I remember:
being bundled into an old Plymouth, a pink blanket around me like a cocoon.
Laying in the back seat, no seat belt to save me
the moon, oh the moon!
Asking my mom and dad “Why is it following me?”
they had no answer. “Hush go to sleep.” they whispered.
I lay and watched, turning my head this way and that, watching the moon as he followed me.
We talked. Well I talked and asked a million questions.
“Why are you so bright?” “Why do you follow me? “I’m going to Granny’s house, are you?” and then faded into a rumbling restless sleep.
I remember dawn. The sun coming up as we rattled down a pitted road, a driveway a mile long full of dips and hollows. Passing my uncle’s house, they aren’t awake yet. Driving into nowhere until we were there.
A hard dirty driveway that was a front yard too. Masses of flowers growing taller than a man, like an island in the midst of a dirt sea. My grandmother, Granny, in her mid calf dress, sweeping the dirt…
I always wondered but never asked her why.
I remember being swept up and out of the car, and into a warm room. Heated by a wood stove, warned not to get too close. A kitchen with a stove, burning hot and baking biscuits. A wash stand with a chipped white bowl, rimmed with red, and a tiny box that must have been built for my feet. A bar of soap and an homespun towel.
Breakfast then a nap in the room that was so cold and unwelcoming. and then a room in the house called my ‘Granddaddy’s room’ full of junk and banjos made by his hands, clocks and tables he crafted with love. Books…books and books. Things my Granny and my mom said were junk. I longed to live in that room with the big man who had the gentle voice and wire like eyebrows. That room alone called my five year old heart and still does.
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