“There are people who come into your life just to strengthen you so you can move on without them, they are supposed to be part of your memory, not your destiny.” Rashida Rowe 

Alternate Realities #4, 20012, graphite on paper, 46x56 cm(18x21)

Alternate Realities #4, 20012, graphite on paper, 46×56 cm(18×21)

The Story Continues……….


The two guardian angels my grandmother saw standing on either side of me, must have put their heads together and created a small miracle.  My first impression of the cold canyons of NYC did not encourage me nor make me to want to stay.

Somewhere here was my mother, but that thought was fleeting and I discarded it as quickly as it came.  So, there I was walking down, or maybe it was up the street, intent on finding a phone booth (quaint isn’t it now a days?) so I could locate the bus station, to see how far my $50.00 would take me when I heard a distant voice calling my name.  Not really sure I was hearing correctly I kept on walking and the voice became louder. I stopped, turned around to see a woman running towards me waving her hands and calling my name.

I just stood there not believing what I was seeing; it was my girlfriend from the high school in Houston.  She grabbed me and pulled me close, thousands of questions and I with few answers.  She was working in NYC and had just taken a 30 day leave of absence to go to Florida to care for her mother and I was coming with her, finito.

It was during the drive down to Florida the reality of my situation came to lay its arms around my mind and heart.  This was a rescue but not the answer, because the one thing I had not told her or even admitted to myself until this point, was that I was pregnant.

The house was on a sandy street near the water, the air warm, salty, moist, like breathing though a damp sponge.  It was your classic 50’s style Florida concrete house with an enclosed lanai, a palm tree in the front yard, lizards dashing everywhere you looked.

Her mother was in her late 60’s, had been ill and was in need of a little more care than her stout Baptist Missionary Church could offer.  She also collected dolls.  Entering the house was just a bit spooky.  The curtains drawn against the sun, light filtered in through cracks leaving bright streaks across the wood floor, dust mots floated in the light.  The entire living room, dinning room and part of the kitchen and lanai were covered with wall-to-wall glass cases filled with dolls from around the world and every century. Beautiful and eerie, it was a dedicated museum.  Larger dolls sat in small rocking chairs, or around little child sized tables dressed with tea sets.  There were dolls on rocking horses and dolls on small teeter-totters. And there was one special doll to whom I was introduced.

Her name was Querette, after the letter “Q” stamped on her porcelain head.  She was child sized and sat in a little rocking chair.  She had blond ringlets with ribbons and was dressed in traditional French fashion of the 20’s complete with little black patent leather shoes whose soles were scuffed.  It was the first thing I noticed and when I inquired why, my girlfriend laughed and said it was because sometimes Querette walked around at night.

I slept on the sofa in the lanai and the days passed quietly with restless nights, the house filled with the soft little voices of the dolls. However, my condition was now 7 months along and my friend and I sat down to discuss a plan of action.  I could not go back to New Orleans and I could not go to South America.  She was heading back to New York and her mother would not allow me to stay because of her religious beliefs; there was only one option remained.  I called Garry in Houston.

It was the last place I wanted to return to, but the only choice I had, so I packed my things and two days later took the bus to Houston.  Garry had sent me money for the bus fare, found me a place to stay to have the baby, arranged for a private adoption, found me an apartment, sold me a car, gave me my life back and a chance to start over.

I did manage to call New Orleans and quietly found out that Dino had indeed gone to California.  He thought I had abandoned him and was already involved with another. I told him everything and wished him well.  I also called my aunt who had suspected the truth and made me promise to call one a week and come back on holidays.

For the next year or so I would be surrounded by my first circle of friends; I would find a good job at an oil company translating seismic drilling reports from French to English; I would meet the man I would one day marry and that Christmas I would accept my sisters invitation to spend the holiday with her in Ecuador.

The wheel of fortune would spin once again.



  1. reocochran says:

    I have felt angels and heard messages from birds, too. It is interesting to be connected and I like the way you write your stories, too. Hugs, Robin


  2. mms20 says:

    This drawing is so captivating! Did you do it? I can’t stop looking at it. haha


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