Sammie & Budgie

by Scott Semegran

  "That would be great. I'll just need to go home and get some things for the trip. You know? Like, a change of clothes."

  "Of course," I said, sitting up. "Get whatever you need. You sure you don't mind?"

  "Not at all. I should let the kids know that I'm going with you all, though," she said, standing up. I stood up, too, to be polite. It's not polite to stay seated when someone stands up in front of you, especially a young woman. I didn't want to be rude.

  "Of course." I opened the door and she stepped inside, ducking under the low-hanging door frame. She was so tall. I stood there on the balcony, watching her tell the kids about joining us on the trip, their burst of excitement that led to jumping and bouncing on the couch, the screams of happiness, the cries of joy. Little did I know how close we would all become on this trip, just from this quick, spur-of-the-moment decision.

  The shit was about to hit the fan, as they say.

  It's true.

  Chapter Eight

  Taking the kids out of school was--and always is--a royal pain in the ass. Really. I mean, I had to call or email teachers and therapists and administrators. There was also the after-school stuff i.e. more therapists and coaches, etc. The list was endless. And it's not just good ol' Sammie Boy. I had to deal with little Jessie's people, too. It's enough to make me want to check out as a parent. It's way too much work sometimes. If I wasn't so in love with my kids, then I would have quit being a parent a long time ago. Too much administrative bullshit. It's true.

  I spent the morning of the day we were supposed to leave for San Antonio to visit PeePaw emailing Sammie and Jessie's teachers, explaining why they would be absent from school. I emailed Ms. Fox, explaining to her as well why my boy would not be seeing her for speech therapy. I imagined how she would respond if we were speaking in person, in her heavy, German accent. 'Zat vill be fine. Your son is a fery shpecial boy. A good boy. A hardverkink boy. He is one of my favorite shtudents!' I always got a kick out of speaking to Ms. Fox. Her accent just got to me--in a good way. I had to also cancel an appointment for an annual checkup with Dr. Dimes for little Jessie as well as letting her taekwondo master know that she would be missing a tournament that weekend, an opportunity for ass-kicking all the little martial artists in our district. The hardest email to write was to Dr. Dena Davis who had suggested earlier that we meet on this day--the day we were leaving for San Antonio--to further discuss Sammie and some of the things she felt she discovered about my boy. She had a way about her that was so overly aggrandizing and overtly self-important that I found it difficult to disappoint her or alter schedules and appointments or do anything in any way that seemed as if I wasn't complying with her direction or advice. But I will say this, the more she dived into the machinations of good ol' Sammie Boy's psyche--or what she thought was in his little psyche--the more I felt she was off-target. I mean, I know she's a professional psychotherapist and all, but it didn't really seem that she knew what the fuck she was talking about. I guess it's part of the field to make grand observations about her patients' minds but it seemed to me that I just knew my kid better than she did. I was reluctant to continue taking Sammie to see her but I was also reluctant to cancel appointments with her, too. I was in between a rock and a hard place and it made for constipated communications with her. It was just awful.

  The one person who I had a feeling might hold up everything but didn't was Nat. Like a trooper, she showed up to my apartment promptly at 8:00am with a backpack over her shoulder, a purse in her hand, and a smile on her face. Of course, Sammie and Jessie lost their minds when they saw her at the door, again. Why wouldn't they? It was their standard reaction. But Nat, she had this way about her--this way she made herself up with her hair and her makeup and her clothes and her accessories and all--that obviously took some time to put together. I figured (and I'm not trying to be sexist here at all, although I guess it's kind of sexist, but it's inadvertently sexist) that she would be late. But she wasn't. And not only was she not late, she was ready to go. And without any knowledge at all on my part, she was going to turn out to be a perfect travel companion, which is unbelievable if you ask me. I'm not the easiest person to get along with as well as to travel with. I have tons of friends to attest to this fact. It's true. And I guess I was being a little sexist earlier. I didn't mean to be. Please, let's keep that between ourselves and not tell anyone else, especially Nat. OK? I'd appreciate it. Thanks.

  "Is everyone ready for a road trip?" she said, the kids buzzing around her like ecstatic bees on wild flowers. "I'm ready. Are you ready!?"

  "Yeah!" they both yelled then ran to their room.

  She smiled then closed the door behind her. It still amazed me just how tall she was, every time I saw her. I was like an elf standing next to her. We made for an extremely odd-looking pair, literally the Odd Couple. "How are you?" she said, looking down at me.

  "Good. Stressed but good. Just got done letting all the folks know who need to know that we are leaving town. You know? Teachers and such."

  "Good for you. Being, like, responsible."

  "Somebody has to be responsible, right? Want some coffee before we go?"

  "Sure," she said, walking into the living room and plopping on the couch, then tossing her backpack on the carpeted floor. She began to lift one leg over the other in an attempt to get somewhat comfortable in a cross-legged position but good ol' Sammie Boy came speeding out of the kids' room, gripping a small, plastic bag in one hand and his sketchbook in the other hand, then jumped on her lap. He really caught her off-guard, I could tell by the way she reacted. She released a high-pitched squeal then said, "Sammie! Be careful."

  "Sorry, Nat! Want to see what I'm bringing on our trip?"

  "Of course," she said, then watched him as he dumped the contents of the small, plastic bag onto the coffee table. It seemed everything that he had been collecting for his entire life was in that bag: a popsicle stick, a quarter, the buck knife, the Zippo lighter, a Dr. Strange comic book, the folding ruler, a rubber ball, a pencil, and other knick-knacks from so many different eras in his life that it would be difficult to explain them all. None of his crap was of any importance to our road trip though (except maybe the comic book which would provide some pretty good entertainment while we were in the car, but I was pretty sure he had already read that particular issue). I'm sure Sammie had his reasons. Little kids always have their own little reasons for why they collect the things they do and why they would want to take the entire collection everywhere they went. Right? Their little reasons usually didn't make any sense to anyone but them. "Wow! That's a lot of stuff," she said, amazed.

  "I need ALL of this stuff!" he said, waving his arm across the top of the coffee table like a game show hostess, as if to say, 'Look at these fabulous prizes!'

  "You do?"

  "Yes!"

  "And what's in the sketchbook?"

  "Oh, my very important drawings and cartoons. Want to see?"

  "Sure!"

  "How about the clothes I asked you to pack?" I said from the kitchen while I poured Nat a cup of coffee. I can't imagine a morning without coffee. Can you? I didn't think so. Even if I had to drink black coffee, I would. That's how much of a coffee addict I was. I took Nat the cup of black coffee then said, "I don't have any milk or cream but I did add sugar. Is that OK?"

  "Yes, thank you," she said, accepting the coffee then setting the hot cup on the coffee table. She turned to Sammie. "Did you pack your clothes like your father asked?"

  "Maybe," said good ol' Sammie Boy, hamming it up all over the place. He was really good at that, hamming things up, especially when he was guilty of something. I could tell he hadn't packed his clothes; I could tell by the look on his little face. Guilty! Parents just know these types of things about their children but I didn't say anything. I decided to let Nat handle it.

  "Go finish up so we can go," she said, attempting to sip the coffee but it was still too hot to drink. She set the coffee cup back on the coffee table and didn't pick it
back up again. A wasted cup of coffee, I tell you. Sammie quickly shoved all of his trinkets into the plastic bag, put his sketchbook under his arm, then ran to his room. He was excited to leave for San Antonio, the exact opposite of how I was feeling. I dreaded this trip for more reasons than one. But I was glad Nat was going with us so she could help me. I really needed the help, if you didn't know. I was a mess--a big, fat mess. She turned to me and said, "You, too. We need to, like, hit the road."

  I agreed and went into my bedroom, gathered my bags, then set them by the door leading to the garage. Soon after, Sammie and little Jessie pulled their little wheeled suitcases to the door, too, and we all stomped down the stairs to the garage where my trusty Volvo S70 sat waiting. I popped the trunk and everyone tossed their bags in there. Sammie and Jessie hopped in the back seat. Nat sat shotgun. Before getting in, I said, "Gotta lock up. Be back." So I ran back up the stairs to my apartment.

  Inside, I walked over to the front door to lock it. As I turned the lock, I thought of all the things I would possibly have to deal with in San Antonio concerning my father. What if he was dying? What if he died while we were there? Was I prepared for that? Where would he be buried? Did he even want to be buried? What if he wanted to be cremated? I became overwhelmed. My head sagged forward, lying against the back of the door. In the reflection of the chrome door knob, I could see my face--twisted and discolored and elongated and distorted--a bizarre facsimile of my face. How I looked in the reflection was how I felt on the inside: twisted up. But before I fell into despair, I could hear my children screaming for me to come back to the car. They were impatient and ready to go.

  "Daddy! Daddy!" I heard them yelling from the garage. I pulled myself together and locked the door. I quickly looked around the apartment to see if any lights were left on (none were) then I was out the door to the garage, locking it behind me. I bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time, then hopped in the front seat of the Volvo.

  "Everybody ready?!" I said.

  "Yeah!" they all blurted out.

  I started up the Volvo then we were off, backing out of the garage then closing the garage door, out of the complex parking lot, down the main street past the convenience store, past the dumpy bar called the Beer:Thirty, past the street we usually turned on to go to the elementary school, toward the interstate highway that would take us to San Antonio: I-35.

  Road trip.

  The funny thing about going on a road trip with kids is that the most exciting part of the road trip--for them--is the first ten or fifteen minutes of the trip. That's it. Out of the entire trip, no matter how long the trip is or where the destination is, the most exciting part of all is the starting part. In that short period of time, nothing is as exciting as the idea of the road trip. To a kid, it just sounds so amazing! Fun! Adventure! Unknown places! Who will we meet?! What will we see?! And then, after the first ten or fifteen minutes, the boredom sets in. The monotony of the scenery along I-35--the flat, grassy areas between towns followed by the identical strip malls and outlet malls with their Chili's restaurants and McDonald's fast food and their Best Buys and Walmarts and Targets and Old Navies and their Starbucks and convenience stores and whatever--was stupefying. When my kids realized that the trip was not going to be instantaneous, that's when they asked the universal question, the question that every kid asks their parents when they begin a road trip. "Are we there yet?"

  "Not even close," I said. The kids slumped into the back seat, sighing and harrumphing. It was going to be a long trip, I could tell, seeing them sunken in their seats with their arms defiantly crossed. Determined not to let their little attitudes ruin the trip, I turned to Nat and said, "Have you ever been to San Antonio before?"

  "Oh, yes," she said, smiling that big, pearly white smile of hers. "My dad used to take us to Sea World when I was a kid. We'd drive down and stay in a hotel, go to Sea World and see Shamu, hangout for a few days and, like, go eat Mexican food."

  "Sounds fun," I said, trying to keep my eyes on the road. It was hard having a conversation without looking at Nat. I tried my best to not crash while I talked to her, watching the road and all. "That was before, like, everyone found out that Sea World was mean to their killer whales. You know?"

  "Because of Blackfish?"

  "What is that?"

  "That's the documentary movie that shed light on how killer whales were treated in captivity at places like Sea World."

  "No, I never saw it. I just read about the killer whales on, like, the internet. It's a shame how they were treated. I would never go to Sea World again."

  "I see."

  "Not even if my dad asked me to go. I would never go again." An uncomfortable silence set in the cabin of the Volvo, like a thick stench, noticeable yet debilitating. I peeked in the rear view mirror and noticed that the kids had subsidized their boredom by drawing and playing video games--Sammie probably drawing new cartoon adventures in his sketchbook and Jessie probably playing Street Fighter or Mortal Kombat or some violent fighting game like that on her Nintendo. Nat eventually continued, "Would you take your kids to Sea World?"

  I felt like an unwitting trap was being set in front of me and I wasn't sure how to proceed. I mean, San Antonio wasn't a million miles away but it was far enough that if I answered incorrectly then it could be a really, really long road trip. On the one hand (playing Devil's Advocate here, which is something I love to do), there was a lot more to do at Sea World than only go to the Shamu show. I mean, there was a water park and rides and roller coasters and other animals that didn't mind living at Sea World--like the penguins and the fish and the dolphins and the Clydesdale horses and the water-skiing squirrels--which didn't seem to offend the rest of the world as much as killer whales living in captivity at an amusement park. And their summer pass was a good deal, too good for a lot of people to pass up for summer entertainment for their kids. But I also could see the ethical dilemma that consumed Nat because she obviously loved animals and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Who wants to hurt their babysitter's feelings? Nobody, that's who. I proceeded cautiously, not telling her we owned season passes, and said, "I would never take my kids to Sea World ever again."

  "That's good," she said without hesitation, peering out the window, watching the suburban sprawl morph into the downtown landscape of Austin as we drove by. I could see her face in the reflection of the window. Nostalgic thoughts had taken hold of her, I could tell. "I remember driving through Austin on those trips to Sea World. Sometimes, my dad would take us to this barbeque place in Austin. It was a kind of, like, a famous place. At least that's what my dad used to tell us."

  "Do you remember what it was called?"

  "Nope. Not a clue. Wish I knew. But I remember the part of Austin where the exit was. Whenever we got close to that exit, I knew we'd be eating barbeque soon."

  "Daddy?" said Sammie from the backseat, interrupting Nat. "Can I ask you a question?" He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned forward on the front seats, his little arms draped around the headrests. Nat turned to look at him while I kept my eyes on the road.

  "Sammie! Why did you take your seatbelt off?" I said.

  "But I have to ask you a question. It's important!"

  "OK. But make it fast then get your seatbelt back on."

  "Are we going to be stopping any time soon?"

  "No. We have to get to San Antonio in good time. Why?"

  "Because I have to go to the bathroom. Bad," he said, panting as if it was hard work holding the urine in his bladder.

  "Really bad?"

  "Really bad," he said, a look of pain on his face in the rearview mirror. "It's an emergency."

  "But we just got on the road not too long ago."

  "I'm sorry, Daddy," he said, sulking into the backseat. His sister did not console him. She continued to play her Nintendo as if nothing was happening. Nat felt badly for the little dude. She felt really bad for him, I could tell by the sound of her voice.

  "Let's pull over," Nat said, setting her hand o
n my shoulder. "I'll take him to the bathroom."

  I could feel her hand through the material of my shirt. It was weird having her hand on my body but I didn't say anything to her about it. I didn't want it to be an awkward thing. Do you know what I mean? I'm sure you do. Of course you do. Anyway, I said, "Are you sure? But we literally just got on the road."

  "I don't mind," she said, turning to Sammie Boy, a sweet smile on her face. "I probably need to go, too." She winked at Sammie--as if telegraphing a secret message or something--and he winked back to her. I scanned the highway for an exit and, fortunately for Sammie's bladder and for my sanity, there was one coming up in less than a mile. I maneuvered the Volvo S70 to the right lane and followed it to the exit and onto the access road of I-35. Before long, we stopped at a convenience store so Sammie could take a leak.

  I parked the car and Nat got out, followed by good ol' Sammie Boy. I watched them both walk through the entrance of the convenience store together, his little hand in her hand. By this time, Jessie noticed the car was parked. She looked around confused, as if she had awoken from a bad dream and didn't know where the hell she was or if the world around her was real or still a dream. She rubbed her little eyes with her little fists then said, "Where are we?"

  "I stopped 'cause your brother had to go tinkle."

  "Tinkle?! But we just got on the road!" she said, tossing her pink Nintendo on the seat, unbuckling her seat belt, and leaning forward. "He's always causing problems, Daddy!"

  I chuckled when she said that. It was pretty funny, really. Kids can be little comedians sometimes, especially when it involves joking about their pesky siblings who do annoying things to them all the time. It's true. Even though Sammie and Jessie loved each other, they also loved to tease each other any chance they got. This was little Jessie's chance to unleash her frustration with her big brother.