by Daryl Dudley

Created on: October 27, 2008   Last Updated: November 04, 2008

Mama died autumn when I was twelve. Then Monica disappeared. Her daddy sent her away. Mama told him me and Monica kissed at the carnival. That happened when we were six and I never saw Monica or her daddy again.

None of the schoolgirls played with me like Monica did. They didn't roll in the leaves with me. They only laughed and teased, "Kelly kisses girls!"

On her deathbed, mama ignored me. I didn't know why. Later Uncle Chuck told me mama's heart was broken and that's why she died.

I loved Uncle Chuck. He fried the juiciest bacon, scrambled the puffiest eggs, and toasted the most buttery grill cheese sandwiches! After breakfast he'd grab his keys out the stone ashtray by the door and drive off to milk the cows.

At night he drank.

That's when he came in my room and pulled at my panties. So I slept in the barn. I made a loft upstairs and slept behind a clump of haystacks.

Sometimes he climbed the stairs and banged on my door. But he always stumbled back to the farmhouse and fell asleep.

Mornings when I got on the school bus I worried. I didn't want to make him mad. It's just that Uncle Chuck hurt me when he drank.

Then something happened.

1

Friday night I was almost asleep in my loft when I heard a whisper downstairs. I leaned over the wooden ledge and peered down. A shadow moved in the dim moonlight. I swallowed slowly. Was it Uncle Chuck?

Another whisper.

"Kelly....Kelly."

I slowly pushed down the door. Monica! I told her to climb upstairs before my Uncle Chuck heard us. When she climbed up I hugged her.

She was gorgeous! Her pigtails and curls had grown into red, flaming hair that ran down to her shoulders. The moon lit her emerald green eyes.

"Got some munch?"

"Yes...Uncle Chuck fried some chicken. Milk's in the fridge and there's wheat bread on the stove. Wait here while I fix you a plate...I don't want to wake him."

Moments later I returned with a wooden tray holding fried chicken, wheat bread, a glass of milk and an oil lamp.

2

Monica told me a bank robber shot and killed her father. An old couple adopted her. They were nice folks she said. The old man even taught her to drive his blue pickup truck around the farm.

But Monica still ran away. She fled hoping to find me at mama's ranch; and she had. Monica wanted me to run away with her.

After eating supper, she fell asleep. I reached in my denim coat pocket and pulled out mama's picture. She wore a cream sunflower dress, splattered with cherries.

Mama stared at me. Sadness, disappointment filled her soft, blue eyes. I looked

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