The View From Millwood “Accept being unimportant” –Lao Tzu “Daddy,” I asked again. “Where is Mama?” My breathin’ seemed to get shorter and a light-headed dizziness overtook my body. As soon as I had crossed the worn out threshold and heard the slammin’ of our flimsy screen door behind me, I wished I had stayed down by the river. I had walked into our sparse little dinin’ room, and knew that somethin’, or someone, was missin’. “I told you. Everythin’s fine. Mama’s gone out tonight,” my father said sternly. “Now take a seat, Marylou.” This time, my father looked me straight in the eye, piercin’ me with a powerful glare that I had never seen before. I immediately sat down in my usual seat, next to my older brother Avery. We finished dinner quickly, in silence. It seemed as though the start of what was supposed to be the perfect summer had disappeared before my eyes. At that moment, I knew for sure that this time, my mama wasn’t comin’ back. My free-spirited brother didn't seem as upset as I was. I didn't consider myself nearly as special as he was. Sure, I was a pretty 13-year old, with fair skin and thick auburn hair, but I wasn't nearly as darin' or bold as Avery. These things bothered me. As the summer of 1957 faded away and September’s autumn leaves snuck back into our lives, nearly the whole town knew that Mama had walked out on us. I had hoped and prayed that no one would find out, but people began to notice that somethin’ was up when Mama was no longer showin’ her face in the neighborhood or school meetings. In such a small town like ours, the news traveled faster than lightnin’. In no time at all, the girls at school were talkin’ all ‘bout me, seein’ as they had never been real fond of me anyhow. It especially hurt when I caught Margaret Baxter whisperin’ ‘bout me in the halls, because she was the one person in my whole class who I expected to understand. But soon the gossip began to get worse and worse. Even my favorite teacher, Mrs. Miller, began to treat me differently. I was always her best student, the one who backed her up, helped her explain complicated concepts to the other kids. But now, it seemed as though she couldn’t even bear look at me. I told myself that this was the worst of it. That it would all get better. That somethin’ else would catch the interest of the nosy girls at school, and this whole ordeal would blow over within a couple months. Boy, was I wrong. It happened during the dreaded Outdoor Exploration Week. Every year, us seventh graders were required to go on a little campin’ trip somewhere in the woods or mountains. This year, they took us to a place called the Dreary Creek. We’d all heard of the Dreary Creek, for it was always the setting of one of them scary stories we hear on Halloween or somethin’. It was supposedly haunted by the Devil himself. When we got there, I felt tired and uneasy, so I climbed into my tent and started to read a book. “Hey Marylou!” yelled Nancy, a small girl with green eyes and pretty blonde curls. “Wanna hang out with Susan and Betsey and me?” She batted her eyelashes like it was the only thing she wanted in the world.
42
