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like the wind
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like the wind She never knew she was poor. They lived in a house that had furniture and her da went to work while her mama stayed home with the baby cleaning, cooking. Every year right before school started a box would come from Canada from her aunties filled with clothes for her and her sister that set mama to sewing for days. There was no stuff for babies though; just girl things. She asked and asked for a bicycle but Santa never brought one. Sometimes she got a doll or a book or one time a microscope but never a bike. Pajamas though, socks, a coat if hers was too little now that she was taller than her big sis. One year Santa gave her mama a coat too and made her cry. The box was big and the ribbon was so pretty she untied it like she was gonna keep it forever. Her mama wore that coat to church, hanging on to da like she was going to fall over. She was “hard on shoes” so she was told so she never did get pretty ones like she wanted but big old boxy ugly ones that would last. It didn’t matter all that much since they didn’t look pretty after a day or so anyway what with climbing trees and scuffing dirt under swings. In the summer they were too hot so mostly she left them off if she could sneak it until her feet were tough as hide and nothing much bothered them. Her days were spent running, playing any kinda game that she could, reading all the books in the world, escaping the wary eyes of her sister. Returning home she was replete, willing to fall into the rhythm of her mother’s breath and cede her warrior ways. Here there was soft light, the smell of cinnamon, the iron on clean linen, coffee, her brother’s hands in her tangled hair, the sound of her sister playing her violin. she could be quiet here. Then came the day she awoke and found, her mama was atwirl in the kitchen. It felt oddly exciting but it made her heart feel funny at the same time. Mama had her hand on sister’s shoulder holding her back from the door, the other reaching out to her. “Hurry, she said. Her mama's face was lit up. She hurried to her. they pushe out the door. As they stood on the back stoop, there was her Da. He was standing there holding them up. They were so ugly. She looked at them for what seemed like forever. He struggled a bit to keep them steady. Bicycles. But not new bicycles. Big old fashioned fat wheel bicycles that he’d repainted. The smile on his face was huge. Sister ran to him, laughing. But she just stood there. She looked at mama, realizing in this moment that they were poor. A shiver ran through her body Mama said, “Go thank your Da.”, her smile never wavering, a hand pushing her forward. She went, and as she ran, slowly her laughter came bubbling up. She jumped into her Da’s arms, knocking him to the ground under a pile of little girls’ legs and kisses, her sister tumbling with them. She rode that bike like the wind.  You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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I love it when you do this. I don't guess I knew we were poor either. On the farm I felt like nobody had what we had, and what we had was pretty good. One thing did piss me off though and that was when Grandpa sold the horses and bought a tractor. I always thought it was a downgrade. He had bought them in '45, after the war, so they were there when I got there. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Wow. Powerful storytelling. 
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A very powerful story ty for sharing. I didn't have much when I was growing up but at least we had food on the table. hugsss V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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Beautiful story. Thanks.  Vive La Difference
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Very well done. I loved the ending.
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So, so nicely done, WE. That just brought back a vivid image of the moment my parents presented me with my bike, specifically the quality of the light that they led me to, out back by the garage. I was five, and it was a 24-incher — so I had a couple of years until I could grow into it. "These are the last wheels you'll get from us." they said. I realized it then, too. I haven't thought of that in nearly fifty years. Thank you.
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I love this post. I came from a single parent household back when such a thing was barely heard of. Sometimes my mom worked 2 and 3 jobs. We did not have a lot but we had her love and food and great childhood memories. (Virtual Symposium Group) use Virtual Symposium Group
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I can't remember exactly when I knew and understood that I was poor for the first time, but by second grade, it was daily knowledge. Beautifully written. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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