Personal papers
When I was sitting on the thin camper's thin pull, the darkness fell. This is a humid summer night that threatens the early 1990s. My only power is the extension of the wear. I can run light or small desktop fan. Never at the same time. Air conditioning and TV are luxury goods we can't afford. Dreams are the same, but I still have a lot.
I support a tiny window, but the stagnant air I entered was almost relieved. Except for staring at the aluminum wall, nothing to do in the darkness, imagine that I was in the refrigerator rather than the oven. There is almost no start in summer. I am worried that it is imminent in the next few months.
If I twist correctly, I can see the sky that stands out. On that night, my only comfort was that there was a world in the end of the endless naval sea, and everything became meaningful. That is where I long for it. In that replacement universe, I imagined a large brick room with a yard filled with trees and buzzing. Maybe it's a husband who goes home every night and uses the tone of Dulcet to me, not the stabbing of hatred.
I spit on the hem of the wet pajamas, trying to wipe off the dirt and rust of decades on the fixed top window. Through the coating, I saw the door of the house opened and sticky. The loud Bruce guitar was crowded in the darkness to fill the closed yard and blocked the sound of the siren and rotating engine. A dark character appeared on the porch and grabbed things in his hands. A cigarette cherry emitted orange -red glow in the dark darkness. The character was crumbling, gazing in the middle of the yard, gazing upwards, and then vowed softly.
I looked silently, only twenty feet away. The character was swaying and waved the sad chords of Stevie Ray Vaughan. If I am not so painful, then I might laugh at the most scenes of Cosas, which is what they write rural songs. My mother -in -law stood, her bones tightly wrapped around the neck of the wild turkey with a half -empty bottle, her face tilted into heaven, and her voice tilted to the famous stranger who died three years ago.
This is not the first time I have found her. Work, work, work on Monday to Friday. Drink, drink, drink on Friday to Sunday. Shoot some things. Bake some food. Football on the old console TV. The night before, she stood there-stereo exploded in the confession of her front yard, seeking the universe that others could not hear in music and universe.
"I don't know." For the first time, I saw her son. When the sound awakened us, we lay on the boiling RV for several hours. "I think maybe she is sick. She drank a lot. Maybe she needs help, baby?"
"You are a bastard," he immediately refuted. "A spoiled kitten knows nothing about life. As far as you know, you are watching his mother's mirror." Then, when he was struggling in a tin can alone, he disappeared in his mother's house inside.
In his words, I am more inclined to become her than contempt. I will never be like her. I will never give up my life, just spend a while during work, let me get drunk and talk to the dead musician. However, even when I protested too much, some things made me full of fear.
In the fall, I have left the marriage and bad campers. That spring, the baby came. The real color shone in the lies, and I hired a divorce lawyer I couldn't afford (but could not afford it). Within two years, my mother -in -law succumbed to heart disease or liver damage, or she was just tired of waiting for Stevie Ray to answer. When I heard the news, I only had a thousand miles at the time, trying to live for my early -mature children like hell. The day he died celebrated his second birthday.
If I remember now, I recognize the expression on her face, and I misunderstood the resignation. It does not give up or yield; this is acceptance. Since then, I have seen many times, including in the mirror, because my predecessor was so properly properly predicted. When I think of the similarities between us, I feel a shameful relative relationship. I strictly judged what she couldn't understand at that time. Young, avoiding the cost of mother. The impact of life is much more difficult than necessary, everything you need is to survive. All broken dreams, broken hope and heavy sadness need to be released. In the end, what is important is the love you give and your best to show its knowledge.
Although I never turned to the bottle, I was deeply hate in my heart, and my bones were ashamed. They also put the gray hair and lines on my face. Fortunately, I discovered a loose forgiveness, and it was not until I realized what I needed. I forgive her and her son what happened before her life, and learned to study a thing that made people think and act rather than judge them. I forgive those who later, those who make me more difficult than must be, sometimes intentionally, but usually not. The most important thing is that I learned to forgive myself-too young, naive, ignorant, and seriously damaged by self-righteousness and suffering.
Two nights, I walked out of the front door and stood in the yard. Behind me, I now call the brick house that goes home. Fireflies surrounded me under soft light. The Chrisp leaves floating on the twelve trees in summer were floating next to me. I put the title of my eyes as the sky, and I saw a million stars above me. I once wanted me Also, make hope alive. Essence
She didn't enter my thoughts. I imagined that she was standing there, staring at the sky thirty -two years ago, and seeking what she could only name.
I hope she finds it like me.