A Fine White Dust by Cynthia Rylant

Author:Cynthia Rylant [Rylant, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781416948285
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2002-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

The Leaving

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done …

God’s will was to have me travel with the Preacher Man. It was so clear to me that night, when he asked me to come with him, when I said yes, when we made our plans.

Thy will be done.

What were Mother and Pop to me, when the Lord was urging me to go? Jesus left his parents, didn’t he? But he was lucky. They knew he was the chosen one. My parents didn’t know that about me.

Thy will be done.

I sat there with the Man, next to the filling station, and we made plans till nearly eleven-thirty. I would have sat with him all night long, but I didn’t want Pop out looking for me. I didn’t want Pop coming after me.

We made our plans. I would meet him after the last revival meeting. I’d skip the meeting, since I’d have to bring my belongings. And we’d hitchhike out of town.

In my dreams that night, I was always fixing to leave. All night long in my dreams I was ready to go, all set. Ready to leave. So when I woke up and found myself in my own bed, in my own room, I was surprised by it.

Leaving home.

You think about it now and then. If you could just get away, you could find what you want. If you could just light out on your own, you’d find out about life. You’d be free.

Thinking about home, that morning, and leaving it behind me … I tell you, I didn’t know it would be so hard.

You love some things without ever knowing it. I never knew how much I loved the window beside my bed till that morning. Every day of my life I woke up next to that window. And if it was summer, the breeze would be coming through the screen and I’d hear the cardinals and the neighbors’ old dog. On Saturdays I might hear Pop with the mower and smell that sweet smell of grass coming into my room. And if it was winter, there’d be frost all around the edges of the window and I’d lie there, looking at the sparkles and the crystals, digging deeper under the quilts and feeling good about things.

Never knew I loved that window so.

And there are things about a house you grow to count on. Like the way the pipes squeaked when Mother was in the kitchen, washing up some dishes or cooking. The smell of Pop’s shaving cream still in the air when I hit the bathroom in the morning. The ticking of our big old clock on the mantel in the living room. The feel of our fat couch when I’d sink into it with a comic book. The garage, smelling of oil, with my bike there and Pop’s tools hanging where they always belong.

Things you count on. Things being where they belong.

I woke up that morning knowing I had to leave it all to go with the Man, knowing I had to go, and still wishing mightily that I could take it all with me.

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