I grew up in Mid-Western America. Chicago, as I hear the words sang by Frank Sinatra, “is my kind of town.” Entrenched in my mind, is a town well known as “the windy city.” Not only was Chicago known for the dubious politics that went on behind the closed doors of city hall, the “boiler rooms of Mercantile Exchange and the local neighborhood precinct headquarters; but also because of the wind that blew frigidly off the arctic waters of the magnificent Lake Michigan.

My early life began in a rundown, (3) three story tenement, with frequently used fire-escape stairs crawling along the outside of the dwelling. There was a red brick building, which housed a school conveniently located directly across the street, which I would never attend. This would be the beginning of misspent childhoods for not only my three sisters and me.
.
Our only lessons were those of survival. We knew when we were hungry and thirsty. We instinctively knew the purpose of the more easily available fire escape stairs. Our front door was much too hard to open. We would have to find a chair that was not too heavy to drag to the door, place in front of the door, and then try to maneuver several locks and chains which had a two-fold purpose: keeping others out and keeping us in. After all, are ages ranged from one to four.

We would come to know our mother by the name of Gladys. We recognized her from short visits to the apartment, where she took off one black or red dress, only to put on another. Her hair was long, red, wavy curls that flowed down her back. She wore flaming red lipstick and high heel shoes that matched. Her face, which I later recognized as alluring, was set within astonishingly high cheekbones, with a few darted freckles.

As always with her infrequent visits, she made us sit on the bed while she told us of the adventures of her world beyond the apartment walls. We never understood, but we knew that at least she was happy, because she frenziedly laughed at her own stories, while we sat in awe. Then she left, as we remained seated, our young lives stuck in a catatonic state, never knowing if or when she would return, and never receiving an explanation as to why she was leaving. What we did know was that, with the exception of the annoyingly big rats, which ate up what little candy my oldest sister was able to beg from the schoolchildren across the street, we had been left alone, once again.

I spoke with God frequently. I do not know how I knew Him or why I could never see Him, but we talked, telepathically as I have come to know. He would say there is a reason for all things and that my journey would be hard, but I should always remember these talks with Him and He would always be with me.

I knew that one day the unguided nature of our existence would end. I do not know what happened, but Gladys returned to the apartment, only this time it was not to change clothes, or tell us of her misspent adventures. She had another mission in mind, and proceeded with it as planned before she arrived. She made us all gather into the second room of our two-room apartment. She proceeded to push furniture to block the doors and windows. The fire escape that was frequented by my older sister was also blocked. A feeling of doom overcame all of us. We looked at each other…

Authors notes:
Have I captured your attention? Let me know by adding a comment. I really appreciate any & all feedback...Thank you...Many blessings...