My parents were almost married for 3 years. Their divorce was final in June – four months after my first birthday. Although I can tell you exactly what our trailer looked like on the inside, I have absolutely no recollection of them ever together. Once divorced, my dad moved in with his parents and shortly afterwards, we {my mom and me} moved way out in the middle of nowhere in a rental house.
I distinctly remember it sat on the side of a small hill and incredibly close to the road. There was a small like ravine on the left full of trees and our landlord lived atop the hill on the right side. And as creepy as it sounds, there was a graveyard in the backyard with a very short rock wall surrounding it.
My bedroom was huge {or so it seemed.} And if I remember correctly, it had either 2 or 3 windows across one side of it {which was the front of the house.} I can still hear the sound the sheets of plastic made on the windows during the cold months when the air would blow it out or suck it back to the windows.
I slept in a twin, canopy bed – that my mother received on her 16th birthday from Sears. The bedding was white trimmed in yellow. My toy box was a huge salvaged drum that my mother cleverly cut a massive circle out of the center, painted a creamy white and meticulously decoupaged child-like cutouts all over it. It was cool.
I hate to say we were poor, but looking back on it – {my assumption is} we were. I remember at least one day a week {weather permitting} mom would put my helmet on and strap me to her back in some kind of yellow backpack/carrier thing and ride her motorcycle to town because gas was much cheaper for a bike than a car.
I was always told Supper is in front of you. Eat it or be hungry. I was never hungry. But you couldn’t be a picky eater. The garden she grew wasn’t huge, but we always had plenty. I ate every vegetable – except sweet potatoes and {at that time} lima beans. I know my mom made bacon and sausage, which I’ve never been a big fan of, but the only meat I really remember eating was venison.
One cold morning, the two of us went down in the ravine like valley beside the house. The trees were thick as was the brush. There was some type of old barn. It wasn’t big and if believe right, it was falling in. I remember sitting so close to it, my back was leaning on it. My mom was squatting, smoking a cigarette when we saw it – a deer. Mom aimed and shot that joker dead in it’s tracks. I remember the gun had a small kick to it, and the cigarette that was hanging out of her mouth, flipped back and down into her shirt. She was madly smacking her chest, trying to prevent burns. And I thought she was cheering. So, I’m sure you guessed – I started cheering, too.
But then she had the daunting task of dragging the thing back to the house. Up that steep hill. Through all the trees and under brush. And she was a small woman. But she did it. I can still see that deer hanging upside down – in an out house, somewhat close to our home, as she gutted it and started the process of cleaning out the thing.
nasty.
I was 3.
And that was the way I remembered it.
Don’t ask me why I’m playing in a styrofoam cooler – that is just what poor kids do. My guess is – it was once full of Budweiser and once all the beer was gone, it was useless.
I’ve always been good at repurposing. And wearing ringlets.
