Come Away From My Window

Hopelessly Devoted

Looking up at this window, I recall so many detailed memories as though one battered window could portray all the details of our mean farm life . . .

*

“Jacob,” I yelled, “I gotta git home. It’s past seven, and I still got chores to do.” Pa’s gonna whup me for sure if I don’t get those cows back in the barn ‘fore the storm.

“Jes one more cast. I know I kin git one more paperbelly!”

Jacob’s eyes’re all lit, like fireflies in a jar.

“Aw, come on, Bud!” he scolds.

Jacob was always a better fisherman than me. In fact, he does mos things better’n me. Pa’d always light up whenever Jacob come by. But I didn’ mind–less pickin’ on me.

Goin’ in two diff’rent directions, I headed home over the crick bridge and run the half mile home, and Jacob took the fork to town. Sundown wasn’t fer another hour–jes enough time to round up the cows.


Once I spied the house comin’ round the bend, I stuck close to the wall so’s not to let Pa get a peek o’ me comin’ home late.

That’s when I heard it–that sound of a hurt child whimpering, mixed in with low moans and sighs.  I peered up at the open window, wonderin’ where the sounds o’  hurt was comin’ from. Then a loud yell lit out from Pa . . . and Ma too. Didn’ know what to think. If’n he hurt Ma again, it’d be the last time. I swar!

Once it got quiet, I crept along the wall to the barn. Hearin’ a sound from above, I turnt my head and looked up. There was Ma–hair messed up, tears streakin’ down her face. Her eyes had an empty look, like she’d jes given up, done lost a hard battle. That’s when she looked down and saw me. Stared at me like I was a stranger. Stared right through me and then looked off into the distance.

My photos, my story. ©Teresita Abad Doebley All rights reserved 2009-2011.


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