Broken Wings Read Free

signs.
    “I don’t see why we have to go to a place where people call people Bubba and Sissy,” I complained. Mother darling knew how much I disliked country music. I told her it was soapy and full of tears.
    “I told you—it’s where you have to go to make it in country music,” she said.
    “Country music. You’ve got to chew on straw and be barefoot most of the time to like it.”
    She practically pulled off the highway, jerking herself around to yell at me.
    “You’d better keep that stupid opinion to yourself when we get there, Robin. People in Nashville have been known to hang rock-and-rollers like you by their ears for less.”
    “Yeah, yeah, right,” I said.
    “I don’t see how you can afford to make fun of anyone anyway, Robin. You’re sixteen and you’ve already got a criminal record. You should be happy I’m takin‘ you to a place no one knows you. You’ll have a chance to start new, make new friends.”
    “Friends. You never liked any of my friends and probably never will, no matter where we live. In fact, you never liked anything I’ve done.”
    “What are you talking about now?”
    “When I was in that school play in seventh grade, everybody else’s mother or father was there, but not my mother darling. My mother darling was strumming a guitar in some sawdust-floor saloon instead.”
    “Damn, you never let me forget that, do you? I do the best I can, Robin. It’s not easy bein‘ a single mother, and my parents never helped us all that much. You know Grandpa took my money, even though he condemned me for the way I earned it. You know what he says, ’There’s no such thing as dirty money, only dirty people.‘ He’s been punishin’ me ever since I got pregnant with you,” she reminded me.
    “You should have run off and had an abortion. I wish I wasn’t born anyway.”
    “Yeah, right. That’s easy for you to say now. Bein‘ a girl out there alone in the world is no picnic with or without a baby, and it’s not been a picnic for me livin’ with my parents and hearin‘ Grandpa complain about you all the time, blamin’ me for every stupid thing you do.”
    “Don’t worry, Mother darling. I’m not complaining about your not leaving me back there with them. I’d probably have run off anyway.”
    “I don’t doubt it. I know I’m savin‘ your life takin’ you with me, Robin. The least you could do is be a little grateful and very cooperative. And another thing, I don’t want you callin‘ me Mother darlin’ anymore. I know you’re just bein‘ sarcastic ’cause of that book
Mommie Dearest
. Besides,” she said, “I told you how I have to present myself as bein‘ younger. From the day we get to Nashville, until I say otherwise, you’re my younger sister. Always call me Kay.”
    “That won’t be hard,” I said. “It takes more than just calling someone Mother for her to be a mother.”
    “Oh, you’re so smart.” She thought a moment. “Actually, I like that. It’s a great first line for a new song: It takes more than calling someone Mother for her to be a mother,” she sang. She looked at me. “Thanks.”
    I shook my head and stared at the floor. She turned on one of her country music stations and began to sing along. The happier she was, the angrier and more depressed I became. This wasn’t my dream life; it was hers. I was like a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of her boots. She couldn’t shake me off, and I couldn’t pull away.
    The road streamed ahead. She saw only promise and glory. I just saw a strip of highway going to nowhere, which was where I had been.
    Why did she ever name me Robin? I thought. She should have called me Canary.
    I’m just like one: trapped in a cage.
    All I had to do was tell her and she would turn it into another song.
     
2
     
     
Getting to Glory
     
    I fell asleep again, despite Mother darling’s singing. When I woke this time, I had to go to the bathroom. She moaned about it.
    “We’re almost to I-65. Can’t you