When I Hit the Road

by Nancy J. Cavanaugh

  Worn-out, wooden picnic tables surrounded by an old, rusty chain-link fence were spread out in a big yard that looked like a huge sandbox. Lots of old people, I assumed Gram’s competition, sat at the picnic tables, and there were dogs and cats wandering around in the sand occasionally stopping at metal food and water bowls scattered along the fence.

  There was a stage at the far end of the fence and a clapboard shack with a drink service window over to the left of it. As I surveyed the conditions of the 3XB, I imagined, since we were completely out of hand sanitizer, that Mimi’s blood pressure was rising by the minute. I hoped we wouldn’t have to give her one of Gram’s pills. And I couldn’t help but think that if she put her purse tablecloth down on one of the picnic tables, which were covered with who knows what, she’d probably have to burn it afterward.

  “They’re not even going to let these kids in,” Gram said pointing to the sign.

  “And they shouldn’t!” Mimi added matter-of-factly.

  (I wondered if Mimi was like the Prohibitionists we’d read about in social studies last year.)

  Once again, we were in a real pickle, and I didn’t see how we were going to get out of it. But Gram’s dream was on the line, and this was the last contest. We had to think of something.

  “How about you guys go in, and Brandon and I will just sit outside by the gate?” I suggested.

  Neither Gram or Mimi liked this idea. They argued that they were responsible for the two of us and that there was absolutely no way they’d leave us sitting outside a bar while they went inside.

  “How would that look?” Gram said. “And what would your mother say?”

  I honestly didn’t know exactly what Mom would say. But whatever it was, it probably wouldn’t be good.

  While the four of us stood at the 3XB gate, trying to figure out if we had any other options, a man in a sailor’s hat with the stub of an unlit cigar in his mouth came over and said, “Four?”

  And then he swung open the gate.

  “We can all go in?” I asked.

  “Even the youngsters?” Mimi added.

  To which the man said, “Why not?”

  “Well isn’t this a bar?” Mimi asked.

  “They’re obviously not twenty-one,” Gram said pointing to the sign.

  “On Karaoke Thursdays we’re always dry until 3:00 p.m. Only serve lemonade and iced tea. That’s not too strong for ya, is it?” the guy joked, looking at Brandon and me. “I assume you’re here for the contest.”

  Mimi, Brandon, and I pointed to Gram.

  So, the man gave Gram two cards from his pocket with the number 12 on them and told us Gram would be the last contestant of the day.

  “Write the name of your song on one of these and give it back to me. I’ll have your song cued up when it’s your turn. Keep the other card and hand it off to me when you sing. The judges who decide if you qualify for the fair are in the audience.”

  “Where?” Brandon wanted to know as we all looked around.

  “They’re undercover, so nobody knows. Even I don’t know who they are.”

  “Oh, heavens!” Gram said.

  Undercover judges?

  Was that really necessary?

  Then the guy pointed to an empty table to the right of the stage and told us we could sit there.

  So that’s how we found ourselves sitting at a picnic table at the Backyard Beach Bar with Mimi’s purse tablecloth in front of us.

  Before the tablecloth had even been spread all the way out, a waitress wearing a short grass skirt and a tight tank top walked over with a round tray crowded with plastic cups filled to the tippy top.

  “Iced tea or lemonade?” she asked.

  When we all said “lemonade,” she reached her fingers inside four cups, lifted them up at the same time, and then plunked them on our table, splashing sticky lemonade on Mimi’s tablecloth. She wiped her wet fingers on her tank top and walked away.

  We all looked at each other and then at the plastic cups and saw little black bugs floating in the pink lemonade.

  Gram mouthed the word “bugs,”and Mimi shook her head. Then she took a tissue out of her purse and moved the four cups and the backstroking bugs to the far side of the table.

  The man in the sailor hat grabbed the microphone and welcomed everyone to the 3XB for the Seniors Got Talent Southeastern Qualifying Round.

  The mic sounded staticky, and while the guy explained the rules of the contest, that uneasy feeling about Gram singing in public made my empty stomach queasy.

  Before the guy called up the first contestant to the stage, he encouraged everyone to stick around after the contest for the early happy hour with half-price buckets of beer and monster margaritas served in mega-sized glasses.

  Mimi muttered, “Lord have mercy,” under her breath and shook her head.

  But once the contest got started, I wanted to mutter, “Lord have mercy!” and do a lot more than just shake my head.

  Here’re a few details about the singers who performed before Gram:

  The first contestant wore a dark-colored long wig and an outfit that looked like an old potato sack. She sang “Colors of the Wind,” so I think she was trying to be Pocahontas from the Disney movie, but I’m not exactly sure. One thing I was sure about was the dreadfulness of her voice, and when her cat pounced up onstage, Brandon and I shook so hard with laughter that the picnic bench we sat on trembled like the beginnings of an earthquake. We dug our feet into the sand, trying with every fiber of our being to hold down our giggles. I squeezed my insides so hard to keep from laughing that my wrinkled-up, empty stomach felt like a scrunched-up ball of aluminum foil.

  As far as I knew, Gram was planning to just stand onstage and sing, and after the Pocahontas drama, I was grateful for that. Gram’s voice wasn’t great, but at least she wouldn’t be doing all kinds of kooky things while she sang, and she certainly wouldn’t be wearing a wig.

  Next came a big man shaking his hips and singing “Disco Inferno,” followed by the lady wearing tap shoes singing, “Good Morning” from Singin’ in the Rain. These two contestants’ voices weren’t all that bad, but it was hard to get past those old-school disco moves and shuffling tap shoes.

  After the disco and the tap, a tall lady in a choir robe warbled out “Amazing Grace” in such a high-pitched screech, I was surprised that all the dogs wandering around in the sand didn’t charge her on the stage.

  As I watched and listened to singer after singer, I thought Gram’s chances of qualifying for the fair might not be that bad after all. Not because she was a great singer, but because she wasn’t quite as frightfully awful as everyone else.

  It’s intermission right now. Gram’s walking back and forth along the fence by the gate. She said she just wanted to stretch her legs, but I can tell she’s really anxious about getting up onstage.

  You probably won’t be surprised that Mimi’s over talking to the lady who sang “Amazing Grace.”

  And Brandon’s standing near the entrance gate calling home. We finally have cell service again, so I’m planning to call Mom once the contest is over. That way I can tell her about Gram’s performance. I’m crossing my fingers that I’ll have something slightly good to report.

  At the very least, Gram’s going to finally get her chance to sing karaoke, but even so, I’m a little worried about her. I hope her nervousness doesn’t get the best of her. She looks a little like a caged animal the way she’s pacing back and forth. I hope she’s not thinking about dropping out of the contest after all we’ve endured to get her here.

  Love,

  Me

  P.S. Just as I finished writing, “Love, Me,” my phone rang. It was Mom. It was still intermission, so I swiped my screen to answer her call.

  Mom wanted to know how things were going. My answer of “fine,” didn’t feel entirely accurate, but at the sam
e time it didn’t feel deceptively deceitful either. After all, Gram, Mimi, Brandon, and I were all okay. None of us were hurt or sick. Our car wasn’t in a ditch…anymore. We had lived through the storm and our stay at Camp Wonderful. We’d withstood the really horrendous, dilapidated gas station as well as a visit to its restroom. And Mimi and her tissues had protected us from drinking the bug-infested lemonade. It’s just that if Mom knew all that had transpired on our trip so far, she would not necessarily think “fine” was the most truthful thing I’d ever said.

  Mom told me she was sorry she hadn’t called earlier but things had been pretty hectic at Make It, Take It.

  When I told her it wouldn’t have mattered, because our cell service hadn’t been all that great, Mom wanted to know how come we were still having so much trouble with our phones.

  Thankfully the music signaling the end of the intermission began to play, so I didn’t have time to explain.

  “I’ve got to get going, Mom. Gram’s about to sing.”

  “Oh my!” Mom said. “How’s that been going?”

  When I told her that this was Gram’s first contest because we missed the other two, Mom’s voice sounded concerned.

  “Missed the other two? Why?! I thought you only missed one contest. Because of the Christmas ornaments.”

  But then Mom surprised me more than that turtle on the road had surprised us all.

  Mom said in a deflated tone, which didn’t even sound like her, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not there to do anything about it anyway.”

  Then she said, “Gosh, look at the time. I’ve got a huge meeting in five minutes. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye, Sam! Be good!”

  And then Mom was gone.

  Mom not waiting for me to say goodbye, and Mom even uttering the words, “It doesn’t matter anyway,” were more surprising than if Gram walked away with the grand prize trophy in the Seniors Got Talent karaoke competition.

  But I don’t have time to worry about any of that now. Gram’s turn is coming up soon, and it’s going to be terrifying to see her up onstage, possibly even more terrifying than my own rendition of “Easy Street” from Annie, but even so, I have to admit, there’s a part of me that kind of can’t wait.

  Dear Me,

  My letter this time isn’t just unbelievable. It’s gut-wrenching, life-shattering, and downright devastating.

  The last time I wrote was right before Gram was going to sing onstage for the first time, so you’re probably thinking, “Oh, I bet the performance didn’t go so well.”

  And since you’re probably somewhat sarcastic like me, I know you might also be thinking, “Oh, wow, here she goes again, being all dramatic,” but I think once you read this, you’ll realize I’m NOT being dramatic.

  What happened is WAY worse than anything you could imagine.

  WAY worse than anything I could’ve prepared for even if I was an expert at that day camp volunteer training motto, which we both know I am failing at miserably.

  And I want to warn you right off the bat.

  This time I cried.

  Here’s what happened:

  As soon as the man in the sailor hat called Gram’s contestant number, she headed toward the stage. My heart pulsated as she stood in front of the microphone waiting for the introduction of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to play. Gram knew the words by heart, but she still stared at the monitor while she fidgeted with the cord of the microphone. And when she opened her mouth to sing that first note, I closed my eyes and braced myself for how off-key it was sure to be.

  But it wasn’t Gram’s shrill, off-pitch voice that I heard.

  Instead.

  It was a loud.

  Hollow.

  THUD.

  And then, a collective gasp from the audience.

  And at the same time, the loudest, “Lord have mercy!” Mimi had ever exclaimed.

  I opened my eyes to see Gram lying in a heap at the base of the microphone.

  She looked like a lifeless rag doll.

  I jumped off the picnic bench.

  “Someone, call nine-one-one!” I screamed as I hoisted myself up onstage without even using the stairs.

  I turned Gram over and put my fingers on her neck to find a pulse.

  Thankfully I felt it beating.

  Then I put my head near her mouth and a tear slipped down my cheek as I felt her warm breath on my ear.

  I sobbed.

  Then I put my face near Gram’s and tapped her cheek with my fingers.

  “Gram,” I said. “Gram. It’s me, Sam. Wake up.”

  I heard a distant siren as Gram’s eyes fluttered, and when they opened all the way, not just one tear, but innumerable tears dripped off my chin onto Gram’s cheeks.

  “I think you fainted,” I said. “But you’re okay, right?”

  The next thing I knew, a paramedic took me by the shoulders and moved me out of the way. Another paramedic dropped a stretcher next to Gram. Both paramedics hurried to do all the things you see paramedics and doctors do in movies and television shows—taking Gram’s pulse, listening to her heart, checking her pupils.

  Gram was now fully conscious as they poked and prodded her. And thankfully, since she was answering the paramedics’ questions, it really did seem like she was okay. But even so, I couldn’t help but think maybe Gram hadn’t told Mom the whole truth about her health.

  Maybe we were on this trip because she really was dying of something.

  One of the paramedics asked Gram what day it was.

  She told them Thursday.

  And when they asked her what month it was, she snapped back, “It’s June. What do you think? That I’ve lost my mind?”

  The paramedics and the karaoke crowd chuckled a little at Gram, but I wasn’t ready to laugh just yet.

  Mimi and Brandon came up onstage. I heaved a huge, heavy sigh and felt myself relax a tiny bit when they stood on either side of me. But then, Mimi held out the pill container from Gram’s purse and told the paramedics that Gram had high blood pressure and high cholesterol and that she took medication for it.

  Instantly my heart slammed against my chest, because I’d forgotten all about those stupid pills. Gram had taken them the night we slept at Glory Bound Baptist, but what about the night we stayed at Camp Wonderful? I was pretty sure she hadn’t taken them then. We hadn’t even had any water to drink, and I hadn’t even thought once to ask her about them.

  Was that why she collapsed?

  Was this my fault?

  “When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink, ma’am?” one of the paramedics asked.

  Mimi, Brandon, and I looked at one another.

  Gram didn’t have a funny answer to this question. Actually, she didn’t have any answer to this question because none of us had had much of anything to eat or drink since our private, impromptu church spaghetti supper back at Harmony Baptist.

  The paramedics told us that it was likely Gram was just dehydrated. She needed to get to an urgent care center so that she could get some fluids in her and make sure there was nothing else wrong.

  They moved Gram to the stretcher, pulled it up to waist height, strapped her in, and started an IV.

  “We’ll take her by ambulance to Southeast Urgent Care. It’s three miles north on Lemon Street. You can follow us and meet us there.”

  To this Gram said, “That’s nonsense! I’m fine. I’ll just drink a bottle or two of water.”

  “Too late for that. You need an IV.”

  Gram argued that Mimi could just drive her to the urgent care center, but the paramedics told Gram as they wheeled her down the ramp to the left of the stage that it was their job to get her to the point of care.

  Gram never thought she’d ever bring me to a backyard beer bar, but I never thought I’d end up riding in her Mustang with Mimi and Brandon a
s we followed her ambulance up Lemon Street toward Southeast Urgent Care.

  Right now, Brandon, Mimi, and I are sitting in the waiting area of the urgent care center hoping someone will come out soon to reassure us that everything’s going to be okay.

  Love,

  Me

  Dear Me,

  After what seemed like a really long time in the urgent care center’s waiting room, a nurse came out to tell us that Gram was fine. The nurse told us they needed to continue Gram’s IV for a while longer to replenish her fluids. She also told us a doctor was coming from a nearby hospital to examine Gram just as a precaution. Someone would come back and give us an update as soon as they had one.

  Since the nurse didn’t mention anything about Gram missing a day’s dose of her meds as being the cause for her collapse, my heart, which had continued to slam against the back of my chest bone ever since Mimi had mentioned Gram’s pills, dialed down to a dull throb. But having my heart beat more closely to its regular thump bump only made me realize just how much my head hurt.

  Everything that had happened made all the other stuff we’d been through on this trip seem like an amusement park ride full of thrills and excitement.

  How could I have thought that having to sleep in the sanctuary of a church or push Gram up a bunk bed ladder was so bad?

  Those things were nothing compared to sitting in the waiting room of an urgent care center continuing to wonder if the doctor who was coming to examine Gram might still decide that the real reason Gram keeled over was because I wasn’t responsible enough to do a simple little thing Mom asked me to do.

  After the nurse left, Mimi told me that I needed to call my mom. She told me not to “alarm” her, but to tell her that Gram was a little dehydrated, and we were at an urgent care center having her checked out.

  I was a little surprised by Mimi’s somewhat “shady” rendition of the truth. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I wanted to give Mom details of the encounter Gram’s skull had just had with the wooden stage at the Backyard Beach Bar or tell her that because Gram’s dehydration was so bad she was hooked up to an IV. I just would’ve thought that with Mimi’s undying commitment to delivering the truth to all those churches (in the form of Bibles) that she would’ve been a little more forthright in encouraging me to deliver a more detailed version of the truth to Mom about Gram.