Rendezvous

I had no reason for being there so late, not a legitimate one. The school day had ended two hours earlier, and the hallways were cleared by now, not even one student dragging his or her feet. Bus #253 – the late bus – was already gone, and so I was on my own. Home was close, but too far to walk.

Miss Dupre – my French teacher – spotted me in the corridor after locking her office door. She’d already driven me home countless times in previous weeks, and I was positioning myself for yet another late day ride with her.

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Dad’s cloud

The local townsfolk call it Old Albert’s Place, located on the north side of the crater, near the bunkers, a few miles off of Route 18. “Can’t miss it,” they tell me with raised eyebrows. “Just follow the dirt road to the end. It is still passable, despite the winter rains last year. Watch out for the potholes and radioactive stuff. Good luck, mister!”

And so I walk…

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A year without change

Change did not exist in 1973. The people and things I cherished would last forever, as is, without alteration. Time stretched infinitely into the distance, a conveyor belt to nowhere, carrying our faces, mom’s milkshakes, dad’s store, my orange chopper and blue sparkle drums, and all those “feel good” tunes playing continuously on big sister’s turntable – our endless theme for 1973.

My childhood at sea

Often, I stood waist deep, threatening to hold my ground against her tall waves, taunting them with laughter as their grandeur climbed upward like a tsunami before my innocent eyes, believing it was all in good fun.

And as always, I finally surrendered to the imposition of her will, which dragged me under and tossed my childish body around for a bit, like a flimsy blanket in a laundry machine, before gently depositing me on the warmth of dry sand.

Elephant in the room

This was the last leg of our father & son trip, to cross the Canadian border and explore the innards of another country, a first for both of us. But Dad always ran his tires into the ground, until they were bald and ready to bust open, and so there was always a 50/50 chance of losing a tire on a long trip. And this time we were on the wrong end of 50/50.

I began hearing the sound earlier, but said nothing, hoping the road was just old and noisy, keeping my eye on Dad’s involuntary expressions. Dad turned towards the driver’s side window several times, looked into the rear view mirror, wrinkling his forehead a bit, and then refocusing on the road. Once or twice he looked at me for a second and said nothing, wondering if I’d been hearing it too, but I said nothing. We did this kind of silent inquisition often, keeping elephants in the room as long as possible before acknowledging them, hoping they’d run off. But this beast was staying and getting bigger, Dad and I finally looking all over, window to window, mirror to mirror, getting more nervous.

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