So, for Thanksgiving I am having an epic adventure. My plan was to wake up at seven, be on the road by eight, and be in Junction no later than one thirty. Pshaw. First of all, the night before my epic journey, mother called at one am saying that Makayla was sick. I sat up in bed and tried to get my mind straight.
“Fever?” I asked as I wiped gooop from my eyes.
“No,” mom said.
“Runny poo?”
“No,” mom said.
“For how long has it been going on?” I was trying to figure out if it was possible she had food poisoning but mom was more concerned with telling me the emotional turmoil of having Makayla puke in the store. She told me all about her shopping list, and about the people she encountered in the store. She went on until I interrupted her and said, “Mother, it’s one in the morning. Is Makayla OK? Is she drinking Pedialight?”
“She seems to be fine,” mom said, “I gave her some medicine and she’s sleeping. She threw up in her sleep earlier so I’m going to stay up with her in case she does it again.”
“Make sure she’s on her stomach and make sure she’s drinking plenty of pedialight,” I said, “she likes it if you turn the pedialight into a popsicle. And call me if it gets any worse.”
Mom agreed she would do that then changed the subject to something else and I just said, “Mom, I have to be up at seven. I’m exhausted. Goodbye.” I hung up before she could suck me into some other conversation. Then I lied awake until four in the morning worried sick about Makayla.
Seven am came quickly and I jumped out of bed, still tired, but excited to go fetch my son. I planned on leaving at eight. As soon as I had my car loaded up and was only a little annoyed that I was seven minutes behind, I did a quick inspection of all the tires. This is a trick my grandpa taught me so that I could avoid all sorts of messes. I never did these inspections when I was younger. I do them anytime I leave town now. Naturally, since I was in a hurry, I actually had a semi flat tire. I just kind of stared at it for a minute, hoping I was hallucinating. I looked away and then looked back and it was still half flat. I compared the half flat tire with all other four tires in hopes that the other three looked just like the half flat tire. In retrospect, that would have been worse because then I would have had four screwed up tires. I considered just putting air in the tire myself to avoid any severe delays. Decided that would be an idiotic idea and the best thing to do was have it looked at just to be sure. So I took my car to Discount Tire, where I have an account and get free repairs when crap like this happens anyway. It took them an hour to let me know the tire had a nail in it and it took them another hour to take care of it. I sat in the waiting room with John Luc, eyeballing him to make sure he didn’t poop on anything, and glared at the wall. For two hours. By ten thirty my car was ready and I had managed to calm down but was feeling like a hectic, messy lunatic. Once I was actually on the road I calmed down a little. Chuck Lewis, my super dependable GPS system kindly let me know I should be in Junction by 4:00. I had downloaded a British accent because I think accents are super hot. This probably explains my affinity for the past few months of dating guys from Israel, Peru, Ecuador, Russia, and naturally, Canada. Anyway, even though Chuck Lewis and I have had some really great times together, and he has guided me in oh, so many ways, I’m thinking I’m ready to graduate to a real GPS accent: French. I would name him Chandler Duvall and he would be great. After I praised John Luc for not barfing on anything and prayed I wouldn’t murder some innocent varmint with my truck, I started to get happy again. I pulled over in between Snyder and Sweetwater to give John Luc some water. He was looking at me with a “please help” look in his eye and because I’m a professional scientist, I knew EXACTLY what to do. I pulled over and grabbed a bottle of water and his little doggy bowel. In my hurry, I squeezed this full bottle of water with my knees as I opened it and the next thing I knew there was a magnificent volcano of water coming from the bottle right up my nose and all over my face and chest. I just kind of sat there for a second while my pup cheerfully licked water from my face and neck. The front of my shirt and jeans were soaked. Why not? I was amused by this incident and not too irritated that it looked like I was lactating AND had just peed myself. After John Luc had his fill from a second water bottle (this time I GENTLY handled the bottle with care) he barfed it up immediately. I had lined the passenger seat with plastic and towels in case he vomited. Naturally, he vomited on the floorboard, where my favorite poncho sweater and boots were laying. Not a drop of dog puke got on the puke pallet I had so carefully constructed with my own bare hands. I noticed there were leaves and bugs in his throw up. I gagged and wondered if bugs could give my dog worms or breed more bugs or, a much better alternative: superhero powers. I was pretty sure John Luc would make a fantastic superhero because he was named after a guy who is basically a superhero. As I fell into yet another one of my sordid sexual fantasies of the glorious John Luc Picard (the human version) I realized I was coming into Sweetwater and replaced my fantasy with Paul Walker, which is a much simpler fantasy because he’s easier to concentrate on in when I have to think about something else. So as not to be rude, I’ll just say Mr. Walker is less…complicated than the brilliant John Luc Picard. I love you Paul Walker, in case you read this. Also, why aren’t you responding to my facebook posts on your wall professing my love? Just playing hard to get, probably, you little rascal, you. Yeah right. As I went through the third stage of grief over being rejected by Paul Walker, I realized there was a huge traffic jam ahead of me. I didn’t think it would be too bad. I pulled up behind a car that was covered in bumper stickers and figured things would get going shortly. While I waited, I studied the bumper stickers. One said “Abortion KILLS!” “KILLS” was all red and had blood droplets coming off of it. “That’s a little dramatic,” I told John Luc. I wanted to put my own bumper sticker next to it that said, “That’s the POINT!” I figured that was a rude thing to joke about but I was still annoyed by this person. Personal beliefs shouldn’t be shared on one’s car. They also had all sorts of religious propaganda sorted everywhere. One sticker said, “Believe so that you can LIVE!” Another said, “Jesus is MY savior.” Another said, “God watches over me.” There were happy faces all over that one. I imagined the car exploding in a fiery car crash and thought about the irony of that happening but then figured that was a real dick thing to imagine. I told myself to stop judging these people, even though they appeared to be idiots, and focus on something that wouldn’t irritate me. John Luc was dry heaving and that irritated me so I turned on the radio. That Eminem/Rihanna song that romanticizes domestic violence was on so I turned it off. I realized I had been sitting in the same spot for fifteen minutes. I became slightly alarmed. This isn’t normal in places like Sweetwater. I got out my phone and started messing around on it. Considered posting something about the idiot in front of me on facebook but decided it would offend a lot of people. Considered posting about the traffic jam on facebook but decided that would be lame. For an hour, traffic inched along, through detours and people honking and yelling at each other. I thought it might be fun to throw a firecracker into the herd of people that were yelling at each other in one part of the traffic jam, jamming that side up even more. Thankfully, that wasn’t my side. Finally, after over an hour behind that kind person with such a godly soul who also just so happened to be one cursing, honking asshole, I was out of the jam but totally lost as to where I was because of the detour. After driving around for a while and getting no closer to knowing where I was, I decided to pull over. I saw a McDonald’s and a Wendy’s and even though my true passion is with McDonald’s, I decided to try something new. Go adventure. My plan was to let John Luc out to poop, clean him up, feed and water him, go grab a burger, and then figure things out. I let John Luc out on his leash and noticed three other people with their tiny dogs. All of the dogs were growling and barking at each other. The owners were doing that “Bubbles, no!” thing while doing nothing about it. Gay. I took my pup around to the other side of the building and decided I should probably hydrate him soon since he loves puking in my truck. After he was finished with his business, I took him to the car and gave him some water. I tried to feed him but he wasn’t feeling it. I put him in his kennel and hoped his belly would settle before we got back on the road. I made a mental note to Google giving anti nausea medicine to puppies. I went into Wendy’s and was immediately greeted by a madhouse full of angry, hungry people. I literally said “Gosh,” the second I walked in. These people startled me. People were yelling over each other and the cashiers were impatiently taking orders and barking “What can I get you?” as people came to order. I was a little intimidated by my own cashier. She looked pissed to be there and glared at me as I came up to order. I was attempting to order "a number two, no ketchup, no mustard, add mayo, no tomatoes,” but she wouldn’t really give me a chance. When I said, “I’ll have a number two,” before I could clarify what I did and did not want on the burger she was like, “what size? What drink? Onion rings or fries?” She was barking these things out to me in a way that made me uncomfortable and when she said, “that’ll be seven fifty,” I told her, “what I’ve been trying to tell you is that I don’t want ketchup or mustard on it and no tomatoes.” She rolled her eyes at me and said, “It doesn’t come with mustard.” “Add mayo,” I smiled at her. She rolled her eyes again, punched something into the screen and yelled, “next!”
“Excuse me,” I said to her. She gave me a “go to hell look.”
“You know, I came here to get something to eat and to relax before I get back on the road and you’re being a dick and I don’t appreciate it. You wouldn’t even let me give you my order. I just want you to know I had a horrible Wendy’s experience. Have a great day.” I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard applause behind me. I turned to look and people were grinning and saying stuff like, “I’ll never come back here,” and “couldn’t have said it better myself.” I immediately was concerned for the feelings of the cashier and felt like a total jerk for making a scene like that where everyone was in turn being a dick to her but upon inspection, the angry mob at Wendy’s didn’t seem to faze her a bit. I figured that because she was such an asshole she was used to people hating her but figured it was also likely she was abused as a child and was good at disassociation. If the second one were true, fifteen people jeering at her would cause her severe emotional turmoil. When I went to get my food she practically threw the bag at me while yelling “next!” to the next person in line. My burger had ketchup and tomatoes on it. They had forgotten to give me fries. I decided I had just lost seven bucks because I wasn’t eating the nasty thing and I sure as shit wasn’t going back in to see that evil lady and all those people. I looked at McDonald’s and figured there would be a mob and angry cashiers there too and decided to just get a bag of trail mix when I went to get gas. The gas station was even worse. I had to wait in line to get gas and then the gas tank wouldn’t take my card. I went inside, grabbed some trail mix, a Gatorade, and paid for gas. That attendant was distracted but at least polite. I would have been distracted with all those people around too. What a nightmare. Once I was back on the road and on the right track, I realized I had put myself so far behind that I wouldn’t be getting into Junction until around six. I decided this trip would probably age me at least three years. I looked at Chuck Lewis, saw I had forty more miles to go, and turned his voice off. Chuck is super hot and helpful and great to have around, but he is also capable of annoying the hell out of me just like any other typical man. I let my thoughts wander. I thought about homework and worried about the thesis paper for grad school that is at least a year and a half away. I pondered how weird it was only seeing my kiddos on holidays and their birthdays and the summertime. I wondered what John Luc’s offspring would look like. I wondered how I was going to make my jobs work around my massive class load next semester and how on earth I was going to support my social life time-wise. I figured I’d probably have to cut gym time in half and pondered clothing items once I became obese. I wondered if I could develop an eating disorder and decided I wasn’t disciplined enough. I wondered if this total nightmare of a trip would have instead been a total blast if I had someone super cool to join me on it which made me think about Matt and some of the last things he ever said to me. I immediately switched my thoughts to all of the things I hated about him and then switched on the radio to distract myself. Some song came on by Brad Paisley which brought up new memories of the ex. “There is a song on here that TOTALLY reminds me of you!” I had squealed, as I thrust at him the CD I decided he couldn’t live without. Weird. He really was just a guy. I slammed the radio off with a little more force than necessary and said, “Stupid stupid.” John Luc jumped and I patted him until he calmed down and saw a dead deer in a ditch. Matt loved dead deer. The idiot was everywhere. I glanced down at Chuck Lewis and literally screamed. I had forgotten about turning him off. I had gone fifty miles past where I was supposed to turn. I pulled over, making sure I didn’t run over any half decomposed venison.
“Shit!” I screamed, “Shit, shit, shit!”
John Luc was freaking out. I had TOTALLY lost track of time. I re-entered my destination and calmed down as I realized while I had gone out of the way, realistically, it was only about a twenty minute detour from my destination. Still, I was already behind and had it in my mind that I wouldn’t be acting like an idiot any more at all for the duration of my trip and made sure I paid extra close attention to everything. I was doing great until I saw flashing lights behind me and realized I had paid close attention to everything except the speed limit. I was going eighty miles an hour in a seventy. Of course. Yes, of course. The cop did his whole thing and I didn’t even attempt to get out of a ticket. I was exhausted.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, “I really wasn’t paying attention.”
The cop was cute. Typically I find situations like this fun. This time I couldn’t have cared less.
He gave me a warning and a big grin and said, “Have a safe trip. Jessica.” He handed my license back and walked back to his car. I thought about Matt again. He used to do that. He would say a sentence, end the sentence, and then say my name as an entire different sentence. I was so irritable at this point that I didn’t even feel sad; I just felt like kneeing him in the balls. In the next town, I stopped for gas. I was exhausted. Caleb was about thirty minutes away and my heart pounded every time I thought about it. I was super excited even though I was exhausted. Mom’s insane phone call last night was taking its toll. John Luc started puking again as I stopped the car next to pump one and I literally felt tears in my eyes. This time, he puked all over his little pad but I was afraid he’d step or roll in it. I snatched him up, snatched two twenties, and ran into the gas station. There was one attendant there and no other customers. I stood at the door and extended my hand with the two twenties in it.
“Forty on one, please,” I said, “if you don’t mind, I’d rather not come in. My pup is sick.”
This was a tiny gas station. She was literally no more than three feet away from me.
“Yeah, I can’t do that,” she said with a smartass smirk on her face, “you can’t have that dog in here.”
I just kind of stared at her because John Luc was on a leash, outside while I was inside. He was still on his leash but the door had shut on the leash, leaving my pup totally outside. What the hell was up with people today?
“I just need forty on one really quick, please,” I said, “please.”
“Pump one is broken,” she said, “Everyone knows that that pump has been broken for a year.”
For some reason, this irritated me beyond belief.
“How would I know that?” I asked as I opened the door and picked John Luc up and brought him in, “how?”
“How could you not know that?” she said, “It’s been that way forever. Get that dog out of here.”
I felt my face get hot and was suddently fighting the overwhelming desire to physically assult this whore. “Did it ever occur to you that many people are traveling today and might have never even been to this town?” I asked.
“Well, it’s still broke,” she said, “You need to get that dog out of here. You can’t have that dog in the store. And you should get to know your towns before you go to them. Then you'd know that pump is broken.” She snapped her fingers at me twice and pointed to the door while giving me a pissy look.
I pretty much lost my mind and my temper.
I pretty much lost my mind and my temper.
“You’re a nasty fat bitch and you can go fuck yourself,” I said, "enjoy your humiliating career. And if you're allowed in here, there's no reason why a dog shouldn't be." I turned to leave then faced her again and said, "The reason you're in your forties and working behind the counter of a tiny Allsup's is because you're a pathetic loser with no motivation, social skills, ambition, or goals. Don't take your life failures out on me. I'm not the one who's a fat, pathetic, lazy, freak excuse of a human being. Loser. You better watch you you pick your little hick town attitude with. Fucking moron."
I felt like a huge dick when I saw her mouth open and nothing came out. I turned and left and considered going back in to apologize. Decided against it. I was ashamed of myself but too tired to do anything about it. I should have known better than to be mean to such a moron but she probably needed a good dose of something. I still felt awful the entire rest of the drive to get Caleb and seriously considered calling that Allsup's to apologize. By the time I finally met up with Clint, my eyes were already heavy and felt crusty and I couldn’t fathom driving three and a half hours back to Snyder. But the second I saw Caleb, I forgot about the entire disaster of a day, my sudden onset of gayness over Matt, and my unusual evil outburst at the gas lady. He ran to me with a huge grin and I hugged him tight and felt tears spill down over my cheeks. His dad hooked up his booster and we talked for a minute. “Have fun!” Clint said as he made a beeline for his car. I imagined he was ready for a break from the little guy. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the giant responsibility of keeping my three year old alive. I imagined ghastly car wrecks, deer in the road, highway robbers, and black ice. I dismissed black ice since it wasn’t cold at all and decided I was just being a freak since I hadn’t seen Caleb in two months. I turned my phone off so I wouldn’t be tempted to mess with it on the road and double checked Caleb’s car seat. I walked around my car to check the tires. I kicked them all to make double sure none of them would explode or fall off or go flat. I swore to myself the day I became rich I’d travel with a personal mechanic to ensure the safety of my kiddos while driving. I checked the oil and other fluids (which I taught myself to do through Google the night before my epic trip, thank you.) Finally, I was satisfied enough to entrust myself with the life of my squirt. This is ridiculous really, because for the first year and ten months of his life, I was solely responsible for the wellbeing of the squirt and we used to travel everywhere. While breastfeeding. For a year and ten months. While maintaining his big sister. I poked his leg to remind myself that he wasn’t going to break and he said, “Mommy, you’re so funny.” I remembered that I had gotten him an Ironman book and handed it to him.
"What the heck!" he screamed, "I LUB Ironman! I AM Ironman Mommy!" He was a maniac, going through the pages, gasping, and saying, "Look Mommy! Look!"
He was quiet for a while and I used that opportunity to remember him when he was just a tiny squirt, screaming from his teeth coming in and screaming if I put him down and just screaming in general. He was the most difficult baby I had ever encountered and sometimes I thought I would never make it through his babyhood. I remembered his first steps and when he did all of his firsts but I was startled out of my memories by an incredibly lout ROAR. I swerved slightly out of surprise, and looked back in shock at Caleb. He roared as loud as he could again and said, "I am IRONman! ROAR!" He drooled a little as he roared. I was impressed. I tried to roar with him but he said no because girls can't be Ironman. I let him know girls could be whatever they wanted to be, just like boys and made a mental note to keep an eye on his sexism.
"What the heck!" he screamed, "I LUB Ironman! I AM Ironman Mommy!" He was a maniac, going through the pages, gasping, and saying, "Look Mommy! Look!"
He was quiet for a while and I used that opportunity to remember him when he was just a tiny squirt, screaming from his teeth coming in and screaming if I put him down and just screaming in general. He was the most difficult baby I had ever encountered and sometimes I thought I would never make it through his babyhood. I remembered his first steps and when he did all of his firsts but I was startled out of my memories by an incredibly lout ROAR. I swerved slightly out of surprise, and looked back in shock at Caleb. He roared as loud as he could again and said, "I am IRONman! ROAR!" He drooled a little as he roared. I was impressed. I tried to roar with him but he said no because girls can't be Ironman. I let him know girls could be whatever they wanted to be, just like boys and made a mental note to keep an eye on his sexism.
After an hour of driving, I asked him if he was hungry. “I want a cheeseburger,” he said. He pronounces this "chis-booger." We went to Dairy Queen. I asked him what he wanted and he pointed at an advertisement for blizzards.
“Not in your dreams, squirt,” I said. He laughed and said, “I know mommy. I want a cheeseburger.” While we were eating some dude came by and said, “What up little homie?” I immediately tensed up and Caleb looked at the man like he had just sprouted horns.
“What up, homie? You chill?”
I wasn’t really sure what this man was trying to get across but I was under the impression he was trying to communicate with us. Upon further inspection of his body language, I figured he was trying to say hi to my kiddo.
“Say hi, Caleb,” I said. Caleb grinned and waved really big.
“Lay it on my homie,” the guy said and offered him a high five. I figured it would be rude to ask the guy to wash his hands first. It would be ruder to spray him with Lysol.
“His hands are dirty,” I said as I dived across the table for Caleb’s hands. Bubba was eating finger food and our new friend was filthy. He looked like he had just got off work.
“That’s a cute little man,” the friend said, “thank you,” I said, “I’m sure he’s tired. He’s been in the car all day.”
The guy laughed, “Yeah those white boys get tired easy. Tell him to work with me and then he’ll be tired.” I don’t think he was trying to be offensive. I said something lame like, “yeah, ok. Deuces bro.”
Caleb ate, then had an ice cream cone, and then we went back out to the car. I fed and watered my dog and let him go potty. I felt a little guilty about John Luc. Somehow, with Caleb there, his existence wasn’t NEAR as huge as it typically is. I decided to look into the psychology of that later. I assumed I was about to learn that I was using my pup as a coping mechanism for my kiddos living away from me during the school year. I wasn’t sure how healthy that was. Thankfully, the drive to grandma and grandpa’s was incredibly uneventful. I was relieved. When I stumbled into my grandparents’ house, exhausted and about to pass out, I handed my son over to grandpa, who was beaming at him.
“Howdy there boy!” grandpa exclaimed, “howdy there! How ‘bout you come on over here to PawPaw’s lap and look at some pictures on this here computer your daddy sent to me.” Caleb looked at me with a look of horror and I urged him over. I wasn’t positive he remembered his PawPaw. I was assuming his PawPaw’s larengectamy was freaking him out. I had forgotten to warn him about it.
“Go, son,” I said, “let mommy bring all of our stuff in.”
Caleb sat on Grandpa’s lap and after I unloaded stuff, Grandpa looked at me and said, “Go on in there to the back room and fetch me that camera and take a picture of me and my boy.” I was only a little butt hurt that he didn’t want a picture with me. Of course a cranky twenty four year old who he sees all the time doesn’t at all compare with the adorable three year old he hasn’t seen in over a year. I was happy to “fetch him that camera” and dutifully took pictures. It wasn’t lost on me that grandpa was totally shirtless and about to upload these pics on facebook. Whatever. I quickly put my son to bed and showered. I was actually happy to be home. There’s something totally settling about coming home. Even though Lubbock is only an hour and a half away, it feels like it’s further. All of the homework and friends and boyfriends and other stuff seemed way more distant than it does when I’m home. When I went to bed next to my munchkin, I looked out the window and saw the same sight I had grown up seeing when I went to bed. I remembered my favorite dog and I remembered my sisters and I had run around this farm like feral animals, playing games, exploring, and getting filthy. I remembered our gord ball wars, using tumbleweeds as shields. I remember spooking each other out in all the old barns and tree jumping and playing softball. Exploring the creek and all the games we would invent and messing around with grandpa’s cows. I went to bed super happy and content, happy with memories that I haven’t remembered in a very long time.
At seven thirty, I was awakened from a deep sleep by grandpa saying, “what are y’all gonna do, sleep all day?” I was still really tired and their house was freezing in the morning and I didn’t at all feel like getting up. But I did. I was surprised at breakfast to see cereal on the table. From the time grandma and grandpa were married, every Thanksgiving morning, grandma has made Pumpkin bread. I wondered if I was sleepwalking. I glanced at the calendar. “It’s Thanksgiving today, right?” I asked.
“Yup,” grandpa said. Weirdness. Halfway through cheerios, grandma said, “my old arthritis is getting so bad, I just couldn’t make pumpkin bread for breakfast this year.”
Have you ever had that feeling from worry/dread, like when it feels like your heart just dropped? My eyes snapped up to her and a morbid thought entered my mind instantly: ‘what if this is the last Thanksgiving I have with Grandma?” I felt my cheeks flushing and tears spring to my eyes as I tried not to make a scene at the table. Grandma and Grandpa were talking about something else. I interrupted them, announcing I’d be doing the dishes immediately after breakfast. I didn’t want grandma to tackle them if I went to do something else.
“Let me get Caleb ready and I’ll get those dishes,” I said, worried that my little shirtless guy was getting cold. When I was done, she had already done the dishes and I was like, “grandma! I said I’d do that!”
“No, no, no!” she said defensively, “the water makes my hands feel better.” I snatched the dish she was drying and put it up. I vowed to keep a better eye on her. I made sure she hadn’t dripped any water so that she wouldn’t slip and fall.
“Look lady,” I said as I put an arm around her hip, “let me do take over stuff while I’m here.” I decided I needed to start coming down at least once a week to clean stuff up. She used to keep her house super spotless and has always been anal about it. Gradually, over the past year, things aren’t like they used to be. She says she doesn’t care but I know she does. People’s preferences in cleanliness don’t change just because their bodies do. Grandpa demanded we leave, RIGHT THEN. I was still in pajamas and hadn’t brushed my teeth, much less actually make myself presentable to the public. That was an ordeal but I already texted that whole thing to you guys and am getting sick of writing. When we got in the car, Caleb, my uncle, and I were all in the back. I missed my truck. My uncle helped me get Caleb situated and I opened my laptop and got started writing this here thing. After nearly an entire minute of no one moving, I looked up to see what was going on. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary so I buried my nose into my computer and pounded on the keyboard. We still didn’t move so I looked up at my grandpa and saw him staring at me through the review mirror. I wondered if he was marveling at his super smart granddaughter who was intent on recording every last moment of her adventures. Something told me that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t sure what he wanted. I looked away and then looked back up and he was still looking at me. He tapped his forefinger on the steering wheel. He clicked at me. My grandpa has a series of clicks to communicate with people because he has a hole in his neck and it’s easier for him to give a certain click for whatever he wants. This particular click was commanding me to do something, sternly. Oh duh. The seatbelt. I put it on and he said, “don’t you take that off, now.” Of course. (I’ll post this now and try to find the time to type up the rest later. Hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving!)
