Ello, ma name is Jack Miculkins, and I live in this er boxcar. It wusn’t allers like this, one time I had a purty house and a nice fambly down in ol’ Oklahoma. But iz all gone now; swalla’d up by da dust. I don know if I eva gon see it again.

One mornin, I lookd’outa da ol’crooked winda in the kitchen, n I culn see nothin. Not da neighbas, or da cows in da fence, or da lil’white bench Pop had made for momma when I wuz a youngin like Elly. Only brown. Brown sky and ground and erythin inba’tween. Thas the day I knew we wuz gonna hav’ta be leavin.

Pop n I pack’d up the ol truck with as much as we culd fit, but we hada’ leave ‘most erything. Mama tried so hard notta cry, but she juss culn’t help it. Elly was only five then, n’ I was fourteen. She ran over n’ gave mama a big ol’ hug; she din’t really unerstan what leavin meant ye; but she wuld soon.

We din’t know whar we wuz goin, but we just headed out on da road. We drove West, n’ most a da time we culd hardly see da pavement. As we wen along, we met lossa folks sayin ther wuz work out in California, so Pop decided thas wher we wuld hed. The travelin grew harder as we ate less n less food, we hada’ ration so we culd make what lil’ we had lass as long as poss’ble.

A’ventually, we ran outa money for gas. We culdn’t carry erything on foot, so we left anything we culdnt hold in our arms to be engulfed by da dust, juss like our house. Lil’ Elly’s stomach growled louder den da motors a da cars dat passed by; Ma was heartbrok’n that she culdn’t cook for her fambly. Pop did his best’ta keep erybody in good spirits, but he culdn’t keep it up no more. Life seemd hopeless. No matta how far we walked, it didn look no diffrent. Just mountains a’ dust, n’da same sad faces erywhere ya turned.

One mornin’, I woke up to see Pop sittin on da ground outsida’ our tent we pitched frum some a’ Mama’s ol dresses. When I came aroun’ ta look at ‘is face, he wuz holdin our only shovel, n tears had traced lines down da’dirt on ‘is cheeks. As he looked up inta’ my eyes, he tol’me that Elly was in da dust now. Juss like the house, n’da truck, and alla’ Oklahoma.

Afta’ ma baby sister died frum sta’vation, I ‘cided I culdn’t be a burden to ma parents no more. I wanted Mama to see California; she deserv’d ta see the sunshine n’ da beach. I culdn’t take any mor a der food, so I left before da sunrise of da nex day. I knew’d they be upset, but dat they wuld understan’ I did it for them.

I walked fa’ days without stopping, n’ I hardly had any food er watah. In da heat a’da af’ernoon, I collapsed into da dust. Nex thing I know, I wuz in a lil’tent with some older folks smilin down at me, n’ I fell back asleep with exhaus’tion. When I woke up a’gin, they tol’ me that they had found me juss a’lyin in da dirt, n’dey picked me up n’ took me with ém in their truck and nursed me back ta’ health. They say’s dat they was headin’ fur California, so I told ém to say ello to my fambly if they eva met. With dat, I headed off on ma way.

Afta’ a’few weeks, I came across n ol’ abandoned train. It wuz rundown, n’ all aone, just like me. Ther wuz a small stream right nearby, n’ open sky as far as the eye culd see. No dust in the air n’some runnin watah, it seemed like Heaven ta me. I seéld down, n’ nevah moved. I hope I see Mama and Pop a’gin sum day, if da Lo’d allows, but I don’ think they’ll be comin ma way any time soon.