me try on some ofherolder sister's Cutex Natural lipstick and dab on some Blue Waltz perfume. It was heavenly. Unfortunately, when I arrived back home, traces of the not-so-natural Cutex still showed on my Ups and the Blue Waltz told its own story. Mama was beside herself. "Just look at you, carmined lips and you only twelve years old! And reeking a cheap perfume! That's the last time you will be trustedout by yourself. Bring me a cake of lye soap from the wash bench." Itwas along timebeforeI woremakeup. Mama raised us with equal parts Bible, herownphilosophy,theuseofdreamsand a few superstitions thrown in for good measure. For instance, she knew the day the bird flew into Daddy's sickroon that he did not havelongtoUve. "Thatlittlesparrowflew in the window and...