She was just about to get into her newly washed car and drive to work, when Marlena stopped dead in her tracks. Placing a hand on the hood of the car to brace herself, she gazed on in rapt horror as the meteor blazed a wide swath across the sky. How big was that thing? She wondered where the point of impact would be…how much longer she had until it struck the Earth, somewhere not too far from where she stood rooted right now, and sent a mushrooming fireball of destruction high into the stratosphere.
How big was that thing…She had to make a decision. Not even three seconds had passed since she’d first noticed the colossal celestial body hurtling toward Fresno. Go back in the house? My God, why didn’t homes in California have basements? Oh. Right. Earthquakes. What about her mother? Did she even know what was happening? She should warn her, but how? There wasn’t time regardless. Marlena remained with her hand on the hood of the car, the treasured antique car, carefully and lovingly restored by her uncle and left to her in his will when he died suddenly of complications of renal failure.
How bad was this going to be? She would know soon as the meteor continued its descent, fueled by the irresistible pull of gravity. There was a brilliant and blinding FLASH of light, then a moment of nothing, followed by a concussive shockwave unlike anything the Earth has endured in millions of years. In the end, Marlena was only aware for a nanosecond of a hot wind upon her face and then…
Story by Jennifer Robbins-Mullen
This polaroid was taken when my mother, was 26 years old. She was so young then, full of life, and that is how I want to remember her. When I look at this picture I see someone who loved taking care of herself. Someone who cared about her appearance.
I mean, come on, look at her! She looks gorgeous. I refuse to remember her as someone who lost herself after marrying my father. Someone who couldn’t wear what she wanted, because of the uncontrollable jealousy my father had. She also couldn’t go to the nail salon to get her nails done, because my father refused to give her money to look good to others, or at least that is what he used as an excuse for spending all his money at the bar.
You might be thinking, why didn’t she go and pay for it herself? Just like everyone in that time span she was a housewife, dedicating her life for her children and her husband. She took such good care of me and my two sisters. All she asked in return was to be loved by her children and her husband.
It is so hard to look back at time knowing that we all did not value the dedication and hard work that was put into taking care and looking out for us. My sisters and I were too busy being teenagers. My father only knew how to get home late after a bar night with his friends. He would come back home drunk and never even recognize her presence or even ours.
This is not how I want to remember her. It makes me sad to know that most of her life she felt lonely and unappreciated. I want to remember her happy. I want to remember her with her individuality. I want to remember her being the protagonist of her life just as my grandma would always tell us when we were younger. I wish I could go back and bring her back. Bring her back to life and to the person she once was.
Story by Barbara