The ONLY Time My Mother

I lived in a trailer park, not proud to say, but it was somewhere my mother thought would be a good place for us to live; plus it was her idea for "doing her best" for what little she had. It was just her and I. I was 5-years-old, long black hair, dark eyes, olive toned skin. I got a few verbal shots fired at me for being a "mixed" kid and lucky for me, I had no idea what that was. I was always dirty, playing in mud after a rainfall or running through the cornfield in bare feet not giving a care in the world about ticks or snakes.

This park was smack dab in the middle of a Pennsylvania cornfield. A long dirt road ran along the line of one side of the cornfield into the park off a country road nobody traveled (except for us folk). Four rows of six trailers each, we were the first trailer of the second row of six. Our dirt car spot was next to where the cinder blocks were stacked up to reach the screen door into the "house," she would call it. Inside the kitchen was a step up. I was never allowed up there. There was a railing on each side of the kitchen so I could never understand why I could never go up there, not even to get a drink or snack. There was a dinette space with a small metal 1970s table with four metal chairs with red plastic cushions on them. ashtray on the side of it along with papers and random stuff. There was a big couch with a small TV where the living area was. The couch was black itchy fabric and two big fluffy pillows, a wood coffee table in front of it but nothing else. Any toys I had were piled in my closet-like room. A single mattress on the floor, and a toy box overflowed with toys. Wood panel walls lined the entire trailer. There was a bathroom halfway down adorned with the shaggy yellow seat cover as well as a shaggy yellow lid. Shaggy yellow rug and yellow towels.

My mother dated a man; he was a ginger and by ginger I mean a soulless red-headed troll of a man. The only facial expressions I remember was that he had long yellow fangs as teeth, and hollowed out black eyes. He came over one night. He and my mother were arguing. It was loud and I sat on the couch covering my ears and crying. It was early evening. I remember seeing the sun setting through the window by the metal dinette table. I had the TV on. It wasn't loud but the argument got so heated he picked up the TV and smashed it on the floor. I felt myself pee my pants. My mother came to me and just as she got to me, he pulled a gun out of the front of his pants. He clicked it and pointed it at her, he was screaming as was she. He then pointed the gun at me as to which I felt the warm setting in my pants again. I put my head down, with my hands over my ears, and waited. I stopped breathing waiting for a pop. My mother got up as he was pointing the gun at me and tackled him. Like a damned football player. How that gun never went off can only be explained by God himself. She got the gun from him and punched him square in the nose. He went down, she grabbed the gun, then we ran to her car and went into town. She told me she had a friend that can help us.

We waited at an ice cream shop. That was the first time I ever saw a police officer up close. He was dressed in black, a shiny badge, police hat, clean shaven, and smiling. He had a belt on that had all kinds of gadgets on it, including a gun but I was not scared. For the first time since we moved into that trailer park, I felt peace.

My mother handed him the gun, guess she told him his name, and the officer spoke on the radio. The madman was arrested. This was the ONLY time in my life my mother defended me.