There is a funeral procession driving past my house. A long, black hearse followed by another and another and another car swish through the street cutting the sun from my window in choppy stutters.
The weather is calm, almost warm. Neighbors are hanging red and green and blue and yellow lights around their porches. I can hear my youngest daughter’s music box begging her to sleep. Or maybe that’s just me begging, culling more time for writing.
It has been a hard month for words. NaNoWriMo came on its cold November horse and I followed with all my doubt and aggravation and wanting tied in a leather purse around my waist. I wrote through it and with it. I came to a cusp.
I have been angry, all-out furious, with my family for a very long time. There’s a lack of understanding a young girl has when her family splits apart and says nothing by way of explanation. She makes up her own stories. Some of them are right.
There’s a selfish abandonment she feels when her siblings leave home, start their own families and return in sporadic bursts.
There’s the betrayal of her father leading her to wonder at love, to wonder at trust.
Then there are the fights, leavings on a cutting board, who doesn’t speak to whom and why–anymore, I don’t care. And I am not afraid.
This is my story.
I have Ma’s photo albums I should return any day now, but when I look at them, I don’t see the us that was. Instead I fall through the picture plane. I hold my breath. I stand in that kitchen again and I remember.
It’s eery really, and I can’t explain it any better. I feel like I’ve been sliced from bow to stern.
Today I found a fragrance in any cheap department store aisle. This scent is Ma 30 years ago, but more than that, it’s the house I’ve been seeing in my sleep. Mix this scent with the smell of devil’s food cake baking in the oven and I’ve come back home.
How bad do I want to write this story? I don’t know, but I see, feel, hear, taste and smell the story wanting to be written. I’m ready for the risks. I’m willing to jump and I have my whole live-long life to make it happen.