MsTempestRaven
Posts: 124
Joined: 6/17/2005
From: Texas
Status: offline
|
I just wanted a quiet life; I never wanted to cause any trouble. Of course there are those who will say I was born to cause trouble. My mama is one of them. She told me often enough about the night I was born. It was a dark night, no moon, no stars to be seen and she went into labor. Papa got her tucked into his old Buick and took off down the road like his feet was on fire. I don't know why Papa was in such a hurry, I wasn't the first of his babies. I was the last though. And I was his only daughter. Mama said the road was so dark, she could barely see to the end of the taillights. She was panting with the contractions and Papa had his fingers gripped so tightly around the wheel she said his knuckles nearly glowed from the lights of the dashboard. Mama braced herself to keep from sliding back and forth along the vinyl seats, so slippery. Her feet were planting firmly on the floorboard, about a foot apart, to keep her from sliding to the floor. Papa kept shouting at her, "Just breathe, woman!" as he barreled down the road towards the welcoming light of the hospital. It was like a beacon, Mama said, and the Buick headed right towards it. Papa pulled right up to the emergency room doors and Mama slipped out into a waiting wheelchair. Mama got rolled right up to the room where I was born. I was impatient and didn't take too long, Mama said. It seemed like it was over quickly. The next day when she had gathered her wits and rested, they brought me to her and she said right off I was marked. God only knows how or why, but I was. See my mama and daddy were both fair and so were my older brothers. But I was born with a full set of dark hair and a swarthy complexion so unlike anyone else in my family that my mama thought at once there had been some sort of mix-up. The hospital assured her that I was hers, no doubt about it, and the doctor gave her a short lesson on the mystery of genetics. Mama named me Rhonda but Papa called me Runt. Overtime, people used to ask me if that bothered me, that Papa called me Runt. Truth be told, it never did. I was his youngest baby and his only girl baby. I considered it somewhat sweet of him. Mama and Papa took me home and my brothers hovered over me like I was a stray puppy or something. Papa went back to work and Mama stayed home with me, dressing me up in fine little gowns she sewed up herself. As I grew, she taught me all the normal games babies play; patty cake, peek a boo, hide and go seek. She always was a great mama. Time passed and I grew up. My hair grew lighter and, in the summer with their tans, I didn't look that much different from my siblings. We all had the same nose and wide set eyes; it was obvious we were all related. I grew and I went off to school with them, following behind my brothers, the Runt as always. I was a smart one, though, and I did do better in school than my brothers. They were far more interested in fishing and throwing sticks after school than in learning anything useful. Truth is they knew where they would end up. They were going to end up working at the garage that Papa owned with his brother, Uncle Bill. Bill never got married and never had any kids. He used to come over every Sunday for supper and Mama would lay it all out, a fine feast. And afterwards, Papa and Uncle Bill would go out on the porch and smoke their weekly cigars. That's how my childhood was, revolving around quiet stillness. I would come home from school and sit at the kitchen table, doing my schoolwork, while Mama cooked dinner or tended to her mending, sitting there beside me. The boys would be out somewhere, digging up worms or doing their chores or just making a nuisance. They were rarely under foot until supper was on the table. As we got older, the boys would go down to the station on Saturday mornings to help Papa and Uncle Bill. Sometimes I would tag along and Papa would let me run the register. If they were all busy, I would even pump the gas from time to time. I can still remember how it made my hands smell and how it would take days for the smell to go away. At Sunday mass, I would dip my fingers extra long in the holy water. I always figured God would remove that odor. Sometimes I noticed it wasn't as strong after. I grew up. That happens. You can't stop time for no one and nothing. But I never meant to hurt anybody. I just wanted a quiet life; I never wanted to cause any trouble
 Attachment (1)
_____________________________
And out of the darkness, the Zombie did call
True pain and suffering he brought to them all
Away ran the children to hide in their beds,
for fear that the devil would chop off their heads.
|
Darkness - 
Profile
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread