The Last Family Trip

I draw a line down the middle of the notebook page. I aim for precision, but the line swerves in my unsteady hand. On the top left I write “Dad”, cross it out, write “Father.” At the top right I put “Mother.” Soon enough I’ll place my own name under one of the columns, take my position on one side of that crooked barrier.

Because last week mom called the four of us into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, a table older than me with dark stains so deep in the white plastic they’re part of it now.

Dad was there too, pacing around, looking out the windows, acting antsy for antsy sake. It had been a long time since we’d had a meeting in the kitchen. My stomach felt so heavy, but the news was different than I expected.

“Your father and I were thinking about a family trip this summer…” I didn’t hear the next part. She kept talking but my mind couldn’t wrap itself around the words. I’d been expecting bad news, the big bad news kids with parents who fight a lot come to dread. 

I watched mom’s hair bob up and down, recently curled and colored bright red. I glanced around the table at my siblings. Alice smirked but sat up straight. Bill's mouth was tight, determined. Dolores stared through her thick glasses, still as a statue, processing no better than me. Dad approached the table, didn’t sit down. His low baritone cut through mom’s sing-song alto.

“You can thank Indiana for how cheap it is to live in this dang state.” Though he didn’t say “dang.” 

“So we’ve been able to save. Since you’ve all been in school I’ve put in more hours at Kohl’s. And your father finally kept a job for a few years.”

“Those bozos at Pep Boys are kittens. They don’t have the guts to fire me.” Dad laughed, and he didn’t say “bozos.”

“So we thought we could finally take a family trip. You’ll all be teenagers soon, so we may not have many more chances. What do you all think about that?”

Bill raised his hand, perhaps sarcastically. Mom widened her eyes at him, which is how she shows annoyance.

“Where?” He asked.

“Well, we were thinking about either Disney World or the Six Flags Great America.”

Audible gasps around the table. My whole face slackened, my mouth agape. We would take a trip. A real one, as a family. To the sorts of places real families go.

“If it’s six flags we could go longer. Maybe longer than a week. See the big, stinkin’ city of Chicago.” This was dad.

Alice moved her hands to the middle of the table, but her sphinxlike face betrayed little emotion. “Oh I don’t think I could go that long. Maybe I could stay and watch the house while you all go. More room in the car that way. We could barely fit six after all.”

 “Oh, I’m betting on borrowing a van from work. Bob loves family nonsense and loves that I got a big family. You could even bring one of your little friends.” Dad didn’t say “nonsense.”

“We’d decided not to talk about that option. Don’t invite friends. Not yet. Let’s just think about the six of us for now.” Mother’s eyes opened to their widest, her upper lashes went almost vertical. “Anyway, we’re giving you a week to think about it. We’ll vote next Sunday and plan for whatever gets the most votes.”

I speak: “but with six of us. What if it’s three and three?” I throw my hands up in the air in a show of uncertainty. I must look awkward, like always. Bill scoffs at me. Alice lets out a single “Ha.”

Dad reaches into his pocket, pulls out a coin which he flips into the air dramatically. It lands in the middle of the table. It’s a dime. It came up heads.

“That’s how.”

***

I was so excited all week. I want to go to Disney World for reasons I won’t say yet. But I would be so happy to go to either. More than anything I want to feel normal, if only for a little while. I want to do normal things, surrounded by my normal family, deciding things as a family. 

My English teacher Miss Smith caught me smiling in class and asked me what I was so happy about. I shouted “No reason!” and the other kids laughed. Miss Smith just looked at me strangely then went back to the lesson.

I’m not a good student or a bad student. I can blend in most of the time. I’m not even that clumsy, I just hold things in for so long that sometimes I let them out all at once so I’ll shout or flail my arms. But most people know me as the third kid of a family where we were named alphabetically. People call me “C” as often as they do Cecil. So they don’t think of me as the kid that shouts and flails his arms so much.

My math group calls me C. They’re the closest things I have to friends at school. We were in our study group for Algebra, my best subject by a far shot. They rely on me, trust me to figure things out and explain them in a way that makes sense. I told them my family was taking a trip.

“Congratulations,” my friend Kim said. “And here everyone says you’re poor. Where are you going?”

“Don’t know yet. We’re going to vote,” I explained the options.

“What are you going to vote for?”

“Don’t know yet.” I felt powerful in the moment. I felt secretive. I could feel my mouth twisting into a coy smile as I looked down at my book with its mysterious equations. That power lingered with me as the week went on, started to tug at my seams , and I grew anxious. 

What if I was the only one to vote for one option? What if dad made fun of me or Bill scoffed or Alice laughed, that single piercing “ha!” of hers. Or worse, what if I was the deciding vote, the reason half the family would be sad or angry. 

I imagined their faces: angry, sad or frustrated. I saw mom with eyes wide, accusing dad of bribing our votes. Then dad, shaking his head, joking about how we plan to overthrow him from his own castle; joking but secretly sad. Alice saying she hadn’t even wanted to go, that maybe she'd run away with friends the morning we were supposed to leave, but her face barely moved. Bill looked at me cross, his eyebrows touching. And Dolores just stares at me, eyes wet with tears. I betrayed her. She’ll say more later, let out all the anger and frustration in what they call her “chatterbox episodes.” 

I found myself running to the bathroom between classes, laughter from other kids following behind me. I stared into the mirror, gazing straight at the pimple in the middle of my forehead until my breathing slowed. What was I even afraid of?

You know how they tell kids about divorce in school? How they tell you about warning signs and how to cope and all that. They only really say a few things. They say “It’s not your fault.” So then who’s fault would it be? It would have to be mom and dad’s fault which would feel worse. Then they’ll say that you’re still a family even if you live in different places. But what is a family that doesn’t live together?

And then the parents they show to demonstrate are always these shadows on the wall. The kids are real, cartoons maybe but real, and the parents are just shadows. They yell and fight. And the kids are scared. And maybe they imply the dad is going to hit them. 

But that’s not how it is for us. Mom and dad don’t even fight every night and dad never hits mom or breaks anything. They don’t even shout or drink that much. But I think they’re going to get divorced. Bill says they are going to, anyway.

***

So here I am with my piece of paper. I know what comes next. I write “Disney World” under “Mother” and “Six Flags” under “Father.” Dad will want the cheap option, the option that’s less work. Except he likes driving. He’d love to drive all the way to Florida. He’d shout jokes about turning the car around and he’d get to decide when and where we stop. He’d get to drive a huge van. He’d have complete control.

But then surely mom would choose Disney. When we were growing up, she and Alice sang alone with Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. And she had her real smile on, the one where she almost closes her eyes. And she’d curse if she was interrupted while singing. She rarely curses so that’s how you know she’s really mad. 

I remember wanting to sing with mom and Alice and tried one time. But mom would say this isn’t a thing for boys and Alice would let out that one single “Ha.” But they let me watch from the couch if I stayed quiet.

Since mom would choose Disney, dad would have to take the other option. They would fight over it, make us pick whose side to join. Whichever one wins is going to throw it in the face of the other, surely. But there’s no dodging that I guess.

And what about Alice, Bill, and Dolores, what would they vote for? Alice had been to Chicago with friends and raved about it, but she used to love Disney. Used to… now surely she wouldn’t want to. And it would be easier for her to beg off the trip if the rest of us weren’t going to be so far away.

Bill has said what he wants. He wants to ride the rides, the scariest rides. Both places have those. But DIsney World has more famous ones. But it’s also the place more associated with little kids. Six Flags is more adult, and more of his friends have been there.

Dolores… Disney. Has to be. She still loves that stuff, though mom doesn’t sing with her.

I pencil in my guesses, figure the different combinations. Only now I realize how likely my vote is to decide things. Then I consider what result I want… I don’t want to stand out. I want the family to be happy.

Now I want to vote for the losing side, but can’t. Every combination seems to bring everyone’s eyes to bear on me, makes it my fault whichever choice is made, makes me betray half the family. But what do I actually want?

I know. I’ve known all along. I want Disney, not for a good reason though. I want to see Goofy. That’s a little kid thing to want, so I’ll never say it to anyone. Goofy fails so much, but everyone loves him. He’s always laughed at, but he smiles through it. 

That feels like a better power than any superhero, to smile through being made fun of. If I could laugh through every stupid thing I do, every time I shout or flail my arms, life wouldn’t be so bad. If everyone liked me despite my being a goof, that’s all I could ever want.

But even then, I couldn’t approach Goofy like they do in the commercials. Couldn’t hug him or tell him how much he matters to me, not with my family watching. Goofy could do that: run up to Goofy and hug him, tell him that seeing him fail makes him feel good about his own failures. I can see it in my mind, what a silly picture: Goofy hugging Goofy and each telling the other he’s their biggest fan. And suddenly I’m laughing and I’m glad no one else is around.

Dolores could hug every character because she’s two years younger and a girl. I could watch her and imagine what it’s like. I could smile like I’m happy that she’s happy. Maybe even I could walk up with her. I could shake Goofy’s hand, tell him I respect his work, like we’re old friends from goof school.

Then he’d give me tips on the best roads to walk in Disney World, the best views to look at the tall rides, and about unique places to eat where the food is cheap enough to feed a big group without anyone grumbling about prices. I’d tell these secrets to my family and we’d all walk together around the park and just marvel.

“Watcha doin’?” It’s Dolores. I instinctively cover up the paper but she’s several feet behind me, not trying to look over my shoulder.

“Just writing out how I think everyone’s going to vote.”

“Oh. Smart.” She smiles at me and her eyes swim behind her thick glasses.

“I don’t know how I’m going to vote. What about you?”

“Disney! I’ve made a list too with all my favorite characters!”

“Is Goofy on there?”

“I’ll put him on there!”

“Who else is on there?”

And she lists characters, one after another, like some kids do with Pokémon. I don’t even recognize half the names and wonder how she knows so much considering we live in the same small house with the same video collection.

Eventually mom pops her head in the door: “To the kitchen table for the big meeting.” Her eyes are happy slits.

“Yeah, get your selves down here.” Dad shouts from downstairs, though he doesn’t say “selves.”

We meet at the table. Dad is tearing scraps of paper for ballots. Mom hands pencils out. “Now remember, it’s Disney or Six Flags.”

I stare at my paper. I have to make a decision. Everyone is turning in their votes. I have to put down something. I chicken out and scribble “6 Flags,” likely forcing a tie, likely letting the coin decide.

Dad makes a show of mixing up the pieces of paper, like he’s a magician weaving mystical energy through a top hat. He pulls the first vote: “Disney World” he slams the paper on the table with such force I almost fall backwards.

He pulls the second vote. I notice my big, looping lines. Does dad catch my eye as he looks at the vote? Does he smirk at me?

“Six Flags. One to one, anyone scared of the coin?” He chuckles and flips the next vote.

“Two to one for Disney. That greedy mouse will get us yet.”

The next vote is also for Disney, in a fancy cursive like before the movies. Probably mom, or Dolores… She's been practicing handwriting. She used to hold pencils awkwardly in her fist. But now she takes so much care. That must be her’s.

“The fifth vote is for Six Flags! Eat stuffing you big-eared beast!” But he didn’t say “stuffing” or “beast.”

“You couldn’t stay sober for this?” Mom is laughing as she says this.

“A couple shots before an event this big to add a little showmanship and you’re complaining?” He didn’t say “complaining.”

The final vote he turns over casually, without fanfare. 

“Four to two for Disney!”

I couldn’t believe it! And both dad and mom were smiling so brightly. They must have voted together! Plus Dolores and… Alice I guess.

“You can stay home if you still want to Alice,” Mom says, “but we’d expect you to keep the house clean.”

“No, I’ll go,” Alice’s sphinx face breaks just a bit as she smiles.

Dad puts his arm around Bill’s shoulder, jostles him. Bill pushes back but can’t hide his smile either. “We’ll force you to be a kid at least one more time,” Dad says. “And you know I’m still embarrassed your mother and I couldn’t at least get to Melissa or Michael. How would you have liked another gaggle of brothers and sisters? We could have put a whole caravan together.”

I lock eyes with Dolores. She’s grinning at me, her eyes lit up. I can feel I’m grinning as well. I am as happy as I can ever remember being. We could fight the whole trip and I won’t mind. Maybe the family will break up a year from now, but this summer we’ll be together.