The dusty rays of the morning sun filtered down through the little shack we were sleeping in. A rusty bed frame, springs orange from oxidation and age, was propped against the wall facing the door. A tiny window let light in through the boards that were nailed up over its filmy yellowed glass and the air inside was stale. It was a horrible little hell hole, but it was shelter.
I rolled over on my pancho and as it made its little crinkle sound, I noticed something off to my right, under an old wood storage box. A white glimmer was peeking out from behind the box, against the wall, and I gently reached my arm over to pull it out. Everyone else made tiny sleeping noises as I lifted out a magazine, water damamged and hard from age, some of the pages were falling to pieces as I slowly dragged it towards me, but when I put it down on the floor next to my face, carefully using my body on its side to shield anyone else’s view, I flipped open to the center.
The magazine was from 1958 and there was an ad for an Okeefe & Merritt gas stove that seemed to be drawn with colored pencils, an artists rendering of sorts. In it, a woman in a white dress was standing at the table, placing a plate in front of the husband. A red belt was at her tiny waist and her golden hair was in a perfect coiffe. Her red lips were pulled into a wide smile and her subservient manner was apparent in the way her head was gently bowed, eyes closed.
The husband was in a business suit, reading the presumably morning paper. He was well tidied, his reading glasses perched on his straight and level nose, hair slicked back and parted on one side. He wore a smile, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge the boy that was playing at his feet.
Red and blue stripes were layed across the boy’s shirt, a neat pair of blue short pants on his 4 or 5 year old legs as he knelt on the floor next to the table posing his toy military planes around what appeared to be tiny soldiers. His sandy hair matched his mothers, and I could see that this child was apparently well cared for and loved by the smile that crossed his face.
A pie rested on the stove…apple I presumed from the apples resting in a bowl next to the sink. I looked over to the window to peek out when I found myself drawn back to the drawing of the pie. I could smell the cinnamon, taste the hot sweet apples as they slightly burned the roof of my mouth. I was there in that kitchen.
I was lost in the photo when I heard a low grumble of engine coming up the old farmers road toward the little cabin we were in. It got closer and closer before I realized I’d have to hide the magazine before anyone else saw it and by the time I heard the engine cough to a halt, I had only enough time to tear the picture out of the book and shove it down the back of my pants.
The door opened and a blinding race of dust and yellow light poured into the air we were laying in and a man who was only a silhouette with the bright morning sun stepped in. Murdock.
“Get. your. lazy. butts. up,” he said, almost too quietly. A few students stirred. “I. SAID. GET. YOUR. LAZY. BUTTS. UP!” he shouted this time. “NOW!!!”
We all stood, scrambling a bit in the confusion. I got my self put together making sure my back was toward him as he did the little “walk thru” I liked to call it. He would come up to random students and look them in the eye and stare. Then he’d walk on, or he’d chuckle, either way, it was better than guns and dogs, so we dealt with it fine.
“We’re takin’ it down Hole-In-The-Rock road today. We’re gonna meet up with some friends a’mine this afternoon, and you’re gonna get a lil treat. Lets just say, you won’t be carryin your packs for a few weeks, how’s that sound?”
A few of the students said little things like “yeah!” and “awesome” but the look on Murdocks face told the majority of us that he didn’t plan on making this little “surprise” a treat we’d enjoy.
We all packed up and headed down the road, some of us throwing a handful of dry lentils or oats in our mouths as we hiked. Ahhhh, breakfast of champions.
That day, as we hiked, I imagined the family in the picture. I named her Joan, the husband was Grant and the little boy was Eric. I felt myself slipping sometimes into their house, sitting at the table…its cold white top chilling my forearms. Joan’s pie was amazing and I’d sometimes imagine her sneaking a bit of ice cream on top as we ate. I imagined sunny afternoons with the neighborhood kids playing in the grass together. The parents sat on porch swings and sipped lemonade. Everything was neat, everything was quiet, everything was wonderful. I stayed in this imaginary place all day, and for the rest of the trip, I used my little adopted pretend family to comfort me during the hikes and when things got too tough to deal with.
As we came into a valley that evening, we saw our next three weeks set out in a line in the sand. Handcarts with big iron and wood wheels were parked for us, and they were already full of gear and rocks. Some of the kids were happy, but when I looked ahead of us, I could see that the road we were about to go down was full of hills. I had come from pioneers on both my mothers side and my fathers side, and I already knew that handcarts were torturous devices. I was glad to get rid of the pack, but the thought of pushing and pulling that huge cart over and up hills made me almost sink to my knees.
That night, we all dreamed differently I’m sure, but I was back in the house with Joan and Eric, and we were sitting in the kitchen sharing a quiet moment while Grant read to us out of a book when I heard the creaking of wagon wheels pull up outside. My dream became a nightmare that would be the next three weeks.
Jeanette Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 1:58 pmVisit Jeanette
The longer this goes on, the more purple and melodramatic your prose gets. It was a LOT better before you tried to make it sound more literary — the matter of factness was what kept me coming back. Now it just reads like anyone’s travelogue with occasional bits of really horrible badness. Maybe some other people like that better, but I doubt it’s many of them. It went from being an astonishingly well-written piece to being something pretty pedestrian and that looks like everyone else’s livejournals in a very short time.
My advice? Don’t worry about making this “literary” even though there’s a book deal in the works. TOO MANY WRITERS SCREW THEMSELVES UP THIS WAY. Write your real experience, gritty and hard — there’s not enough of that, and there’s way too much flowery stuff these days.
Alli Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 2:39 pmVisit Alli
hey. maybe 50+ hours a week of work and 4 kids…and newly single momhood has affected me. i’ll work on it!
John Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 3:30 pmVisit John
It was your life and experiences, write however you want…and forget the critics.
Alli Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 4:00 pmVisit Alli
Just wanted to say that I was trying something. I write how I feel…the day I wrote that…thats how i felt. That is how I write…I write whatever comes out. I write for me.
also, you say “like someone’s travelogue”…it is my travelogue. It wasn’t sex and abuse and torture 24/7. I just write the truth. Thats it.
Mike Lyne Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 5:11 pmVisit Mike Lyne
An honest opinion is something to be respected, as long as the opinion is stated in a way that is considerate of other people’s feelings…
Perhaps this is how Alli feels comfortable writing at this time. And perhaps she doesn’t feel the need for advice at this point, although how would I know? It’s not my deal.
As for me, I come here to appreciate another person’s ability to share and trust other people with experiences. That’s you, Alli, and I respect you for that, regardless to whether your writing style suits my fancy or not (which it does, I should add).
So keep on doing what you do so well, and know that there are always people that appreciate your honesty and stregth of character.
Accidental Housekeeper Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 5:13 pmVisit Accidental Housekeeper
Exactly. Your writing comes from a place of honesty. The fact that your “voice” changes based on the mood of the moment you write about feels authentic to me.
BTW, everyone’s a critic. I wouldn’t bother to reply to them if I were you…. or offer explanation.
This is your story, tell it in your voice. If Jeanette wants something different, let her write her own story.
Reneé K. Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 9:57 pmVisit Reneé K.
Personally, I prefer your newer style of writing. It makes me feel like I’m there with you. Heck, I even taste the apple pie!
But don’t mind me, write however you feel. **smiles**
~Nay
Sarah Says:
August 19th, 2005 at 10:40 pmVisit Sarah
Just wanted to let you know I’m still reading, and eagerly awaiting new enteries whenever you have time to share them with us.
I think the writing is something you can be proud of, because while this is theraputic and painful and extremely personal, it does not read like an angry girl’s diary. It reads like a piece of literature, and I for one appreciate that.
Katey Says:
August 20th, 2005 at 12:03 amVisit Katey
I agree, if Jeanette doesnt like it, she can go read something else. How does she know what keeps people comming back? Did she do a survey?
Hmmmm, I’m thinking no.
Jeannette Says:
August 20th, 2005 at 12:07 amVisit Jeannette
Different Jeannette here; note the extra ‘n.’
I’m a new reader, I read your entire site yesterday. I couldn’t stop myself.
I caught an episode, in passing, of that “Brat Camp” show and I couldn’t figure out why I felt so sorry for those kids. I’m a mother of two little ones (2 and 4), and I passed it off as me being oversensitive, overly nurturing, or indulgent. I never realized it was the hell on earth that Alli describes. I know now that the pity I felt for those kids and the revulsion about their situation on television was right on.
You and I, we’re the same age. I try to think about what I was doing at 15… what I was worried about. I had a dreadfully similar experience to yours when I was between four and five, and it took me a long time to forgive those who didn’t believe me. Even though I live in a state of forgivness with those I didn’t trust for so long, I think you are close to saintly for forgiving your parents… but it just goes to show how far perspective skews things.
Anyway. I’ve enjoyed your writing and I can’t wait to read the rest. It’s like I want to know how you made the transition from prisoner to mom of four. So DON’T LEAVE ANYTHING OUT. Heh. Just kidding.
Sorry for the rambling comment, it’s a compliment, really.
joCanadamum Says:
August 20th, 2005 at 11:24 amVisit joCanadamum
I agree alli you dont owe ANYone an explanation of how you choose to write on a certain day! were all growing, changing, learning new things everyday and should that be reflected in how you write on any given day so be it! I will continue to read your entries when you get chance to write them, i am also a working mum of 3 and the few chances i get on the computer are slim latly lol have a great day alli
joCanadamum
Lynn Says:
August 20th, 2005 at 5:17 pmVisit Lynn
I think that your writting reflects the picture that you keep referring to: flowery, clean, smelling of cinnamon. Your emotions of that moment are guiding your writting style. Good for you to be so honest. To those who don’t care for it….F OFF
dylan Says:
August 21st, 2005 at 5:26 amVisit dylan
Experienced writer or not, you’ll know when you are using the voice you want to use. You will feel it. However, I agree with Jeanette.
On the other hand though, if this ‘new voice’ feels right to you then have at it. I am very curious to see where it goes. I’ll still be reading till the end, whenever that may be.
dylan Says:
August 21st, 2005 at 5:33 amVisit dylan
This is more for your eyes only:
It is tought to balance all that and writing. Dealing with the present and future is enough. Throw in a heavy past and balancing is even tougher.
Most people fail at it. Either the writing goes, or the other goes. Ultimately it seems that those with stakes in the matter have no choice; indeed they may not. However, the misbalance takes care of itself eventually.
Nightmare Says:
August 21st, 2005 at 5:49 amVisit Nightmare
I just here for the sex and violence!
Not really but badly timed humor is my way of dealing with pain.
Keep it up Alli Girl! Flowery or not it is a great story and one that needs to be told.
phoenix Says:
August 22nd, 2005 at 5:55 amVisit phoenix
I for one don’t care “how” you write as long as you do what you need to Alli. We are the ones intruding on your life begging for more. Do what ya gotta, when and how you gotta
Trust me, you have us hooked enough that we will be here with you reading til you stop
Even the Jeanette’s of this world. Besides, it is natural for the writing style to change up during the progress. Mine has!
Hugssssssss
beth Says:
August 22nd, 2005 at 10:25 amVisit beth
wow, I guess I didn’t really notice the “voice” change. I just was reading it, feeling like you were writing how you felt that day. It is a story that needs to be told and I would say I look forward to reading it, but somehow that doesn’t sounds just right. It’s an amazing story and I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, you are a strong and amazing woman.
Annette Says:
August 22nd, 2005 at 2:33 pmVisit Annette
Just keep writing. Ignore the rest of us. This is for you. Although I enjoy reading , regardless of style, it’s my privelage to be here - to be part of your life, not my right to tell you how to share it.
anna Says:
August 23rd, 2005 at 7:14 pmVisit anna
id just like to say that i have feelings of respect for you and im not one who has many of these feelings towards people that often im very much my feelings to my self person but i just wanted to say how much i actually look up to you in some ways for being able to have a voice for your self after what you`ve been through, how ever the voice may seem i think its a great one and one that needs to be heard !!! Anna xxx
Niki B Says:
August 24th, 2005 at 11:16 amVisit Niki B
Hey, there are people out there who don’t like Shakespeare or think that Charles Dickens was a waste of time. Point being that, no matter who you are or what you write, there is always someone out there who isn’t going to like it. Just the same, there are probably more people out there who will like it. Keep writing what you want and the way you want. To hell with everything else.
Beth Says:
September 1st, 2005 at 3:49 pmVisit Beth
Hey, now, no need to jump on Jeanette. She gave an honest opinion and did it respectfully, no need to tell her to fuck off. She was just sayind, “Hey this is how its coming off to me” by offering her feedback. With all Allis gone through, I don’t thing someone offering their constructive criticism is going to ruin her day.
I’m so glad to see your still blogging Ali! I wish I could stick a few more hours in the day for you to blog more because I’m always on the edge of my seat waiting of the next update. Thanks for creating this and the forum community!
seven Says:
September 7th, 2005 at 9:49 pmVisit seven
i agree with jeannette (the first one).
i come here less and less.
glad you’re getting the story out but … don’t sell out your writing.
Truly_Unruly Says:
September 11th, 2005 at 12:46 amVisit Truly_Unruly
I would think that one would appreciate feedback from the readers. The best story is going to be the version that comes from Alli’s heart, but reader feedback could help her w/ new insight on some parts of her story.
Rose Says:
October 23rd, 2006 at 10:53 pmVisit Rose
I remember I thought I wanted to be in the yoke of the handcart then I realized that was the scaryest part especially flying down those height full of mountain and if I didnt control that handcart properly I could have died the hand cart was also do or die .I flew threw those mountains so fastI couldnt believe it and then all the weight of that hand cart I had to control . I ended up liking it much better in the back but then oh my as the others had their arms up on cart I had to smell all different flavors of BO bad odor