I sat cross-legged on the floor watching Gilligan’s Island with my little sister, rubbing ice on my neck, one cube at a time so the tray would last all afternoon. At 8 and 10, my sister and I were best friends, but I was trying unsuccessfully to talk her into getting me another ice cube so I didn’t have to move in the heat.
Then mom walked in, a smile on her face, keys in her hand.
“Get your swimsuits, we’re going….” I grabbed my sister and we darted out of the room before she finished the sentence, changing into our swimsuits and throwing on dime-store flip-flops to follow Mom outside. I could FEEL Mom’s excitement deep in my belly, but I watched her eyes to see if they matched her smile so I could be sure it was real.
“This is ours,” she said, as she stood in front of the Buick Skylark convertible, sky blue with only a little rust and the roof already down. She’d just bought it for $75. I knew it was rent money. I was already trying to help manage the household bills with what little money we had, but this time I didn’t care, not in this heat. The car came with no title and sold for cash, no questions asked. Mom said, “I’m sure someone just lost the title.” She repeated this several times, probably to convince herself more than to convince us kids that it wasn’t stolen. She got a set of plates and an inspection sticker from a guy she knew over on Lodi Street. Not exactly legal, but I was sure you couldn’t tell to look at it. We were mobile, and we could go anywhere.
We jumped in the car and headed straight to the Big M market for bologna, white bread from the discount table, Ruffle’s potato chips, Oreo cookies, a half a watermelon and a two-liter of ice-cold coke. Mom even bought a Styrofoam cooler to put it in, and some ice, so it’d be nice and cold. It was going to be a feast!
Mom was on top of the world, so she headed to Lake Ontario, a full hour or so from our house. Things were going to be different now, mom had a car and some food stamps in her pocket, and she no longer had that panicked look in her eyes. I tried to find ways to make her happy, but over the last two months I failed and she drank, slept late. You never knew when the anger would come, rages that sometimes spilled onto the street. A week or two ago, after drinking all afternoon and telling us she was going to run away to Nashville to be a star, she chased me down the street screaming that I’d ruined her life. The neighbors watched. I was faster than she was, and hid in some bushes, sneaking back in later after she passed out. I didn’t like leaving my sister alone with her. But now Mom was back, the mom I considered my real mom. I worshipped her when she was like this, so beautiful with her Marilyn Monroe red lipstick and blond hair that blew in the wind with the top down. I believed in her, believed she was back for good this time, so I put the memories of her other side away in the dark place I tried not to think about.
“She must really trust this car,” I thought. I looked at the gas, and the tank was full, so I let go of worrying and started a game of Grandmother’s Trunk. “I’m going to Alabama with Grandmother’s trunk, bringing apples and an Afghan to spread on the ground for the picnic.” My sister followed, “I’m going to Boston, bringing baked beans and a badminton set.” After the game, we sang, the three of us singing three-part harmony the way mom liked us to. Mom wrote country music and played the honky-tonks and in a bluegrass band, so we were always singing. We sang everything from the old folk classic, Like a Fox on the Run, which has the best three-part harmony, to Linda Ronstadt’s Blue Bayou, and at least three or four Eagles songs. I smiled so much my cheeks were sore, and bounced on my seat like I might burst.
There were big waves that day and we swam and ate and swam some more. As clouds started to gather in the sky and the day grew cooler, we ate second or third sandwiches and finished all the cookies. We’d filled ourselves all day on the picnic and we headed home as the sun was setting in the sky, our hearts as full as our bellies. My sister fell asleep with her head in my lap, but I stayed awake to keep Mom company and listen to old time country music on the radio, joining in when Mom sang along.
It started to rain just as we pulled into the parking lot behind our apartment. My sister woke with a start and sat in the car as Mom and I tried to get the roof closed. She found the button that raised and closed it automatically but we still couldn’t get it latched. After several tries, our fingers slippery with rain, I pulled my sister onto the hood and we sat on the edge of the roof, our weight holding it down so Mom could latch it. Laughing, the three of us stood in the warm summer rain staring at our beautiful Skylark, sky blue, with a white convertible roof that took two kids sitting on it to close.
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I wanted to read more, so keep going with this and take that blue skylark on another outing!