Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.1
Itís about my problem.
Wednesday, October 28, 1953
My mamaís in jail. It ainít right. Leastwise, I donít think so. Them folks that put her there just donít understand our family. My
mamaís the best mama in the whole wide world. Everbody used to say so afore the awful stuff happened. Even Uncle William. And he donít
say much nice about nobody.
I got to get her out. But how? Even when theyís wrong, once grown-ups make up their minds about something,
a kid like me donít stand much of a chance of changing it. Poor Mama. I know she hates being caged up like a rabbit, and itís all
I feel like my heart done shattered in tiny pieces, like Granís vase that me and BJ broke playing tag one time. And I ainít
got nobody to help me put them pieces back together.
Thatís why I stopped by the company store after school yesterday and bought me
the biggest spiral notebook they had. Maybe writing everthing down will help me sort it all out.
ďLydia, when you came to be, you was
my only star in a dark, dark sky,Ē Mama always said. When I lived in Paradise, Mama and Gran always made me and BJ both feel like
we was right special to them.
But sometimes a body can feel all alone, even when other people live in the same house. Thatís how I
feel living with Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae here in Confidence, West Virginia. They be nice enough people, but they ainít got
nary a clue about what to do with me.
The bad stuff commenced like this . . . .
Sometimes, for the pacing of a story, scenes have to be cut. I decided to share a few of them with you