All We Had
When I think about my mother, I think about our car—a 1993 Ford Escort. It was the only thing we owned. I was ten when we bought it from a lot on West High Street. The salesman had thick leathery skin with lines crisscrossing his face as if a kid had scribbled on him with a Sharpie.
He kept telling my mother how everything about the car was deluxe. The seats, the windows, the wipers—even the blower for the AC and...