Big Apple Dreams

Mom got the car. Even though it’s just a trial separation Alice, and no one is talking about divorce, I can’t help but notice things are getting divided. Me included. Mom gets me this month. I was supposed to be going to camp this summer with my friends. We’re finally old enough for sleep-away camp and we were going to roast marshmallows, swim in the lake, and stay up all night giggling while our counsellors met up by the fire pit with cans of things they’re not old enough to drink. But things happen in a trial separation. Things get forgotten. Like, remembering to sign up your daughter for camp in February instead of seeing how many days you can go without talking to your spouse.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Mom says there’s no money for camp this year. Instead, we’re going on vacation. A mother-daughter road trip through southern Ontario. She hands me a list of roadside attractions…like a big chair, a big apple, and other oversized novelties. I just hope the car holds up.

Our duffle bags are thrown in the back seat of the car. I sit up front with Mom. It’s one benefit of the separation. Mom gives me control of the music until I change songs too many times and she snatches away the privilege like a finicky Roman emperor. We roll down the windows and let the blast of wind temporarily deafen us. Mom reaches over to open the glove compartment and fishes for a clip to pin her hair back. Our first stop is the Big Apple. I’ve got the brochure pinned between my knees so it doesn’t fly out the window. Mom glances over her shoulder and changes lanes, waving her hand at the driver behind us. We race down the highway toward our destination like we’re on the run.

We drive for hours. The heat is intense, beating down on my arm draped across the window. The rough plastic ridges are digging into my skin, but it feels good to let the wind blow through my damp tee shirt. I tell Mom I have to pee and she nods. I see a sign for an approaching rest stop, but Mom doesn’t change lanes. Mom. Mom. MOM! The exit disappears behind us. “Sorry, honey. I’ll get the next one.” My stomach tightens against the seat belt. I shift in my seat, trying to stop the tidal wave bearing down on me. I breathe and close my eyes. I flex my toes against the strap on my sandals. I breathe. I can do it. Just pretend I don’t have to go. We go over a bump. Oh god. Oh god. I need a jar.

“There now,” Mom says, and I see the sign appear like a beacon from above. I jab my finger out the window, nearly getting side-swiped by a passing Jetta. Mom changes lanes this time and pulls off onto the long driveway that leads to a gas station coffee shop. I judge how busy the washroom will be by the number of cars parked in the lot. I don’t like my odds. As soon as we’re stopped, I make a break for it, leaving Mom to fend for herself.

The only open stall has a broken door and a beige liquid pooling around the toilet. I press my hand against the door and hover over the seat, legs splayed wide to avoid the mystery fluid. I release and my stream hits the water with such force that it shoots a spray of droplets back at me, misting my bare skin. I grab fistfuls of toilet paper, attempting to clean myself while trying to keep the door closed and my shorts above sea level. I use my foot to flush and am grateful to escape as something gurgles from below.

Mom is waiting in line. She asks to see the brochure again. I look longingly at the glazed donuts in the display, but she promises we’ll eat when we get there. She points to the line of small square pictures showing apples as far as the eye can see. Pies, crumbles, cider, apple toffee, apple and cheese sandwiches. Mom gets a coffee. I get juice. Apple, of course.

We’re going to be staying at a motel. The kind of place where you drive up to your room. Mom says there’s a swimming pool and even a Jacuzzi that’s free to use. Mom says it’s like being inside a warm fizzy drink, which sounds weird to me, but she thinks it’ll help her back. I made sure my swimsuit was at the top of my bag so I wouldn’t have to waste time pulling out a bunch of stuff trying to find it. I’ll give the Jacuzzi a try, but I’m more excited for the pool. I hope there’s a slide.

We’re far enough outside of the city now that the highway just cuts through fields of cows and corn. I shout “cow” every time I see one, and “horse” every time I see one of those. Mom is humming the song she sings whenever she does the dishes. She seems happy. I sink back into my seat and close my eyes. We’ll be there soon.

“God damn it!”

I open my eyes and see that the sun has gone down and Mom is doing a U-turn on the highway. It’s a two-lane road and the only other car is approaching from a distance, but I sit bolt upright, wide awake. We’ve missed the turn-off. By a long shot. Mom’s not humming anymore. The only sound is my grumbling stomach, but I know better than to bring that up. Eventually, a sign appears alongside the road. A giant red apple with a face that looks aggressively happy. We turn onto the gravel road and stop in the empty parking lot. Mom doesn’t get out of the car. She doesn’t even take her hands off the steering wheel. “Go check, Alice,” she says quietly. I spill out, legs like jelly, and wobble over to the red fence and try the gate that I can already see is locked. I shake my head, but she’s not looking at me. I slump back to the car and breathe in the smell of apples.

She starts the car before I’ve even buckled up. We’re back on the road, but thankfully it’s not long before we spot our motel. The buzzing neon lights flicker against the country darkness and draw us in like two hungry moths. I ding the bell at the check-in counter before Mom can swat my hand away. The carpet smells like chlorine and vinegar. An older man shuffles out of an office, nodding his head at us. He clicks on the fan and pulls out a heavy binder. Mom hands him her credit card and he gives us a key and a five-dollar coupon for the Big Apple Restaurant. I tug at Mom’s shirt until she asks about the pool. It’s open until 9 o’clock.

We get back into our car and pull up to our room, four doors down from the main entrance. We drag our duffle bags inside and I star jump backwards onto the bed. It creaks slightly. Mom splashes her face and we both change into our swimsuits. We grab a couple of towels from the bathroom and flip-flop across the concrete, following the sign with an arrow that says POOL.

I unlatch the metal gate. No one else is in the pool. The blue water sparkles against the night sky. Mom dips a finger in the Jacuzzi and pushes a button to turn it on. The motor rumbles dangerously and the jets sputter desperately to make a few bubbles in the tepid water. Mom frowns. I kick off my flip-flops and find the ladder to the pool. I step down into the frigid water, inhaling sharply as my body adjusts to the shock. I dunk my head beneath the surface, coming back up like a rocket, shaking my hair out with a squeal. Mom laughs. I dive deep, feeling the water flutter against my straightened arms. I touch the bottom, something I’ve only been able to do recently and push back up with my legs. The water breaks around me. I reach up to push the hair off my face, but it’s not my hair. It’s an old bandage stuck to my cheek. I scream, flicking it off and scrambling to get out. I scrape my leg against the edge and have a full-body shudder. Outside of the pool, I can see dried leaves floating along the edges of the dirty water, and rust clinging to the floor. We go back to our room.

Dinner is acquired from the poorly stocked vending machines. We get Hickory Sticks, a bag of gummy worms, and a bottle of orange Gatorade - for the vitamins. I run a bath without Mom asking me to, and brush my teeth while I’m waiting for the water to fill the tub. I can’t quite get the temperature right, and the bath is scalding on one end with a small eddy of freezing water directly beneath the faucet. I use my hand to blend it and hear Mom turn on the news. She turns the volume way up. It’s what she’d do when she and Dad were fighting, and later, when the silence was too much.

I sink into the bath, peeling the packaged soap that smells of lemons. My head dips beneath the water, only my eyes and nose poking out above the surface. The sound of the news is dull down here. I close my eyes and sink deeper. Small pools of water rush to fill in the void above my eyelids.

“Alice?”

I breech, rubbing the water out of my eyes. Mom is knocking on the door, telling me to get dressed. I use a thin, rough towel, bleached within an inch of its life, and dry off. I get into my jammies, piled in a soft heap on the toilet seat, and unplug the bath. Steam pours into the room when I open the door and see Mom grinning at me. She hands me my shoes and marches towards the door, scooping up the room key. “Where…?” I start.

“An adventure,” she answers.

She swings open the door and I can see the nose of our car poking out at us, wondering why we’ve woken it up. We pile back in. The smell of hot rubber still lingers in the air. We drive past the billboard with the smiling apple telling us it’s the next exit and pull into the empty lot. Our shoes crunch over the gravel. The crickets sing now that the birds are asleep.

Mom pulls on the gate, shaking it, then goes over to the red fence. It’s low enough. She pushes herself up, lifting her leg to climb over the fence. I see it before she does. The splintered wood grabbing hold of her shorts. The nylon tears, catching her by surprise. She fumbles and the wood scrapes against her skin, leaving a trail of blood prickling to the surface. She falls backwards, still on the outside of the fence. She sits there, head in her hands, shaking slightly. I edge towards her, but then she throws back her head, and I see she’s laughing. Tears are streaming down her face. She reaches out for my hand and brings me in beside her.

We lie down on the grass, under the crazed eye of the Big Apple, and gaze at the stars.

“Some vacation, huh?” she says and squeezes my hand.

“Yeah,” I answer, squeezing back.