me to a mother's love that poured from someone I didn't understand.
No. I didn't see it like Grandma wanted me to.
VOICES IN THE WIND
1
I can't say I thought things would be different between Mama and me, but they were. In the days that followed Alfie's advance and Mama's protective outburst, we found ourselves clinging to each other more than we ever had before. When I went to school, she was at the table, cleaning up breakfast. When I returned, she put out the dinner plates. When I couldn't sleep, she sat on my bed and told me how sorry she was, and how life was going to be different. Mama seemed different, and for that I was glad.
Life had changed, but it did so on levels I couldn't relate to Mama. I now felt complete as a woman, and although my body wasn't ready, it had accepted the seed of a man. I found, however, that the extra time I spent with Mama was quickly eating into the time I could have with Michael. Since Mama didn't approve of the relationship in the first place, I was forced to find time with him—a few minutes here and there—between school and home or during her time at work. It pained me to know I couldn't have more time with him, but I had to learn to savor those moments when they came.
Michael must have felt different. It wasn't long after the change that he started to avoid me. He wasn't home when I'd call. He wouldn't respond when I tapped on his window at night. I walked Dusty alone on numerous occasions. At school, he was distant. I wondered at first if it was a reaction to the limited time I had with him. I feared, however, he was losing interest and maybe finding affection in someone a little more convenient.
I felt a sickness grow in my stomach when I looked in his eyes in the cafeteria at school one day. He was empty and so much different from the person I fell in love with. He turned from me at that moment and left me crushed, naked and cold.
I didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time I would see him alive.
2
I cried for most of the evening, curled under the covers in my room. A storm outside buffeted the trailer and shook the windows, but it didn't compare to the tempest in my life at that very moment. Mama asked me what was wrong when I wouldn't come to dinner, but without revealing my secrets to her, I had to keep my mouth shut. She kissed me on the forehead, passed me a weak smile and left for work.
I pictured Grandma on the inside of my eyelids. She rocked back and forth and smiled.
"Listen to the wind, Maggie."
If there was ever a time I wished Grandma was alive, it was right then. I didn't want to hear her disembodied voice pass wisdom down to me from her castle in the sky. I wanted to step out on the patio, pull up a chair next to her and wrap myself in her afghan. At the very least, I wanted to see her one more time and tell her how sorry I was for doubting her.
"Let the wind tell you what to do."
I pulled back the covers and looked around my room. I still had the Barbie nightlight in the corner, not the last vestige of my innocence, but certainly the one that was the most pronounced. The wind outside had died down a little, but I could still feel the trailer shake. I felt an urge—one that swelled inside of me—to step outside.
The rocking chair Grandma used was still on the porch. I watched it rock from the behind the screen door. I know it was an effect of the wind, but so much I wanted to believe that Grandma's ghost was there, waiting for me to come outside and face my fears. I had pulled her afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself.
I tasted dust the moment I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Keeping my head down and holding the afghan tightly around me, I moved the chair and sat down. I couldn't open my eyes anymore than they were; the dust that bit into my cheeks was sure to tear into the soft flesh of my eyes. Still, I wanted to look, to know for myself that God's great broom was not aimed at me;
No. I didn't see it like Grandma wanted me to.
VOICES IN THE WIND
1
I can't say I thought things would be different between Mama and me, but they were. In the days that followed Alfie's advance and Mama's protective outburst, we found ourselves clinging to each other more than we ever had before. When I went to school, she was at the table, cleaning up breakfast. When I returned, she put out the dinner plates. When I couldn't sleep, she sat on my bed and told me how sorry she was, and how life was going to be different. Mama seemed different, and for that I was glad.
Life had changed, but it did so on levels I couldn't relate to Mama. I now felt complete as a woman, and although my body wasn't ready, it had accepted the seed of a man. I found, however, that the extra time I spent with Mama was quickly eating into the time I could have with Michael. Since Mama didn't approve of the relationship in the first place, I was forced to find time with him—a few minutes here and there—between school and home or during her time at work. It pained me to know I couldn't have more time with him, but I had to learn to savor those moments when they came.
Michael must have felt different. It wasn't long after the change that he started to avoid me. He wasn't home when I'd call. He wouldn't respond when I tapped on his window at night. I walked Dusty alone on numerous occasions. At school, he was distant. I wondered at first if it was a reaction to the limited time I had with him. I feared, however, he was losing interest and maybe finding affection in someone a little more convenient.
I felt a sickness grow in my stomach when I looked in his eyes in the cafeteria at school one day. He was empty and so much different from the person I fell in love with. He turned from me at that moment and left me crushed, naked and cold.
I didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time I would see him alive.
2
I cried for most of the evening, curled under the covers in my room. A storm outside buffeted the trailer and shook the windows, but it didn't compare to the tempest in my life at that very moment. Mama asked me what was wrong when I wouldn't come to dinner, but without revealing my secrets to her, I had to keep my mouth shut. She kissed me on the forehead, passed me a weak smile and left for work.
I pictured Grandma on the inside of my eyelids. She rocked back and forth and smiled.
"Listen to the wind, Maggie."
If there was ever a time I wished Grandma was alive, it was right then. I didn't want to hear her disembodied voice pass wisdom down to me from her castle in the sky. I wanted to step out on the patio, pull up a chair next to her and wrap myself in her afghan. At the very least, I wanted to see her one more time and tell her how sorry I was for doubting her.
"Let the wind tell you what to do."
I pulled back the covers and looked around my room. I still had the Barbie nightlight in the corner, not the last vestige of my innocence, but certainly the one that was the most pronounced. The wind outside had died down a little, but I could still feel the trailer shake. I felt an urge—one that swelled inside of me—to step outside.
The rocking chair Grandma used was still on the porch. I watched it rock from the behind the screen door. I know it was an effect of the wind, but so much I wanted to believe that Grandma's ghost was there, waiting for me to come outside and face my fears. I had pulled her afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself.
I tasted dust the moment I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Keeping my head down and holding the afghan tightly around me, I moved the chair and sat down. I couldn't open my eyes anymore than they were; the dust that bit into my cheeks was sure to tear into the soft flesh of my eyes. Still, I wanted to look, to know for myself that God's great broom was not aimed at me;
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