(no subject)
As I was lying inside the darkness of the vines, the preacher’s words were running through my head. I couldn’t erase the image of him sprawled upon the road with his head smashed in. His words haunted my mind. I kept hearing Casey say, “They’re starin’ us an’ stabbin’ theirself in the back… when they bust this here strike-ya think they’ll pay five?” It echoed within my conscience until I could stand it no more.
Casey was right. After meditating and praying about it for an entire day, I realized that Casey was much wiser than any other man gave him credit for. He knew the importance of teamwork and was aware that with individualism, the migrant majority would suffer for the rest of their existence.
Slowly, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t sit in my cave and wait around for things to change. I needed to give all that I had to the cause that would save my family. Once I consciously made the decision to live my life for the good of my generation, I began to get restless. Wishing that I could just walk up to the boxcar, I waited for my dinner rather impatiently. As much as a part of me wanted to tell my family my plans, another part was aching to leave that very moment.
I found all the patience that was harbored inside of me in order to wait a few more hours. The hours were long and the image and speech of Casey raced around inside my head. Eventually, after an eternity of excruciating patience, the careless footsteps of Ma crunching leaves under her feet overpowered the rush of the stream.
I brought Ma back to my vine-covered cave where I caught her up on my plan and how Casey motivated me to be something that I never thought to be. Although she hated the fact that I would be parting ways from the family, she was sincerely aware that my leaving was the best for everyone. Ma insisted that I take her money, but it nearly broke my heart to do so. They had worked hard for that money, while I selfishly allowed my inner anger to get the best of me and jeopardized their lives. We solemnly said our good-byes and parted ways.
I pocketed the money Ma handed and me and folded up the blanket and placed it near the culvert with the tin dish. The night was dark but the stars were shining like captured fireflies in the sky. I slowly stumbled my way towards the road. I knew that there was no way I could go down South, for fear of being recognized, so I began my journey with the moon behind me.
I trekked down the highway for a couple of hours as car after car rushed past. At first, I thought the amount of cars on the road was unusual, but I remembered the desperation men have for work. My back began to ache and my feet were sore from the blisters, so I decided to try to hitchhike. I knew people were in a rush and were carrying entire families in one vehicle, but all it would take was one single person.
As my thumb reached away from my body, my shoulder felt like my hand was supporting a cow. Jalopies continued to rush beside me, but were trying to ignore my persistent request. It wasn’t a good hour before the first jalopy turned off the road and stood idle waiting for my approach.
His name was James Willard and he has an enormous beard that had overgrown his entire lower face. His beady little eyes protruded from under thick eyebrows and his head was shiny and bald. His burly structure was intimidating, but his mouth seemed to rise in a calming and relaxing manner. He had originally lived in lower Kansas and had moved with his family to California about four months ago. His family was staying in a Hooverville, while he left and went north to find a job before they moved. His eldest son, Henry, had found a job picking cotton for a tiny farm. Aside from Henry, he had two younger daughters and a younger boy right after Henry who’s name was Philip.
James and I began our travels to the unknown north in search of a new life. His automobile was old, but running. I could tell he had been driving for an extended amount of time because the whole car was starting to wear down and fall apart.
He was a quiet man. We shared about our homes back east and a few stories about our trip, but I never told him about then men I had killed. For the most part, he kept to himself, answering with short comments and stories that lacked in adjectives. In some ways his lack of conversation bothered me, but at the same time I was relieved that he made no attempt to pry into my background. We sat in peace.
The car ride was long, but the wind in my hair and rushing around my face freed me from any worried I had held. The car slowly crept along the highway that contained possibly a total of two-dozen cars. As the sun began to wake itself in the hazy distance, we arrived in a little town called Ceres.
Ceres was a small miner’s settlement near the highway. The town has a few beat up buildings that stood as stores, and beyond that were large plots of land that threatened intruders with signs. It was streaked with poverty, as all you saw behind the town were the tents and cardboard houses of the Hoovervilles. The clothing lines hung heavily with the laundry of the entire camp.
We decided that we would settle there for at least the night and spend the day asking around for work. James and I fell asleep instantly on the mattress in the back of his truck. It seemed as though we had just pulled off the highway when the sun blazed our face awake. I looked around at the cardboard city and saw that the men had already left and then women were left with the children. I quickly climbed out of the truck and made sure to find out information about this new area.
The first lady I came upon was an older lady, probably late-fifties. She was missing one of your front teeth and had a huge mole on her chin. I thought of talking to her, but decided against it in order to refrain myself from staring. The next lady I met, however, must have been about my age. She had fine skin and red, luscious curls. She held a baby in one arm and another youngin’ by the hand.
We talked for about an hour or so. She told me about the mines that were just up the road through the town and farms. There were several companies who needed copper to be picked out of the hills. The same situation was happening at the mines as was at the peach orchard. The businessmen told the workers a set amount, but had later decreased wages dramatically, resulting in a strike. While they were protesting, however, the managers of the mine hired new people with higher wages to break up the fight. I decided that I needed to help inform people at the mines to stick together just as the preacher had done for me.
I washed my face in the stream and told the lovely redhead to tell James that I went up the road. I set off to join the protest. The way the lady described it made it seem a whole lot closer, but I ended up walking for a good two hours in the heat of the day. When I got there, there were police cars by the mine entrance and there was a mob of about a hundred men. I walked right up to the crowd, pushed my way all the way to the front and grabbed an abandoned picket sign and began the start of my protest.
Casey was right. After meditating and praying about it for an entire day, I realized that Casey was much wiser than any other man gave him credit for. He knew the importance of teamwork and was aware that with individualism, the migrant majority would suffer for the rest of their existence.
Slowly, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t sit in my cave and wait around for things to change. I needed to give all that I had to the cause that would save my family. Once I consciously made the decision to live my life for the good of my generation, I began to get restless. Wishing that I could just walk up to the boxcar, I waited for my dinner rather impatiently. As much as a part of me wanted to tell my family my plans, another part was aching to leave that very moment.
I found all the patience that was harbored inside of me in order to wait a few more hours. The hours were long and the image and speech of Casey raced around inside my head. Eventually, after an eternity of excruciating patience, the careless footsteps of Ma crunching leaves under her feet overpowered the rush of the stream.
I brought Ma back to my vine-covered cave where I caught her up on my plan and how Casey motivated me to be something that I never thought to be. Although she hated the fact that I would be parting ways from the family, she was sincerely aware that my leaving was the best for everyone. Ma insisted that I take her money, but it nearly broke my heart to do so. They had worked hard for that money, while I selfishly allowed my inner anger to get the best of me and jeopardized their lives. We solemnly said our good-byes and parted ways.
I pocketed the money Ma handed and me and folded up the blanket and placed it near the culvert with the tin dish. The night was dark but the stars were shining like captured fireflies in the sky. I slowly stumbled my way towards the road. I knew that there was no way I could go down South, for fear of being recognized, so I began my journey with the moon behind me.
I trekked down the highway for a couple of hours as car after car rushed past. At first, I thought the amount of cars on the road was unusual, but I remembered the desperation men have for work. My back began to ache and my feet were sore from the blisters, so I decided to try to hitchhike. I knew people were in a rush and were carrying entire families in one vehicle, but all it would take was one single person.
As my thumb reached away from my body, my shoulder felt like my hand was supporting a cow. Jalopies continued to rush beside me, but were trying to ignore my persistent request. It wasn’t a good hour before the first jalopy turned off the road and stood idle waiting for my approach.
His name was James Willard and he has an enormous beard that had overgrown his entire lower face. His beady little eyes protruded from under thick eyebrows and his head was shiny and bald. His burly structure was intimidating, but his mouth seemed to rise in a calming and relaxing manner. He had originally lived in lower Kansas and had moved with his family to California about four months ago. His family was staying in a Hooverville, while he left and went north to find a job before they moved. His eldest son, Henry, had found a job picking cotton for a tiny farm. Aside from Henry, he had two younger daughters and a younger boy right after Henry who’s name was Philip.
James and I began our travels to the unknown north in search of a new life. His automobile was old, but running. I could tell he had been driving for an extended amount of time because the whole car was starting to wear down and fall apart.
He was a quiet man. We shared about our homes back east and a few stories about our trip, but I never told him about then men I had killed. For the most part, he kept to himself, answering with short comments and stories that lacked in adjectives. In some ways his lack of conversation bothered me, but at the same time I was relieved that he made no attempt to pry into my background. We sat in peace.
The car ride was long, but the wind in my hair and rushing around my face freed me from any worried I had held. The car slowly crept along the highway that contained possibly a total of two-dozen cars. As the sun began to wake itself in the hazy distance, we arrived in a little town called Ceres.
Ceres was a small miner’s settlement near the highway. The town has a few beat up buildings that stood as stores, and beyond that were large plots of land that threatened intruders with signs. It was streaked with poverty, as all you saw behind the town were the tents and cardboard houses of the Hoovervilles. The clothing lines hung heavily with the laundry of the entire camp.
We decided that we would settle there for at least the night and spend the day asking around for work. James and I fell asleep instantly on the mattress in the back of his truck. It seemed as though we had just pulled off the highway when the sun blazed our face awake. I looked around at the cardboard city and saw that the men had already left and then women were left with the children. I quickly climbed out of the truck and made sure to find out information about this new area.
The first lady I came upon was an older lady, probably late-fifties. She was missing one of your front teeth and had a huge mole on her chin. I thought of talking to her, but decided against it in order to refrain myself from staring. The next lady I met, however, must have been about my age. She had fine skin and red, luscious curls. She held a baby in one arm and another youngin’ by the hand.
We talked for about an hour or so. She told me about the mines that were just up the road through the town and farms. There were several companies who needed copper to be picked out of the hills. The same situation was happening at the mines as was at the peach orchard. The businessmen told the workers a set amount, but had later decreased wages dramatically, resulting in a strike. While they were protesting, however, the managers of the mine hired new people with higher wages to break up the fight. I decided that I needed to help inform people at the mines to stick together just as the preacher had done for me.
I washed my face in the stream and told the lovely redhead to tell James that I went up the road. I set off to join the protest. The way the lady described it made it seem a whole lot closer, but I ended up walking for a good two hours in the heat of the day. When I got there, there were police cars by the mine entrance and there was a mob of about a hundred men. I walked right up to the crowd, pushed my way all the way to the front and grabbed an abandoned picket sign and began the start of my protest.