At full noon, even for a kid with a tolerance, the sun could be hard to take. So I'd climbed up on Mr. Temple's old corrugated, tin-sided, shed. Nobody could see me up under the hidden canopy of Mrs. Temple's prize Catalpa tree, which both shaded the tar-papered roof and provided shelter where I could look out undetected, or undisturbed, by the other kids who shared the neighborhood... most especially my brother, Bob.

Mrs. Temple loved flowers, so I bet it was for the fat, creamy, purple throated blossoms, that they had the Catalpa... not because of the worms. Catalpa worms make good fishing bait, but I don't recall Mr. Temple being the fishing sort. Shorter than Mrs. Temple by a good head, he was so skinny, if a big catfish ever took his line, he'd have either had to learn to water ski real fast or pray the line didn't get tangled around his bony wrist.

I had to be real careful up there on the roof, cause even in the shade, the heat could cause tar to ooze out and Mama would take a switch to my behind, if I came home with ruined clothes. The trick was to pull my skirt up so my slip and panties protected the material of my dress. Made having the thick leaves even more important to hide behind.

I'd have preferred wearing shorts, but, in that era, being a girl, Mama dressed me in ruffles and big bowtied sashes. Dressed me up frilly, even if it wasn't a school day, or even Sunday! But, I didn't let that little detail make me a sissy. I was just as tough as any of the boys and I could hold my own in squabbles, too! My broken nose and roughed up knees attested to that fact! It was a bother having to worry about having my panties show when cart-wheeling or hanging upside-down on the trapeze bar at the playground. Oh, how I longed for shorts or jeans.

Leaning back, arms folded behind my head, I heard Mama's voice calling, "Robert Lee! Betty Ellen!"

When she used that voice, we'd best be within earshot and not wool gathering (which is a term meaning daydreaming), either. Those words ran like a mantra during my childhood and I can still hear Mama calling us.

"Robert Lee! Betty Ellen!"

Mindful of my dress, I climbed over the edge, swung my skinny legs down onto the fork of the tree branch, leaned out, got a good grip, and vaulted to the ground. The rough bark scraped off a scab, and I spit on my hand to wash off the thin trickle of blood running down my shin.

Mama made me wear white 'anklets' (that's what they called short socks), and, as usual, they'd wiggled down into the middle of my saddle oxfords, which were rubbing blisters on the unprotected skin of my heels. I could have taken the time to squeeze a finger into my shoes and pull the thin socks up where they belonged, but, why? Useless energy spent. They'd just slide down again. The laces on one shoe flopped as I trotted to the backdoor of our house. They were stained past redemption, but I hardly noticed.

No fence separated the 'yard' between the shed and home. A rutted track served that purpose and as an alleyway. The patchy ground of both backyards were covered helter skelter with scattered clumps of drying Bermuda grass. Actually, it was mostly hard packed dirt...but, it was clean. People of quality could be poor. Wasn't a thing wrong with that, but, they could never be messy -- or without access to soap to keep bodies clean, either.

Lawn mowers weren't all that common then and the man of the house was usually too busy earning a living -- from sun up to sun down, to waste earning time on mowing grass. That was something the better off could have, not the regular folks like us. I think grass that's tall enough to have gone to seed is actually quite pretty, when you get right down to it. Then, there's the fact you can pull great long bunches of it and make wreaths to hold back flyaway hair, or weave small mats... and if you're really talented, you can even make sweet smelling baskets with it... add a few wild aster's or blue bonnets, and hang them on the neighbor's doors on May Day.

Mama, dark hair permanented into a fluff down to her shoulders, was dressed in a loosely fitted, cotton summer dress, with short, loose, unbanded sleeves -- butterfly wings at her shoulders. The dress fell from a high scooped neck, hugging her slender form, like the figures of my paper dolls...curvy but with some hard angles. Mama stood at the kitchen door, screen held open, waiting for us as we arrived breathless.

Bob and I took surreptitious note of the direction the other had come from, so we could later find the other's 'secret' place. Our eyes held challenge and almost wicked grins covered our mouths. Smirks, Mama called them.

Mama wasn't smiling. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she'd been crying. That upset us. Wiped the smirks right off our mouths. Seeing Daddy standing slump shouldered at the kitchen table shocked us almost as bad. Daddy was never at home in the middle of the day!

Bob and I glanced at each other, confused. Moved closer together till our arms were touching.

Mama knelt down to our level, told us, or rather, she blurted it out, "Your Daddy and I are getting a divorce. You have to make up your minds who you want to live with."

Just out of the blue like that... no lead in, nothing!

My mind went blank. I didn't understand, but my brother, Bob, being older by two years -- almost, asked, "You mean you aren't going to be our Mama and Daddy anymore?"

"No," Daddy said, "It means that your Mama wants to move up to the Panhandle where your Grandma and Grandpa live. I'm gonna stay here. We'll always be your Mama and Papa."

That was another thing, Daddy preferred we'd call him Papa, like he called his dad, but we never called him anything but Daddy.

"But, why can't we all move?" Neither of us had ever known a divorced family. I'm not sure either of us knew exactly what it meant... I know I didn't.

"Your Mama doesn't want to be my wife any longer. Divorce means that she and I won't be living in the same house. You kids can say who you want to stay with. We won't force you either way."

"I want to live with you both," Bob said, his lower lip beginning to tremble, even if he was ten and past sniffling. He never cried when Mama or Daddy switched him. His lack of control, at the present moment, scared me more than Mama's words had.

Tears streaming down my face, I knew there was no decision for me. Where Mama was, that's the only place I'd ever felt safe.

Our eyes met, Daddy's and mine. Him staring down at me clinging to Mama's skirts, "I can't take this, Eunice. You deal with them. You're the one wants to tear apart our family. You explain it to them."

Mama's eyes flashed with anger, "Yes. That's right, Leon! Put it on my plate. Everything's always my fault. I always have to 'deal' with the kids... anytime it's something that will upset them. Daddy is the great parent. Daddy reads stories and brings home treats. Mama has to deliver the bad news and give the discipline!"

"Please, don't fight," I begged, "I think you're the bestest Mama in town."

His eyes threatening to spill over, Daddy swung me up for a hug. For the first time in my life, I turned away from his kiss, squirmed out of his embrace. My little body shook with an anger that mirrored Mama's. How could he allow this to happen? What had he done that was so bad Mama had to leave him?

One fact alone sustained me, whatever happened, I'd be with Mama. She would never desert me.

A little bit after Daddy left, Mama's married sister, Ruby, arrived in her 1949 Ford coupe. She and Uncle Lloyd were proud the day they bought it and brought it over for us to ooh and ahh over, so I knew it was a 1949 Ford coupe, only a year old, "Practically new," Ruby had said, her voice sounding awed.

They loaded two cardboard suitcases and a box tied up with twine into the backseat.

"You sure this is all you need till Lloyd and I come up to the Panhandle in August? We could still stop at my house and get a few more of your things."

Without us knowing, Mama had squirreled most of her keepsakes over to my aunt's house, _Just in case._ She could have done it easy, our not knowing, cause when did we ever notice what the grownups were doing?

"No. I won't have anyplace to put them. It'll take me and Robert Lee both just to handle what we have. They'll be fine stored in your shed till August. Leon's promised to bring up some of the heavier furniture in the fall. I ought to have a place to stay by then."

Bob and I were arranged in the spaces in between the boxes on the back seat, and, with no time to scramble around them for a last look at home, we drove to the bus station. All the way there, I was wondering where we'd be living, if Mama wouldn't have a place to stay till fall. But, mixed in with this, a tingling was beginning to hum up my spine.

I was almost nine, but I'd never been to the bus station, nor, known anyone who'd traveled on a bus. Our family breaking up faded into the back of my mind, almost forgotten, as we began this great adventure. Riding on a big, Greyhound bus to another part of the state. It sounds a little callous in hindsight, but, Bob and I both did forget we were leaving Daddy behind. I guess it hadn't sunk in yet, that we'd never live with him again.

We were the only ones from Nocona taking the bus, but several people milled around on the raised, wooden sidewalk in front of the drugstore that served as the depot. I was disappointed. When Mama and Aunt Ruby said bus station, I'd imagined something else entirely. I mean, I'd been to the drugstore a million and one times.

Knelt down on the boardwalk, I was poking to see what the bit of shine was in the cracks between the planks. Mama grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me up, "There you go, getting your knees all dirty! What am I gonna do with her, Ruby? She's such a tom-boy!" All for a dumb gum wrapper! I kicked out at the stupid piece of paper and scuffed the shoe polish off the toe of my oxford.

Mama sighed, "Oh, Lawd! Can't you be still a minute?" She squatted down, wet a tissue off the tip of her tongue and rubbed away at my sins.

It took us six hours to reach Amarillo, where we had to switch buses to get to Hereford. Six hours of having to be still, not make any noise, holding back having to pee. We were tired, to say the least. All our enthusiasm for buses evaporated right along with our sweat in the dusty, cramped quarters of the bus, that shrunk smaller and smaller the farther we traveled.

In Amarillo, the bus depot and the train depot shared the same lot. We saw the passenger trains arriving across the tracks separating the two buildings and begged to continue the trip via the rails. The adventure came alive again. Why, the trains even had restrooms, so we didn't have to go hours in misery holding back till the bus got to the next stop.

I had no burden to carry, the way Mama and Bob did, but the rust powdered rails and splintered cross timbers laid in black gravel tripped me up time and again as we made our way between the two stations. The heat rose off the tracks with a metallic smell like it was mixed in with diesel. Made our eyes water, even if we held our breaths.

Mama cashed in the bus tickets and used all the extra cash she had on her to purchase the train tickets. This left no money for supper. When we began to complain of hunger, she burst into tears.

A man, dressed in a striped suit, came over, knelt in front of her, "Ma'am?"

When she didn't respond, he patted her bent shoulder, then turning to us kids, he held out a one dollar bill, "You kids go over to the concession stand and get yourselves a treat."

Whooping with glee at having a whole dollar to spend, we were running already, when Mama's voice brought us up short, "Robert Lee! Betty Ellen!"

We turned around. Not allowed to take gifts from strangers, we expected to have to give back the money. Mama, chin held high, cheeks glistening in the late afternoon light shining in on her from big, plate glass windows, said, "Thank the nice man, and mind you get something healthy. No sweets!"

Abashed, we bobbed our heads, mumbled "Thank you," to the man who still knelt at Mama's feet, his hand resting on her knee like an old friend.

We got back, just as the 'nice man' was walking away. Mama smiled at us, reached out a hand to touch the wrist of the hand where I clutched my supper, "Well, I guess a hot-dog could be considered healthy food. When you compare it with a big old mushy Hershey's Bar."

We were surprised to find her in such an improved mood. Being kids, we didn't question it, though I thought it was because the 'nice man' had given her a present.

"What's in the pretty box?" I asked, fingering the dark purple velvet. A small, roll brimmed, straw hat, trimmed with a spray of tiny, creamy, silk flowers and long, black, ribbon streamers sat on top.

Mama lifted the lid, held it forward, so I could see the bottle resting in it's satin lined case. "A bottle of real perfume. See? It says Shalimar. Really expensive."

"Why did that man give you a bottle of perfume, Mama?"

"He bought it for his sweetheart, but she ran off. He had no one else to give it too, dear. He said he was just gonna toss it in the trash, till he saw a damsel in distress."

I looked around the waiting room, "What damsel, Mama?" I saw no beautiful young princess, head covered with one of those funny looking, scarf streaming, conical hats I'd seen in the books of fairy tales Daddy read to me at bedtime.

"Why, me, silly!"

I looked at her, really, really hard. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I saw how beautiful my mama was. Why, put one of those pointy hats on her and she'd be prettier than any of those damsels in the book. I didn't say anything stupid, like, "You're no damsel in distress," cause, you know, I realized she actually was.

Prior to that day, I'd paid little attention to the goings on of the adults around me. Never even remembered their conversations, unless it had something to do with me. Words in one ear and out the other. My life just a long series of jumbled events. Small scenes played out on a tiny stage. I guess you could say I'd not been aware of anything outside the perimeter of my own freckle spotted nose.

I climbed up onto Mama's lap, snuggled close. "You deserve fancy bottles of perfumes, Mama. You're the prettiest damsel on Earth."

My brother saw it a lot different. "I don't think it's right for you to accept things from a stranger, Mama. If anybodys gonna give you perfume, it oughtta be Daddy!"

"Seems you enjoyed that hot-dog the stranger gave you money for. Did your Daddy ever in his life get you a hot-dog?" She asked, her voice rising.

"Don't you go saying anything bad about Daddy," Bob said, reminding me it wasn't Daddy who had us miles from a home we might never see again. But, it wasn't missing home that had me crying again. I realized, if I didn't see home again, I'd never see my horse, Printer, again either!

Up until the year before, we'd lived out in the country. The 'Old Wall Place." Daddy rented the farm, the home place of the family who lived up the road from us about a mile away. They had a newer house, but it wasn't as pretty as the one 'Old Man Wall' had built when he settled the property.

At one time, a deep, high porch wrapped around the house on three sides. The rear portion screened in, so's we could sleep out there on hot nights without being pestered to death by mosquitoes. The long skinny side porch had long ago been walled it to make a parlor where Mama and Daddy held dances.

They'd invite everybody in the county, seemed like. There'd be tin washtubs full of punch, with a big oldblock of ice sitting right in the middle to keep it cold. Orval Wall would come with his fiddle and anyone else who could play an instrument would be there.

No matter how many times Mr. Orval played his fiddle in that long skinny room, why first thing, I'd be standing there under that fiddle, looking up and asking, "Can you play _Under the Double Eagle_, Mr. Orval?" and no matter how many times I asked it, Mr. Orval'd say, "Not sure I know that'un, Betty Ellen. Can you hum a bit, so's I can get the tune?"

Everybody in earshot'd start snickering like it was the first time they'd ever heard the interchange. Treated Mr. Orval like our beloved county wit, stomping feet, slapping thighs, nudging the closest neighbor in the ribs, giggling behind raised hands so's no one could see missing teeth.

But it was fun, living out there, having parties, moving all the furniture out of the way, scattering saw dust on the floor to make dancing easy and not scuff up the wood's finish.

None of us wanted to leave that house, move to the dinky little 3 room house in town, but Daddy wanted to start a new business. Something to do with a truck. I know, because they had a big fight about him buying the truck, and, about moving to town.

He'd sold my Pinto mare to help with the expense, and to appease me, bought the yearling colt, whom I'd named Printer, because he was smudged with inky black on his mostly dark brown hide.

Our house in town had a fenced lot along the side, with a shed to hold hay, where we could keep a horse, and just recently, Printer'd grown big enough for me to ride. Now, I knew Daddy would be selling _my_ horse... another reason for me to... to... dislike him! For all that I was furious that he'd done something so horrible to make Mama take us away from home, I couldn't bring myself to actually hate him. But, if he sold my horse, my Printer, I'd never speak to him again! That was a promise!

Like I said, it wouldn't be the first time Daddy'd broke my heart selling a beloved pet. The mare Printer replaced, Tinker, had been a gift to make me stop crying for Major... and Annie... as if anything could.

Major was a Belgian draft horse, though he probably wasn't pure. Daddy would have been lucky to afford a blooded horse during the war. No, Major was just a big blond beauty, whose pedigree was all in his heart. I think Daddy traded two cows for the horse back at the beginning of the war.

My uncles and Daddy's first cousins were off in Europe fighting the Third Reich. Two of them were with the 5th army under Patton. Daddy was the tallest and strongest of them all. It galled him that the war department classified him as 4f cause he ran a dairy farm. They said he was needed to feed the troops.

Besides producing milk for the war effort, Daddy bought green horses and gentle broke them. Green means they've never been ridden and broke means they are taught to allow people to ride them. Gentle broke is just what it says. They are taught with love, never force.

I've always believed he bought Major to prove his manhood, cause that horse was the biggest animal in the whole county. But, he couldn't have bought Major for ego alone. We didn't have the money to do something wasteful like that. Daddy did need a big horse for the heavy work on the farm. We raised all the feed for our cows, as well as for the neighboring farms. Gas was rationed during the war. Most small farmers let their tractors sit, if they owned one, and went back to farming with horse labor.

I was just a baby when Daddy brought the big palomino stallion home. I don't remember any of it. I just know that Major was always a part of my world. Daddy said he knew I was gonna be good with horses when he found me in Major's pen, sitting upon his broad back. I was two at the time. Daddy said I'd probably crawled up there while Major was lying on the ground and that it was amazing I hadn't fallen when he got up. My earliest memory is of the aroma of warm horses and fresh hay. A slight whiff today can send me into a tailspin of homesickness.

Horses sometimes adopt mascots and I guess he adopted me. He was as careful of my safety as any parent. His back was wide. I could lie crosswise and not come near the edges. You can imagine how carefully he had to walk to maintain my balance, there was only his silvery white mane to hold onto. Once, my brother made him jump while I was on top and losing my balance, I fell right under Major's feet. I do remember that great hoof coming down at my face, remember it quite distinctly. Frozen with fear -- Mama screaming in the background. Major stopped in mid stride, his hoof inches from my face, turned around and nosed me to get up. The hairs on his soft, rubbery, pink splashed, blue-gray muzzle tickled me. His warm moist breath smelt of new mown hay. At the time, I was sure I heard him ask if I was hurt.

One morning, when I was 5, I skipped out to the barnyard to play and found daddy and another man leaning over a stall door, just inside the barn. I ran over to see what was so exciting. Our brown mare was standing in there. I'd never paid her much mind. She wasn't as exciting as Major and never paid any attention to me, so, why should I be expected to pay any back? But that day, beside her was a wobbly, long legged filly colt, with wet yellow hair, a miniature Major.

When she was born it was the wonder of the world and I loved her because she was Major's child. Every morning I rushed to the barn to spend the day with her. Daddy said Major called to me, but I was deaf to all save Annie.

Several days went by. One afternoon, I fell asleep on a bale of hay in the stall. When I woke, I was in bed with a high fever. Each time I regained consciousness, Daddy was there beside me. His tears confused me, but I was too tired to question. The doctor said I had rheumatic fever, an off shoot from strep throat.

It was a slow recovery. By the time I was sitting up in bed, drinking my iced tea through an onion leaf straw, I was begging to see Annie. From my bed I could see Major standing in his pen keeping watch of my window. Seeing him there with his chin resting on the corral fence made my longing for Annie even worse.

The doctor finally said I was well enough to get up. While Mama and Daddy walked him to his car, I skipped out the back for the barn. Major whinnied and trotted along the fence beside me as I hurried towards the horse stall.

Inside, the barn was in deep shadow except for filtered rays of sunlight shining through the cracks in the siding. Dust motes danced, golden, in the strips of light. Magical, that's what barns were. When Daddy read me fairy tales, I always imagined them in barn settings.

Annie's stall door was half opened. Outside, Majors excited stomping and intermittent snorts were the only sounds to disturb the silence. The hair on the back of my neck moved on its own. Holding my breath, I eased nearer. Something wasn't right.

There was a strange smell, like honeysuckle, rotting on a hot thick summer's night. Daddy reached me before I made it all the way to the empty stall. He carried me back to the house, me kicking and crying, "Annie!"

The shock of her passing ... daddy said we both had a strep sickness ... put me back in bed for a few more days. When staring at the ceiling became too boring, I'd roll my head over to look out the window. Major was always at his post. The second day I called for daddy, asked him to put Major somewhere else.

When Annie was born, it was the wonder of the world, and I loved her. When she died I couldn't look at him, she had been his child.

Mama's baby sister, Ruthie met us at the train station. It had been hours since we'd eaten those hot-dogs, so both Bob and I were fussy, sniffling that we were starving to death.

Time was, my Auntie Ruthie took me everywhere with her. Of course that was back when I was just a kid. Now that I was almost nine, she didn’t think I was so adorable.

Actually, I think it started the last year, back when Mama and Daddy still seemed happy together. Ruthie took to spending Saturday nights with us. That was better than going home and having old Bill get onto her. Bill was her and Ruby's Dad. Mama's stepdad.

Ruthie’d tell Grandma she was going to a local dance, then she and her friends would take off to Lord knows where to hear Bob Wells and his band play. She’d come knocking at our door long after midnight, climb into my bed and try to sleep til noon.

I didn’t hardly ever let her do that. I’d wake up, find myself about to fall off the bed, quilt rolled round her and me lying there freezing half to death. So, I’d just slide on off that bed, real quiet like, tiptoe over to the door, then with a wild Chickasaw battle yell, dash, leap, and land smack dab on top of her.

"E-u-n-i-c-e! Get in here and get this brat off me!" She’d scream out between sputters. Course, she couldn’t do me harm, what with her arms beneath the covers, wrapped up all snug, in MY quilt!

Once out of the quilt, Ruthie’d kneel there on the bed, poised to grab me if I got too close. I’d circle one way, then the other, round that high old bed, testing her.

"I’m gonna skin you..." she’d snarl at me.

"Ma-ma! Ruthie’s gonna skin me!" I’d yell, just like I was scared she might.

Mama would walk into the room, drying her hands on a homemade apron. "You two better get on up. You both done slept too late!"

Ruthie worked as a waitress in the only cafe in Hereford. Before taking us 'home,' she stopped at the cafe to feed us. Everyone there fussed over us, making a big 'to-do' about my long blond ringlets. I didn't like having all those strangers touching my hair, patting my cheek, oohing and ahhing about how 'cute' I was.

They'd never seen my cousin Paula Jean. I couldn't hold a candle to her in the 'cuteness' department. My hair had a lot more curl to it than her's did, but that only meant that stray strands of hair looped out in tight curls from the ringlets Mama made by brushing my hair around her fingers. On Paula Jean's ribbon adorned head, every hair stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. My hair was in the process of changing from white blond to a duller ashy blond. Paula Jean's hair was as yellow as fresh butter.

Large, double fringed, bright blue eyes and a dimple in her pink cheek shamed my freckle covered nose, brown hazel eyes that weren't brown, or green, or blue tinged... just some muddy color in between. Much too large for my face. Making me look startled most of the time.

I was rail thin skinny, too. Paula had dimples at her elbows and knees, a regular plump little beauty, the way young girls were supposed to look. Her knees were never scabbed over... mine were never without more than a few scabs here and there.

So them saying I was 'cute' told me they were lying to make me feel better.

I was asleep, if we were served dessert, and I missed seeing the place where Ruthie lived that night. I didn't wake up until the next morning, to find us alone with Ruthie. The cafe had hired Mama the night before and she was off working her first shift.

Aunt Ruthie lived in a duplex apartment. A duplex means there are two apartments under one roof. From the front it looked like any ordinary house, except, it had two front doors.

Back home, the only house we'd lived in that had indoor plumbing was the one we'd just left. That one had one long bathroom. A lavatory at one end, a toilet in the center and a shower at the other end, no bathtub. There was a drain hole in the middle of the sloped concrete floor and a showerhead at the end wall constituted the shower. When we showered, the whole room would get wet, but the water would drain out through the grill over the hole in the floor.

Ruthie's bathroom was the first modern bathroom I'd ever seen, let alone used. It had a big, deep tub, with a showerhead and a plastic curtain to keep the water from spraying out all over the room. The floor was covered with a fluffy hooked rug done in pink roses, but we were never to step on it with wet feet.

'Our' kitchen had barely been big enough for Mama to cook, when we all sat at the table. Here, in the duplex, the kitchen was as big and airy as the one at the farm.

Bob and I slept together on the couch. It pulled out to make a bed. Mama slept with Ruthie in the one bedroom. A small back porch, shared with the other apartment, led off the kitchen door to a fenced-in yard with a carpet of thick green grass. Trash cans took up most of the floor space on the porch, with blue flies buzzing around in the heat of the day.

The yard stayed in shade all afternoon from two big trees in the neighbor's yard. Orange and yellow flowered lantanas hugged the foundation in back, mixed in with sweet smelling spearmint.

I didn't like to play back there, though, because the man in the other apartment was always barbecuing, or mowing the grass, or fussing with the plants. It felt awkward to have a stranger in what should have been 'our' space.

We hadn't even had a chance to settle in, when Daddy showed up in his scarred old dark blue Ford pickup. I remember what he was driving, because it looked so country beside the waxed and polished sedans in the other driveways.

Daddy looked country, too. His blue plaid shirt, faded denims and scuffed boots branded him as a cowboy. The line between city and country was more marked back in 1950. People hadn't yet begun to wear denims--jeans, as a fashion statement. When anyone from the city did wear denims, they had to be dark blue, starched and creased, to show they were brand new. You knew when they'd just been bought, cause the pants legs would be turned up at the bottoms. Denims shrunk up, not sideways, so people didn't cut off the bottoms to hem to size until they'd been washed.

Mama was at work when Daddy came to see us. He said he couldn't take being separated from us kids. It was all very emotional. Bob clinging to Daddy's pantleg, me pouting in the corner, Ruth telling him he shouldn't just pop in like he'd done.

Mama took off from her job, arrived at the apartment looking all flushed, like she'd been ironing all day in the middle of July.

I hid out, ran out the front door and down to the park. Because I was gone, I missed saying good-bye to Bob, who'd decided to desert me, too. Mama later said Daddy bribed him with the promise of a pair of Nocona Cowboy Boots, but I knew Bob wouldn't do that, go home for something that silly. He missed his friends, and him being a boy, needed his Daddy the way I needed Mama. He and Daddy were gone when I came home. Only Mama was there. Ruthie had gone to the cafe to work the night shift.

I found Mama sitting at the kitchen table. A wad of Kleenex crumpled in one hand. Her hair was loose, falling in a silk curtain all the way down to her elbow resting on the table. She was leaning her head into her hand.

She looked up at me coming into the room and it was obvious she'd spent all her tears. Her wide eyes had a glassy look, like she was coming down with cold or something.

Without asking permission, I scampered up, pushing her back so I could get between her and the table and climb up into her lap.

"Good gracious, Betty Ellen. You're getting so big, you barely fit anymore."

She was right. I'd already noticed. My legs dangled down off her lap. No matter how I twisted, I couldn't draw them up against me. Her lap was just too small. I even had to scrunch down to rest my cheek against her shoulder.

For some reason, the idea I'd grown too big set me off and I blubbered like a baby. It wasn't because Bob had gone off and deserted me.

Mama hugged me tight, kissed the top of my head, but it wasn't my name she whispered with such longing.

Her whispering Bob's name didn't fill me with jealousy. I was missing him, too.

Mama and Ruthie both worked the morning I had to register at the new school. Ruthie drew me a simple map showing which streets to take so I wouldn't get lost.

Misjudging how long it would take me to walk there, I arrived late. Back home, in Nocona, wouldn't take 15 minutes to walk all the way across town, but, even if there was only one cafe downtown, Hereford had about 10 times as many people living in it than Nocona. The school was way over on the edge of town from where we lived. A good three miles away. Plus, once, I'd turned left when the arrow on the map showed right, though that only wasted ten or fifteen minutes, to get my directions straightened out.

My new, first period, classmates were in the middle of a math test. The teacher, Mrs. Welch, held her finger to her lips, nodded her head towards the nearest empty seat, handed me a test paper and a pencil.

I knew how to add and subtract... even knew some of my times table, but I hadn't a clue what all these problems meant with numbers under little open ended sheds.

It felt like I was going to wet my pants any minute, so I held up my hand. The teacher glared at me over the rims of her glasses. I crossed my legs as tight as I could get them and prayed for deliverance.

Since I had no idea what we were supposed to do on the test, I concentrated on keeping the floor dry beneath my seat.

The girl in front of me kept moving side to side. Finally, I looked up to see what she was doing and saw that she was scrunched sideways so I could see her test paper. I got the idea very fast and quickly began to scribble all the answers down. The bell rang just as I was almost to the end. 'Darn!' I thought, unremorseful, 'Almost made it."

I'd never cheated before and I did feel guilty about it -- after the fact. It was just that so many other things had gone wrong, and then to find this school teaching subjects that looked like Greek to me... I mean, you'd think all schools in the good old US of A would have the same textbooks!

When the recess bell rang, everyone filed past the teacher's desk, laid their test papers neatly in a stack at the corner, then moved out to the playground.

The playground was just a big dirt field lined with dusty oak trees. A baseball diamond took up most of it. I walked over to the nearest shade, watching the kids group together to start a game. The girl who'd let me copy her test walked up to me, "Hi. I'm Pat."

"Gee, thanks for letting me see your test paper in there. What was that stuff, anyway?"

"Division. Hasn't your old school gotten to that yet?"

"Nah. We were learning our times tables."

"Oh, we learned those at the beginning of the year. You're behind."

"It's only a few weeks until the end of the term. I wish I'd just stayed home until the summer's over."

"You'd a done that, you'd be kept back a year."

"That's what Mama and Aunt Ruthie said, but if I can't do the class work, looks like I'll have to repeat the 3rd grade anyways."

"Your Mama that woman getting a divorce?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Everybody in town is talking about it."
"They should all mind their own business."

"That's what my Mama says. But Daddy said,_How'd you expect to keep them quiet about it, when it's the first exciting thing to happen since Carl Ray Higgens cut off a foot in the hay baler?_"

"Gosh. That's really bad. He have to walk with a cane?"

"Well, what'd you expect? Walk on his stump?"

"Seems that'd be more interesting for folks to talk about than my family."

"Well, they don't seem to be talking about your family so much as your lack of one. People have to have a mama and a papa to have a family."

"If that's so, then you mean if one or the other dies, or gets killed, then they don't leave a family behind?"

Pat chewed on her bottom lip for awhile before she answered, "Well, maybe it's like they say at Sunday school. When somebody dies, they go up to heaven, but they can look down and help take care of those they left behind. So, seems to me, they'd still be two parents... a family."

"But, I've still got two parents, and, they're both alive."

"But, only one of them can know what you're up to, or take care of you. Been better if one of them had died."

I went home, depressed, to a silent house. Nobody home from work. My breakfast dishes still sat on the table. In all my memory, a dish in our house stayed 'soiled' only as long as someone was eating from it. It was the family joke. If you sat your glass down, don't turn your back, cause Mama would have it washed, dried and racked before you could turn around.

There'd always been someone at home, too. It felt like I was the only person on earth, until I heard the baby next door let out a wail.

The daddy must have got off work early, because, next, I heard his voice, loud and angry sounding, but the only words I could make out clear were 'shut up.' I guessed he wanted the Mama to feed the baby and make it be quiet. Instead, seemed the baby's cries got louder. Then there was a crashing sound, like something big, like a lamp, fell on the floor. The Mama's sobs joined in with those of the baby.

I could have gone on outside. The noise was making my insides feel all cold and hollow, but I couldn't get my feet to move. I stood frozen in time, until the sound of their front door slamming shut, thawed me out enough to stumble into the living room and bury my face in the big, cross-stitched pillows scattered over the couch.

It wasn't fair. Why had life turned upside down? I didn't know how to live this way. I wanted to go home. I wanted to open my eyes, see Mama's red Hawaiian print curtains flapping in the breeze of the open window, hear Printer whinny outside, grab a fragrant raisin bun as I passed through the kitchen. Wanted to run out, slip the rope halter over his nose, climb up on the fence, jump on his back and find none of this was real... just a bad dream.