More than Just a Heat Wave

Prompt: Heat wave: Write a story about a summer vacation gone amuck (with an unexpected summer fling thrown in). (In an era before cell phones and texting.)

More than Just a Heat Wave

I was humming “my bags are packed and I am ready to go” when the radio announcer interrupted the song with the ominous warning “this is going to be the hottest summer on record. Stay cool and stay hydrated.” This was a warning I did not need to hear. “Oh, this is going to be fantastic,” I sarcastically quipped to myself. I looked in the mirror rhetorically asking my image “How on God’s green earth are we going to travel halfway across the U.S. to grandma’s house with no air conditioner in a well-used ‘69 Ford station wagon?” A voice answered me saying, “Did you pack your swimming trunks? And do not forget your toothbrush.” It was my mom checking up on me. Fortunately, she did not hear my lament about the trip because all of us kids were warned not to complain or we would spend the next two weeks at Aunt Mimi’s house cutting grass, weeding, and playing gin rummy with her chatty, geriatric girlfriends who reeked of cheap lavender perfume.

Now the task of closing my suitcase lay before me. I know I had packed too much. Reality struck me as I faced the daunting task of trimming down on my essential paraphernalia. I sadly removed my baseball card collection for safe keeping. I acquiesced that it was unlikely I would play football and basketball with my cousins since they were all girls. So I took them out. I was just about to take out my suit jacket, pants, and tie when my mom popped her head back into my room reminding me to fold my Sunday clothes properly.  “Geez, can’t a guy catch a break?” I asked myself.  I had hoped to explain their absence in my suitcase as an oversight on my part, but no such luck.  Reluctantly and with great anxiety, I forced myself to remove my dozen or so Superman comics and my three issues of Sports Illustrated with Christie Brinkley on the cover (‘79, ‘80 and ‘81).  Well, that did the trick when I applied a little leverage as I jumped on top of it.

I fumbled down the stairs with my suitcase and back pack joining the line of my two brothers and five sisters as they waited patiently for our dad to strap up the cases to the top of the wagon. My dad was a perfectionist and everything had to be just right. It took three hours to strap up all of our cases. On top of that he had three cases from mom and his own to anchor down. That was another two hours. So seven of us packed into the middle seat and into the rear of the wagon. Thankfully, my baby brother was tiny enough to sit in a car seat between mom and dad. We were all tightly packed with little foot room.  It was already stifling inside the car. I warned my brother Jimmy not to take off his shoes or else he might end up missing a few toes.  With everyone inside the car we began our journey out east for an action-packed adventure. 

My dad carefully eased out the driveway over the curb only to hit a pot hole ten yards from the house. As soon as that happened, we heard several ‘pop pops’. Our clothes were being launched into several directions around our car. Our jaws were wide open seeing our clothes littering our car and the street. My calm, mild-mannered dad went ballistic. My mom seemed catatonic. My meticulous, ever so sure dad tied the suitcases together but had failed to secure them to the luggage carrier. We spent the next two hours scrambling around the area piling clothes into empty bags which earlier had been neatly filled.

Once again, now all sweaty, we embarked on our journey to grandma’s house. Not more than thirty minutes from the house my sister Gerry said she had to pee. Then Margaret said she had to pee too. And not to be outdone my sister Abigail said she had to do the same. I held my head in my hands inwardly whispering “What is it about women anyway?  They all have to go to the bathroom together? I just do not get it. I am so glad I am not a girl.”

Finally, after a quick stop at a nearby big box store the girls drained themselves. We had attempted to stop at a nearby gas station, but my mom gave my dad the “don’t you dare” look. She abruptly made it clear that such public rooms are totally disgusting. I could not help but wonder what made big box restrooms any cleaner? I learned to not question my mom’s judgement, especially after my dad’s fiasco.

All righty then! Back on the road again! Seeing that we lost several hours already my parents decided to make a preemptive stop at Aunt Mimi’s house. My mom said she just wanted to fill Mimi in on a few things, but deep down inside I felt she was hoping one or two of us would change our minds about going on the trip. Oh, the conniving minds of adults! No sooner had we started up again, my twin sisters, Rachel and Becky decided they wanted to stay at Aunt Mimi’s. I could almost hear my mom chuckling inside as my dad painstakingly uncorded the luggage to get the twin’s bags.

Well at least it brought us a little breathing room in the back where Jimmy and I were seated, or perhaps sprawled out like twisted pretzels. We, however, had inherited my baby brother George sitting in the car seat. Baby George was no delight as Jimmy and I had to take turns changing the little guy. Dad tried to make up for lost time once he got on the Indiana tollway.  Our car was nearly headed toward the Ohio turnpike when red lights began flashing and sirens were blaring. Would you know it on the radio it was playing Dean Taylor’s “Indiana wants me.” Dad pulled over. The trooper gave him a choice to pay the $200 speeding fine immediately or go to court the next day. Again, my mom was catatonic. Then after some light breathing, she blasted my dad ordering him to pay the fine. She told him he could forget getting new golf clubs at Christmas time.

Ok then. Darkness had now settled upon us as we traveled eastward. Thankfully, there was little drama until we hit a snag west of Youngstown, Ohio. Snag might be a bit underexaggerated. Our reliable 69 Ford station wagon blew a water pump. Geez! My sisters, Jimmy, George, and I started to whine how hungry and tired we were. The smell and stifling heat brought on from our sweaty bodies and George’s poopy diapers made us all miserable. We just had to stop. It was not like we had a choice to stop since the pump had blown. Fortunately, we were close to a motel just off the turnpike. There was a partially lit vacancy sign so my parents were relieved. I wondered to myself if they looked past the exterior because it looked like the Bates motel from the movie thriller Psycho. Yikes! But like any good horror film there was an oasis. In the motel courtyard there was a heated swimming pool filled with clean bluish water.

The motel manager herded us into two rooms at opposite ends of a long hallway each with double beds. Thankfully, my parents decided to take one room with baby George. On the other hand, I got stuck with Abigail, Margaret, Gerry, and Jimmy. I could handle Jimmy, but the other three seemed too much. After several minutes of pleading, I convinced mom to take on my oldest sister Abigail. I pointed out that there were double beds which could be shared with only two people.  With our sleeping arrangements finalized, my dad ordered pizza from an establishment several miles down the road. The pizza boxes looked better than the pizza itself. I still managed to get a belly full and so did Jimmy. It was a night full of noxious emissions from the both of us. Margaret and Gerry were so exhausted they slept through the lingering methane clouds.

It was the second full day of our trip. My dad spent most of his morning hours on the motel phone talking with a garage mechanic in Youngstown.  A tow truck came and whisked our car away to some unknown destination. My dad called a family meeting to share the latest diagnosis on the car.  The good news was the water pump, the differential and the oil pump could be fixed. The bad news was it would cost a small fortune and any further attempt to head east to grandma’s was not going to happen. We were going to be stuck here at this motel for a week. The girls cried, but Jimmy and I smiled knowing that we were going to swim like sharks in the pool! No sand flies, no nasty crabs, no stinging jellyfish, and no slimy seaweed during our swim here unlike at grandma’s cesspool bay beach.

I quickly donned my swim suit not waiting for Jimmy as he finished last night’s left-over pizza. Yuck! I got down to the pool. There was a couple at the shallow end watching a toddler splashing and having a good time with oversized inflatables. I sat on a chaise lounge chair surveying the deep end of the pool when suddenly there arose from the depths the most gorgeous of mermaids I had ever seen!  Of course, the only mermaids I had ever seen were either in comics or the movies. Well she was not a mermaid because she climbed the ladder out of the pool. I was smitten right then and there. And to my great fortune she sat in the lounge chair next to me.

From what I could tell she was about my age, sixteen. I stammered “Hi, I am Willy. What is your name?” She tilted her head with long flowing hair to drain the water from her ear. She replied with a slight drawl “Maripat. I am from Tennessee.” I was feeling giddy inside. I asked, “So what brings you to Youngstown? Are they your parents and sister over yonder?” She chuckled saying, “oh you are so cute! Yes, they are my momma and daddy with my little brother Sammy.” I felt stupid not recognizing the toddler’s gender. For the next two hours we talked, getting to know more about each other. She said her daddy was taking a new job in Youngstown and her parents were house hunting. On occasion she would have to watch her little brother at the motel.  It seemed the longer I was with Maripat the more I was taken by her.  She was my princess mermaid and I was rapidly falling for her. Then crash and boom, my brother Jimmy decided to make his way down to the pool.   I was embarrassed to admit he was my brother, but Maripat just smiled and politely greeted him.  Just then Maripat’s parents called over to her to accompany them for dinner. Before she left, I asked her, “Could we meet here tomorrow?” I did not want to sound too eager. As she walked away, she gave me the biggest flirtatious smile nodding her head “yes.” Holey Moley! I was propelled into orbit! My heart raced.

Later that evening I told Jimmy not to butt in when I was around Maripat. Naturally, I had to bribe him with a couple of my comic books when we returned home. All I could think of was Maripat during dinner (delivery Chinese food) and in the evening watching television with my siblings. I was enamored by her beauty; I was intoxicated by her southern style voice; I melted at her sweet personality. I thought to myself Christie Brinkley, you are no match for my Maripat! Tomorrow would be another day in paradise.

I could not sleep. I watched through the window as the sun rose above the horizon. True to her word Maripat made her way down to the pool wearing a gorgeous bikini bathing suit.  She was alone.  I scrambled to get my suit on. I woke Jimmy to let mom and dad know I would be swimming at the pool.  I had to take a moment to compose myself. She sat on the edge of a lounge chair. Maripat beckoned me to sit beside her and we exchanged pleasantries. Feeling the intensity of the sun we decided to go for a walk toward a grove of trees nearby the motel. As we walked, I clumsily took hold of her hand. She held my hand tightly as we entered the shade of the trees. 

Then in my weakness, I hummed (of all things) a Partridge Family song to Maripat. “I woke up in love this morning” followed by “I think I love you.”  Oh, the corniness of my behavior. I was blushing as Maripat said, “Oh Willy those are the most wonderful sentiments anyone has ever sung to me. You are such a special dear.” No sooner had she finished saying that she planted a wet, sweet kiss on my lips and forehead. I stumbled like a drunken sailor. She giggled and held me up right. We sat under a tree talking for hours on end.  Realizing that the sun was past its highest point in the sky we agreed to return to our families. We would meet again later that evening.

At dinner no one questioned what I had been up to that day because Jimmy covered for me. I scarfed down my dinner (sandwich and chips) to head off to meet Maripat.    My dad was perturbed by my hasty departure and said “Willy, hold your horses. I have some important news to share with the family now.”  I whined, “Dad can’t it wait? I want to go for another dip in the pool before it gets too late.” He said, “I have great news! The car is fixed and will be dropped off tonight after dinner. We leave first thing for grandma’s tomorrow morning.” Everyone cheered, except me. I was dying inside. Then I remembered Maripat was waiting for me.

I raced out of the motel to the pool, but Maripat was nowhere in sight. I waited; and waited. I heard a door slam and I saw Maripat racing out toward me. She had been crying. I pulled her close to me as she sobbed on my shoulder. In a broken voice she shared that her parents were divorcing. The Youngstown trip was an attempt at reconciliation but had failed. She was leaving tomorrow with her daddy to Youngstown. Sammy and her mom were going back to Tennessee. 

I shared with her my news too. We both had tears in our eyes. I told her I could write to her, but she said she still did not have a forwarding address. I gave her mine in hopes she would write.  We held hands tightly and embraced in a bear hug that left us breathless.  Her lips glimmered from the rising moon light. We kissed one final time. I hoped it would not be our last. We stayed with each other as long as we could until we heard our names being called.

The morning came quickly. The ‘69 Ford was ready and waiting for us. My meticulously obsessive dad laced the luggage straps with dexterity. The family started to pack into the station wagon. The announcer on the radio said that day would be one of the hottest days on record. It would be an excruciatingly hot day for me as I pined away on my lost love, Maripat. 

No letters would ever come my way from her. But the affection, honor and respect I had for Maripat will always remain deeply embedded in my heart. 

I gave Jimmy my Sports Illustrated copies of Christie Brinkley and my comics.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. (1 Corinthians 13:4-6, NIV)

(NIV, New International Version)

Prompt: Reedsy com

Author: Pete Gautchier