Through the open door of the trailer, I can see her walking unsteadily towards the pigpens at the bottom of the hill. The recurrent rainstorms make navigating the property treacherous enough, but along the hillside, the gouges in the path become nearly impassable by the end of the rainy season.
Luckily, their feed and water are next to the shelters so she doesn’t have to add insult to injury by having to lug heavy buckets as she performs her daily tasks.
I would’ve helped her, I asked, but she waved me off. When I think on it, she’s always been that way, shrugging off anyone’s help, especially if she thinks it’s patronizing because of her age. That woman’s pride can be a real pain in the ass.
It’s her way. It’s what’s seen her through those times in her life when most would have crumbled to dust under the weight of the bad luck and tragedy she’s experienced.
Many may not sympathize much with what she’s been through. Especially nowadays, when talking about your issues only seem to invite others to try and outdo you, by telling you theirs.
Thinking back on the last several days, I wonder if that is why I’ve come here. To get away from my problems, not to talk to anyone about them because every time I try, I get a speech about how it’s not that bad, lots of people have problems – worse ones.
This morning I learned it was true. Others have been through worse. And the regret. Not in what was done, but how, and the consequences for making bad decisions that at the time you thought were good, or were in denial over the fact they weren’t.
It’s bothered her. All this time trying to push it away has worn her down. You think you’re life’s been hard? You think you have problems you can’t deal with? Not sure she meant to outdo me, but she did.
In listening to her story, told while looking out the same door I’m watching her through now, unable to make eye contact as tears formed, fell, and dried, I saw a side of her few have ever seen, or will. She made it clear that this will be the last time she ever speaks about what happened when she left home. Seventeen, deathly ill, with a newborn, and just enough money and possessions to see her until she arrived at her new life away from the domineering husband she never would have married if she’d had the choice.
I never asked her to tell me all this. I’m not the one who should be sitting here possessing a knowledge I never wanted. She told me because she knew I would listen. Sometimes it’s better to share with someone not too close to the situation, someone who doesn’t have any prior hurts to distort the words, their meanings, and intentions in order to justify long held grudges.
The one who should be here, isn’t, and will never understand why. Now the burden is mine: the one where I bear two people’s pain. One will thank me for it. The other will condemn me. My relationship with either will never be the same.
Watching her return, stopping by the runner beans to check their progress, I’m not sure what to do other than pack. It seems when the shit hits the fan, the women in my family flee, fight, or fail when dealing with it all.
Luckily, their feed and water are next to the shelters so she doesn’t have to add insult to injury by having to lug heavy buckets as she performs her daily tasks.
I would’ve helped her, I asked, but she waved me off. When I think on it, she’s always been that way, shrugging off anyone’s help, especially if she thinks it’s patronizing because of her age. That woman’s pride can be a real pain in the ass.
It’s her way. It’s what’s seen her through those times in her life when most would have crumbled to dust under the weight of the bad luck and tragedy she’s experienced.
Many may not sympathize much with what she’s been through. Especially nowadays, when talking about your issues only seem to invite others to try and outdo you, by telling you theirs.
Thinking back on the last several days, I wonder if that is why I’ve come here. To get away from my problems, not to talk to anyone about them because every time I try, I get a speech about how it’s not that bad, lots of people have problems – worse ones.
This morning I learned it was true. Others have been through worse. And the regret. Not in what was done, but how, and the consequences for making bad decisions that at the time you thought were good, or were in denial over the fact they weren’t.
It’s bothered her. All this time trying to push it away has worn her down. You think you’re life’s been hard? You think you have problems you can’t deal with? Not sure she meant to outdo me, but she did.
In listening to her story, told while looking out the same door I’m watching her through now, unable to make eye contact as tears formed, fell, and dried, I saw a side of her few have ever seen, or will. She made it clear that this will be the last time she ever speaks about what happened when she left home. Seventeen, deathly ill, with a newborn, and just enough money and possessions to see her until she arrived at her new life away from the domineering husband she never would have married if she’d had the choice.
I never asked her to tell me all this. I’m not the one who should be sitting here possessing a knowledge I never wanted. She told me because she knew I would listen. Sometimes it’s better to share with someone not too close to the situation, someone who doesn’t have any prior hurts to distort the words, their meanings, and intentions in order to justify long held grudges.
The one who should be here, isn’t, and will never understand why. Now the burden is mine: the one where I bear two people’s pain. One will thank me for it. The other will condemn me. My relationship with either will never be the same.
Watching her return, stopping by the runner beans to check their progress, I’m not sure what to do other than pack. It seems when the shit hits the fan, the women in my family flee, fight, or fail when dealing with it all.
Well, I’ve done the first. I’m just not sure which of the other two I am destined for now.
© J.C. Montgomery
3 comments:
Really good story I can relate so well to right now. I think we all carry a burden of some sort with us to our graves. It's those that make us grow stronger we hang onto most definitely. Have a great day.
Thats a good story, so much said in such a short piece.
Sometimes we all need someone to listen to us or someone who wants us to listen to them. And then we always have to bear the burden of someone's pain. Amazing how we can deal with someone's pain but not with our own.
when a story makes me want to know more - want it to last longer - I know it has a spark of something good. this does.
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