Long Time Gone

Chapter 1

"We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and success of liberty."

These were the words I heard the first thing I woke up on that winter morning. The ancient radio which sat idly on one of the kitchen windows blared the very voice of John F. Kennedy. Besides the early morning chirping of the birds and rustling of the winter creatures outside, JFK's speech was accompanied by the usual bad mouthing of my Auntie Martha from the living room.

According to Auntie Martha, JFK's words of wisdom did as little to the people of minority as they did to the majority. The chances of a war kept increasing, so did the increased probability of the number of widows and orphans. Whereas, the breadwinner men of the family had a chance of vanishing by mass. All that was left for the people was to dream economy-sized dreams of hope, where in the end, they were aware that there was no reward for the blood, sweat and tears they put into their hardwork.

I did not often agree on such radical opinions of Auntie Martha, for she was an extremely disagreeable lady, but this time I was really permitted to agree with her.

In my humble opinion, JFK was merely delivering this speech in order to give new hopes to the Americans on the New Year. After all, it was 1961, and the year was going to wind up some happy memories. I cannot best believe this, but I can wholeheartedly hope so.

Speaking of the New Year, January brought forth a mild winter in the village of Canterville. Despite being buried deep within the roots of Minnesota, Canterville was supposedly a long forgotten village, the one which cannot be located on the American map.

Shacks, cottages and barns were the common residences of the villagers, where a single school, church, public library, and an orphanage played stand-alone roles in the village. Greenery and nature populated the area, where farm animals were bred and sold in the market. The said market was deemed as the central hub of the village, where people bought and sold their belongings, and where often dealings occured that included exchanges of clothes for food, organs for money and money for drugs.

Despite all the hustle and bustle of the village, the history of Canterville resided in its infamous mining site. Auntie Martha, with a touch of disdain in her tone, of course, had told me the stories of the miners and how the poor old souls used to spend their hours in the utter darkness of the mines mining for the iron ores. On their lucky days, they get to mine diamonds or effervescence of the iron ores of centuries old. On their unlucky days, they get to be the victims of a mine explosion.

As a child, I was mortified by the idea of people working in the mine, but as an 18 year old, I am now settled on the notion that working in the mine could not be as cruel as spending day to day working in the barn with Auntie Martha.

Born as the only child of the parents who soon became the victims of a contagious typhus fever, I was passed onto my mother's brother, Uncle Lucas and his wife. However, the tragedy didn't pause there. Soon afterwards his 52nd birthday, Uncle Lucas surrendered to his prolonged tuberculosis. After that instance, it was only me and Uncle Lucas' wife, Auntie Martha.

Sinister and vile being her middle and maiden names, Auntie Martha kept an eagle eye on me throughout my maturing years and till present. My actions, my plans, my appearance and my duties were all her business. It wasn't like I was a troublemaker. In fact, I was an ordinary village girl, the one you could picture with a pale skin, small frame and long auburn hair. I was indeed quite simple looking, and in addition to this, Auntie Martha objected that I lacked bucketfuls of decorum as compared to other girls in the village. I wasn't as neat or proper as Paula or Georgiana around the block. Those girls were stuck-ups, I was not. But in Auntie Martha's perspective, those girls were likely to set a better example for the coming-of-age girls than I ever was.