We lived by a lake that wound around a hill then stretched long across a damn that separated it from the road. The road was like a washboard, even Thursday's grader was no match for it. I wanted to take a brush and swoosh it in the lake and paint the evening sky to match the red color of the lake. The rock, Mrs. Piggie, must've sat right on the border and didn't want to move. I bet she could feel the chill from the lake brush through her sage and pass onto the fields that spanned from the lake all the way to Arizona. Between our house and the rock was the chapter house which we could see from the kitchen window. Every morning mom would look out for the bus while we got ready. 'It's coming from the chapter house' she would yell out giving us a minute or two. We raced out the door with our jackets halfway on and our bags in hand. That was the morning.
In the night we'd look through that window wondering when dad was going to be home. Sometimes I wanted him home so bad so we could all go to sleep feeling safe. Looking towards the chapter house in the deep black of the night I hoped to see the high beams of dad's truck. When I saw the lights, even if it was well past the time he should've been home, a fire ignited inside of me. I was so happy when dad's old Sierra truck would interrupt the quiet of the night in the house. I could see the worry in mom's eyes, it was right behind that expressionless look she had. She was terrified inside but wouldn't crumble at the sight of dad. I missed the days dad would come home early and mom would joke about his truck being made of glue because it always broke down. I looked out the east window of the kitchen only to see a truck pass the house through the whole of the tire swing. The tire swing swung me around the world and I would give that opportunity to see dad tonight. We all went to sleep not knowing exactly where dad was, but knew he would be in bed in the morning. Those nights we slept with swollen hearts ready to break.
To be continued....
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