A+Thursday+to+Remember

A Thursday to Remember The mild weather did nothing to soothe the discomfort in my back from bending over for long periods of time. I stood up straight in the long dry dirt rows, trying to stretch my sore muscles. Planting seeds for some strange farmer in Oklahoma wasn’t a future I had ever envisioned for myself, but unfortunately it was my reality. I squatted back down, grabbing the bag of seeds, and began to plant along the row again. When the sun touched down on the western horizon, I and other temporary workers, began to walk through the dusty fields towards the farmhouse, drifting like solitary ghosts across the open plain. The farmer’s wife greeted each one of us with solemn thanks before handing over a very small bag as payment for the day’s work. Looking into mine I saw that the price of my labor was valued at one small handful of assorted nuts and dried fruits. With a sigh of resignation I began gnawing on the rock hard nuts, saving the dried fruits for later. I didn’t know when my next meal will come. It had been two days since my last meal, and even then that wasn’t long in comparison to previous weeks. Of the few farms I had worked at, none had paid me in money. The farmers were suffering just as much as everyone else. I knew this meant I would have to make the long trek back to nearest railways and try to hop a train. The idea of the thunderous locomotive sent shivers up my spine, despite the still warm breeze. It brought back the memories of how I ended up here; those memories which I tried so desperately to forget. ~ ~ ~    The year is 1931. I am thirteen and my father has only recently lost his job. A couple years before now he, like so many others, had lost most of our family’s money in the infamous stock market crash, dubbed Black Thursday. Tensions were high in our house. My younger siblings are ignorant of the real meaning behind our family’s latest adventures. But I know we are living in poverty, and that our father isn’t having any luck finding a job, and that it is a miracle every time we can manage a full meal. I also know that my father is beating my mother. Everyone is stressed and tensions are high, so little things like an unwashed pot could set him off. But today it’s worse than before. He isn’t trying to hide it behind closed doors. Before I can comprehend what’s happening he begins to hit my little brother while my mother lies unmoving on the floor. The scene is too much for me and I lunge. Catching him off guard, he loses his balance and we fall to the ground. Before we finish our descent his head smashes against the corner of the table, and within seconds I find myself staring into my father’s blood covered face. I’m scared and I turn to my mother expecting comfort and help. Instead I find her standing and looking at me with a hard mask of hate. She tells me to leave. I think she is telling me this so that the police won’t take me away to live out the rest of my life in a jail cell. Despite what she said I just stand there. She starts calling me names I didn’t think she knew, and she curses me for taking away our family’s only source of income. I come to a dark realization that causes tears to fall down my cheeks. She tells me to go, pointing to the door with a trembling finger. I know then that my one safe haven, in this crumbling world was lost. I let out a sob and leave without another word. I am in New York City. Each day I am pleading for work, but usually I end up begging on the streets. Unfortunately, everyone has been hit hard by our country’s economic plight. Plus there are hundreds of people moving into the city looking for jobs, making the competition that much harder. Although today this church organization is giving me a couple meals and a bed for one night. They call themselves a mission and they told me that they wanted to help. All I had to do was listen to a sermon, but in anticipation of a hot meal I did not hear a single word the preacher said. While I am eating my meal I overhear that the adults are allowed to stay for three nights and they will have two meals each day. I don’t understand why they are favoring adults. Despite what we’ve been through, we are still children. One day I realize there are no available jobs here in the city because there are too many people. Out west, there are far fewer people so that is probably where all of the available jobs are. I feel so confident in my logic that I make a decision right then and there: I am going to leave the city and hop a train out west in search of work. So momentous is this decision that I am overcome with the feeling of being reborn. Being a new person I can’t go by my old name. Besides, Everett Masterson had really died with my father that one fateful evening. Thinking while I walk around the city, I see a tattered newspaper on the ground in front of me. Picking it up I notice it says Thursday in one of the corners. Not certain of dates, I decide that today is Thursday. It makes sense that I should take the name of the day that defines the new me. Running alongside a moving boxcar I see a hand roughly the same size as my own reach out towards me. Knowing I can’t keep running forever, I grab hold and allow it to hoist me up into the moving train. I find myself facing another kid and I feel the grin spread across my face as I thank him. He says his name is Wilbur and I tell him mine. This is the first time I have used my new name out loud. It feels good. Trying to avoid the fear inspiring jungles Wilbur and I wait until the train pulls into the train yard to get off. We would rather deal with the bulls than the buzzards; I mean at least the bulls have rules. I jump off first and before my feet hit the seemingly moving ground a whistle shrieks. I’m running as fast as I can towards the gate. Without slowing my speed I smack into the chain link fence and turn to look for Wilbur. A large man, unmistakably a bull, is holding Wilbur’s hands behind his back. I want to run and help him but when I look at the man all I see is a jail cell. That fear is enough to stop me from moving. With a sudden movement Wilbur shakes his hands free and starts to run. His tattered shoe snags on one of the tracks. I don’t know why but the bull isn’t chasing after him. Wilbur begins to try and free his foot from his shoe with intense vigor. I feel it before I see it. Wilbur is gone; snuffed out like the flame on a candle. I can’t tell if the train that just replaced my only friend and ally is blurry because of its speed or from the tears forcing their way out of my eyes. I am lying in the streets of Oklahoma City covered in dirt and soot. I haven’t eaten since I lost Wilbur. In fact, I really haven’t moved from this alley since then. I’m not sure how long it’s been, but I’m curled up in a ball unable to straighten because of the stomach pains. I groan as someone kicks me in the back. I can barely make out a mumbled conversation in the background. All I hear are jumbled sounds until the speaker says one word: Thursday. I’m reminded of the resolve I’d made in New York City. As a kid on the rails all I have are the clothes on my back and that resolution. I slowly sit up and look towards the horizon and say my last goodbye to Wilbur. ~ ~ ~    Looking back at those memories, I realized that if I hadn’t been blinded by the grief I would have seen the scarcity of farmed goods and realized how badly the farms were suffering. With all of the dust, being produced by the drought and picked up by the periods of intense winds it was no wonder farmers were having a hard time planting seeds. At least the wind had been mild enough today so I could work. As I walked down the road I thought about what one of the other workers had said as we were leaving. He had talked about the CCC or California Conservation Corps and how they offered homeless men riding the rails a place to stay, food to eat, work to do and money to earn. It had sounded perfect and my hopes were raised a bit. But I later found out that the CCC only took men between the ages of eighteen and twenty three. Every step I took raised a small dust cloud. I wanted to stop. Not just walking or riding the rails, but everything. I wanted to end it all. I stood still and looked back at the setting sun and thought of Wilbur. I thought about how he didn’t have the choice to continue on or end everything. How was that fair to him if I just threw mine away? I started to walk towards Oklahoma City again, not sure what my future would hold.