It has been a very long day.
There has been so much excitement leading up to this day.
Now that the day itself is here, it’s mostly just long.
All day in the car with Mom.
A longer day than Mom promised.
Boring.
Scary and exciting and overwhelming.
But mostly boring.
The girl stares out the window, but there is nothing to see but rain. Heavy blinding rain that erases the world. All sense of forward motion is lost as her sense of perspective vanishes in the rain. There are no landmarks, no horizon, no scenery . . . it’s all gone.
It’s like being in a car wash. Yes. The girl sits up straight, pleased with this realization. Yes! It’s like sitting in a car wash in the car. Forever. Going nowhere.
The girl presses her hand to the window, imagines the dark wetness on the other side.
She presses both hands against the glass. Presses hard, as though there might be a way to increase the space within the car by forcing the glass outward and bubbled. The space within the car is smaller than she would like it to be. The space within the car is smaller than she would like it to be, and the space is all jellied and thick with emotion.
It has been a long day.
The girl hates when Mom cries.
The girl hates when Mom pretends she isn’t crying.
The girl hates when Mom says the tears are happy tears.
The girl hates when Mom treats her like a baby.
She is not a baby.
Mom hates driving in the rain.
The rain has made the last part of this trip unbearable.
The girl wishes they would get where they are going. Mom promised they would be there by now. The girl wishes she could ask how much longer they have to go, but the last time she asked, Mom yelled at her. So even though she really wants to know how long until they get there, she is not going to ask again.
The girl reaches back to pet the sleeping dog’s ears. The rubbery velvet warmth is soothing, and she caresses an ear between her fingertips. She smoothes the warm velvet as the rain takes the world away and the space in the car stays smaller than she would like it to be.
She really wants to ask Mom when they will get where they are going.
She closes her eyes and tries to imagine their destination.
All she can see is the place from which they started.
She needs Mom’s help to imagine the place they are going.
The girl wishes she could ask Mom to tell her the story of where they are going. Mom paints pictures with her words that make it easier for the girl to see the things she has never seen. The girl wishes she could ask Mom to tell her the story, but she doesn’t want to be yelled at again.
She glances at Mom.
Everything about Mom suggests that she will yell.
The girl says nothing.
They travel down the freeway without appearing to move.
The rain falls.
The girl rubs the dog’s ears.
When will they get there?
The rain eases.
They exit the freeway.
The girl sits quietly.
Mom reaches over to put a hand on the girl’s knee, “I know you’re nervous, but it’s going to be alright. It’s a big change, but it’s going to be good. You’ll see.”
The girl knows that these words are meant to reassure both of them.
She smoothes the dog’s ear a final time, and then brings her hand forward to place it on top of Mom’s, “I know.”
These words are also meant to reassure both of them.
They do.
This is SO SO beautiful. Wow.
Thank you.
Happy sighs.
In case you were wondering?
Maj told me the other day that I am always Mom in her mind.
That she may call me Mother, but I am always Mom in her mind.
I love that.
Kris
I love it that you can see inside the mind of Maj! And that ability is going to help so much as the tough years creep up.
It parallels your own journey as a child at times?
My kids hate it when I hide my crying. I do it in the shower these days.
You were also in the shower, just with the whole car.
I am happy that you all four seem happy in your new life is Oregon.
Your very own Oregon Trail
AmyLynn -
Maj surprised me today by telling me some of her memories of our trip to Oregon. I have tried to capture here a bit of what she shared.
My words, and I was there in the car as well.
But Maj’s story.
Thank you.
My brother lived in Oregon for a year. He came back with 2 tee shirts. One said “In Oregon people don’t tan, they rust”
The other one said something like “last year in Oregon 500 people died in bicycle related deaths. They drowned.”
I don’t like driving in rain much either. SoCal drivers & roads don’t deal well with rain. Although I’m originally from NoCal & learnt to drive in the rain, it’s still not fun.
Though I am glad you moved since you wouldn’t be writing this great blog :)
I love Oregon.
I love the rain and the green and the moss of it all.
We are very happy here.
I love Oregon.
However, I still hate driving in the sort of rain that greeted us when we drove up here.
ACK!
I love this…
The softness of Maj calling you Mom in her mind.
What a beautifully painted picture.
Cathy -
Thank you.
I love a glimpse of a softer Maj.
Swoon!
This was so beautiful. It’s brought me to tears…especially the part about her seeing you as mom in her head.
I know.
That made me so very happy when she told me that.
Happy tears.
Really, Maj.
I think it’s wonderful that she told you about her view of that trip. Mom.
Maj delights in anniversaries.
She delights in rituals.
This evening?
She has talked Kallan into sleeping on the air mattresses.
Just like they did their first few nights in this house.
Happy sighs.
I just assumed it was you and your mom…so interesting that it was Mal. I guess Mark drove the other car with Kallan. So, you were nervous about the move too! It seems as if you have all had lots of change this year, and it seems it’s all worked out! Congrats on that. It was a lovely piece!
Lynn -
Yes, Mark and Kallan were in the other car.
And we were all nervous about this move.
We were headed that night to a house we had only seen in photos.
Leaving everything the girls had ever known behind.
We were all nervous.
So, is it …alright?
Just asking, because I find myself saying that a lot in regards to our move but I wonder if I’m full of shit.
Yes . . . everything is alright.
Not everything has gone exactly as we envisioned.
But everything is alright.
Thank you for asking.
Up until the end I thought this was about you and your mom, also! Lovely writing, lovely Maj.
Thank you.
The past year has been filled with changes.
My perspective is off . . . it seems like yesterday that we arrived here in Oregon. But California now seems a lifetime ago.
Time and space are tricky things.
The rain fucks with your perspective, I believe.
It so does.
Totally got me.
The imagery….
Beautiful.
(I love that Maj and Kallan are sleeping on air mattresses. Fun.)
Happy sighs that you were captured.
Thank you.
And the girls want Mark and me to sleep on air mattresses as well.
Ummm . . . no.
Snort!
I love how you can switch perspective when writing. You make me believe that you ARE the girl. I never doubted it. I think that speaks volumes. And I’m so glad to know that you guys are happy. Happy Birthday/Anniversary!
Thank you.
I usually write from my perspective, and I started to do that here.
But it was Maj’s story I wanted to tell.
I’m so happy it worked for you.
So happy.
I read this and was reminded of our move here to WA.
Tears. Not happy, not sad. Just tears.
The rain really can fuck with you here in the Pacific Northwest…
Yes, sometimes the tears are just an excess of emotion instead of a demonstration of a particular emotion.
Emotion and rain.
Both, in excess?
Fuck with you.
I have been there…giving a reassurance to my daughter that is also for me.
I also love that Maj calls you mom in her mind. Very sweet.
I loved that Maj knew that the reassurance was for both of us.
She is so very very smart.
Love that girl.
As always, loves! We are moving from WA to AZ when school is out. I can’t imagine what it will be like. I just know it will be okay because we will be together.
Kerry -
Yes.
Everything worked out and we made the change we wanted to make.
And we are all together.
And everything is just fine.
As it will be for you.
Love.
You are all monosyllabic today!
Thank you, Haven.
Love is always welcome.