The Trip of Her Life

THE TRIP OF HER LIFE

Only one more stop and they were off. Again. Yay. Not the kind of yay that a person of any age thinks when they hear that one word either. Or the kind of yay, that a person of any age blurts out when they enter an area that is going to be amazing and fun.

Or the kind of yay that a person of any age feels because they cannot wait to go someplace, they have never been to before. Or a place you never would have thought of going to until three months prior. Nope. Not that kind of yay, at all. Complete opposite, as a matter of fact. This was the kind of yay that filled Amy with elation. She has been ready for two days, now.

Ready, to get back home.

PENIS.

Although, there was a part of her that wants to stay perched on that balcony forever. She loved the fresh ocean air blowing on her face and filling her lungs. Almost as much as the tar, nicotine, and smoky air that she has been inhaling this whole vacation.

Up, on that balcony.

Amy is not proud of some of her personality traits. She has habits. A, lot of habits.

She knows it.

She is reminded of them quite often.

She needs to work on some things.

She knows it.

That was the whole point of this trip. For her, anyway. There is a part of her that’s never going to go back home. Somethings were and are, meant to stay put.

Just for that moment.

Some things she will keep with her forever.

Amy was beginning to feel the gravitational pull. It was time to go. OMG…

It was time to go.

But…

But of course, there is one more beach-bum-looking building, to search through. For that one last souvenir she has to have. For whom, she did not know. Probably, herself. Or her mom. Or someone else. Probably herself. Amy loves pretty things. She wants to have more stuff to clutter up the house. She wants to have another something pretty to put…somewhere.

Ugh.

That’s what she has been doing for ten days now. Looking at pretty things. This time was different though. She wasn't the least, bit excited. She was done with the hordes of people. And the needing to move out of everybody else’s, way. Since the start of all of this, when she was NOT on the eighth-floor smoking, all she heard was people screaming.

Behind her and in her ears...

"Everything on sale!!”

“Buy one…get one.”

“Cheap-cheap-cheap…hear…cheaper!!!"

Over and over and over again.

Jason thinks that seagulls are annoying.

Lol.

Omg.

By the second day it was all going in one ear and out the other. The only place where it was quiet was up on that balcony. Amy was up there most of the time that she was awake. Once she was there, she was there. For as long as she could stay.

Or until she ran out of, cigarettes.

When Amy would take her first step of the day away from the hotel balcony, she had to keep reminding herself that she is here for the boys. Amy and Jason both wanted something for the boys that they could remember someday. They wanted them to have fun.

And to have bits and pieces of this place in their memories. They don’t get how important certain memories can be.

Yet. They don’t have many.

Yet.

This was their first trip all together to the ocean. The Atlantic, Ocean.

There are some things that Amy does not want to forget about this one trip. And things that she wants to get out of her mind as, soon as possible.

Candy, food, games, noise, and money.

And more noise, and more money.

Amy has always expected that on the few trips that she has been on. It’s never planned out very well. She does have to look though.

At the very least, she wants to peek. A force of nature, sort of thing.

Amy becomes mesmerized with the different colors and the sounds of the wind-chimes.

Purple.

There are delightful sounds that set off itty-bitty firecrackers in her head.

They can go off at any moment

Bang, bang, bang...

Amy has a crystal hang-y thing that she has seen for as long, as she can remember. Her father bought it for her mother at a gift shop in California. She thinks it was either in Cambria, or the area where a big castle is at. It sits on the porch on the only side that gets any, direct sunlight.

Through the trees.

Amy has moved that thing I don’t know how many times. Clang-clang-clang.

Ching-Ching….

CHIP.

She wants to get it fixed now because all of the crystal pieces are in a box somewhere.

Amy felt too rushed to waste any time. Every store was the same. Same clothes, same hats, same magnets.

All of it. Same-same-same. Identical. Each, and every store.

She definitely has to get a cup. A coffee cup. Not a mug. A, cup. Not too big, and not too small. It’s all about the temperature. And how big or how small, and bold or not bold, the cup is. The size of the cup determines how long the coffee stays warm. More likely than not, she will get a magnet. A hobby her mom has always had.

Epiphany...

There was once a woman, of whom collected magnets, that live in an apartment. Amy remembers looking into her kitchen and her refrigerator was smothered with magnets.

What???

Colors with words and letters and different things, sticking to her eyes.

(She couldn’t really see anything else.)

They were everywhere. Complete sensory overload.

Amy picked up that habit when she first moved to Michigan. One for every state she has been to. Or through. Her fridge was once covered with them.

Their car was packed full of wrappers from fast food garbage and receipts from who knows where.

With sand.

Two weeks, full of sand.

And bags.

And sand, in bags.

Bags that were filled with wrappers.

With receipts.

That were stuck…to sand.

The sand was endless. The laundry mat was as sandy as the beach. It cost fifty-billion quarters to rinse the ocean off. They still left with half of the sand that they came in with.

At least.

By now everyone was ready to go. Some sooner than others. They should have gotten gas and left. But no. The jingles and the jangles. Windy streamers blowing in the breeze. The soft bumps of the seashell mobiles clogging in her ears. With the crystals and shiny things hanging from every inch, of the ceiling. Clinking, and clanking.

Clanging and clinking.

This is the last stop for a long, time.

There were pretty things all strewn about. Every different type of T-shirt with tie-dye colors all over, everywhere. Splashes of yellows, blues, purples, and greens. Purple is a funny color. Lol. It’s like a million miniature lightbulbs going off in her head.

It was too, much for her this time. She walked out as soon as she walked in. When Jason came in through the out-door, Amy threw him a box of pecans and said that she is ready. So ready. She told the boys to get back in the car as she hurried to get into her spot. Soon enough she was belted up, shoes off, and a pillow on her lap.

She had everything that she needed within reach. No matter where she sits in the car, there must be a mirror to her left. And a mirror to her, right. And one in front of her looking back. She doesn’t like cars behind her.

People either.

Amy took in a deep breath and thought to herself of all the things that she needs to fix. All of the things that, they need to fix. There are so many broken pieces. The mess that needs to be put away.

Or moved, from where it is. She calls it rig-a-ma-rolling.

Rig-a-ma-rolling:

Fixing something that is broken, with whatever works. For that moment. For forever long, it holds.

Amy has no idea how long they’ve been riding. She has been quietly listening to the speakers.

Boom-BA-Boom.

BOOM.

BOOMBOOM.

Boom...

She must have been out of her mind. She still had a long drive home. She doesn’t want to get tired. They would never get home if Jason were driving. Putt-putt.

SWERVE-SWERVE.

I’m…awake!

She wanted to get lost. So, she turned the music up. All it took was the first track and her head was in the clouds. Kind of. She needed to put her mind aside. She wants to dance.

Not, dance-dance.

Just move, dance.

Jason, he does not, dance. He danced with her at their wedding, during their song.

That’s, it.

No more.

If I ever saw a good thing…

Amy wants to do something with the energy that she feels from the noise screaming through the speakers. She can hear it. And she can feel it. But she can’t move.

There’s too much stuff in the car.

And people

Too bad the three of them couldn’t fit in the trunk. She could deal better with the garbage than the passengers. She was so, ready.

Her eyes were straight out the window watching it all pass by. Everything was sinking in deep…

A speech therapist once told Amy to go out and buy some notebooks. She did that for reasons she couldn’t understand.

If she had to, she could go through all of her notebooks and find the exact dates of some things that Amy wants to remember. With some things that Amy needs to remember.

Amy will forever, remember Jack.

She has date books of chicken scratch, and she has writing on schedules. She has lists upon lists. On these lists are words, numbers, and letters. Or an idea. Or a phrase from a song or conversation.

This helps her to remember.

Kind of.

For years she didn’t do that. Now, it’s coming together. Things were becoming more together every mile that she drove. The what, the when, the who, the where. And mainly, the why. Amy thought that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to balance things out.

She was listening to everything, and everybody. Learning things about, herself from other people. And learning things about those, other people. She is learning how those other people do the things that they do with so much going on.

All Amy could think about was this one trip. They were near some town that was nestled into the Appalachian Mountains. The never-ending Appalachian Mountains. For every dip in the mountain there was an exit ramp that took you through the main drag of a small, quiet town. Amy wondered what it would be like living in a butcher-holler, looking town.

Like the one that is in that coal-miners movie with Sissy Spastic.

Aaron called her spastic when a bucket of blood fell on her head. What could their lives be like if they simply plopped down from the sky and landed smack dab in the middle of the Appellations?

But only for a moment.

Amy grew up with that movie. Her mom loved it. Her dad said that he loved it. And her brother, she's pretty sure he didn’t watch it. When Amy was young, she watched quite a few musical-type movies. She wasn’t really into Saturday Night Fever, but when she saw Grease for the first time, with Danny’s quirky behavior and Sandy’s skintight leather, she was mesmerized. She loved it. She still loves it. She owns it. Digitally remastered.

Watching, hearing, and feeling the story of the music, is beautiful. The Newman’s listened to everything and everybody. From A to Z. In almost every genre. Neil diamond, to Barbara Streisand.

The Beatles...

The Beach Boys, and Crosby, Stills and Nash. And Young, too. Elton John, James Taylor, Janis Joplin. Patsy Cline and Lorretta Lynn. Their voices cannot be mistaken. Kenny Rodgers, Simon, and Garfunkel. The list goes on, and on. And on, and on…

I'm just a ghost.

As Amy and Aaron got older, bands like Rush, Kiss and Def Leppard came into the mix. Aaron even picked up the guitar when he first joined the service. He still plays, to this day.

Amy has no recollection of what she was listening to. She just knows it was something heavy.

BOOM.

BOOM-BOOM.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

BOOM.

She doesn't know how long, nor how far, she has been driving. Not, a clue. A safe driver that does not, make. That thought quickly left her head as she had no time for those thoughts in this moment. She was driving and all she wanted to do was write down the words that were going through her head.

As not to forget.

Things were whizzing by. Her mind in a conundrum. Absolutely nothing, looked familiar. She was just here last week on the other side, but still…

It looked the same. And it felt absolutely, no different. The feelings that she wants to go away, are still there. Just in a different spot. Some things shifted, and some things went away. But the more things are changing, the more Amy gets behind.

She is still a wife. She is still a mother, and a daughter.

And a sister.

She does feel somewhat different, though.

She thinks it may be the altitude.

Whatever the reason being, she did not feel like herself.

She was white knuckle nervous the whole, time she was moving. Up the hills…

…and down, the hills.

They went up, and up. And they went down and down. Slipping through tunnels and going over mountains on top of mountains. It seemed like a video game. Amy was going up. And Amy was going down. She was speeding around people that were driving, too slow in the fast lane.

The right lane too.

All while swerving around the trucks that were gasping for air to get up the hills. Going downhill, her gas pedal was nearly to the floor. They were flying down the lanes trying to escape the eighteen-wheeler headlights from coming through the mirrors. While they were speeding through the narrow tunnels, practically scratching the paint off the car. She was holding her breath and closing one eye thinking OMG, through each and every hole in the mountain. La-la la…

For what seemed like hours, they went up, and down. Up, down.

The right lane was full of trucks struggling to make up the steep inclines.

Btw…

The only reason Amy ever drives in the slow lane is when she needs to get around the putt putts in the left lane.

Going downhill she did not want to be in the right lane. The trucks with their loud squeaky brakes were in that lane. Impatiently, barreling down the Holler. Sticking their big bright-white eyes right smack dab, in the rear-view mirror. And her right mirror. The left one, too. The middle mirror, all headlights. All the way, through the Appalachian Mountain range. She felt the breath of sleepless truckers breathing down the back, of her neck. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Go-go go. Move-move.

MOVE!!!

At first, the loud voices were drowned out.

Amy.

…Amy.

AMY!!!

Mom??

MommmMOMMM!!!

Amy’s head snapped back to reality.

Literally.

And she extinguished out all of the air that she had been holding in for what seemed like days. A lot of words came flying out of her mouth as she was soaring off the off ramp. Her St. Christopher still swinging and dinging off the windshield. He’s been there ever since…

He has also been with her on every up down, and side to side motion.

Tink-Tink…

Tink.

She now heard the boys loud, and clear. Her train of thought, now broken.

“MOOOM, YOU ARE SCARING US!"

That was all she heard. Besides the screeching sound that the tires made when the poor Focus came to a stop. A tire-burning, stop. Amy did not slam, on the breaks. She had to first slow down.

Pick a spot. And then step firmly, onto the brakes. REALLY HARD. Hard enough for everybody's seatbelts to give an uncomfortable tug to their necks.

The first and only thing out of her mouth, was…WHAT, THE YOU KNOW WHAT. She couldn’t tell if the boys were screaming at her, or if they were crying because they were terrified. Trevor and Logan, they were both white as ghosts. Jason?

He was super perturbed. He was beet, red.

As Amy hobbled out of the car, she was flying to the other side. Open, shut...

Open….

Shut-really-hard.

Choking over her words she instantly caught her surroundings. When she looked up, she took a long, long pause. As she wasn't, listening to the muffled screams coming from inside of the Focus.

And then…

She immediately saw it. Out of all the homes in this itty-bitty squawk of a town, Amy firmly parked them in front of a mortuary, slash police station, slash funeral home. Slash, lube oil and filter, stop. Was this a sign?

To be continued…