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Mrs. Lot
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It was just like him to wake us before dawn. "Come on. Get up. We must go. No time to pack. Let's go! Now!" He had been muttering darkly: the people would be punished, mark his words. So we were out of town on the desert road following the tracks of camels to God knows where. Lot and God weren't telling me. Lot had the donkey, of course, and his saddle bags full. I was on foot like our girls. They were running ahead; it was a game to them, an adventure. Like all teenagers they were moths drawn to bright lights, wherever they might be. My heart was heavy, slowing me down. My neighbors weren't all bad. Where was his head? I had been friends with them since childhood. You don't leave friends without a word. How could I not look back? Just once. I looked. Houses, market, shady palm trees, children playing outside our home, women talking at the well. Lot rode on, not noticing. They say I turned into a pillar of salt. They always make up stories for what they don't want to know. |
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