It was very different from ours, cabin-like. That sweetness would sadly fade over the years, washed away by the tempest of Jim Jones’ character. I think my father saw a young, idealistic, and vulnerable woman with a genuine sweetness about her. Held against Dad’s exhilaration, her nervous apprehension intensified her mousy appearance, but I was a tough audience, far preferring the woman who’d been given the part before her. To me she looked willowy and plain, hair brown and limp, face pale, posture poor. What was it about her that held Dad’s attention so completely? I couldn’t see it. I did not want to be infected like Dad was, but I wanted to know how she did it. As my father went on, I kept an eye on her. I wanted this important person to like me, but most of all I wanted her to stay in her world and leave me and Dad in mine. I wanted to please Dad by liking her, but I couldn’t. Her name was Carolyn, a woman in her mid-twenties. Mom seems only a burden to him, weak and old. I don’t remember him dragging anyone over to meet me. Dad never looks that way when he speaks of me. I don’t know her, but I am already jealous of her, for my mother and myself. His enthusiasm tells me that I should be nice, happy to meet her. He is giddy, like he’s showing me his new bike. His warmth and excitement for this woman are obvious. I know that I’m being introduced to a very special person. His eyes are smiling, his lips are moving I hear nothing. He’s drawing me toward a woman standing about six feet inside the house. Dad is straddling the threshold, beckoning to me, pulling at the cold air between us.
I’m standing outside a house I’ve never seen before, bathed by the light coming through the open front door. I had always felt little with Dad - there wasn’t room for me his will and wants took up a lot of space - but as I replay that night, I am a waif, swallowed by the seat, barely able to see out of the car. I remember nothing of the ride, other than feeling small, tiny. We traveled east on what I now know was California Highway 20, a dark and deserted road after nightfall. I was out with my Dad, special for the moment. In my ten years, he had done that only rarely. He may be reached at took me for a little drive one night. His other writings for this website appear here. ( Stephan Jones is a frequent contributor to the jonestown report.
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