Where are we going, we all kept asking. Five kids in the backseat of a Saab. January, 1987. All of us under 10 years old, but still it was a tight fit. Fine, fine, she said. I’ll tell you. It’s (insert my dad’s name) birthday this weekend, so we’re going down to Mexico for the weekend. Oh, we said. Okay. We went back to fighting over crayons and who was touching who.
Daddy, look, I said. Look, right there. It’s the sign for Disneyland. 10 miles away. Can we go there instead? No, sorry honey, we already have hotel reservations. Oh dang it, I said.
Hey, how about we pull over soon and get some drinks, how about that kids? Maybe milkshakes at In & Out, he said. Sounds okay we all said. I want strawberry Daddy, I said. I know, he smiled in the mirror at me, you always do.
He pulled off the highway at the Disneyland exit. This is so wrong, my step-sister said. Yeah, it’s like Mickey is taunting us, I added. Maybe we all should wave at him, my step-mom said. MEAN, my brother muttered loudly under his breath. Dad kept driving, not saying a word. He passed In & Out. Daddy, where are you going?
Oh I thought maybe, you know, we could just stop and see Mickey. All five us screamed. REALLY!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!! This is the best surprise ever, I said.
That was the only trip down to Disneyland where we stayed in the Disney Hotel. Three days, two nights at Disney. They tricked us. It was the plan all along. I was not yet seven years old and I don’t remember a ton of that trip. All Disney trips sort of run together in my head. I do remember this.
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Watch out, watch out, she said to us. Why mommy, we asked. The three of us had just gotten out of bed. The hot lava monster. I know I saw him lurking around here somewhere. Don’t touch the floor she said. Just walk on the pillows. She’d placed them throughout the tiny apartment.
Mommy look, there he is, my brother screeched, in the way only four year old boys can. RUN, she said. We hopped from pillow to pillow, all of us jumping onto her bed/our pull-out couch as soon as we got close to it. Phew, we’re safe.
Rainy Saturday in California. Hot lava monster never got us. Thank god, my mom was smart enough to throw the pillows down for us.
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How was the first day on the job, we asked him. He was fifteen, his first real job. My brother, all nine feet tall and gangly as all get out. It was fine he said, shrugging. They fed me for free, so that was cool. But whatever you do, never and I mean never, eat the lox, he said.
Why, we asked? Well see, they handed me some window cleaner and paper towels and told me to clean the screen that covers the food. When I sprayed it, some got on the lox.
We were rolling on the floor laughing.
DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!! You are supposed to turn away and spray into the paper towels and then clean the screen.
Oh, he says, with a serious look on his face, that makes so much sense.
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I turned around and they were all gone. Hmm, maybe they went to the next store, I thought to myself, as I continued looking at every single item. I had twenty bucks. I wanted to be sure I saw everything in the store before I made my decision. Oh the joys of being eleven years old.
After a few more minutes I went to pay for my items. Then I started looking for them. There were like sixteen people. Why can’t I find any of them. DAD!!! DADDY??? I started getting panicky. It was nighttime. It was near closing. I had no idea how long I’d been looking in the store alone. I was used to being ignored by them. I looked in the other two stores and didn’t see anyone. I closed my eyes for a second and said to myself, what do I do if they left me? WHAT IF I’M LOST HERE FOREVER. Okay breath. I find an adult in costume or a security guard and tell them I’m lost. Yes, I can do this. I’m lost. They left me. I can handle this.
I guess I’d said that last little bit out loud. When I open my eyes, I’m staring at a seven foot tall Frankenstein. I caught myself before I screamed. Honey are you lost, he asked? Either I am or my whole family left me, I said. Okay, well lets see what we can do about that. He led me to a security guard. Together we walked toward the entrance, because all the rides were shutting down and they figured they must have left.
We sat at the entrance together with a few other employees for about 15 minutes before my dad came running up. By then I’d been given a stuffed animal, an ice cream a t-shirt and a few more tokens. You need to make sure not to leave without your entire family, Beetle Juice told my dad. Seems everyone felt bad that I’d been left there at night. They’d been in the car, almost to the highway when my brother asked where I was. Am not surprised that he was the only one who missed me. Even at eleven, I wasn’t shocked about this. Frankenstein and Beetle Juice hugged me before I left.
Getting lost at Universal Studios and being found by Frankenstein? Kinda priceless.
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I hope it doesn’t rain every day, I said. We were leaving LA on vacation. Summer 1992. It’d rained for days, weeks even, prior to our trip. One of the rainiest springs and summers I remember.
Sixteen days. Thirteen states. Five kids in the backseat of a Suburban. It rained every day. I’m still living down, jinxing our vacation.
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A year ago today. One DM on Twitter, which led to several DM’s on Twitter. Which three days later led to a 25 string long DM fest, which then led to a late night Gmail Chat. My best friend. I didn’t know it then. But I know it now.
Something so small, a DM. 140 characters.
My best friend, my twin, my soul sister. Happy best friend day love. Can’t imagine my life without you in it.
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We were roller blading in the school hallways. It was summer and this had become our daily routine. Schools in Los Angeles, generally have covered outside hallways. Perfect for hot days and mischievous kids in the summer.
I heard her scream before I saw that she’d fallen. That scream, the one of pain.
We’d been playing street hockey, then we’d decided to try and do some tricks. Her name was (is) Jory and she was new to the neighborhood. Her parents though she was in our backyard, not trespassing on school grounds. It was obvious her ankle was broken. She was sobbing and worried about being in trouble.
My baby brother sat down and took off his skates. He then carefully took off her skates. He tied the laces together and handed them to me. Then he picked her up and carried her home. 10 years old. Just picked up a 13 year old girl and carried her home. My baby brother, the hero.
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We were loud. I know we were. Four women in a restaurant with no kids or spouses. I’d like to be fair to them and state that we were loud. But dam it, we were in a freaking Beni Hauna’s. At 7pm. On a Friday night. Girl’s night. My birthday dinner. We were having fun. Talking, laughing, cracking each other up. There was eye rolling, joke telling, story sharing and an unfortunate incident with green tea ice cream, but it was all in good fun. For us at least.
The restaurant seats a table until it’s full, it’s just how they do it. Four of us, four of them. I remember hearing them speak, as they ordered their meal. That was it. There was some pointing. A lot of glaring. And one whispered, yeah, like that one right there. But nothing else was said. It was a birthday meal for them too, I know this because the servers sang to the woman, as they handed her an ice cream.
They didn’t say a thing the entire meal. Not a single word. It was so weird. It was like being at a table of aliens. Because every other table? Was full of laughing people having a good time. The four of us? Were laughing and having a fabulous time. They? Were not.
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Wait, babe, let’s go down to the beach really quick, I said to him. We’d just pulled onto our block. Why, he asked? Just do it. Okay, he said, as he turned the car around and drove down to the beach. He parked the car at our favorite spot and we got out.
I took my bundled burrito baby out of her car seat and the three of us walked down to the waves. I sat down and unbundled her. Two days old, five pound, twelve ounces of joy, dressed head to toe in white. Her going home outfit. I carefully took off her little socks and rolled up her pants. Then I stood up, looked around (because I was unsure if I was allowed to be doing this) and walked to the waves. I dunked her little feet in the water, on the next wave. Then I took her to the sand and pressed her feet into the sand. Two days old. I wrote her entire name next to it and her date of birth, December 7, 2001. One more quick foot dunk to wash off the sand and I re-bundled her up. Then we went home.
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Las Brisas. A random Tuesday. I’d called in sick and asked my mom if she could do the same thing. I just needed some mommy time. I was debating moving to Colorado and needed her to help me make a pro/con list.
We drove the coast the entire way there. Santa Monica down to Laguna Beach. Just a little Mexican restaurant, not the best, but still good. Best Lemon Drops in all of California. It’s the location. Perched on the top of a cliff, overlooking a rose garden and the coast.
We walked through the garden, climbed down to the beach for a bit and then sat there at a table for hours. Laughing, talking. Never once even brought up Colorado.
Somehow I knew by the ride home, what I was going to do. Even though, she never said a word.
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His first birthday. I didn’t think I had it in me to do a thing for it, but somehow I pulled it out of myself last second. My tiny boy. A boxed cake, with store bought frosting. One little cake for him, one big cake for the rest of us. Couple of sprinkles left over from something else; Christmas possibly. One solitary candle. Few gifts, few cousins.
No shirt, no shoes, great service.
He looked all pensive, as he always does at new things. He didn’t cry when we sang, but he had no interest in blowing out his candle. I did it for him. He stuck one tiny finger in his cake and then brought it to his mouth. OOOOOOOHHHHH he said, upon tasting the cake. His eyes got all big. He reached for more, whole hand this time. My boy. One.
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A park bench on the coast. Watching the waves roll in. Talking some. Comfortable silence some. Laughing at the two picnic chairs left on the beach, which the waves are now rolling all over. Making up stories about the people who left two chairs sitting there. A lost in the moment type day. Where reality doesn’t seem so harsh. Where the sun is perfect, the air is perfect and the company is the best kind there is.
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Anyone want to go fishing or crabbing tomorrow? No, they all said. I was not surprised. A room full of teens. Getting up at 4:45am for fun, wasn’t something any of us did. Ever. I was surprised when I heard myself say, sure dad, I’ll come with you.
Two coffees and two breakfast burritos to go. I never knew people ate this early, I told him. He laughed. Yeah, we’re all not teens he said. Sitting on the dock in Pacifica, eating breakfast, as he put dead fish into the crab traps. Just us. I was seventeen and couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone with him.
We didn’t catch a single fish or crab that morning.
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It’s okay mommy, she said after she fell off the monkey bars. It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t afraid. You know what mama, she said as she walked up to me. What, love? The only thing to be afraid of is fear. It’s the thing that gets ya in the end. Bailey, four years old. My heart, my mini-me. So full of wisdom, even as such a small girl.
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What is that smell mama? I don’t know she said. It smells like strawberries in here. What did we leave in the car? Oh my word, she said. WHAT, we asked her? Look. She pointed to the back seat, the panel above the trunk. There was a pile of multi-colored goo. What was sitting here, she asked us. Oh no, on no, on no, my brother said as he cried. He covered his eyes, the way little boys do when they don’t want to see you. What was it baby, she asked him. It was sissies Strawberry Shortcake dolls. ALL OF THEM, I asked? Yes, all of them.
It’s okay buddy, I said. Really it’s okay. I have other dolls. Plus, it smells so pretty in here. It did too. For months afterward, the car smelled all sweet.
**I had probably 12 of those little strawberry shortcake dolls. The entire set. 100 degree day, black Volvo, 8 hours in the sun? They met an untimely death.
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Usually take one last pass through town, Stop the car and touch the ground, Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze, Decorated store fronts, Rusty old gas pumps, Try to fill my mind up, With somethin’ before I go, Picture postcard memories, You know they always make for good company. –Turning Home, David Nail
Picture Postcard Memories. Somehow that line has stuck with me for days. Just a silly line in a song, but I can’t get it out of my head. In a lot of ways, I think like that. In postcard memories. Have you ever seen the movie, Elizabethtown? The girl, played by Kirsten Dunst pretends to take photos of people, of places, just to remember. When I saw that movie, I realized I’ve done that my entire life. Although, I do it in my head, so as not to end up in a round padded room, being asked to find the corner.
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. When I’m having a bad day, I try to search through my mind for happier times, simple times, just memories that make me smile. I’d like to write some of these memories down. For me to remember, for my kids maybe one day. Just so I never forget. Thought I’d try a few today. Maybe I’ll keep doing it. We’ll see. You all know how I say I’m going to do something and then I never bring it up again. But it’s a thought.
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We told Morgan for months that she was going to have a baby brother. Each time we told a random person and that person said anything to her, she’d say: nopes, no baby bruder. We thought she was just having trouble adjusting. Turned out she was right. Bailey, despite the doctor being SO SURE she was a boy, was born a girl.
She was born near midnight and it was around lunch time the next day, when my mom brought Morgan in to meet her new baby sister. I can picture her little eyes sparkling and her screechy voice when she came in the room and saw me. HI MOMMY!!!! All decked out in a new outfit from my mom; red shorts and a red striped Dora shirt. She suddenly seemed like a full grown child, compared to her teeny tiny, new baby sister.
She got up on the bed with me and held her baby sister. This Ian, she asked, because we’d told her for months that would be her brothers name. No baby, it’s not, I said. This is…well she doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s your baby sister. No brother. Sorry honey. No Ian? Okay.
A little bit later, she got off the bed and started looking around. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, heck, she even looked in my bag that was by the bed. When she walked out of the door, I called her back in the room and asked her what she was looking for. I looking for Ian mama. He’s lost. I will find hims for you.
She thought we’d misplaced him. Like he was a shoe or something. A missing item to find.
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The pool was shaped like a kidney bean. We were in Waikiki, Hawaii on the last day of our vacation. In the deep end there was a weird window, about two feet down. We’d been going down and making faces at it for a good hour. My step-mom was in the room with her eighth migraine of the week. My dad was somewhere.
I bet my brothers to moon the window. Told them, I’d pay them a dollar each. I could have offered them a piece of gum, they were easy marks. Eight year olds are easily buy-able. At ten, I could pay them next to nothing, or just dare them to do anything and they’d do it.
They each took a turn, going underwater and mooning the window. Seconds later my dad showed up. He rarely yelled, but he yelled loudly that day. Get out of the pool right now. Come with me.
Turns out, it was a bar. With a window. To the deep end of the pool. Weird, huh?
He made us apologize to a bar full of hysterically laughing people. The bartender gave us each a Shirley temple. Even added extra cherries. Little tiny boy butts are nothing. I’ve got kids at home. You have no idea the things I see, he told my dad. Whoever thought of putting this window in, was smokin something crazy.
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Our last night in Las Vegas. We’d been there for three days. Three fun filled, easy days. Neither of us really wanted to go back to the hotel. It was admitting the end of our trip.
Sitting at the Bellagio. In a back hallway, in comfy chairs, eating gelato for an hour and a half. Talking about nothing and everything. Being shocked that we couldn’t hear a single sound, except the few other people doing the same thing. We could have been anywhere. In fact, from the second we went into that hotel, until we left it, we never heard a casino. It was a perfect end, to a perfect trip.
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I was fourteen. Summer. Camping. Half Moon Bay. I got up at dawn to go to the bathroom. It was cold and foggy and the sun hadn’t even considered coming out yet. I knew I couldn’t get back in the pop-up trailer without waking everyone else up, so I decided to go on a walk. I walked and then sat and watched the fog roll off the ocean. Listened to the waves crash. Peace. I felt more at peace in that moment that I had in years. I sat there alone and watched the sun come up. Then I walked back to the camper, where no one had even gotten up yet.
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Morgan being held by my Grandpa on his 80th birthday. She was only six days old. Perfection she was, full of that newborn awesomness. I can picture everything he wore that day, her too. If I think hard enough, I can even smell them both. I ignored his words that he might not be strong enough to hold her and placed her in his arms. He was pale and shaky, one of the last few times I’d see him standing and walking around. She’s barely six pounds Grandpa, I said. She won’t break. I watched him take a finger and gently run it on her nose, watched him kiss her head. Angel kisses, he whispered. What, I asked him? Those red strawberry marks on her eyelids. Oh those will go away in a few weeks, I said. Or that’s what her doctor said.
Angel kisses, he repeated. This child was kissed by angels.
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I can’t live these memories a second time. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible. But the stories in my head? Are something I’ll never forget.
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