I'm Hardly an Old Dog

A growth mindset is one of my goals for life. I joined a health club to branch out, hoping to meet like-minded, health-conscious individuals and attempt a new venture. 

I arrived in time to join the final 10 minutes of a Zumba class. I could hear the pounding bass from the street and thought this would be a terrific class for me. The five women in attendance were sweating from their 50 minutes there. I walked to the back of the tiny room to begin. 

There was no way I could keep up with the instructor, whose booty easily and smoothly swayed from side to side. I was the whitest bread in the group with my knees stiff, as well as my mind. I thought if I danced freely, the others would think I am an easy middle-aged woman and I wouldn't have that! However, I could clearly see my reflection in the mirror, proving I had no groove left in my heart, body or soul.

The class finished and I waited for the Hatha Yoga class to begin immediately after. Although I do a few simple stretches every morning, I knew with this yoga class, I'd become more limber and ultimately, so would my mind and soul.

The instructor noticed I was new and introduced herself. She smiled and my blue eyes instantly focused on her missing front tooth. I thought of the wise adage, "Floss only the teeth you wish to keep." I gave her a strong handshake and when she walked away to prepare for class, my eyes bulged at the tattoo covering her entire back. Although I'm of Jewish decent, I reminded myself tattoos are common place in today's society and no longer a testament to Hitler's unfathomable inked marking of a singled-out, innocent, vulnerable, beautiful human race. 

I placed my borrowed yoga mat on the floor and began again to open my mind when a female attendee hollered, "Holy crap, that ocean music is loud!" I flashed back to the day I was a sassy 16 year old who came home from school to proudly mouth off to my mother my latest word: Crap. My mother's hand immediately raised with a first finger pointed in my face, "Don't you ever let me hear you say that word again. Ladies don't speak that way and as long as you're in my home, you'll behave like a lady." To this day, I've never used that word.

The yoga class began with the instructor telling us to deeply breathe in through our noses and our through our mouths. She allowed a loud belch to escape and then, rolled onto her side in a fit of laughter. I was horrified and again reminded of my family upbringing where proper manners were the norm.

Breathing could be heard by the five others, except not me. I didn't have the loud breathing in me. I remained quiet as a mouse, while feeling somewhat content with my participation. The instructor said to bring our knees up and then open the groin flat like a butterfly. I thought, "What the ?" My knees wouldn't open too far therefore, the instructor was at my side in a flash. I cringed and then, she put her hand too close to my groin with another moving toward my behind. I freaked out inside while attempting to remain calm outside. 

This was way too much for my uncomfortable level. I firmly said, "Got it. Thanks." Fortunately, she went back to instructing the class. I watched the clock like a hawk for the hour-long class to end. As the minutes inched onward, I participated to the best of my ability to avoid further conversation with the instructor. 

While lying flat, we were told to put our arms over our heads for the ultimate stretch. Again, I wasn't doing the maneuver properly and the instructor was at the back of my head to move my arms another way. She leaned over my face to ask whether it was okay to do this. I smelled the distinct repugnant odor of her smoker's breath and thought I'd wretch. I instantly became rigid again and firmly said, "No, thanks. I'm fine." By now, the only thought racing through my mind was, "Get me out of here!"

I couldn't wait for this new, mind-opening experience to cease. It was now 10 minutes after the class was to end and I came unglued. I jumped up and raced around the building to locate the front office gal to ask why the class wasn't ending. I was told the times are loosey-goosey. The yoga instructor began late, which would make my class run late and the next class wouldn't begin until mine was finished.

I quickly walked back to the yoga room, rolled up my mat, grabbed my belongings and left. I'll attempt the dance class again to learn how to groove to my heart, mind, body and soul. After all, my mind doesn't believe I'm an old dog. I'm still open to learning a few new tricks. 

Running for My Life

While driving home last Saturday from the grocery store, a hitchhiker standing at the I-5 South on-ramp gave me the creeps. I thought, "Not on your life, mister!" I soon realized why the hitchhiker made my skin crawl. He resembled the man who murdered Ranee' Wright, my high school friend, two years after we graduated.

August 10, 1980, 19-year-old Ranee', "Nay-Nay", was driving home to Redding, California after visiting her sister in Sacramento. Her mother, sister and boyfriend expected her to arrive by 10 P.M. However, one of the tires on her Chevy Vega blew out on I-5 North. A man stopped and offered to help the beautiful, long-legged Ranee', wearing a strapless, maroon pantsuit. Her fresh-faced naiveté allowed him to drive her to a service station where she called family members to let them know she'd be safely home in an hour or so.

The following morning, Ranee's empty Vega was discovered on I-5. The authorities combed every square inch of Northern California until finally discovering her body August 17th, buried under a pile of gravel. She suffered a gunshot wound to her head by a monstrous man who ignored her trembling pleas, deeming her young life worthless.

Ranee' Wright, 1978

Enterprise High School, Redding, CA.

During my high school years, my mother was the bookkeeper at Dr. Oler’s orthodontics where Ranee’ visited to have her braces checked. My mother joyfully greeted Ranee’ and they visited until Ranee’s appointment time. Ranee’ was a teller at a local bank where she took care of my mother needs while they laughed up a storm. My mother would call to say, “I saw our darling Ranee’ again today!”

During the summer of 1980, I returned to the Hawaiian Islands to work in between school years at Brooks Fashion Institute in Long Beach, California. My mother called to relay the news of Ranee’s murder, however, I was unable to comprehend the magnitude of Ranee’s horrific death. Instead, in my mind’s eye, I gazed at her senior portrait. My mother attended Ranee’s funeral where a vast majority of the several hundred mourners were forced outdoors to hear the service from the overcrowded premises. My former high school friends attended to say goodbye to Nay-Nay, whose lively light full of wonder, was darkened by a murderer still on the loose.

In December of 1980, I completed my finals and was anxious to begin the 12-hour drive home to Redding for Christmas. I telephoned my mother at 3:00 P.M., to let her know I was leaving and she pleaded for me to wait until the following morning. I promised and then, promptly loaded “Beachie”, my Chevy Vega, to begin the long trip.

Beachie was complete with an 8-track player, speakers on the floor and an aluminum block engine. During our many travels, I put the pedal to the metal and together, we sailed along the highways. While driving home, Classic Rock blared from my speakers to keep me awake. However, at 2:00 A.M., on I-5 North, Beachie began making horrific noises, which I never experienced in any vehicle! It wasn’t long before Beachie’s engine died, along with my favorite music. I glided from life’s fast lane to the right side of the highway and stopped.

I sat frozen in the pitch black, surrounded by a million stars all around, although I had no peaceful, easy feeling. Cell phones weren’t a part of civilization yet therefore, I continued gripping Beachie’s steering wheel for comfort. Ranee’s plight replaced my false comfort and sheer terror consumed my skinny, 5’2 frame. I knew I had to begin running for my life!

I grabbed my purse, slung it sideways over my shoulder, jumped out of Beachie, locked the door and began running down the freeway as fast as my short legs could race. I was delirious with fright, which propelled me to continue long after I was physically prepared. With  my head straight, I continued when I saw headlights from the corner of my eyes.

I thought, “Oh, my God! Oh, no! Please, keep going! I’m too young to die!” The car was next to me keeping pace and I knew it wasn’t leaving. I heard a man’s voice holler from his passenger window, “Miss, it’s the California Highway Patrol. I’m here to help you.” I knew not to believe this lying murderer therefore, I continued running now keeping my eyes forward.

Suddenly, the car pulled ahead and screeched to a halt in front of me. The lights on top were now blinking and the officer was walking toward me. He said he saw my Vega with no one inside and began the search for me. I crawled into the front seat of his patrol car and thanked him profusely for coming to my rescue. He drove me to a gas station at the next exit and I called my parents. You can imagine the sound of my mother’s voice when I told her what happened.

Within 30 minutes, I was safely nestled in the loving arms of my parents. We thanked the kind officer and made our way home as a new winter’s day was dawning. Our Christmas together was filled with warmth, security, my mother’s comfortable food, the reuniting of childhood friends and the creation of more fond memories.

Nay-Nay and I were once lively young women, on the road to explore life’s adventures. I was gifted continuous life: I married, became an adoring mother, created a passion for writing my true stories and advanced to a middle-aged woman, while Nay-Nay’s brilliant flame was extinguished. The senseless, needless, heartless murder of Cheryl Ranee’ Wright is forever etched in my pain-filled, yet loving memory.

Deborah Patterson-Gilson, 1978

Enterprise High School, Redding, CA.