Open Writing

We were still living on the Courtney's Place when P.G. and Mama quit the sawmill and began working for Cordelia Lewis, who owned the bar in Weed. She hired them to build a laundry. The downside to their working for Cordelia was that when they collected their pay at the end of the week, they were inclined to stay at the bar and drink. The hours of waiting for them to come home were excruciating.
One Saturday, P.G.'s brother Darrel, dropped by our house to visit. My sisters and I had waited eagerly all morning for our folks to come home so we could all be together. When Darrel showed up, they still had not come with their pay.

Darrel seemed irritated at our being left alone again. "Bertie, get Phyllis and Reita ready and I'll take you all to Weed." Darrel, like the rest of P.G's family, was fond of me and I was grateful to him for singling me out because I was feeling neglected and unappreciated. I did the best I could to make us presentable. I put Phyllis's hair in pigtails and used plenty of bobby pins to secure the front of her hair in pin curls. Reita's hair was too short for styling. I dressed them in the only clothes that were clean—jeans for Phyllis and a dress for Reita. Although Phyllis didn't have a blouse, I was proud of the fact that both girls wore shoes.

Darrel loaded us in his pickup and drove to Weed. Somebody at Cordelia's bar took a snapshot of us as we sat on the steps in front of a storage building next door. Years later, when Mama sent me the snapshot, the words she wrote deeply saddened me. "Bertie, here is that picture you asked for. You can keep it. I don't need to look at it anymore. I have all the bad memories from that time that I can stand."