by Renée Riva
I’m lyin’ here in bed rememberin’ all of this with a smile on my face, but inside, my heart still aches for Danny’s family.
I’m just about to fall asleep, when I hear music. It’s awfully late for anyone to be playin’ music right now. I climb out of bed and look down the hall, but there are no lights on anywhere. I’m sure I hear Tony Bennett. I know that voice anywhere. I make my way through the dark to the living room. Suddenly, I see two shadows moving across the floor in the moonlight. Mama and Daddy are in each other’s arms, dancin’ to “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I shuffle slowly back to my room, then drift off to sleep listenin’ to: “… Fill my heart with song, and let me sing for ever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. In other words, please be true; in other words, I … love … you.”
13
Downwind
The favorite part of my breakfast cereal is the colored marshmallow bits that float to the top when you pour the milk on. The problem with that is, you eat the best part right off the bat, and then you’re stuck with a bowl full of boring cereal. Dino seems to think he’s the cereal police in this family and rats on me if I try to sneak the boring part to Sailor.
One time I was even put on cereal restriction for pickin’ all of the marshmallow bits out of the box before anyone else had a chance to have any. We were all at breakfast that morning, when I noticed everyone starin’ down at their bowl of cereal like they were wonderin’ where in the world all of the marshmallows were. I tried to look as puzzled as they did, as though maybe this box was a factory defect. Well, that only worked until Detective Dino ratted on me. I was stuck eatin’ eggs and oatmeal for a whole week.
Breakfast cereal has been the cause of many of our family disputes. My mother refuses to buy the cereal with the free toys inside, even if it’s the last box on the shelf. She wrote a letter to the cereal comp’ny one time, letting them know how she felt about their “sales tactics”:
Dear Head Honcho of Marketing,
I would like to express my view as an All-American mother of five. I can appreciate the fact that your job is to sell cereal; however, I don’t feel that it is in the best interest of the American family to use the sales tactics you have chosen.
Let’s take a look at the big picture, shall we?
First, you have your “All-American Hero of the Month” plastered on the box cover munching away on Wheaty Flakes like there is no tomorrow. Great. All for it. But here’s where you lose me: You add that “free toy inside” advertisement in the corner. Let’s address that. Your “free toy” is not really “free,” as it takes up nearly half of the box; hence, less cereal for the full price.
Now by advertising your “free toy,” you have just created chaos in the grocery aisles, as kids are fighting and screaming over which box of cereal they want, not because of the cereal, but because of the dumb toy. I will give you credit for making it easier for me to find the cereal aisle when I go shopping, as I can walk in the front door of any grocery store, listen for all the screaming kids, and know exactly where to find the cereal in that particular store.
The fun doesn’t really begin though until you bring that box of cereal home and place it on your breakfast table in front of five adorable children. I would like to invite you to my home on a nice quiet Sunday morning before church so you can see for yourself how this works.
I know right now you may be thinking, “Lady, you don’t have to buy the cereal with the free toy.” Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but I’m sure you know as well as I do that the cereal without the free toy is the stuff you sell to old folks who no longer care about toys, but rather their next bowel movement, and respectively, tastes like horse food.
I hope I have made my point: lose the toys, sell the cereal on the merit of its fine sugary taste that kids live for. One day when you stand before the Great Judge, you will not be held responsible for the Great Breakfast Battles of the American Family. At present, you are.
Warmest regards,
Sophia Juliana Degulio
My mama did get a letter back from the cereal comp’ny, but it was just a form letter thanking her for her interest in their products, along with coupons for more cereal. At that point Mama said, “Que sera, sera,” then recited the Serenity Prayer.
There were no breakfast battles today, because there is no one here but me and Sailor. I have just skimmed the marshmallow bits off the top of my cereal and am about to have the pleasure of passin’ whatever I don’t want off to Sailor.
The rest of the family has gone off to visit Grandma Juliana in town. Something “urgent” has come up again. Something “urgent” comes up about once a week with Grandma Juliana. It usually turns out to be something like, “The birdfeeder has run out of seeds, and the little darlings will starve.”
My daddy has told her over and over, those birds are not darlings, they are starlings, but Grandma Juliana refuses to listen. Now we just call them Grandma Juliana’s Darling Starlings. Daddy does not enjoy goin’ to Grandma Juliana’s house one bit, but he does it for Mama. Sometimes when we get stuck at Grandma Juliana’s for too long, Daddy will do somethin’ funny to make her stop whining, but it usually only makes her mad. The best time was when he stole her favorite spoon.
Grandma Juliana had this little silver spoon that she’d brought home from the Vatican in Italy. She kept it on display in her china cabinet in its “place of honor” and would brag about it every time we’d visit. One time when Grandma Juliana was goin’ on and on about somethin’, Daddy walked over to her china cabinet, opened the door, and slid the little spoon into his pants pocket like he was pretendin’ to steal it. Well, that stopped her from whining all right, but she accused Daddy of bein’ a “no-good thief” and has kept her china cabinet locked tight ever since.
No one knew what the “urgency” was about today, and no one gets terribly worried anymore when she calls with a new one. Lucky for me, I have a cold, and Mama says it’s dangerous to be around old folks when you’re sick because you might contaminate them.
The wind has just kicked up a notch, and I can’t think of a better time to go driftin’ than right now. Whenever Sailor sees me grab the life jackets, he takes off runnin’ for the dock, then jumps in the boat and waits for me.
Mama told me not to go swimmin’ with my cold, but she didn’t say anything about driftin’.
I always bring the oars so we can row back when we’ve had enough driftin’. After laying the oars on the floorboard of the boat, we shove off.
Sailor likes to ride in back where it’s not so bouncy if we hit boat waves. I like to lie on my back across the middle seat, close my eyes, and daydream. It’s not always about Little Joe Cartwright. Today I’m dreamin’ that me and Sailor are runnin’ away to Europe. We are actually driftin’ all the way there in this little dinghy of ours. Once we hit the European waterways, we get spotted by the European Coast Guard, and end up “LIVE” on the evening news all around the world: “American girl and her dog were rescued today by helicopter in the European Ocean.” They show footage of me and Sailor being airlifted into the helicopter with one of those rope ladders. “What brave souls they are to have traveled all this way with only a gallon of water, ten peanut butter sandwiches, and a bag of Ahoy Matey chocolate chip cookies.”
Once we’re all warm and dry, we’re given a Hero’s Welcome by the Queen of France and are invited for a sleepover at the Royal Palace. The Queen loans me her favorite dress from when she was a small princess, and Sailor’s given a royal bath and shampoo. He doesn’t much care for the fancy ribbons they’ve tied to his ears.
We both get to dine with the Royal Family. Even Sailor gets to sit in a red velvet chair. They serve us french-dip sandwiches with french fries, and french pastries for dessert. The next morning the servants bring us french toast in bed on fancy little silver trays. Then we part with tears at the pier for our long journey back home. Everyone in Europe comes to send us off, throwing food and flowers into our dinghy.
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Just as we are recrossing the European Ocean, a huge gust of wind snaps me out of my daydream and back to reality. To my surprise, I realize we’ve drifted all the way past the gas dock and are almost as far as the church.
“Sailor,” I yell, “look where we are.” Now I’m a little worried about how we’re gonna row all this way back with the wind comin’ against us.
I grab the oars, slide them into the oarlocks as fast as I can, and start to row. I’m rowin’ with all of my might, and we are gettin’ nowhere. Not only that, but the wind’s gettin’ stronger, and dark clouds are rollin’ in above us.
It’s just as far to the mainland as it is back to the dock, but I try and go toward home anyway.
My arms feel like they’re gonna break off, and it’s startin’ to rain. I am so scared I can’t think. “Oh, Jesus,” I pray, “please send Your angels to help us. And make sure they know how to row.”
I finally just give up with the oars and lay them back down so they won’t get knocked into the water. I hunker down on the bottom of the boat and wrap my arms around Sailor. Then I bury my face in his fur and start to cry. We’re just gonna have to drift until the storm blows over and hope that we’re still alive.
Through the howl of the wind and the lapping waves, I never heard the sound of a boat motor, but when I look up I see it comin’ toward us. A small boat with a motor on the back … Danny’s fishin’ boat—it’s Danny and he’s coming to save us.
I can’t believe our luck. Actually, I don’t believe in luck, but I don’t believe Danny is an angel either. But he’s here, and that’s good enough for me. He pulls up alongside of our dinghy and grabs onto the stern. “Need a lift?” he calls out.
“Sure,” I yell back.
“Take my hand and jump in.”
I reach for his hand, and the instant he grabs mine back I feel safe, like I never want to let go of it. As soon as I land in Danny’s boat, Sailor leaps in too. Danny takes the rope from our dinghy and ties it to the back of his boat. Then he takes off his jacket and puts it around me. We all head home with the cold wind and rain against our faces, but inside I feel warm.
By the time we arrive back at our dock, we are all drenched to the bone. Danny tells us to run for the cabin while he ties up our dinghy. He comes in after us, and I hand him a towel to dry off with.
“Do you have any wood to start a fire?” Danny asks.
I show him where the wood storage is next to the fireplace and hand him a box of matches.
“You’d better get some dry clothes on, A. J., before you catch pneumonia.”
I go into the laundry room and toss all of my soppin’ wet clothes into the dryer, then change into some clean dry ones.
By the time I return, Danny has the fire started. I’m thinkin’ how cold he must be in all of his wet clothes, but I figure he’s just gonna walk home in the rain anyway.
“Want some hot cocoa?” It’s the least I can offer him for savin’ my life.
“Sure,” he answers, still fannin’ the fire.
While I’m makin’ the cocoa, I remember where Mama stashed the mini-marshmallows. That always makes cocoa so much better. I pile ’em about an inch high on top of the cocoa.
By now the fire is burnin’ real good. We both sit right in front of the hearth on the sheep rug, drinkin’ from our big warm mugs. I finally stop shiverin’, but now my cough has started up real bad.
“I don’t think that boat trip did your cold a lot of good,” Danny says.
“Nope, probably not.” I look at Danny pretty serious. “You aren’t gonna tell my folks, are you?” Mama might never let me drift again if she hears about this.
Danny looks back at me and grins. “What’s it worth to ya?”
“Your life.”
“Well, in that case, I probably won’t mention it.”
“Thanks.” That’s a relief. “And thanks for savin’ us.” Then I ask, “How did you know we were out there anyway?”
“I was out fishin’ when I saw you leave your dock, and I noticed you were nowhere in sight when the wind picked up. I figured you might need some help gettin’ back.”
“Good thinkin’. I didn’t know if we’d ever make it back home.”
Danny looks at me and starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“You’ve got melted marshmallows all over your face.”
“Well, it’s hard not to when I have to stick half my face in the mug to get to the cocoa.” Then, like a dummy, I ask when his mama’s comin’ back.
He tenses all up. “Not sure. My daddy’s tryin’ to talk her into stayin’. I knew he would. That’s one reason I stayed here, to give her a reason to come back.”
“Do you think she would really stay with him after what he did to her?”
“I don’t know. She stayed last time, but this time she needs to leave or he’ll never change. I’m not sure if she’ll leave him though. He makes all these promises, and she starts to believe him, but he never keeps his word.”
“I hope I never marry someone like that,” I tell him. “I hope I find someone like my daddy. I don’t think he would ever do that to my mama.”
Danny got real quiet and just stared into the fire. “I think a good man would rather die than hurt someone that way.”
I thought about that for a while. I hope I remember that when it’s my turn to get married. Right now I just want to change the subject so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. “Hey, Danny, remember when you said you had a different dream than your brother for when you grow up?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
Danny looks at me. “I want to be a preacher,” he says real quiet.
“Ah.” That’s a nice dream.
“How ’bout you?”
“I want to be a writer and a veterinarian.”
“Really? Well, maybe we’ll both get our dreams one day.” Then he smiles at me, and for a split second, he reminds me of Little Joe Cartwright.
Once Danny figures that me and Sailor are gonna live, he heads back to his grandfather’s cabin, but not before he piles the fireplace full of wood and makes me promise to stay off the water.
I curl up by the fire with Sailor sleepin’ at my feet, wantin’ to remember everything that just happened. When I return to school in the fall, this will be the story I will write about. This will be the one that my teacher will read to the class, instead of callin’ my mama to discuss my summer vacation essay, like she did last year when I wrote about the trip my family had just taken to visit Grand Coulee Dam. My teacher wanted to know if Mama thought I was tryin’ to be a smart aleck for writin’ “Highlights from My Dam Vacation.” Good grief. What was I supposed to call it?
Mama told her, “That’s just the way A. J. would say it; and, yes, as a matter of fact, we really did have dam burgers at the dam restaurant, and we do have some good dam pictures to prove it if you would like to see them.” Then she added, “Did A. J. happen to mention that she asked the police officer on duty if he was the dam police?”
This time I will call my story “The Day I Blew Away,” and there will be no mistakin’ my words by a teacher with cuss words on her mind.
14
Solitaire
Time passes way slower when I’m alone. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but sometimes when I’m by myself I still play with dolls. Troll dolls that is. I think they have the cutest little scrunched-up faces. I once saw a girl who looked just like one, but it wasn’t as cute on her. My favorite troll doll’s name is Abbey, short for Abigail—in honor of Sister Abigail. She has fluffy light pink hair and a tailor-made wardrobe by her own personal seamstress—me. I used to play with her all the time, but now that I’m older I have to be really bored first. More like desperate. But when there is absolutely no one else to talk to, my only options are a doll, a dog, or a hamster. At this point I think I’ll round up all three. I have a feelin’ it’s gonna be a long night.
I know
it’s risky to sneak Ruby Jean into Papoose, but knowing Grandma Juliana, my family won’t have a chance of gettin’ home before midnight. This is how it works when you go to Grandma Juliana’s house:
First, you have to battle all of the saint statues in her front yard. She has so many, it’s like crossin’ a minefield just to make it to the front door. It’s especially tough if one of the statues is put there to ward one of you off, like St. Adelaide, patron saint for in-law problems, who was put there for my daddy. That’s usually the one he trips over. Then there’s St. Leonard of Noblac, patron saint against burglars. St. Gertrude of Nivelles, patron saint against rats. And St. Francis Borgia, patron saint against earthquakes. It’s one thing to navigate these in the daylight, but you don’t want to do this in the dark. I’m sure that’s why the burglar statue has worked so well.
Once you’re in, you get to deal with Grandma Juliana’s latest crisis, which usually amounts to nothin’. Then she insists you stay for her ten-course Italian feast. Our last attempt to leave Grandma Juliana’s without the feast was like bein’ in one of those horror movies, where you try and escape but can’t.
First, she pointed out the gigantic statue of St. Francis Caracciola, patron saint for Italian cooks, sitting on her kitchen counter. It was three times the size of her toaster. She told us this feast was sacred because St. Francis Caracciola had blessed it while Grandma Juliana was cooking. Then, she threatened that we’d all be damned to a long stay in purgatory if we didn’t honor St. Francis and stay for supper. “It won’t be long before I just drop dead,” she yelled after us, on our way toward the door. Daddy told us to keep walkin’, that as long as that statue of St. Aldegundis, patron saint against sudden death, is perched next to her bed, she doesn’t have a chance of dropping dead anytime soon. I sure hope he’s right since all of these statues have been willed to me.
