Week Two - Closer To Memory

Week Two – Journal Entry/Free-Write 2

Closer to Memory Exercise

I remember quite vividly one of the first houses that I lived in. Although it wasn't the first house I remember, I will never forget it because of a traumatic event that happened there. It was on a little dirt road called True Lane and it was the first house that my mom owned on her own. She was a single mother, raising three kids. I was the oldest at around 13. This would make my brother about 11 and my little sister, 3.

There was a leisurely knock on the front door that day. It was a sunny Saturday and I can remember us kids just sitting around the small living room, watching television with our backs to the window that faced our even smaller front yard. My mom was wearing some short-shorts and a little tee shirt and was in the kitchen making us lunch, I suppose. She stopped what she was doing and walked over to the door. We had of course, immediately looked out the window to see if we could see who was at the front door, but we couldn't. We were always excited to have people come over. This time, we weren't so excited.

When my mother opened the wooden front door and we saw through the screen door that it was none other than Willie Bush, we were immediately terrified. Willie Bush was the ex-husband of my mom's best friend, Angela and he was a bad customer. The week before, he had pistol-whipped Angela and she had come to our house bruised and upset. My mom had taken pictures of her and convinced her to go to the police. That night, violence had exposed itself to us and we were left shocked by what we'd seen. In our young minds, Willie Bush meant pain and fear. And there he was at our front door.

My little brother started crying instantly. I'm sure he suddenly saw images of her being beaten and kicked. I know I was seeing them. My little sister probably had no idea what was going on, but seeing my little brother crying set her off, too. My mother was all the parent that we had at the time and she and I were very close. I wanted to be there for her, but I was scared to death.

Her reaction stunned me. All I could do was watch her. She was very calm, which was the complete opposite of what I was feeling inside. I wanted to tell her to close the door and lock it, but I was frozen solid and couldn't do anything but watch. I remember him saying, “I just wanna talk to you for a minute” or something to that effect.

The cereal that I'd eaten that morning threatened to return when I saw he was a holding an ugly looking gun down by his side. My mom noticed it too, and spoke to him calmly. Somehow, she maneuvered Willie back down the porch and across the yard to the old LeSabre that she drove us around in. Fear finally got the best of me, and I burst out crying, too. Now there we all were, crying and snotting, looking out the front window at a sight we had never imagined we'd be seeing.

I knew why my mother had gone to the car. First of all, it was probably to get him away from us, but more importantly, my mom always kept a long, sharp knife underneath the floor paneling in the car. The knowledge of this gave me some hope, but not much against Willie. We knew him to be a maniac who could do terrible things.

Though I was feeling intense fear and worry for my mom, I did think enough to call 911 and blubber through my tears that my mom was in danger. I will never forget this image: my little brother, my little sister and me all straddled on the back of the couch, looking through the window, crying ferociously, and my mother sitting in the driver's side of the car, one leg in and one leg out with the door open and Willie standing above her. Although they seemed to be talking calmly, the menace emanating from Willie was evident. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, but I knew if he didn't get it, we would probably be crying for a long time to come.

I don't know how it happened exactly or how much time had passed, but before long a blessed police cruiser pulled up through the dirt lane and parked behind my mother's car. I had never been so happy to see the police. They both turned in the direction of the car at the same time and Willie said something to my mom and took off, running like his feet were on fire. I will never forget how we cried and hugged our mother that day. That house and True Lane will always remind me of the day my mom escaped Willie Bush.