I apologized to Her today.
Closed my eyes and found Her at the front door.
She allowed me in willingly.  She was smiling,
yet, I know now. She really had no idea.
No idea of just how bleak the situation.

Her family was torn apart. Poor, but not as poor as  others.  Street smart, but no clue on how to be a young lady or a woman. Smart. Oh, so smart. She knew when to turn on the charm and when to keep busy.  Survival was key. She watched other mommas. She would just do what they did.

I remembered every smell, room color and contents of the house. I surprised myself. I hadn’t thought back to those days since I’d left.

Young and afraid, but who could really tell? Known as a hard worker. One who had overcome circumstances beyond her control. Just stay out of Her way.
Control. If She could control her surroundings She would survive and so would they.

I looked down into the basement. Wooden steps down to the dirt floor, the floor Dad would have gotten to eventually. For now it was a safe place to go during tornado season. The smell flooded back into my soul, as I recalled the spot I’d learned to whistle. Watched dirt flow through the slits of my fingers. The smell was oddly comforting. She smiled at me. Proud of my memory. Crowded down there but safe.

She held my hand as we made our way around the house. The place I’d left little Audrey the day I moved away.  I occurred to me I had no memory of whether or not I’d said goodbye. I just drove away in the red Granada. She was just happy to have me home again.

We looked at the framed school pictures on the wall in the living room. Big bangs, smiles and oversized sweatshirts for a football team we’d probably never see play outside of a television screen, yet somehow our devotion was strong. They were staring back at me.  She – they- tried so hard to fit in.  I watched the four of us run in a circle once again to the tune of the Duke’s of Hazzard theme song, while dad laughed.  The fastest? Oh, the competition was fierce. She giggled. We knew it was never us.

The screen door to the back porch opened as we made our way outside. I caught a glimpse of the grey paint curling and slowly peeling away from the boards used to create a floor. She looked on with regret and a bit forlorn, knowing we’d spent hours pulling it off, after mom and dad had spent so much time and money painting it on.

I told Her I was sorry for leaving her here in the house.  I hadn’t taken her somewhere to heal, to dream bigger or live fully.  I explained to Her things had changed. We were okay, and this time when I left, she would come along.  She could finally rest. I whispered how proud I was of her bravery.

She would experience joy in new places and be allowed to strive for anything.  I explained how none of this was her fault. And she wasn’t going to be clinching on to bits of normalcy any longer. I reassured Her. I combed her hair, washed her face, and finished all the laundry piling up at the back of the house. Her job was done. We were leaving. No one was staying in that grey house another day.

– 15 minutes – no editing – write it out – Set it free –