Lurch’s Bifocals

Between kindergarten and third grades, Alisa and I were good buddies. We spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. I loved going to her house where the furniture matched, her bedroom looked like it belonged to a girl instead of a grandma, she had a color TV, and her mother made my favorite breakfast.

I can’t remember if I was still sleeping on our couch which made a bed or I had graduated to a Jenny Lind bed upstairs at the time, but I know my sister and I had a pink play kitchen complete with refrigerator, sink, and stove on our upstairs landing. It was made of heavy-duty cardboard and I’m sure someone my dad did some work for, gave it to him. It was one of the best gifts Daddy ever brought home. It held my attention for a long while, but when friends came to play, it was the last thing I wanted to play with. I liked hanging upside down on our old swingset, playing TV parts from Gilligan’s Island or Dark Shadows, riding bikes or exploring the big ditch behind our house.

Except when I went to Alisa’s. She had that color TV and I was glued to it in amazement. Cartoons on Saturday morning weren’t the same on her TV as mine. They were magical and beautiful and hypnotic. Alisa was patient with me as long as she could be. We watched for a while, then she invariably wanted to go outside. It was always when The Monkees came on. How could she? Didn’t she know I wanted to see Davy Jones much more than I wanted to see Mickey Mouse? We would argue back and forth and sometimes I would win and sometimes she would convince me she would never invite me over again if I didn’t go outside with her “Right. This. Instant”.

When I first spent the night at Alisa’s, I had a heck of a time going to sleep. I made her sleep closest to the open bedroom door because I was afraid of my own shadow and someone might come in the room. You know, a monster or something. I raised up and looked into the hallway. There, on a table, was something shining at me. Terrified, I kept asking what it was. Finally, her mom got out of bed to investigate and ended up telling me not to worry, it was just Lurch’s bifocals. Alisa and her mom were dying laughing, but I failed to see the humor in it. Lurch’s bifocals?!? What was Lurch doing at their house? At night? Lurch was the manservant of the dysfunctional, gothic Addams family, who always said in the deepest, creepiest voice, “You rang?” when Gomez or Morticia called. I clenched my eyes and eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.

The next morning I had forgotten the bifocal incident as I munched on the warm cinnamon roll spins Florence always brought home from Hart’s Bread Store and put into the oven. She and Alisa laughed at me again about Lurch leaving his bifocals on the hall table, but it was a small price to pay to get my favorite breakfast in the entire world.

No matter which house we had a sleepover at, we shared pajamas. She was an only child and didn’t have a lot of practice sharing (I imagined), and I had to share everything with my younger sister, so I hated sharing. After arguing over pajamas (we did a lot of arguing), one of our mothers would settle the dispute by giving one of us the top to one pair and the bottoms to the other. It wasn’t as good as sleeping in the prettiest pair, but it appeased us.

Alisa and I and our husbands recently ran into each other at a new burger joint in the town in which she lives. She said she keeps expecting to see a blog about Lurch’s bifocals. We reminisced a little while. I told her I remembered a time she kicked me between the legs where I previously had stitches after falling off my cousins’ riding toy. She said she was sure it must have been provoked. I’m not so sure. She was a brat like that.

We twirled together as “Betsy’s Batonettes” and Alisa reminded me of a time she said I was mad at her when she won a trophy for her routine in a contest in which we both participated. I really don’t believe I did such a thing. Getting mad and pouting over not receiving a measly trophy? Doesn’t sound like me. Then I reminded her of the HUGE trophy (it was taller than I was) I received for being voted “Miss Personality” by all the other twirlers.

“Yeah, you have some kind of personality, all right.”

I ignored the sarcasm. Everyone needs a loving, lasting childhood friendship like ours.

I never did find out what was scaring me from that table. A pair of old glasses for decoration like on a museum desk or Florence’s glasses? I have no idea, but Alisa still finds it hilarious and says her mom is laughing in heaven.