Be Somebody

I don't remember much 'bout my mama. Only bits and pieces like the cool of her hands on my forehead whenever I was sick or her voice when she sung me those little tunes she made up. I remember she sang like an angel, with a face to match, all shining and pretty-like. Mostly I just recollect how it felt to be near her. Safe, somehow. And warm, like nothing could get at me if she was there.

After she died, my daddy come back for me. We packed what little I had into two plastic garbage bags and drove off to the city in his beat-up truck. That truck was rusted out and had splits in the seams of the seats, but my daddy loved it better'n me sometimes. Said that truck was more reliable than any person he'd done met, rusted out or not. I s'pose I didn't turn out any better than that truck, what with droppin' out of school and all and messin' up every job I took. That's why I left. Didn't seem like any reason to stay just to have my daddy givin' me the evil eye and tellin' me how worthless I was. I figured I was better off findin' my own way in the world than followin' his.

That's how come I ended up here, living in this little rented room with a job at the gas station. I know it ain't much, but it's a start. And someday I'm gonna be somebody. Somebody that don't need excuses made for them, that don't get sorry looks from people on account of having holes in their shoes. I'm gonna be somebody that holds their head up high but don't look down at nobody either. You just wait and see.