(http://mobilehomeliving.org/10-great-manufactured-home-floor-plans/)
God did indeed answer my prayers. While living in Arizona I must have worn God's left ear off with all the prayers I sent him begging him to rescue me and my brothers from hunger and the cruelties of people. One night in Arizona, just a short time before my mom showed up, I prayed especially hard after my father made me go with him to his most recent girlfriend's house for dinner. I felt like a doll on display the way my dad talked to his friend about me and as she listened to him she fussed with my stringy hair. This woman talked at me, not to me. She went on and on about how she would cut my hair and scrub my face and buy me lacy dresses and nice shoes. I listened intently, not moving, barely breathing, trying to disappear but obeying the commands that I sit still and not get up. As I sat in my assigned seat my father's lady friend decided to stop touching me and began to cook hamburgers for our dinner. I was stiff as I listened to her voice. She had the voice of an agitated goat as she brayed and brayed about her cooking abilities. I was afraid to say anything about the pending meal because I hated hamburger, even in the pains of hunger, it took every ounce of strength in me to chew up and swallow hamburger. I did not like hamburger because it always had gristle in it and gristle did not feel good in my mouth. The lady eventually placed a piece of cooked, ground beef on a plate in front of me and I got a good smell of her alcohol laced breath. I then realized that this is where my father must have been staying lately. He loved to stay for long periods of time with his drinking buddies and this woman cooking hamburger was most definitely one of his drinking buddies. I felt like a trapped bird. I did not know what to do.
(Image from Google, no credit given)
As I sat almost stock still, looking at the disgusting hamburger in front of me I saw a motion outside the window next to the chair I was sitting in. Outside, I could see the younger of my brothers, waving his hands about wildly! I put my face to the window as he did and he pointed at the hamburger. I knew what he wanted, I knew he was hungry. I turned to my father as my brother ducked below view. I asked if we could take some food home to my brothers and my father snapped at me that I was being ungrateful toward his friend who cooked a burger just for me and that she did not have enough food to feed everyone. My dad then assured me that my brothers could fend for themselves. "After all", my father exclaimed with pride, "I taught you all jungle survival so you can make a meal out of anything." He spoke the truth. When my father and his friend began to smooch between their drinks making disgusting noises, I turned to the window again and saw my brother had made a little sign that said, "please, I am hungry". My heart became heavy and I slipped my burger into a napkin and wearing my invisible cloak, I walked ever so slowly toward the door. As I was about to open the door and leave, a hand reached above me, holding the door shut. I looked up into the face of a a drunk woman whose sneer made her red lipsticked lips look like twisted up carnival taffy. She ripped the meat from my hands as my father produced a pair of panties he claimed were mine and shoved them under my nose carrying me by one arm across the room. I was grilled as to why there was blood in my underwear. I had no idea what was being said or why because I was not aware of blood in my panties! I was dizzy with thinking of why my under ware were at this woman's house, why were my under ware under my nose, why was I being yelled at? I suddenly realized that the reason I was even at this lady's house was solely for the purpose of rubbing my under ware in my face.
(Photo by Maryanne Mesplé)
I had no answer to offer about my clothing. I was grilled by my father and a strange woman over and over. Their slurred words of, "why? why? why?!!" smelled of stale beer and cigarette butts. I wanted to run but I had no energy to do so. I was accused of messing my pants and then with a slap across my face by the woman, I was shoved out the door. Before the door slammed I could hear my father's smirkish words telling me to go home and bath because I was an embarrassing dirty little girl.
I stood outside the torture chamber in a daze. My brother walked up to me and hugged me and together he and I walked home. Neither of us ate dinner that evening. As I grew older, I could imagine why my under ware were soiled the way they were and the explanation is just too much to think about. That night, when I crawled into my never made bed, I recall almost yelling at God. I raised my voice to a respectable level of intensity and pleaded with God to please send his angels to rescue us! Atop of my begging pleas I made a million promises that I believed would seal the deal. I prayed and prayed and prayed. It must have been my prayers from that night that got God's attention and God got my mom's attention, and my mom began a search for me and my brothers until she found us - I imagined that that was how God worked and that was how God helped my mom find me. I was convinced, that God did indeed listen but only if you were super motivated and you prayed super hard while making a million promises of obedience. Plus God expected 100% sincerity which being scared guarantees.
(Poverty Praying Child, image from Pinterest, link to Flicker did not work)
God answered my prayers by sending my mom plus by making Mississippi our new home. I did not miss my father. I did not let myself think of him. I lived in the moment and the moments in my life were filled with amazing wonderful things and events! I eased into having planned meals without difficulty and loved every savory bite served on my plate. I discovered that the strange tall man that had been with my mom to rescue us in his brand new car was my mom's new husband. My mom was no longer a Hughes, she was now a Finley. My mom went by Ellie Finley, no more Eleanor. James a.k.a. Jim I was told was my new dad, my new step-dad. I have never figured out why we refer to our replacement parents as "step" parents but back then, in Mississippi, that thought did not keep me awake at night. In fact, my nights were filled with wonder instead of metal buttons on an old smelly mattress. I learned quickly that Jim was a fabulous cook! My new step father ran the cafeteria at Columbus Air Force Base and he always brought home sweet goodies that were left over after all the service people were fed. We ate chicken and roast and goulash and mac and cheese! We feasted on grits and eggs and bacon and hot dogs and cakes too! We even went to restaurants on occasion and right next to where my new trailer home was parked, was a motel/restaurant/gas station where my mom and Aunt T worked. I had not had the privilege of eating a grilled cheese sandwich at a restaurant counter since leaving the 331 Roadhouse. I began to believe that God was going to forgive me after all and I was excited to be alive again.
Heaven. Columbus Mississippi was Heaven.
(All stories blogged by me are my property and protected under copyright laws. No part may be used or reproduced in anyway without my permission ~ Maryanne Mesplé)
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