There are days my friend, with the wrinkled brow, sits with me and tells me her story.
The one she tells me today goes something like this: I’m a forty-year old woman. I have eight children; where they are I do not know. I live my life on the street; it is safer than going home to him. When I do go home, grandmother tries to shield me in her loving arms from the terrors of the night. I cry – my belly is so empty -but no one seems to hear. I drain the water and drinks from the glasses left by others- I am so parched. Can no one see me? Does anyone know my name?
I was tired of the abuse so one morning, after they had a long night, I escaped. I didn’t have a plan, food, or friends. I just had to leave. After days of wandering, almost giving up hope, a nice family found me starving on the side of the road.The bones protruded; I was gaunt. They took me to a shelter for the abused; they promised to help me regain my strength and find a place for me to live.
I live in a warm house now with children and a friend. I always have plenty to eat, a warm bed, and most importantly love.
My friend, Ginger, is sitting on my lap. She is looking up at me, this very moment,with her wrinkled brow. There is so much she can’t tell me- so many tales she is glad are in her past.
The theme for the week is “Wrinkle.” Go to Theme Thursday for more wrinkled stories