text: A dusty, faded black & white photograph of a teenaged girl holding a baby, tightly swaddled, with the upper right corner bent falls from an old family bible that was buried beneath newspapers in the attic for decades. Irene wistfully picks up the photograph and runs her thumb across the girl’s face with her forced smile, eyes squinting against the sun, wiping away the dust. She rubs the photo on her pants leg to clean it off. The old woman looks at herself looking back at her through time. A moment not forgotten but buried deep within her mind. She flips over the photo to read the writing on the back, ‘Irene and Ella Norris, 1960.’ Ella was Irene’s first and only child, born to her out of wedlock at a time when such things were taboo. She was only seventeen. Irene was young and in love with a boy her parents disapproved of named Billy Winston. To Irene, he dripped cool with his slicked back hair, leather jacket, and cherry red ’57 Chevy convertible that he worked to pay for himself. He was nineteen and she was a sixteen-year-old who had a thing for the bad boys despite her good-girl appearance. She was rebellious and had a spirit for adventure, something that didn’t sit well with her father, but Billy found attractive. The two teens were inseparable. Billy was exciting and treated her like a woman, opposed to her parents who were dull and treated her like a child. Irene loved the thrill of the drag races that Billy participated in. She loved the celebrations that followed even more, quite often stumbling in late at night drunk and reeking of smoke. She fought constantly with her parents who felt she was setting a poor example for her younger siblings. Punishments never worked until her father nailed her window shut. That led to Irene agreeing to move out west where Billy had a cousin who would take them in until they got on their feet. Billy picked her up from school one day and they hit the highway leaving St. Louis in the rearview mirror. Irene smiles as she recalls how free she felt when she stood up in the topless car, her hair blowing in the wind, and howled like a wolf as they sped down the road. They had a cooler full of beer, a carton of cigarettes, and each other. The radio blasted a song she can’t remember, but she remembers how her father’s voice echoed through her head, “You’re wasting your life on that boy.” At that moment she felt like she was just beginning to live. Irene scans the attic, her eyes settling on a dirty old trunk hidden under a mountain of filthy boxes. It strained her old bones to maneuver the boxes around enough to get to the chest, but she desperately wanted what was in that trunk. She clears away the boxes and opens the trunk. Inside, folded nicely, is the onesie Ella wore home from the hospital. Next to it was the stuffed pink lamb that Ella slept with every night. They were placed on top of a shoe box that contains random trinkets that she sits aside to go through later. At the bottom of the trunk is a tattered-looking scrapbook. She shuts the trunk and has a seat, opening the scrapbook to the first page which is a picture of her and Billy leaning on his car right after he bought it. She runs a finger over Billy’s image and says, “You always did like the bad ones.” She flips the page and continues to reminisce about a time in her life she wishes she could go back to. As the sun was getting low, Billy pulled over in Springfield looking for a drag race for some extra cash. He didn’t find word of anything, but people were talking about a cave where the farmers gathered to see the local boys perform country music concerts. Country music wasn’t their music, but a concert in a cave was something they wanted to see. Irene reminisces over the evening, remembering how huge a cavern that cave was. It fit an entire stage inside, well lit, surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. It was cool inside, so she wore Billy’s jacket like she did most evenings. When the music started, they were taken aback by the whooping and hollering that followed. Men and women began to dance. A nice woman led Billy out to dance where he was polite enough to kick up some dust. The lady’s husband politely extended his hand, inviting her to do the same. She and Billy were reunited for a slow song. She couldn’t help but notice how he looked at her that night. It was like he’d been digging for gold his whole life and found diamonds instead. After everyone left, they curled up in the back seat of the car with the top down and fell asleep under the stars. That was the best night’s sleep Irene ever remembers having. The next day they stopped at a little diner in Oklahoma. The diner had tourist brochures as they walked in. Irene picked one up. Flipping through it she found a park with a seventy-seven-foot waterfall where visitors could swim, hike, and explore more caves. She pleaded with Billy, being as cute and flirtatious as she could be, saying she’s never seen a waterfall. The park was well out of their way. She had to use all her girlish charm to chisel away at Billy’s male bravado, but she broke through, and he promised to take her swimming. When they arrived, it was more crowded than Irene expected, being a popular swim hole for the locals, but it made her day not only to see the waterfall, but to swim over to it and feel its mist in her face. Irene smiles back at the moment, thinking about how happy they were, splashing at each other, dunking one another, wrestling, and kissing. They dried themselves off by sunning themselves on the beach before hiking back to another cave where they climbed rocks and listened to their echoes. That night they returned when the park was closed to bathe each other’s naked bodies beneath the falls. They made love on the beach that night, falling asleep. A park ranger ran them off in the morning. In Texas, they pulled over to camp at a state park that bordered a canyon with cliffs over eight hundred feet high. They frolicked down the trail to the bottom of the canyon where Billy used a rock to etch the initial BW + IB (for Irene Baker) into the side of the canyon wall. Irene shakes her head as she recollects no frolicking on the way back up. It was a steep climb, and they were both hot, sweaty, and thirsty. It was the first time in their relationship where neither one wanted to touch the other. Looking back on it now, that heat could have killed them. They were lucky. She grins at the memory of Billy sticking his head under the spicket at their campsite, his dark hair spilling down on over his face, sweat glistening over his finely toned pecs and abs. When they went up to the shower house, Irene remembers sneaking around to the men’s shower and surprising her boyfriend. The water was cold and refreshing, but the water was the only thing cold in that stall as she recalls. Billy found plenty of street racing in Albuquerque. He put them up in a motel room that had a pool out front for three nights. Irene liked seeing him doing what he loved most, and he brought in good money each night. They would party with the locals until the wee hours of the morning, sleep in until lunch, walk over to the adjoining diner for a bite to eat, then lounge around the pool until it was time to race again. Irene remembers talking to Billy, telling him how much she liked the people in Albuquerque, how she liked the life they were living. That’s when he said it was time to go, that she would love San Diego all the more. Billy dreamt of sun and surf and the dessert only offered one of those things. He promised her sincerely that he would make her the happiest woman in the world once they got there. Irene had no doubts. With the extra money Billy made racing, he wanted to take a major detour. Being one-fourth Cherokee, Billy had always had a fascination with Native American history and culture. There was one place he was dying to see and there was no way Irene was going to deny him the chance to see it: Cliff Palace. They shot their way north and, to Iren’s surprise, Billy let her drive. He had to give her a little lesson, but she caught on quickly and they got back on the highway in no time. Irene laughs at the memory of being nervous and excited, petrified when Billy covered her eyes. She gripped the wheel and tightened every muscle in her body to hold the car straight. There was nothing around, not even the gentlest curve. It gave her a bit of a rush, but she let Billy have it anyway. When they reached Cliff Palace, Billy’s machismo was swept away as a guide led them through a city built into the side of a cliff by the Pueblos centuries ago. In its place Irene saw a boyish enthusiasm that she had never seen in Billy Winston before. Upon seeing it, she knew in that moment, that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Billy drove through the night, making it to Pheonix. They checked into another motel. Irene swam while Billy slept, then they went looking for races. They stayed a couple nights, pulling in cash and partying before driving straight in to San Diego. Billy was right. Irene loved San Diego. She thinks back on some of the friends she made while living there, the restaurant where Billy cooked and she served, their little apartment downtown that was a quick drive to the beach where they learned to surf as she flips through the pages of her scrapbook. It was life lived to the fullest, even if she did have to quit drinking and smoking because of the baby she was carrying. They had only been there a month when she started feeling sick all the time. It was a couple more weeks when it dawned on her she was late, really late. Billy took her to the doctor, and it was made official. She was six weeks pregnant. Irene continued to work for several months, but by month seven, eight hours a day on her feet was too much and she had to quit. Billy went back to racing for extra money to compensate for the loss of income. It wasn’t as much as Irene pulled in on tips every week, but it helped them scrape by. Even though Irene was swollen, sore, and tired, she went to every race to cheer Billy on. When they lined up, she would kiss him for good luck. It had never failed. On this particular night, she didn’t. Billy brought a lawn chair for her to sit in and she didn’t feel like getting up and waddling over there. She listened as the boys revved their engines and watched as a friend of hers dropped her arms, signaling the boys to go. Tires screeched with the smell of burnt rubber. Billy pulled into the lead and a loud bang, like gunfire, was heard. Billy lost control of his car due to a flat tire. He swerved into his opponent's lane. When his opponent hit him, he sent Billy rolling. When the Chevy came to a stop it went up in flames. Fear consumed Irene as she sprang from her chair crying out her boyfriend's name. She ran as fast as she could, a mob of spectators streaking past her. She could see people trying to get to Billy as he screamed in agony, but the fire was too hot. When the screaming stopped, Irene dropped to her knees and wailed in inconsolable grief. Her friends had to help her to their car and take her home. Irene didn’t know what to do after Billy’s death. She laid in bed a lot. Sometimes she slept. Sometimes she ate. She watched as bills piled up with no way to pay them. She hit a low so low that she picked up the phone and called her mom. Her parents refused to help in any way and demanded she come home; that they would drive out there and take her home. Feeling that she had no other choice, she agreed. Irene flips the page and can’t stop the tears from coming. There, looking back at her are the big blue eyes of Ella in an 8x10 photo that was taken in the hospital. She remembers how tiny she was, just six-pounds two-ounces. The bonding experience of breast feeding her child was more than just a memory, it was an instinct gone dormant that tingled its way back to life at the sight of her child. For a month she cared for and protected that baby, watching her grow so fast. She played with her, fed her, bathed her, slept with her. Ella was her entire life and her last remaining piece of the man she loved. Ella had her father’s eyes, and Irene felt that Billy lived on through her. Irene’s parents ignored the child. She tried to get them to interact with their grandchild, but she was always sent away. Instead, they complained about the noise, the cost, and what other people thought. They laid it out plainly, either Irene put the baby up for adoption or, since she was seventeen, they both leave with them immediately calling child services on her, putting Ella into foster care. Irene’s face flushes with anger at the memory of how smug her parents looked as they told her that giving up her baby will teach her to be more responsible in the future. She feels nauseous as she relives having to make a decision she didn’t want to make. She can see it as plain as if it were just yesterday; her, tightly holding her baby, rocking back and forth, crying, pleading with her parents not to do it to her. They were stone cold, unwavering in their decision to punish their daughter for her rebellious tryst halfway across the country, shaming them. Irene turns to the back page where four empty corner tabs are all that are there. She returns the picture that was taken in front of their home before her father took Ella to the adoption agency. She closes the scrapbook and returns everything else to the trunk, deciding she wants to keep the scrapbook at hand to remind her of a time when love and happiness were real. Her parent's actions left her hating them. She ran off with the first guy to come along just to be rid of them. He gaslighted her and abused her, causing three miscarriages. At first Irene thought she could fight back, but when the realization that she couldn’t sank in, she felt helpless and didn’t know where to go. She stayed with him until nineteen-eighty-two. With the help from a shelter for battered women, she was able to get out. She eventually found a job and a place of her own, but her trust in people had been destroyed. She made plenty of friends later in life that she calls family. She traveled and did things that she might not have done if she had remarried and tried to have kids again. At the end of the day Irene is a happy woman, but never as happy as she was with Billy or Ella.