Heading to Las Vegas

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I will be kind…I will smile…were Brenda’s thoughts, as she sat in the family pew, hands folded in her lap, back straight, and eyes focused on Pastor Ben.  No one will know my thoughts.  No one will suspect what I am thinking.

On her left side, her father was ‘amening’ almost in a rhythm, and Brenda had to force her feet from tapping 1…2…3 and hold…1…2…  Her grandmother was waving her hankie in a show of agreement.

Show?  Brenda pondered that word, looking around at other old ladies with their gray hair and dressy hats.  They too were waving their hankies, and some even dabbed at their eyes.

All the other young people were sitting in the back, passing notes, and giggling.  Their heads were bowed, but Brenda knew what they were doing. She was not allowed to sit there, per Grandma's suggestion. The young families were in the middle of the church, with their children.  Brenda could smell the Cheerios and Fruit Loops.

Her mother sat, quietly folding and unfolding the church bulletin.  Fold...2...3..  Mom's hands were red and worn; she had to prepare another dinner for the pastor and family, as well as her seven children. Every Sunday, it was dinner for someone. 

Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact. Mom never looks anyone in the eye.

That was when Brenda knew.  Her mother wanted to blast out of this church just as badly as Brenda. To escape.

What’ll we do?  Mom, what will we do? 

Her mother wrote a note to her father, which read about checking on the roast and get dinner ready for the pastor, and Brenda had to help.   Her father nodded, not breaking rhythm one bit.

They tore out of the parking lot.  As they drove past their house, Brenda turned to her mother.  Mom?  Mom?

We're on the road.

Her mother smiled, lit up a cigarette, and sped up.  “We’re goin’ to Vegas, girl. I am done fixing dinners every single Sunday for each and every preacher passin' through town.”  Then they headed to the West, the whole 1,000 mile trip. 

Luggage in the back and radio cranked high with Janis Joplin, Brenda and Mom felt happy for the first Sunday in a long long time.

Dad would be at church for another two hours. Praise God.

I wrote this in 2013. This is pretty much the way Mom and I spent every single Sunday. With no help with cooking or cleaning up, she and I would gladly have done this. The memories repeated Sunday after Sunday are fresh, even 50 years later.

Nana Moves In

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A dull day, that is what this is,dull gray.  Samuel thought as he looked up from a coloring project to The Mother.  She was making a cake for Nana, who was moving in with them. 

Grammy had moved in with Aunt Tammy Whammy when she decided she was ‘out of her depth’ with Samuel.  Out of her depth?  Samuel smiled at the words.  The old lady was drowning in the deep-end.  He continued working on a “Welcome, Nana!” sign.  The mother had written the words, although Samuel believed he could have conveyed the message better with his fiery bombs and flaming people.  Oh, well, whatever.

The mother had just poured the batter into the 8 ½ x 11 pan when the doorbell rang.  Jehovah Witnesses or young Mormon men?  She would prefer the young Mormons.  When she didn’t return right away, Samuel nodded.  The men.  Well, then. 

Samuel climbed down from his chair and ran to the opposite side of the table to peer into the cake better.  Oh, Fun-Fetti.  This is perfect. 

Thinking on the fly was one of his many gifts.  Scooping up some bits of broken crayons, Samuel carefully placed and pushed them into the cake.  Maybe a few more on this side?  After effectively burying the crayon shreds, Samuel returned to the sign, innocent by all accounts.

The Mother returned to the table, smiling and blushing.  Nothing like religion to make one happy.  She placed the cake into the preheated oven, and cleaned up the kitchen, humming happily.  Every now and then, she gave Samuel a nervous smile.

Samuel returned her smile.  “You okay there, Buddy?  Wanta play a video game?”  Okay?  I am juuuust fine. 

The timer rang and The Mother carefully removed the cake from the oven and placed it on the high counter.  Leaving the oven door open just enough to let the oven cool, The Mother ran to the bathroom.  The bathroom door closed.

Oh, woman.  Do you even think about the possibilities?  Samuel peered at the partially open door, and silently lowered it down.  Still hot, but not dangerous.  Grabbing some broken crayons, Samuel tossed them onto the oven shelves and bottom.  Oh, how lovely.  Samuel watched at the colored pieces spread out and pool in rainbow glory.  Silently Samuel closed the oven door, knowing The Mother would never notice.

The Mother returned.  “Nap time, young man.  For you and me both.” 

Samuel acquiesced, holding her hand lovingly.  The Mother was confused, but accepted this new step in Samuel’s life:  possible obedience.

In his room, Samuel listened for new sounds.  When the front door slammed and happy voices sounded, he knew Nana had arrived.  He listened as Nana spoke about the big roast she had ready to cook.  The oven will be heated up next.  He felt a tickle of anticipation.

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The smell of scorched crayon filled the house.  Oh, glory!

“SAMUEL!”  A dull gray day transformed into one of joyful color. 

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