Looking for Thelma

There you are, your hand on the doorknob about to leave home. Maybe you turn around and say, “Goodbye, Ma. I’ll give you a call when I get settled.” Maybe she gives you a hug, kisses you on the cheek. Maybe one or both of you are trying not to cry. Or maybe you don’t try and tear up. That’s how it should be.

But what if your ma leaves you? Just doesn’t show up, and there you are, wondering what the fuck happened? Where the fuck is she? But it’s 1957, and you’re only seven years old so you don’t have access to the word Fuck. Not yet. But you’d yell it over and over if you knew the word, because it’s fucked up, and it will fuck you up for, well, as long as you live. Here’s what you remember….

$10