I'm a bad person. Well, I know that's not entirely true, there is some good in me, but I'm a terrible relative.
My mother got attacked. Attempted rape. In Louisiana. It was months ago now, but I just found out over Christmas.
If you've ever driven any distance on this continent, you may recall seeing rest stops. They're these places where you can pull off the highway and go pee. They usually have picnic tables, too, so you can rest and eat.
My mom's a truck driver. Yes, the big rigs. When she first got her license 7 or 8 years ago, she got a job in Ontario with her second husband, driving team. That means they both drove the same truck, together. They could get twice as many jobs done with one person asleep while the other drove. That way, as well, mommy was always safe. She's shorter than me, but a little bigger, and a lot stronger.
Then, they got on the Cher Farewell Tour. They were both on the tour, but driving different trucks. They broke up during the tour. Mom continued driving by herself, even if it wasn't for Cher anymore. That's what brought her to a rest stop in Louisiana, all by her lonesome, needing to pee.
She was grabbed from behind upon leaving the bathroom. What saved her from her attacker was the illegal weapon she was carrying. My new step-daddy was concerned about his little woman driving by herself. He gave her one of those batons that policemen use. When you snap it out, it doubles in length. While the guy was pulling on her hair and neck, she whipped the baton across his legs. He reacted, releasing her, and she beat him a little before running away.
Except for the provider of her own special Cajun hot-sauce, I was the first person she called. [We had a close relationship up until the time that she moved to Ontario and I stayed behind, fending for myself in Bedford.] That was October, I think. She called a few times. I noticed an urgency in her voice in her messages, but it wasn't enough to make me come out of my busy life and call her back. I assumed it had something to do with HER mother. That woman is drinking herself to death.
It was one of the times that my mother needed me most. I wasn't there for her. I'm never there for anyone.
My mother got attacked. Attempted rape. In Louisiana. It was months ago now, but I just found out over Christmas.
If you've ever driven any distance on this continent, you may recall seeing rest stops. They're these places where you can pull off the highway and go pee. They usually have picnic tables, too, so you can rest and eat.
My mom's a truck driver. Yes, the big rigs. When she first got her license 7 or 8 years ago, she got a job in Ontario with her second husband, driving team. That means they both drove the same truck, together. They could get twice as many jobs done with one person asleep while the other drove. That way, as well, mommy was always safe. She's shorter than me, but a little bigger, and a lot stronger.
Then, they got on the Cher Farewell Tour. They were both on the tour, but driving different trucks. They broke up during the tour. Mom continued driving by herself, even if it wasn't for Cher anymore. That's what brought her to a rest stop in Louisiana, all by her lonesome, needing to pee.
She was grabbed from behind upon leaving the bathroom. What saved her from her attacker was the illegal weapon she was carrying. My new step-daddy was concerned about his little woman driving by herself. He gave her one of those batons that policemen use. When you snap it out, it doubles in length. While the guy was pulling on her hair and neck, she whipped the baton across his legs. He reacted, releasing her, and she beat him a little before running away.
Except for the provider of her own special Cajun hot-sauce, I was the first person she called. [We had a close relationship up until the time that she moved to Ontario and I stayed behind, fending for myself in Bedford.] That was October, I think. She called a few times. I noticed an urgency in her voice in her messages, but it wasn't enough to make me come out of my busy life and call her back. I assumed it had something to do with HER mother. That woman is drinking herself to death.
It was one of the times that my mother needed me most. I wasn't there for her. I'm never there for anyone.
posted by crystal at
2:20 pm
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