THE NARRATIVE ARC
Mama Told Me No One Really Cares What Happens To Women
It’s not like she ever had any delusions of women being equal
She said she knew something was out there that cold winter night, dogs barking, sky black as fear, black as her papa’s rifle leaning against the wall in the corner of the kitchen so she grabbed it up, flung wide the door.
I look up at her, eyes wide, feet curled under me and ask “Were you scared, Mama?”
She smiles and says “Of course I was scared, sweetie, so scared. Now put your feet down, they don’t belong on the furniture.”
My mama was thirteen the winter her mama died, left six little ones behind for her to raise while her papa was off working the railroads. One just blew out his first birthday candle before their mama and the baby died.
Mama grew up hard. Thirteen, facing the world with a rifle in one hand, pail of milk in the other, kids tugging her skirts. Got her first job as soon as the next sister was old enough to babysit. And me? I grew up with a belly full of Little House On The Prairie stories, except without the parents.
I ask please tell another story! but she says it’s bedtime and she has to work in the morning. As I fall asleep I hear her singing to my…
