Broken Pieces

During the time we were living with my Aunt Lucille, my mom met a taxi driver by the name of W.C. He just happened to be from the same town that my mom was from. Well it wasn't long before they married and we were back in Rockmart. They rented a trailer and started their own taxi service. My mom ran the radios for all the cars. You might think things would be calm now and life would settle down for my mom now. But no that is not the case. Tragedy always seemed to be in my mom's life. It wasn't before long that my stepdad had left and my mom was in a deep depression. My stepdad had a girlfriend. Apparently, he had her before they got married.

Mother tried to run the taxi service without him. They had several drivers so she did her best to keep the day to day activities going. It's during this time I believe my love for old country music began. I can see the old cabinet stereo with red velvet on the speakers with a scroll design on top of it. Mother would play Conway Twitty, Charlie Pride, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, Merle Haggard, and Waylon Jennings just to name the ones off the top of my head.

I wasn't but maybe 4 when this time period began. My stepdad would be gone a week or 2 and then come back. For a time I had a step sister and a step brother who lived with us, Sandra and Larry. I shared a room with Sandra and Larry had his own room. This would be the pattern for almost 3 years. Close to the time I began 3rd grade the events in my home took a turn for the worst.

I know God was with me then. He had to be… This is something that is still vivid in my mind and I believe always will be. I had a tire swing out in our front yard and it was one of those times my stepdad had left us. I don't remember where or when Sandra and Larry left too but this day is very clear. I have told parts of this event all my life but never all at one time. I don't think I have ever let myself actually go through the entire details at once. It's an event that no child should ever have to go through. I use to think I was 5 but I wasn't I was 6 or maybe even 7. I had begun 3rd grade at the then Elm St Elementary School. Mrs. Paschal was the principal. I remember her dark black hair and her bright mauve lipstick. Her face comes to me so clear now. I am not really sure why. Maybe when someone took me to get my school work. I am not sure.

Back to the swing, it's in the afternoon and I recall one of the taxi drivers running out the front door of our trailer on Jones Corner and racing to his personal car. I was running after him because I remembered my real China tea set my Aunt Laura had given me was sitting in a plastic bin on his trunk from where I had been playing earlier with my neighbor friend, Jan. He didn't respond to my calls and screams to stop. He jumped in that car and put it in reverse and there went my beloved tea set. It broke into many pieces. This is a symbol for me of what happened that day. Many things broke into many pieces.

After I picked up my broken tea set and gathered my thoughts, my mind went back to why he had ran out of the trailer. My mom, she is alone in there. It had been a bad day for her. Lots of sad songs had played on the stereo. She had been drinking for days since W.C. had left. I decided to go see for myself what the rush to leave was about. Looking back now, this young girl had no idea what she was about to witness. My mom wasn't in the living room where the taxi radio was or in the kitchen cooking. I walked down the hall calling her name but there was no answer. I saw no light in her bedroom which was at the rear of the trailer but there was a light coming from our bathroom. I rounded the door opening to see my mom laying in the floor. There was a pool of blood around her left arm. I remember this scene so clear in my mind. My mom's wrist watch caught my attention. It had blood in the face of it behind the glass. I don't know how I seemed to see this small detail or how long I stood there looking and confused and afraid. The next thing I remember is banging on a neighbors door begging for help.