No Happily Ever Afters

The Voices - part 4

May 1933

I woke up with a start as the train whistle announced the approach of the giant, smoking beast.  It had been awhile - though exactly how long, I wasn't sure - and I still hadn't gotten used to the sound.  I slipped on a threadbare jacket over my too-big flannel shirt and poked my head out of my tent.  It was already well past sunrise and the camp was busy as an anthill.  I stretched, finally able to stand up straight after leaving the narrow confines of my tent, and headed off to find Sara. 

As usual, it didn't take me long to spot her.  Sara would stand out in any crowd with her crazy white hair that she never even attempted to tame and her mismatched layers of clothes, each a different vibrant color.  And, of course, there were her bells.  She wore them tied around her wrists and ankles and looped around her neck. 

When I was very young, I used to love to look at books in my father's library.  One of them had giant pictures of birds from all over the world.  My favorite were always the jungle birds, with their incredibly bright colors and their heads thrown back in song.  Fluttering rainbows making music where ever they went - exactly like Sara.

Maybe that is why I was so attracted to her from the start, or maybe it was because she seemed to understand me in a way that no one else ever had.  I had heard others in the camp muttering and calling her cruel names behind her back, but whenever Sara started telling one of her wonderful stories, they all fell silent and leaned closer so as not to miss a word. 

They also never wanted to miss her delicious stew and, like now, would form a line across the makeshift camp to get it.

"Good morning, Sara!" I called out cheerfully as I made my way around old crates and barrels to where she was standing.  I pushed a chicken off one of the crates and sat down close to her. 

"Morning? Child, it's nearly noon!" she exclaimed, shaking her head as if she just couldn't believe it.  "And just what do you think you're doing sittin' there? Come help a poor old woman out!"

I nodded eagerly, jumping to my feet to help her serve the hungry families of the Hooverville.  I didn't bother pointing out the fact that it was barely 7am since I knew it wouldn't make a difference to Sara.

Once everyone had been served, I sat down near Sara's feet as we ate.  She hummed softly to herself as she surveyed the area.  I followed her gaze, examining the place I now called home.  It was a makeshift camp of sorts - I often heard people refer to it as 'Hooverville'.  At first, I thought that was the name of the place and, in a sense, it was.  According to Sara, though, there are hundreds of Hoovervilles set up around the country.  There are some men that call it a 'hobo camp' but Sara told me not to call it that.  Besides, I'm not entirely sure what a hobo is. 

For the majority of the people here, Hooverville isn't a permanent home.  That's why we're so close to the train tracks.  Many people ride the rails and just use this place to get a meal and stay the night before jumping back on the train and heading to the next stop.  Some people stay for a few weeks, attempting to walk the two miles everyday into town to try and find work.  Jobs are hard to find though and in such a small town, they almost always strike out. 

There are a few people, like me and Sara, who have made this our permanent stop.  Sara sort of keeps this little place going with her stories and cooking.  Whenever there's a problem, people always take it to her.  That's probably why when I stumbled upon this place a few months back, half starved and still injured from my fall, they brought me to her.

Since then, I've been helping around the camp as much as possible.  I often helped Sara with the cooking, using the giant ladle to stir the stew pot sometimes, but more often going around the camp collecting whatever vegetables or meat that could be added to the pot.  Everyone pitched in as much as they could, and, between all the different families and travelers, we usually managed to have a decent stew.