Friday, June 9, 2017

She Had Had Enough.

I don't remember how old I was. I know we lived on the lake, and I know my brother was walking, maybe not talking, I don't recall. My dad had just got home from work. My mom had been drinking that day, didn't really effect my brother and I, she was always kind to us. She loved us. I never felt unloved. It would be decades before I truly understood her pain. I just knew my dad was always the same. Never different. Always the same.

He went to the bathroom and was going to take a shower. The same ritual he did daily. I remember that I was sitting in the living room looking out the back door. We lived on the lake so our back yard was always ever changing. As a child this was a dream life. Room to play for my brother and I. She could hardly stand straight up without swaying. She had his wallet and she was taking money. I must have been 5-6 years old. I knew she was not supposed to be in my dad's wallet. I loved that man. He was my dad. She was flawed. He was perfect to me. I wanted to bolt down the hallway but she put her finger to her mouth, telling me to be quiet. She then put my brother and I in the car, bags packed and we were gone. I didn't know what was happening. I don't remember being afraid. I was confused, but not afraid.

We were headed down HWY 59 and I knew this route well. We were headed to Louisiana. My mom had been drinking all day but I could't tell much difference. Our station wagon seemed like a wonderland really. My brother and I had our belongings, we had our toys. We were fine. We were with our mom. Then it became dark and she picked up the first man. Someone on the side of the road that needed a ride. Someone for her to talk to I'm sure. When you feel alone you turn to things to fill that void. My mom had the habit of choosing dangerous things.

I can honestly say that I was so young that that night is patchy. I vividly remember some parts, and other parts I don't. I know that somewhere along the way she picked up a second hitchhiker. My brother and I were in the hatch by this time with blankets, pillows, and toys. I remember that I was keeping him busy. From a young age I was always taking care of my brother. I always kept him shielded from things that I was unsure of. I have just always been a mother to him. He never understood that, and to this day he still doesn't understand that. I have seen so many things that he has no clue ever occurred. I was good at being a big sister.

It was extremely dark and late. I woke up because the car stopped. I knew this house. It was my grandma's house. I saw my mom standing at the door talking to her. I looked up to the front of the car and saw those two men going through my mom's purse. She then staggered back to the car and we left. I would find out later that my grandmother was trying to convince my mom to let us stay with her. My grandmother also immediately called my father.

It could not have been more than an hour as we crossed into the next parish. As soon as we crossed the line a swarm of cop car lights surrounded us. To me, it was 10 cars. In reality, it may have only been 2, but I remember we were surrounded and flashing lights. The hitchhikers were told to walk on. My mom was handcuffed and put in one car, and my brother and I were put into another.

We slept at the police station with an officer watching over us. I remember early that morning my dad walked in. We were safe. We were going home. He later told me that when he arrived that the officer asked if he brought any proof that we were his kids. He told the officer to open the door, you will get your proof. We ran straight to him. I loved my dad. He was my hero. Always saving me.

My Opa had come with him and he drove my mom's car back to Texas. My mom was left in jail there. I don't know the details. I don't know how or why she came home. I just know that within a week our family was back together. Like nothing had ever happened. 

1 comment:

  1. Brave of you for sharing Julie. You are a good writer. My Dad (is 91 now) and has been writing his life "story". I think if you have a story to write, you should tell it for sure. I've read things I never knew about before, about his life and history. Keep writing!


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