A Memoir by jody padumachitta goch

I traded in my girly car // father won it in a poker game // he knew a thing or two about cards // squat all about Tomboy daughters // I ended up with a car I would never have bought.

It had white interior // a trunk that barely fit my hiking gear // never fit me // when father refused to sign the papers for twenty acres on Pender Island // my dream of a haven to write in died // I took that girly car and traded it in for a brown Ford mini pick up // I figure my father wasn’t about to have a throwback to the bush come out of his tender care //  I could’a done it on my own  // but the Bank Manger owed father a favour // I called that hunk of tin truck Brown Dog // with the trade in and the money I’d saved for the island property I bought clear // even had me a bit of money left over // funds earmarked college books // when Brown Dog showed up in the driveway I got grounded.

Some part of me couldn’t do it no more // some part of me needed gone // still grounded I left for San Francisco two weeks later //planning to camp in the back of Brown Dog // never quite made it to the big city not to live // I hit the bars once in a while if I got lonely // I don’t get lonely easy, so hey // what Brown Dog did was find a ranch that needed a wrangler // I signed on for five bucks a day // a room above the tack storage // a bigger fuck you than living on an island close to home back in Canada.

I drank cheap beer // ate suspect steaks that came from cows with no brands // I had a ball // worked harder than my saddle string // Brown Dog took me up to Petaluma for new boots // out to the beach at Point Reyes // drinking Bud with my butt on the tailgate // when Reagan got in I got nervous //  headed back north // thinking maybe I should finish college // Brown Dog had other ideas // he was a restless sort and took me across Canada to work horses in Ontario // up north to fish //  hang out beside rivers whose names I never could pronounce // the engine sputtered // kept getting new oil //the odd purple gas in exchange for a spot of work //I kept that truck for a long time // probably past its use by date // when I finally sold him // I cried like I’d shot my dog.

There are things in this world that anchored me to living // helped me stay above the turf // there were times in that truck I drove on // instead of jumping // when I drove across bridges shaking to stop // but couldn’t abandon Brown Dog to the side of the road // I don’t think my parents ever knew how much they owed their daughter’s life to that pick up // sometimes I’m not sure it would have mattered // father knew he broke something in me when that island passed me by // he just never expected me to have enough left to buy my freedom or a truck. 

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jody padumachitta goch is a sixty-five year old, non-binary, neuro-diverse, slightly dyslexic Canadian. None of these things get in the way of drinking coffee and wondering how they ended up living in Europe. Their jeans and shirt pockets are full of stories. It’s hell on the wash machine. They enjoy lighting the wood stove and rescuing words from the lint catcher. Jody has work published in Wild Word, Rise Up Review, Com Lit, 50 Word Stories, Does It Have Pockets, NPR Poetically Yours, Co-Op Poetry and a short story in Strasbourg Short Stories 2021.