Memories of the Past
I sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say to this stranger. Honestly, I still couldn’t understand why I got in the truck with him. Was it because of some old book? My mind raced. More and more images of my childhood came rushing back to me. I saw my mother sitting on the house porch, peacefully rocking back and forth in her chair humming hymns as she held a newborn baby, my youngest sibling. My brother and sister played in the blanket of flowers covering our field as I read my favorite book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Then, my father… my memory of him wasn’t as clear, the images of him were only like a thick fog.
My pulse was beating, all the color in my face drained as I watched daddy storm out of the house. Momma raced after him tugging on his coat, but that didn’t stop him as he yelled words at Momma a twelve-year-old couldn’t understand. Maybe they were just words that I didn’t want to understand.
I watched in horror as Momma fell to her knees, her face flooded with tears. My younger brother and sister gazed from the window as they trembled with fear. The baby balled as daddy’s voice rose to a near roar. I didn’t know what to do.
Without warning, daddy grabbed his old suitcase and stomped away from the porch. I ran to his side and grabbed onto his leg while yelling, “Stop, Daddy! Don’t go! Please, don’t go!” My little arms weren’t strong enough to hold onto him, and he soon shook me off. I fell on the ground as I called his name over and over again, but daddy, determined to leave, turned a blind eye to my pleads. His face was hard as stone, and his eyes were stormy gray as he threw his bag into the back of our old 1921 Ford truck. Without hesitation, he leaped into the driver’s seat and turned the engine’s key. Then, he was gone. I never saw him again.
Then, I saw my husband, Robert, rushing out the door leaping into our car and leaving. I, a twenty-two-year-old soon-to-be mother, alone and pregnant tried but failed to make ends meet during the Depression. It was then I finally realized that everyone I loved had abandoned me; this was the case all my life.
I shuddered staring into the cowboy’s face that was near pale with worry, his hand grasping onto my shoulder. I blinked my eyes several times as though I had just woken from a deep sleep.
“Ma’am, is everything okay? Do I need to take you to a doctor?” he asked, his voice in slight panic.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I answered.
“I thought I lost you there for a moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your face was white, and your heart was pounding hard. Then, your eyes sorta rolled into the back of your head, and you fainted.”
“Oh, I-I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” he questioned.
“I-I don’t know. I just remembered something, and I-I guess I zoned out.”
He had pulled his truck onto the side of the road when I passed out, and after he was sure that I was okay, the cowboy drove back onto the road.
I do not own the rights to the picture. I found it on the website “verywell family” attached with an article written by Jennifer Wolf.