over and over.” I dug deep in my soul for a fake front of happiness; there was no room for sad emotions at that moment.
“Let me see it?” she asked.
I handed over my well-worn sheet of paper. She looked at the list and dragged her finger down each item as if mentally checking it from a mother’s point of view.
“You forgot something,” she said, with a teasing smile, her eyes lighting up.
“I did? What?” I grabbed the list and scanned it.
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she disappeared from my room.
When she returned, she had a small gift sack decorated with yellow and red three-dimensional flowers on the outside and lots of glitter that slowly descended to the floor as she touched it.
The sack itself was a beautiful gift. When I removed the red tissue, I gasped. Wrapped inside was a shiny wooden box with a scene painted on the top. It was a rendering of the bench at the creek.
I could hear Mom’s deep breathing as she took a seat beside me on my bed.
“Mom, this is beautiful. But how did you…?”
“Emily from the diner painted it. She’s been working on it for weeks.”
“It’s indescribable. I don’t know what to say—thank you.”
“Open it,” she said.
I opened the box to find a gold bracelet with one charm hanging from it lying on the emerald green velvet lining.
“It’s a Wren. Whenever you look at it, I hope you will think of home.” Her voice cracked, and she slowly took her left hand and dabbed at the tear escaping her eye.
“Mom, you promised.” I paused to hug her. “I will never forget home. I don’t need a bracelet to remind me. You’re in my heart, this place is my heritage, and I’ll make us proud. As soon as I finish school, I’m coming back here to help those who’ve always helped me—us.”
“You make me proud to be your mom.”
We had our tear fest and shared our fondest stories, which mostly pertained to the happenings of our small town. Growing up in a place the size of Hatman was a blessing and a curse. While I knew everyone and they knew me, it was hard to escape, and it didn’t prepare me for the life of moving to a much larger city like Denton, when small town life was all I’d ever known.
“Enough of this,” she said.
With a quick burst of energy, she stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s get you on the road, so you can get there before dark. I have one more thing for you downstairs.”
I followed her to the kitchen, thinking that her “last gift” was a big box of her delicious cookies made just to my liking—soft and chewy. To my surprise, she handed me yet another present.
“A cell phone? Mom, I know we can’t afford this.”
“I want you to always be able to call. It’s one of those pay-as-you-go kind, and there’re some air-time cards in there I bought with the money I made selling my cookies at Christmas. I’ll mail you some more cards as I can.”
She couldn’t hold back her tears, so she just busied herself with packing up the cookies she’d made, while I put her gifts in the passenger seat of my old, and well used, 1975 Volkswagen Beetle Convertible.
“Did you get your oil changed yesterday?”
“Yes, Mom. We’ve had this conversation and we checked the list. I gotta go. Karina is waiting on me, and I told her I would be there about six o’clock.”
“Go. Have fun. Tell Karina I’m looking forward to meeting her. In fact, call her with your new phone, so she has your number, but do it while you’re getting gas, not driving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I drove through town, I saw the façade of our community through different eyes that day. As the typical teenager, I’d grown up thinking I was a hostage, prisoner to the eyes and ears of the older generations, and I would never have an escape. However, leaving town to start my new journey, I saw opportunity. A chance to make something of myself and come back to help those who’d always been there to help me and my mom. I didn’t see myself as a
“Let me see it?” she asked.
I handed over my well-worn sheet of paper. She looked at the list and dragged her finger down each item as if mentally checking it from a mother’s point of view.
“You forgot something,” she said, with a teasing smile, her eyes lighting up.
“I did? What?” I grabbed the list and scanned it.
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she disappeared from my room.
When she returned, she had a small gift sack decorated with yellow and red three-dimensional flowers on the outside and lots of glitter that slowly descended to the floor as she touched it.
The sack itself was a beautiful gift. When I removed the red tissue, I gasped. Wrapped inside was a shiny wooden box with a scene painted on the top. It was a rendering of the bench at the creek.
I could hear Mom’s deep breathing as she took a seat beside me on my bed.
“Mom, this is beautiful. But how did you…?”
“Emily from the diner painted it. She’s been working on it for weeks.”
“It’s indescribable. I don’t know what to say—thank you.”
“Open it,” she said.
I opened the box to find a gold bracelet with one charm hanging from it lying on the emerald green velvet lining.
“It’s a Wren. Whenever you look at it, I hope you will think of home.” Her voice cracked, and she slowly took her left hand and dabbed at the tear escaping her eye.
“Mom, you promised.” I paused to hug her. “I will never forget home. I don’t need a bracelet to remind me. You’re in my heart, this place is my heritage, and I’ll make us proud. As soon as I finish school, I’m coming back here to help those who’ve always helped me—us.”
“You make me proud to be your mom.”
We had our tear fest and shared our fondest stories, which mostly pertained to the happenings of our small town. Growing up in a place the size of Hatman was a blessing and a curse. While I knew everyone and they knew me, it was hard to escape, and it didn’t prepare me for the life of moving to a much larger city like Denton, when small town life was all I’d ever known.
“Enough of this,” she said.
With a quick burst of energy, she stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s get you on the road, so you can get there before dark. I have one more thing for you downstairs.”
I followed her to the kitchen, thinking that her “last gift” was a big box of her delicious cookies made just to my liking—soft and chewy. To my surprise, she handed me yet another present.
“A cell phone? Mom, I know we can’t afford this.”
“I want you to always be able to call. It’s one of those pay-as-you-go kind, and there’re some air-time cards in there I bought with the money I made selling my cookies at Christmas. I’ll mail you some more cards as I can.”
She couldn’t hold back her tears, so she just busied herself with packing up the cookies she’d made, while I put her gifts in the passenger seat of my old, and well used, 1975 Volkswagen Beetle Convertible.
“Did you get your oil changed yesterday?”
“Yes, Mom. We’ve had this conversation and we checked the list. I gotta go. Karina is waiting on me, and I told her I would be there about six o’clock.”
“Go. Have fun. Tell Karina I’m looking forward to meeting her. In fact, call her with your new phone, so she has your number, but do it while you’re getting gas, not driving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I drove through town, I saw the façade of our community through different eyes that day. As the typical teenager, I’d grown up thinking I was a hostage, prisoner to the eyes and ears of the older generations, and I would never have an escape. However, leaving town to start my new journey, I saw opportunity. A chance to make something of myself and come back to help those who’d always been there to help me and my mom. I didn’t see myself as a
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