I tell. That’s what I do. Kiss and tell. Sin and tell. Check out of Winn Dixie with an unscanned roll of cinnamon rolls, hike back into the store in the pouring rain, plunk my buck 35 down on the counter, and tell.
“I don’t think I paid for this”…..
I was 12 when we stole my Mother’s little red Ford Fairlane. It had already been stolen once and returned none the worse... so…. we all piled in, sweaty little thighs on naugahyde seats, and grinned. Crank that baby up. She purred. That’s why Mama loved her, she always purred. I grinned, cradled the giant Mr. Peanut shaped gear shift knob in my right hand, used both feet to tap the brakes and accelerator simultaneously (that’s how they did it on the Mod Squad!) and we lurched forward. “Here we go, baby!” We all squealed! And hmphrrrrgggh! She stalled. “Do it again!” Kimbies yelped from the passenger's seat, stretching a long-long 8 year old arm across the vinyl seat and shoving the gear shift further into the PRNDL position. Noise. Smoke. We’re going nowhere.
Kimbies shoved and shifted and I stomped my feet at the same time. We shot out of the “drive -right-through” garage and barely missed Mrs. Napoleon’s greenhouse…. banged a hard turn to the right….furiously cranking the “too hot to touch” maroon steering wheel with virgin fingers….and fish-tailed down the dirty alley! Whoooooshhhh. Yeah, baby! Black clouds! Another hard turn to the right and we’re on pavement, Skinny and Curty bouncing, bobbing, laughing in the back seat….
And then I saw it. The intersection. Traffic.
DAMN!
The guardian angel took over. I don’t remember if she stole the keys or body-slammed the brakes. I really have no idea. I just remember lugging the little ones out of the back seat, laughing, and leaving the little Ford Fairlane at the intersection of Barcelona and Blount Street. We hiked home. Skipping over the sidewalk cracks and eventually, Kimbies and I taking turns toting our grimey, sweaty, octopus armed and legged baby siblings home....
Of course the babysitter reported the car stolen. It wasn’t found until the next day…..still sitting at the stop sign, keys in the ignition. The cops drove it home.
Eventually someone else stole it. Drove it all the way to California and wrecked it. Our Mama mourned. She loved that little red Ford Fairlane and obviously so did a lot of other people… “they were forever stealing it” she used to say……
About five years ago, I popped off with the “Do you want to know a secret, Mom?” story at Christmas time. Everyone scooched in closer…..
And I told.
I saw the disappointment in her eyes. The reflection. She was quiet for a moment and then lifted her beer in holiday cheer and the night went on.
She’s like that.
She would never say out loud that it was o.k. that we stole the car. That we laughed. That we were risky. That she thanked God we survived it. And lived to tell about it.
Really, the only thing that probably disappointed her was that not that many people really wanted her little Red Ford Fairlane….
to be continued.....
“I don’t think I paid for this”…..
I was 12 when we stole my Mother’s little red Ford Fairlane. It had already been stolen once and returned none the worse... so…. we all piled in, sweaty little thighs on naugahyde seats, and grinned. Crank that baby up. She purred. That’s why Mama loved her, she always purred. I grinned, cradled the giant Mr. Peanut shaped gear shift knob in my right hand, used both feet to tap the brakes and accelerator simultaneously (that’s how they did it on the Mod Squad!) and we lurched forward. “Here we go, baby!” We all squealed! And hmphrrrrgggh! She stalled. “Do it again!” Kimbies yelped from the passenger's seat, stretching a long-long 8 year old arm across the vinyl seat and shoving the gear shift further into the PRNDL position. Noise. Smoke. We’re going nowhere.
Kimbies shoved and shifted and I stomped my feet at the same time. We shot out of the “drive -right-through” garage and barely missed Mrs. Napoleon’s greenhouse…. banged a hard turn to the right….furiously cranking the “too hot to touch” maroon steering wheel with virgin fingers….and fish-tailed down the dirty alley! Whoooooshhhh. Yeah, baby! Black clouds! Another hard turn to the right and we’re on pavement, Skinny and Curty bouncing, bobbing, laughing in the back seat….
And then I saw it. The intersection. Traffic.
DAMN!
The guardian angel took over. I don’t remember if she stole the keys or body-slammed the brakes. I really have no idea. I just remember lugging the little ones out of the back seat, laughing, and leaving the little Ford Fairlane at the intersection of Barcelona and Blount Street. We hiked home. Skipping over the sidewalk cracks and eventually, Kimbies and I taking turns toting our grimey, sweaty, octopus armed and legged baby siblings home....
Of course the babysitter reported the car stolen. It wasn’t found until the next day…..still sitting at the stop sign, keys in the ignition. The cops drove it home.
Eventually someone else stole it. Drove it all the way to California and wrecked it. Our Mama mourned. She loved that little red Ford Fairlane and obviously so did a lot of other people… “they were forever stealing it” she used to say……
About five years ago, I popped off with the “Do you want to know a secret, Mom?” story at Christmas time. Everyone scooched in closer…..
And I told.
I saw the disappointment in her eyes. The reflection. She was quiet for a moment and then lifted her beer in holiday cheer and the night went on.
She’s like that.
She would never say out loud that it was o.k. that we stole the car. That we laughed. That we were risky. That she thanked God we survived it. And lived to tell about it.
Really, the only thing that probably disappointed her was that not that many people really wanted her little Red Ford Fairlane….
to be continued.....
