Reflections

A Journey not Measured in Miles - 1949
their foreheads. His hands were in constant motion – waving, pointing, jabbing, signaling – the thick gold ring with its big diamond made a shiny,
sparkly arc in the stinking, dusty air. He drove too fast, drank too much, screwed too many women. He was at a different sale barn every day of
the week. On Sunday, he preached at some off-brand fundamental church. My God, he was irresistible!
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Her mother’s voice split the chilled February air. She gave an involuntary jump and huddled into her red coat and waited, making no response. It
wouldn’t be long now until she was found. She wanted her mother to find her, to see her pain – she wished she could explain why she hurt so badly
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inside, but she didn’t have the words. She knew it had something to do with the constant quarrels and dull unhappiness that sometimes erupted
into frightening violence between her parents. She knew they both loved her – she understood that – she just wished they could love each other.
She felt so isolated, without anyone to share her fears. Was there no joy or fun anywhere? Dick and Jane always seemed so happy and full of fun.
She wore out the pages of her first-grade reader looking at the pictures of that perfect family. She searched their faces for the secret, but it
remained hidden. She felt a vague resentment and a terrible longing to share their easy laughter.
This was sale day and her mother was anxious to get her to school so she could get out to the office at the sale barn. Her face appeared above the
small, crumpled figure sitting in the ditch. Well, this was the last straw, she thought with exasperation. What in the world is wrong with her,
crying every day before school? I don’t know what to do with her.
The two pairs of eyes met- one pair hard with suppressed anger, the other soft with tears squeezed through wet lashes.
“Get out of that ditch! Look at you! Grass stuck all over your good coat! Run to the house and wash your face. Don’t forget to blow your nose.
And hurry up, we’re already late.”
As the little girl ran wordlessly into the house, her mother looked around quickly to see if anyone had observed this little scene. All the houses
across the road looked like blank faces. She supposed no one had seen or heard. Cars sped along the highway which bordered the yard on the
other side of the house. Safe on that side, anyway. My word, the ditch! Well, at least she has a sense of the dramatic… a small smile escaped the
pinched mouth.
She turned and walked up the small embankment towards the driveway. Married to a man whom she didn’t love, she was beginning to reflect her
desperation – her face often had the tight look of suppressed frustration. She was attractive; although certainly not beautiful, she had a certain
style. Tall, slender, with beautiful legs and breasts, her facial features bordered on severity. A bout with pneumonia at the age of four had left her
with a badly crossed eye which she controlled by sheer force of will and by never taking her glasses off, until the lights were out, and putting them
on immediately in the morning.
Into the car, out of the driveway, then up the gravel road to the school house. Lord! This is a hicktown. Just look at that school – all twelve grades
Opposite, Harriett's mother, Jassamine (also known as 'Jackie' or 'Jap')
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