Our car was funny as far as rez cars go. When we came to a stop it blew a smoke screen out the back and made the cars behind us disappear. Mom said it was magic, watch this she would say to my little brother and sister. They would watch out back and laugh as the car behind us disappeared. I was in junior high school, 8th grade. And I would walk to school rather than have my mom give me a ride. I know it hurt her feelings. She did odd jobs here and there and we never had money. Our clothes we got for free from the church and they sucked. But I found being a loner at school worked for me. Then I could pretend I didn’t give a fuck when I really did. Our rez car, my mom took extreme pride in. She was always under the hood, changing spark plugs, boosting it, cleaning battery cables. She knew more about cars than any boyfriend she ever had. She kept the big beastly thing going. She kept it clean. Our reservation is poor, so it was not the only a rez car, but it was ours. Because other than staying with this grandma or that aunt or if my mom found a boyfriend for a month or two. Our rez car was the only home we had while we waited for my mom’s name to come up on the housing list. She was number 78 on the list.
#EveryDayInMay writing challenge for the On The Warpath Women Writing Challenge. Today’s theme was “rez car.”
Ain’t gotta lie to kick it