The Boat

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	The Boat (Chicago, 1930)
	The rowboat was dancing crazily at the end of the dock jutting into the storm-tossed lake. RosaLee stood, braced against the hot July wind, looking hard at the frothing waves. She lifted her head, sniffing the intoxicating air, remembering the fun of rowing on the Lincoln Park lagoon. This was a different kind of water and a different kind of wind. It whispered in her ears, "Take the boat! Take the boat!" She hesitated. Harriet, her bossy elder sister, had warned her on the first day the three of them, Ma and Harriet and RosaLee had arrived at the lake, "NEVER take the boat out without permission!" The cottage, which was loaned to them by a friend, was a special treat. The cottage on the lake gave Ma, Harriet and RosaLee a chance to escape the suffocating humid Chicago weather. But the first few days at the cottage were marred by clashes between twelve year old RosaLee, her sister and her mother over what they called her responsibilities. Harriet, especially, wanted RosaLee to do her chores "right now!" but RosaLee's response was usually "Okay, in a minute," looking up from whatever book she was reading. RosaLee chafed at her sister's incessant nagging, but she managed to not hear it. One thing Harriet was very firm about, and that was the boat. As RosaLee stood tempted by the enticing dance of the rowboat, she heard Harriet's voice echo in her head and felt Harriet's heavy slap whenever she disobeyed. "Don't you EVER take the boat out without telling me, even if the lake is calm!" And here was definitely an uncalm lake! However, went the conversation in her head, Harriet had gone to town with a neighbor to buy some supplies, and Ma was taking her usual afternoon nap. There was nobody to ask, was there? RosaLee turned and looked at the cottage. The oars were just inside the screen door; she wouldn't even have to go into the room where her mother lay, a cloth over her eyes. Ma was an old fifty-two, suffering from psoriasis and migraine headaches. RosaLee was the last child of six, unexpected, unplanned, but accepted once born. Harriet at twenty-one was a kindergarten teacher and considered herself a stand-in for Ma; RosaLee was her particular charge. The other children, all grown up, no longer lived at home. Pa was a young sixty-two, optimistic and outgoing, not wanting his enforced retirement as a union steelworker. He still liked his glass of beer at dinner and poker with his friends on Saturday night. RosaLee never knew what force turned her around, her heart beating a tattoo in her breast, pushing her back up the dock to the cottage. She skipped carefully over the creaky third step, opened the door quietly and stepped cautiously inside. She grabbed the oars, holding the door open with one foot, and managed to get out of the cottage without a sound. She closed the door softly and danced down to the boat. Sure the waves were dangerous, she thought, as they slapped the sides of the boat, challenging her. RosaLee took a deep breath and stepped into the rocking boat. She fit the oars into their locks, and untied the tow rope. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled hard, rowing directly into the waves. Using all the strength in her thin arms, she leaned way back, feeling the oars slicing into the waves, the wind at her back. At times she rose slightly from the seat, her sandaled feet gripping the floor of the boat, glorying in a new sense of power. Concentrating on maneuvering the boat through the chaotic movement of the churning waves, she thought of nothing but the challenge of the moment. As she bounced up and down, the wooden slats of the rowboat's seat bit into her bare legs. Finally she reached the dock on the opposite shore, just as the wind was abating. Ignoring the ache in her tired arms, she tied the rope expertly to the post, and called, "Hi, Bessie, it's RosaLee! I've come to play a while!" She felt ten feet tall. A surprised Bessie and her mother appeared on their porch. Since there were no telephones at the lake, Bessie had no idea RosaLee would come over, especially with the lake so wild. "You're a pretty good rower," said Mrs. Cleveland admiringly. "That's rough water out there." RosaLee swelled with pride. She waved her hand dismissively as if rowing across a stormy lake was nothing special. "It's only five o'clock; I can stay a little while. My sister's gone to town to get supplies, and my mother's taking a nap." RosaLee and Bessie danced off to play dress-up, using Mrs. Cleveland's cast-off dresses, shoes, and hats. In their fantasy play, RosaLee was very authoritative. "Listen," she said, "I'm your older sister, and you must do everything I say." "Why?" asked Bessie. "Because I'm older, that's why." "Okay." Bessie recognized a familiar play theme. She didn't mind. She and RosaLee were next door neighbors on Millard Avenue, Chicago's West Side; they went to Sunday school together on the Garfield Park El. Bessie liked following RosaLee's lead. Later, at dinner, Mrs. Cleveland said that she thought she heard voices calling from across the lake, but decided they were just the usual night noises. RosaLee sensed it was time to go back across the lake, and she decided to go home right after dinner. "I think I'd better go back, Mrs. Cleveland," she said. "Thanks for dinner. The moon is up, and the lake is calm. I'd better go. "Bye, Bessie, see you next time." The full moon shone on a glassily quiet lake. The moon path across the waves was a stairway straight up, up, up. RosaLee got into the boat in high spirits, and she rowed confidently back across the lake. The plish, plish of the oars, sliding effortlessly through the moon-touched waves, the two-toned hoo-hooing of the loons calling from shore to shore, all became part of her senses' memory. Singing all the way, she was full of an exalted joy, feeling strong and free. "I am one with the universe," she sang. "Oh, moon, I am part of you and you are part of me." Feeling part of the boat as she rowed, the soft waves gently lapping its sides, she glided easily to the dock. She walked up the path to the cottage, whistling happily, opened the door, and stepped right into pandemonium. Neighbors stood there with flashlights, lanterns, coiled swaths of nets, all the lights in the cottage blazing. Anxious, angry faces turned toward her. "What was all the fuss?" she wondered. "Where have you been?" screamed Harriet, rushing toward her. "What did you do?" RosaLee looked at all the strangers in the room and at her red-faced sister. She leaned the oars against the wall and said, her voice trembling, "I rowed across the lake to visit Bessie." "Didn't you hear me calling you? How DARE you take the boat without telling anyone!" Harriet jumped up and down in frustration. RosaLee stood quietly, feeling her sister's anger beating on her chest, seeing her mother weeping quietly in her rocking chair. The neighbors left, murmuring things like "kids these days," shaking their heads in disapproval. She finally realized that all these people were afraid she had drowned! How silly of them. RosaLee went over to her weeping mother and put her arms around her. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm really okay. I'm really a good rower." Ma hugged her tight and patted her back. "You gave us all quite a scare, sweetheart, and I'm glad you're all right. I guess you're really a pretty strong girl!" She looked at Harriet, her voice dry with fatigue. "I'm tired, let's all go to bed. We'll talk in the morning." The morning dawned hot and clear. At breakfast, RosaLee stirred her Rice Krispies with listless swoops of her spoon. Harriet bustled in with a timetable in her hand. "RosaLee," Harriet said, in her commanding voice. "Your vacation is over. Ma and I have been talking. We decided that you're going back to Chicago today." Clunk. There went all her plans for a joyous two weeks of cool nights, warm days, swimming, hanging out, exploring the shore, reading, playing with Bessie. "There's a train at one o'clock," continued Harriet. "You can go in with Mr. Bradley, who lives at the end of the road. Just take the El from Central Station. Pa will be home." RosaLee packed her few belongings and left with a hollow feeling in her stomach, the acid of resentment burning her throat. On the train back to the steaming city, she leaned her head against the window, remembering the moon sending its cool radiance into her very being. She closed her eyes and felt once more the pull of the oars, the joy of rowing with the wind against the waves. She knew that no scolding, no nagging reprimands, nothing could take away her new sense of strength and power. **Author's note: Children of immigrant parents in Chicago in the 1930s traveled around the city on their own. Conductors on buses, streetcars and El trains looked out for children carrying shopping bags, shoe shine boxes, book bags, even ballet shoes and ice skates. Parents felt comfortable sending off twelve-year-olds to function on their own. In fact, many twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds had after-school jobs in factories all over the city. Working class parents knew that child labor laws were not strictly enforced and they needed the extra income their children provided.

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