Where I Come From (long) (245 hits)
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Submitted by Kurbs <staggman.at.gmail.com> (View user info) at 2005-10-04 23:16:00 EDT
"Royal Flush." The heavenly figure smiles triumphantly, as he defeats Thomas Hussey once again. "You seem out of it today Tom, what's going on?"
"I came to America one-hundred and sixty years ago. Never would I have imagined that my whole family would still live within 100 miles of where I chose to make my first home." He pauses and takes a sip of his thick, dark, froth covered beer. "I liked it better in Ireland. The beer I mean... all the way up here there's just something missing in it."
"I know what you mean, lad, what was it like back then though... America I mean. A hundred and sixty years... that means you came right at the start of the Potato Famine... you were one of the lucky ones who made it out. Not that I hold it against you or anything... I would have done anything it took to get my family out of there, to not have to watch my children, my wife, my whole family starve to death... so how did it work, what is your story?"
"Deal the cards." He says as he stares downwards, on what is left of his family,
I was still a young man, twenty-two years old with a baby in one hand and my wife in the other. Life in Cork County was great, we laughed, played, drank, ate, and lived wonderful lives. I had my small potato farm, my mutt dog, and many friends and neighbors. Life was great, I was happy to be alive, and happier to be alive in Ireland.
Unfortunately, God's plan wasn't for things to stay this way. We heard rumors of a bight coming down on many farms of potatoes, and never believed it. As it moved closer, I realized it was true, that this disaster was going to hit us. We had enough potatoes in our cellar for a few months, luckily, so before it hit us we tore up the field, and harvested anything edible, so when we were hit our losses would be minimal.
As it turns out, potatoes don't last so long when they're all you have to eat, and when you have 3 hungry people to eat them. My neighbor, Leonard Horton, and his wife Wanda were heading over to America. They had already experienced emigrating from their own country, as they had from Poland about 10 years before, and moved in next door when I was 11 years old. I made the difficult decision to send my wife Alice, and my son James, to join the Hortons as they headed to this place called "New York" in this place they called the "New World," and left me in a place called "loneliness."
With just me and my mutt, Tater, life was growing boring. I didn't want to eat more than I had to, because I had to make my potatoes last as long as I could possibly get them to. With my neighbors, the only people within 5 miles, gone, it was just myself, sitting alone, thinking about everything, wondering about my family, friends, and my son.
Finally I decided to leave Ireland. I was headed for the "New World," and nothing was going to stop me. Or so I thought.
I headed towards the Port of Kinsale, and as I passed through my neighboring villages, all I could hear was crying, and all I could smell was death. I remember walking down the road, and hearing a carriage behind me, running wildly with two horses, and it took a turn too fast, flipping over. I remember seeing a baby and a bag of potatoes fly out, and people rushing to get the potatoes. I ran past, tried to push it out of my mind, but that is one memory that will never leave me.
As I arrived at the port, I realized it wasn't going to be easy. I later found out that 50,000 people had fled Cork county alone, many through this one port. The crowds were horrendous. People pushing, shoving, trampling over each other, just to get to a boat that had just arrived in port. When it did, it took their life savings, and usually more just to get on board. Families were separated, people beaten for their meager portions of food or money they had with them.
I'm really not sure how I did it, but I made it onto a ship, unscathed. That wouldn't last long at all. Before we had embarked, the troublemakers had already started doing their deeds, and with the boats packed so tightly, no one could get them off, or to get themselves off and away from the trouble. As we sailed further away from Ireland, the trouble faded down.
Over the course of my voyage, food became scarcer and scarcer-- I was starting to wonder if I'd have been better off back in Cork. One of the people around me was a girl I had seen during my teenage years. We got to talking, and it turns out she had gotten married, but her husband had died of starvation before they made it to the port. He wanted her to live, so he gave her all the food he could. She started crying, so I held her in my arms. We grew very close on that voyage, and I almost cheated on my wife on many occasions, but I never did.
I awoke at sunrise one morning, after weeks at sea, seeing nothing but blue as far as the eyes could see, to a voice, it took me a moment to come back to reality and realize what had awoken me. A man was yelling "Land! Land! I see land! Finally we can get off of this god-forsaken ship! The free world awaits us!" Needless to say, the whole boat was soon bustling with activity. We were weak, starving, tired, and thirsty, but that could all be solved once we arrived in America.
When we finally reached port, the boat was emptied of all people and cargo, and it was then that I realized how many people had died on this trip. Apparently the Land of Dreams was all that America would ever be to those souls. Only then did it hit me, that my wife and child could be among those dead being carried off of a previous boat. My heart crashed realizing that I may have no one and nothing in this land of Oppurtunity. I don't remember much from the rest of that day, as I went to the nearest pub and drank away any worries I had.
I awoke the next day in a dilapidated room, with a bar tab and a room fee for the night on the table next to me. I had to arrange a plan to work off my payment with the owner, as all of my money had gone to coming to the United States. Surprisingly, the barman was willing to negotiate a plan with me, and also offered to show me around the city. I accepted his generous offer, and we took off to tour New York.
After many streets filled with people, seeing many buildings, monuments, and landmarks, I caught sight of a bright red mop of hair. "Impossible." I thought to myself, but nevertheless I ran forward, pushing people out of the way. I put my hand on the shoulder of the woman holding the baby, and though she was far skinnier than when I last saw her, she turned around, and it was Alice, my wife.
After many hugs, kisses, spinning around with my child in the air, and more hugs, Alice told the barman she'd take over from here, and showed me the hotel where we were staying, on Lenny's tab. He had gone to Massachusetts to try to secure a place to live, as he had family that lived in a town called Westfield. He was due back any day, and in the meantime, we toured the city, and once again were a happy family. No one I was close to had died on the way to the Promised land, and that made it much more than a promise to me, that made it into the place that would become my home.
Lenny Horton finally came back from Westfield, MA, with wonderful news. His cousin was a wealthy investment banker, and had given us each an acre of land with a house built on it, to be paid off interest free whenever we were able. I wondered if every American was so generous as the barman and Lenny's cousin.
The first day we arrived in our homes was a Sunday. We arrived to find them fully furnished, and had our first meal. Roast beef with roasted potatoes, carrots, and wonderful gravy. This tradition continued every Sunday for all of our lives, and still does in both my family and the Horton's.
I had two more children in Westfield, Mary Elizabeth (Betsy), and Thomas the Second (Tommy). So in next door plots lived the Hortons and their family of five, and my family of myself, Alice, Betsy, Jimmy, and Tommy.
"Are you going to place your bet or fold, Bob" Thomas said, still staring down at that hunk of land still known as America. Bob was just staring at Tom, in amazement at the story he had just heard. He had played cards with Tom for over a hundred years, and never known anything about him other than he liked his beer dark, and his chips piled high. "You know," continued Tom, "They're still down there, eating their roast beef on Sundays. Most of the families still talk to each other, its like the Hussey's and the Horton's have merged. We came from Cork County in Ireland, as neighbors, and settled in America, as a family."
"I fold."
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