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Down In The Country
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TITLE (EDIT)
Down In The Country |
DESCRIPTION
The end of the line ain't what it's cracked up to be.
[840 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Drama |
AUTHOR
Liilia Morrison |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Writer and artist living in South Florida
[August 2016] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (22)
A Thousand Camels (Poetry) A caravan of long ago [173 words] [History]
A Treat For Heinke (Short Stories) A girl finds hope during wartime [1,028 words] [Spiritual]
A Werewolf? (Short Stories) A man entrances a woman in Miami, or is he a werewolf? [1,492 words] [Mystical]
And The Winner Is (Short Stories) A summer camp sports competition has a surprise ending [1,132 words]
As It Comes (Short Stories) A discarded, ragged notebook found on the sidewalk brings impressions and thoughts to the person who found it. [756 words] [Drama]
Endangered (Poetry) A love goes bad [45 words] [Romance]
Garlic, Ginger And Golden Seal (Short Stories) An old woman's recipe for a long life [1,868 words] [Mystery]
Grandma, I Love You (Non-Fiction) Memories of my maternal grandmother [1,027 words] [Biography]
How Lizard Lenny Svaed My Life (Short Stories) A woman escapes life under the El thanks to a man called Lizard Lenny [1,255 words] [Relationships]
It's About Time (Short Stories) Ups and downs in the world of quantum physics [1,475 words] [Humor]
Just Another Joe (Short Stories) A gumshoe takes it as it comes [1,096 words] [Health]
Kylie (Short Stories) Success is not always what we think it is. A girl chooses between fame or love. [1,700 words]
Magnolia (Short Stories) A young woman finds out what a magnolia smells like [1,208 words]
Ode To Wayne Dyer (Poetry) A light roast of self-help books [262 words] [Humor]
On Turning Seventy (Essays) A woman ponders the march of time [717 words] [Motivational]
Ovidio Gets A Smoke (Short Stories) A party turns sour but Ovidio ends up sittin' pretty. [1,160 words] [Suspense]
She Saw It All (Poetry) Statue of Liberty Saw 9-11 [190 words]
Teacups And Time (Poetry) A troubled, cold soul finally finds warmth [151 words] [Spiritual]
Thank You For Not Sleeping (Short Stories) Thoughts go all over the page during the night [1,257 words] [Mind]
The Mysterious Gypsy (Short Stories) Among old photos of Northern people, an exotic gypsy's photo appears. Who is she? [1,457 words] [History]
Tom's Moon (Short Stories) A little doll makes a difference [857 words]
Too Late For Coffee (Short Stories) An old man's last days with an angel [1,489 words] [Spiritual]
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Down In The Country
Liilia Morrison
As we walked down the muddy path, edged with tall grasses and weeds, an outsider may have seen this as an idyllic country scene – Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and Becky Thatcher on their way to some seemingly innocent shenanigans. Yes, I was ten years old. Yes I had that freckled face and shock of hair sticking out of the top of my head. Yes you could have called me a towhead. Okay, so I looked like a typical American youth, growing up in the country, swimming in the local swimming hole, catching a fish or two.
They would be quite wrong. I mean, that is how it looked then. As I see the old photograph taken by a woman who had come to our farm to buy a quilt from my mom, I remember all the pain, all the hopelessness that I felt then. I've gone through lots of hardships since I grew up, but nothing compares to the pain I felt on those sunny days on the farm back home. My dad was a roofer. He would sit on the porch in his big wooden chair most all the time. When the rains came in the summer, he would get calls from neighbors to patch their roofs. But mostly he sat, without speaking a word.
He had been in prison for a couple of years, but nobody talked about that. My mom had a whole room for her quilting. She had big wooden frames and all kinds of cloth and stuff. She would hang up bits and pieces of colored squares and then she would go to a corner and sew on her sewing machine. Mom was a kind soul who kept the house nice and neat. She had a breakfront, a big one, with dishes and knick knacks that she was very proud of. We were not allowed to open the glass doors to look inside. Our garden was to the right of the house and mom checked early in the morning to make sure the birds hadn't got to her tomatoes.
The summer rain made everything grow fast. The tomatoes, cucumbers and other vegetables would be really big and mom would show them off when a neighbor woman would drop in. We had ten acres of land, according to my dad. Farther back where it was pretty wild, I know they grew some other things, but I was not allowed to go back there. My dad was the kind of person that if you went against his word, he would take his belt and beat you till you couldn't sit down. So I pretty much stayed away from most of those ten acres.
On the weekends it was always the same. Some neighbors would come over and it would begin Friday night. There would be a big barbecue on the side of the house where dad had built a large stone pit. There would be pork and chicken and hot dogs and hamburgers. Mom made cole slaw and hush puppies. Some neighbor would bring pans of corn bread. Pecan pies and red devil cakes would show up. And then later, when the sun had set, they would get serious with the beer. Then would come stronger stuff.
When it got really late, the grownups didn't pay any attention to the young people, and we would take some bottles and go behind bushes and get a buzz on. The next morning everyone was asleep for a long time, so when I upchucked and looked green in the face, there was no one awake to notice. That picture of me with the fishing pole and our neighbor's daughter Lori was taken by Distant Lake. It's about two miles from our old farm and we used to walk there in the summer and cool off from the heat.
When I tried to kiss Lori on the cheek, she slapped me and ran home to tell her folks. When my dad heard about it, I knew I was in for it. I ran away and hid in the woods for a couple of days, but the chiggers, tics and sandspurs got the best of me. Hungry and scratched up, I came back to get the whipping of a lifetime. I'm writing this from the Dade County Correctional Institution. My mom sent me this picture and a couple of dollars so I can buy cigarettes, paper to write on and some candy bars. I don't really talk about why I'm here, either. Some of the cellmates try to get nosy, so I just sit there, pretending I'm deaf, just like my dad used to do. I will get out in seven years, three months and six days. My dad is gone now. He fell off the roof on a job. I was on the roof with him. I plan to return to the farm when I get out and help my mom. So, if you're on the outside looking at this picture, I'm here to tell you what's on the inside.
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"This is brilliant. Much luck in your future but I'm sure you'll have it. Persist!" -- barf.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2007 Liilia Morrison |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
May 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2162
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