The best part about the apartment on 14th street was the back alley. Sometimes, I would get up at night and peek through the dusty brown aluminum blindes, their curved lengths crackling under my hand, out into the empty space there. Invariably, there were the star burst bits of glass refracting the bright white street light, a golden Coors can smashed by an unseen foot, and a shoe. Sometimes the shoes hung by tied too tight laces over the telephone wires bisecting the night sky above, but more often than not, one shoe missing her mate lay mildewing in my alley, my saving grace, my escape. Because, in those days, the only comfort I knew besides that of Mamma, Daddy, Hop and sometimes the ephemeral Joley, was the sweet certainty that, if needed, I could escape. They were coming, always coming, and even then I knew we'd never be able to hide in plain sight forever, but at night under my Salvation Army blanket, Hop's hot and weighty toddler head on the pillow next to mine, I could take comfort in just a little more time. All we needed, I figured, was a little more time as a family. Yes, they would catch us, take Momma and Daddy to jail (that part you already know) but I thought that if we just out ran them to next week, next month, next birthday, the three of us, Joley, Hop and I, could run our own dodos race for a while while we waited for them to catch up. Of course, I couldn't have known how the fear of prison changes the rules of the race on you, so that even while us kids thought we were still running, Momma and Daddy had already changed everything.
Okay, now who else wants to share? Please add your stories/poems/musings by comment or email (kristin at kristinherrington dot com).
No comments:
Post a Comment