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The Hogs of Entropy 0673
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #673
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "History Assignment"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Tasha
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 6/9/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I had to write this for my history class. The assignment was to
write a short story pretending we were someone who had lived during the
Great Depression.
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It was the August of 1933, and it was hot. My hair was clinging
like wet noodles to my dingy face, and my dress was doing likewise to the
rest of my body. Well, the rest of my body that was covered. My knees
were showing, scraped and dirty, as well. There was a tear in the
shoulder. The dress had once been a brilliant baby blue color. I had a
mission this specific August day. I was trying to find some tissue, or
maybe a little extra cloth. Daddy had just brought a new pair of shoes
home for me and my sister, Clara. They weren't new, actually, just new to
us. They were cracked leather, and far too big. That's where the tissue
or cloth came in, you see. I wanted to make them fit better.
I'd had the same pair of shoes for nearly a year, and I was only 14,
so my feet were growing like weeds. The extra size came like a drink of
cold water when slipped onto my feet, which had been bruised and bloodied
from the hard leather of my old shoes cutting into my feet. Quite a
contrast, leather and skin.
Daddy brought a new dress home for Momma. That wasn't new, either,
just to her. It was orange, faded, but the color still remained, a little.
There were peaches on it. I didn't remember what peaches were at the time,
but when I closed my eyes, remembering the original color of the dress
still mad my mouth water to think about the taste of that fruit.
Somewhere hidden in Daddy's magical bag of presents was the one
thing he bought himself. Momma yelled at Daddy for spending what money we
had on liquor, but I knew he needed it. He was always even friendlier when
he drank, anyway. He'd pick me up over his head and swing me around,
telling me I was beautiful despite the dirt on my face and the grease in
my hair. Also despite the lack of any excess meat on my bones. Any meat
at all, actually. We had food, not much, but we did have it, and that is
all that matters.
Before the hard times hit, Daddy was an employee for Mr. Henry Ford.
He got that five dollar a day wage, too. We had a real pretty house, with
a fence around the yard. We had two cars, even. There was a nice boy from
town always coming around to see my sister, she was 16 then and starting to
see boys. His daddy had bought him a car, he worked for Mr. Ford, too.
That car ended up being sold, and he never had money to take my sister
anywhere.
Anyway, I was looking for some tissue and cloth to put in those new
shoes. They were such pretty shoes. I have nicer ones now, of course, but
they were like solid gold to me then. I was even humming as I searched. I
was humming and humming, subconsciously trying to drown out the noise of
the hungry babies screaming from all around me. You could hear everything
in that little town we moved into after the hard times hit. It wasn't even
a town, really, just a few boards nailed together in various places. None
of the homes had cute signs saying how sweet they were. Nothing was sweet.
After I'd finally found some cloth, it was old, probably from a
dress or something, I sat down on our makeshift couch and put myself to
work fitting it in my shoes. I was very careful not to obstruct the smooth
lines of the leather, though. I didn't want bumps of cotton showing on my
feet. I may have been dirty and skinny, but I still wanted to look my
best. The hard times weren't going to last forever, I knew they weren't.
No one was very hopeful besides me. Momma called it naïve hopes and
dreams. Daddy called it the wisdom of his little girl, his favorite little
girl.
I wore those shoes for almost another year, about ten months to be
exact. I'd always take a little more cloth out when they started to feel
too snug. Eventually, my toes were making little bumps at the front of the
shoe, and I walked a little funny. It hurt. I always treasure new shoes
now, though. I've become sort of a shoe addict. I have lots more money to
spare, and it's so much fun to indulge myself. I think I earned it. Daddy
said I earned it at our last family Christmas when my husband bought me
five new pairs of shoes. Daddy died four months after that, but enclosed
in the box of things I got after he died, was a pair of very worn leather
shoes. There were two pieces of cloth wadded up in each toe.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #673 - WRITTEN BY: TASHA - 6/9/99 ]
