Accidents?

…   …   …   …   …

And so, the three move in with one family and then another, trying hard to comply with old rules and fitting into small rooms without a view. Blame starts to mingle with control, the older ones hurt the three with their emotional short comings. Why is an accident called just that, an accident? It appears even now, some fifty years later an accident has a perpetrator. One carries this out, executes a conspiracy for the collusion into a bridge – it developed into a master plot, without an ending. All stories have a beginning, middle and end. This story is past and part of the middle and has become a novel with endless pages.

Courage takes over and the three move into a rambling old house on the second floor. The mother works at the local five and dime, coming home at noon to change the daughter and feed the father his lunch. The father watches the baby girl as best he can, body cast still intact. His days are long, lonely and consumed with thoughts of quilt. Nine months pass, the time it takes to have a child before he is removed from his cocoon of white. The father can have a night shift job and the company allows him to bring his crutches to work.

He once again has established his net worth.

*** Journal Entry 3-29-06

~ by Patricia Hine Stewart on January 7, 2007.