by Kage Alan
"Well!” Uncle Chester snatched me up, almost off the ground, and gave me the same kind of hug Grandma had given him. “Of course you are!"
"Whoa.” I nearly gagged, and he set me down. “It's Miller time.” I now understood why he didn't get dizzy after smelling Grandma's breath. They were two peas that belonged together in the same pod. I couldn't wait to meet the rest of the family, assuming they were allowed out of the Betty Ford Clinic for the anniversary, that is.
"That's a great idea, Adam!” Uncle Chester looked at me with approval in his eyes. “Hotdog, he's family, all right. We've got a few minutes to kill, so why don't we go hit the airport bar for a drink and you can tell me how your flight was."
"We have to get our lug—” Grandma only managed to get that out before she was cut off.
"Oh, nonsense!” Uncle Chester put one arm around her and the other around his wife. “The kid can get all the bags then find us at the bar. He has to earn his keep somehow.” He turned them around then looked at me over his shoulder and winked. “Go bust your hump, Alex. I'll buy you a water afterwards."
I was ready to go bust something, all right, and it wasn't my hump! What the hell was up with Grandma, anyway? She was going to tell Uncle Chester about the trip? She probably couldn't even remember the damn trip! I didn't get a chance to say hello to Aunt Virginia, either. The poor woman was going to be so confused by the time I had another opportunity she'd never be able to remember my name, either. Grandma was off the plane for five minutes and the only thing she could remember was that I happened to be “Marie and Donald's child.” Isn't that lovely?
I just hoped to God that the fact he was only going to buy me a glass of water didn't mean I'd suddenly become the designated driver.
It took about twenty minutes before the luggage started filtering out along the conveyor. As I should have expected, considering how the trip had gone so far, ours were almost the last to come out. To make matters worse, while I only brought one large suitcase, Grandma had two. I thought at first maybe she had just brought the second one to pack whatever she decided to bring back as gifts for the rest of the family. Nope. It was full, and there weren't rollers on the bottom of it. I would have thought that, with the amount of money she spent on spirits, she could afford a newer suitcase with rollers.
Old people are so damn stuck on the philosophy “If it works...” It doesn't work! I know. I had to carry her two while dragging my own behind me. By the time I found the others, I was out of breath, out of strength and needing that fucking water!
"We were wondering where you were.” Uncle Chester looked at his watch. “Took your time, eh? Well, you may have set us back a little bit, so I guess I'll just have to try and make up for it on the freeway. Come on, Hotdog!"
The three of them stood up and exited the bar. The only thing I could do was stand there. It seemed the peaceful thing to do, and it beat screaming or throwing things. Just blessed nothingness...
Grandma peeked her head around the corner a moment later. Did she offer to help me with her suitcases? No. Did she offer her brother's help with her suitcases? No. She gave me a dirty look and snapped her fingers to get me to follow. The only reason I picked everything up again and started after them was so I could find a very tall overpass on the way to the car and chuck her cases over the side.
Between her continued dirty looks, finger-snaps, and Uncle Chester's never-ceasing complaints about how slow I was and that I could be “outrun by any ninety-year-old in a wheelchair,” it was a damn good thing there wasn't an overpass.
We finally arrived at the car.
"Well, Hotdog, what do you think?” Uncle Chester gestured grandly with his hand at the chariot that awaited us.
"An economy car,” I spoke up, “and a small one at that. How quaint.” Where the hell we were going to fit everything into this vehicle was beyond me. Then again, perhaps he would just suggest tying me to the roof or bumper. After all, it seemed I was expendable.
"Virginia thought we should bring the minivan,” Uncle Chester admitted, “but I didn't really see the point. Why spend the extra money using up all that gas when we can get better mileage out of this?” He opened up a trunk that actually made the rest of the vehicle look much larger. There was no way we could fit three suitcases in it. “Know what I mean?"
"Absolutely,” I agreed with him and shook my head. “Without a doubt.” I mumbled the next part as I started squeezing two of the suitcases into the small confined area. “Why go somewhere com-fortably when you can travel in something the size of a can of Spam?"
The last case just wasn't going to fit. What we were going to do with it was a mystery.
"Uncle Chester?"
All three of them came over and looked at me with disapproval.
"This isn't going to work."
"That's because ya don't know what you're doing!” He looked in the trunk and shook his head. “Why don't you go make yourself useless and I'll fix it."
Why not? I've made it a habit in life to make myself useless when I wasn't needed, so I let him deal with it. If Roberto had come with Grandma, he'd either be having the time of his life or he'd be thinking about throttling Uncle Chester, too. At least now I understood why nobody else wanted to come here with Grandma—I was the family's sacrificial goat.
The whole situation made me start to wonder if my life had really been as difficult as I'd thought before I left home. If I'd wanted to be treated like a Kay-Mart employee, I could have stayed there. On the other hand, this was California, home of some of the most sexually attractive and sexually hungry women on the face of the planet! Even I couldn't possibly strike out here, especially since there was a rumor there were women in this state who couldn't find enough men to give them what they desired, so they turned to various kinds of fruit for pleasure. I would be just one more virgin cast out onto a sea of women waiting to engulf me.
"I think we have it worked out.” Grandma spoke up from in back and walked around to the front with Aunt Virginia. “We'll sit in back,” she told her, “and let ... Marie and Donald's son sit in front. There's a little more room up there, and we shouldn't be too cramped in back."
Other than the fact she still couldn't remember my name, I thought it was the first sensible thing she'd said yet. I was six feet tall, and there was no way on God's earth I could have managed to fit in the backseat of that dinky little economy car. Why they called it an economy car was no great mystery. It probably got the same kind of mileage as all the other cars, only with half the room.
Economy car or not, I was glad Grandma was thinking of me and how squished I would be if I had to ride in the back. It just wouldn't have been pretty.
"And I shall graciously accept the front.” I winked at the two women, but they merely glared at me. It was as if I'd said something entirely inappropriate. Since when was taking the front seat such an offense? Should I be complaining? Would that make them happier? Old people could be funny that way.
"Of course you're taking the front!” Uncle Chester ushered me inside the car after Grandma climbed into the backseat. “You didn't expect any of the ladies to drive with this on their lap, did you?"
He forced my suitcase through the door and succeeded in scraping my jaw and then setting it to rest with one corner on my groin. All I could do was groan as I desperately tried to rearrange it in a better position.
"Well, Axel...” Uncle Chester patted me on the shoulder. “...that will teach you to pack a little lighter next time."
He shut the door, but one of the corners of the suitcase was sticking out a little and it didn't close tight. Instead of helping me rearrange things a bit, he opened it then swung it shut harder and looked satisfied when it stayed.
* * * *
The seventy minutes to Covina was a long, painful and hot experience. It was long because Uncle Chester only drove fifty-five miles an hour, which increased our travel time from the original theoretical seventy minutes to almost two hours. His idea of making up for the time w
e had lost at the airport apparently meant going the speed limit, as it wasn't such a good idea to push an economy car up to the speeds that all the yuppies drove. He informed us that speeds fifty-five and above were the reasons they had to get their cars replaced so often, and he hated contributing to an already corrupt capitalist system.
The ride was painful because I was never able to reposition my suitcase. All I could do was lift it up off that area as best I could and pray he didn't hit too many bumps, which of course he managed to do with uncanny precision.
Making things even worse was that Uncle Chester didn't have a clue how to operate his air conditioner.
"Chester,” Grandma said, “would you turn the air on? Virginia and I are really uncomfortable."
"It is on, Hotdog. Probably just isn't warmed up enough to send out the cool air.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Amos's bag here is probably blocking the breeze. Hope that isn't too heavy for you, kid. Maybe you should start working out, put some muscles on those girly little arms of yours."
He winked at me, and I felt like poking his eye out.
"It's been warming up for thirty minutes. You have to push the A/C button down once,” Grandma told him impatiently, “otherwise it just circulates the air that's already in the car and it doesn't cool—"
"I know what I'm doing, Hotdog.” He frowned and gave her a dirty look in the mirror. “It's either broken or that's as cool as it gets. Economy car, you know?” His good humor returned. “Those air conditioners they have in all those other yuppie cars, why, I'll just bet every time they get used it shortens a hundred miles off the life of the car. Pretty soon, you have to go and buy another new car, and the carmakers have found even better ways to take the life out of that car in a lot shorter time. One of these years, we'll have to get a new car every time we want to go out and drive. I hope I don't live to see that day."
I hoped not, either, and it had nothing to do with having the satisfaction of proving him right or wrong. It just had to do with satisfaction.
Grandma persisted. “But if you push the button down, you'll see—"
"Hey!” Uncle Chester raised his voice. “Who's doing the driving here, missy?” He tried to reclaim his calm. “Now, the air is working just fine, so sit back and enjoy the sights."
Sights? Oh, the freeway—a sight we never saw back home. No, we just had dirt roads, and horsedrawn carriages.
Everyone in the car knew he didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It had probably never occurred to him to push the A/C button down or that it was even a button at all. How long had the two of them owned the car and never bothered using the air conditioner?
I also figured he was too stubborn to get the manual out and look to see if he was doing something wrong. Well, he was incapable of doing anything wrong, so why would he get the book out? It was easier to believe the car didn't work properly. Consequently, he had learned to enjoy the heat.
Being from Michigan, Grandma and I were extremely finicky about our environment. During the winter, we both had to have heat. In the summer, it was the opposite. Her brother was only accustomed to heat year-round, so it really didn't bother him like it did us. I was uncomfortable to begin with, but the lack of cool air was making me sweat all the more. If something didn't happen soon, I was going to end up a sweaty, smelly, wrinkled heap by the time we reached the party.
I would have suggested that Uncle Chester press the button for the hell of it, but he would no more listen to me than his own sister. In fact, he would probably be even more condescending to me than her, and I really didn't want to go that route.
Grandma was apparently so uncomfortable by now she was willing to risk ignoring her brother and take a course of action that would alleviate her discomfort. Mimicking a stretch, she extended her arms and tapped lightly on the right side of my head, out of view of Uncle Chester. I gave her a dirty look in the side mirror and mouthed the word What? She nonchalantly raised a finger and made pushing motions with it.
I couldn't believe it! Grandma actually expected me to push the button since her brother wouldn't. Little did she know that I would love to do just that but was enjoying her discomfort too much to take her request seriously. Misery loved company. I was plenty miserable and so was she, so I shook my head, essentially telling her to stuff it.
She smacked my head with such a force Uncle Chester looked over at me to see what had happened. I had to think of something fast.
"Look!” I motioned with my head towards everyone's left. “Isn't that Johnny Carson?” Three heads whipped around to catch a glimpse of the almighty, and I used what few seconds I had to give the A/C button one quick, concise jab. Contact!
The little letters were suddenly lit in blue, and I could feel the first few drafts of the freon-cooled air blowing across my skin. Uncle Chester turned back around to make sure he wasn't going off the side of the road then took another quick glance.
"Oh, you must have missed him. Probably some yuppie driving him faster than they should be going.” I took a look in the mirror and saw the half-smile on Grandma's face. She knew and approved, even if she couldn't remember my name.
"Tell me, Angus.” Uncle Chester attempted small talk. “What do they teach you in that school out there? Anything good?"
"I'm still getting my general core classes out of the way. You know—like history, math and chemistry—but I should be able to start courses for my major next winter.” Why the sudden interest in my education? Did it raise me up a few levels in his eyes, or was he about to try and pay me back for that yuppie wisecrack?
"Well...” He shook his head. “I don't know what good knowing chemistry will do you when you start farming.” He then proceeded to make little clicking noises with his tongue to emphasize his feelings on the matter.
"Farming?” I was stumped.
"You are from Michigan,” he told me, as if point-ing out to a child that the sky was blue.
"That doesn't ... I mean...” Yeah? “I'm not going to be a farmer."
"What's wrong with farmers?” Uncle Chester demanded.
"There's nothing wrong with farmers.” Here was where I came across as defensive.
"Then why don't you like them?” And here was where he turned the conversation around even worse than it already was.
"I never said that.” I tried to find the happy place inside my mind. “I just said that I'm not going to be one. My parents didn't spend hundreds of dollars for a chemistry class so I could put Avogadro's number to use on a farm."
"Not unless you're growing Avogadros,” he persisted in a sarcastic singsong tone.
"That's avocados."
"You say tomato...” Uncle Chester wasn't about to back down.
"Yes, but Avogadro was a chemist and an avocado is a fruit.” So was my great-uncle.
"And so are you if you believe all that stuff they tell you.” Okay, apparently, we were both fruits. There's nothing quite like family to point out all of your supposed faults. “You getting a load of this, Hotdog?” He looked up into the mirror to make sure she was, indeed, “getting this” then peered back over at me. “You going to be a ditchdigger, then?"
"No."
"Got a thing against them, too, huh?” Again came the disapproving tsking noises. “Doesn't like farmers or ditchdiggers. How does your girlfriend put up with all your prejudices?"
"He doesn't have one."
Oh, now Grandma remembers something about me. She couldn't recall my name, but she knew I didn't have a girlfriend. If there was any justice in this world...
"You don't have a girlfriend?” Here we went again. “You're not one of those—"
"No, I'm not one of those.” Whatever the hell “those” actually were. God only knew, considering I was dealing with his mind.
"Well, I'm glad we got that out in the open.” Uncle Chester actually sounded relieved. “Don't think Virginia and I haven't heard what goes on out there with those farm animals on a lonely Friday and Saturday night. We watch Twenty/Twenty."
"Are you calling Barbara Walters a liar?” He was riled up again as quickly as he'd settled down.
"No.” I tried to get him back to his happy place. “I just made a pun. I used udder instead of utter. It was a joke."
"Does this look like a face that's laughing, Anton?"
It didn't.
"No, you're right.” It was pointless to even try to defend myself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made light of it."
"Because those animals have rights!” He smacked the dashboard with his hand.
"Oh, my God."
* * * *
The four of us arrived at the party some time and many bumps later. At least, we were much cooler than we had been at the beginning. It didn't even bother me that Uncle Chester kept rubbing it in to Grandma that he was right and that it just took the air conditioner a little while to warm up. I was just relieved he wasn't picking on me anymore. Hell, I don't even think she cared. In fact, I'm pretty sure she just tuned him out for the remaining part of the journey.
That seemed to be a family trait on my grandmother's side. If something didn't agree with them, they ignored it, maybe hoping it will shut up or go away.
I got out of the car and, after Grandma emerged from the backseat, replaced my suitcase in the front. Luckily, I had worn pants that didn't wrinkle too easily so I didn't look as bad as I'd thought I was going to. I did have trouble standing up straight after having the suitcase sitting on my crotch the entire time.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of other cars parked on the street with us. I would have thought that, for a fiftieth wedding anniversary, there would have been more people. Maybe we were early.
"This doesn't look right.” Grandma spoke up as she looked around. “Chester, are you sure this is the right place? I don't recognize any of the houses, and I don't see any other cars."
"Oh,” he teased her, “it's just down the street this way."
Grandma and I shared a sideways look, but Aunt Virginia had already started following him so we did, too. I wondered if my poor aunt ever spoke. For that matter, I wondered if she ever had an opportunity to speak. Uncle Chester seemed to have enough to say for both of them. Generally speaking, he was generally speaking.