When I Hit the Road

by Nancy J. Cavanaugh

  We finally decided to take a vote.

  Turned out, it was three to one—Mimi, Brandon, and me against Gram.

  So, it was settled, a few days at the fair before heading back across the state to Sunny Sandy Shores became our plan. And even more surprising than the absence of embarrassment when buying socks and underwear at the Stretch Your Dollar with Brandon was the excitement and relief I felt knowing that our trip wouldn’t be cut short by going back to Sunny Sandy Shores early.

  Love,

  Me

  P.S. We ended up finding Gram’s prescription driving sunglasses as we were getting into the car after Gram’s visit to the urgent care center. They must’ve fallen on the floor of the Mustang and had somehow gotten stepped on. We all decided it probably happened during the rainstorm when we dashed out of the car heading for the cover of the camp cabin. It was just another wonderful memory we had from our session at Camp Wonderful.

  So, once we got to the Shady Palm Tree, Gram called her eye doctor; she asked him to overnight a new pair of prescription sunglasses to her at the hotel.

  “Makes me sick to pay full price for a new pair. I got such a good deal on that other pair,” Gram said. “And the charge for rushed delivery might as well be highway robbery.”

  But it was a price she was willing to pay, and I was thankful, because if we had to let Mimi drive us all the way back to Sunny Sandy Shores at twenty-five miles per hour, Brandon and I might be close to retirement age by the time we got there.

  P.P.S. Gram may not have gotten her way about going to the fair, but she told us that under “no circumstances” would we be driving to the fair or back to the condo via the back roads. She said she would be driving, so it would be highway all the way.

  Dear Me,

  We came to the long line of cars way before we saw the big grassy field that was being used as a parking lot. Once we were close enough to see the field, we also saw the line of cars snaking its way in and out of orange cones as fairground workers waved flags directing people where to park. I had been to carnivals in the mall parking lot, and our town had a Centennial Fair once to celebrate its history, but the size of the Borlandsville Fun in the Sun County Fair blew those things out of the water.

  After following the flag-wavers for at least fifteen minutes in and out of the orange cones, Gram finally pulled the Mustang into our parking spot. We followed the crowds toward the entrance. And, even though Gram hadn’t gotten to sing karaoke on this trip, when we walked underneath that huge “Welcome to the Borlandsville Fun in the Sun County Fair” sign, it felt like the crowning moment of our trip.

  I could tell even Gram was glad to be there.

  The smell of fried dough, hot dogs, and chocolate filled the air. It made me hungry even though Brandon and I had made and eaten three huge waffles apiece just before we checked out of the Shady Palm Tree Travel Lodge. Maybe I was still making up for the meals we’d missed.

  Carnival workers yelled from their game booths trying to get people to “Step right up!” and “Win a prize!” And just beyond the games, booths, and prizes was the competition tent and picnic area. And at the far end of the fairgrounds were the amusement park rides.

  Gram told Brandon and me that later we could go off on our own, but that first, we’d walk around together to check out what there was to do and see.

  As we walked, Mimi pointed to all the food she wanted to buy.

  “Ooh, that fried dough smells divine! And look at that caramel apple over there! Why, it’s as big as a softball! But I’ll be starting with one of those giant turkey legs,” she said pointing to a guy in a tank top with BBQ sauce all over his face.

  To which I said, “Ewww!”

  Fried dough and caramel apples, YES! But those turkey legs?! Talk about disgusting!

  Mimi told me they were delicious and said that I should try one, but I wasn’t interested in expanding my fairground food favorites. There were plenty of foods for sale that I already knew I loved.

  (I sure hope I don’t grow up to love those turkey legs, because if I do, you’re probably smirking as you read this.)

  Once we’d made it past all the food booths, Brandon said, “Hey, look at this!”

  He pointed to a big whiteboard to the left of the competition tent. The board listed all the contests going on at the fair. The third one from the top was the Seniors Got Talent karaoke contest. It had an asterisk by it, like most of the other performance-type contests did, which signified that a qualifying performance was required.

  I looked over at Gram and saw her take a deep breath and sigh.

  I wondered if she felt like I did every time a team roster was posted outside the middle school office after a tryout. And the twinge that I got in my own stomach made me wonder if I’d be able to eat anything at the fair after all.

  Gram probably felt like a failure, and I knew exactly how that felt. This is exactly why Gram had voted not to come to the fair.

  She was only here because of us, and now Brandon had to call us over to look at the list of contests.

  What was wrong with him?

  “Hey, Samantha,” Brandon said. “Look at number ten. There’s a baking contest. You should totally sign up and make your chocolate chip cookies.”

  Mimi and Gram jumped right in.

  “Oh, he’s right, Samantha! Those cookies you make are heavenly!”

  “You’d be sure to win a prize!”

  “I don’t know…” I said.

  Thinking about entering my chocolate chip cookies in a baking contest made that twinge in my stomach turn into full blown nausea, and it made me wonder if eating all those hotel waffles had been such a good idea.

  Maybe you’re thinking that I was acting a little coy and modest, but really I wasn’t.

  And maybe it’s hard for you to believe me when I say I really didn’t want to enter this contest.

  But it’s the honest truth.

  I’m not exactly sure why, except that maybe I was finally just done putting myself out there, when, for me, the possibility of failing was much greater than the possibility of succeeding.

  I mean, yeah, everybody said my cookies were amazing, but entering them in a contest meant having someone judge them, which meant there was the chance that someone could deem them not all that great.

  It was also possible that having someone like Brandon around to witness me competing when there was so much potential to fail was a risk that I wasn’t all that excited about taking.

  And besides that, in the very unlikely event that I somehow managed to commandeer some type of prize or award, how would that make Gram feel?

  But as I played all this reasoning over in my head while the fairground crowds swirled around me, Brandon grabbed a sheet of paper outlining the baking contest rules from a pocket attached to the edge of the whiteboard and shoved them at me. Then he grabbed the marker hanging from a string attached to the baking contest sign-up sheet and wrote down my name.

  When I tried to object, Gram said, “Sam, if I can’t be in the karaoke contest, you entering the baking contest will be the next best thing. Do it for me!”

  This time, I was outnumbered.

  It looked like I’d be baking a batch of my chocolate chip cookies for the Borlandsville Fun in the Sun County Fair baking contest judges.

  I sure hoped that the one thing that had helped me get over so many of my life’s failures didn’t become my next big blunder.

  Once I was all signed up, Mimi said she needed to use the restroom, so she and Gram went to find one. While Brandon and I waited in front of the big whiteboard for them to come back, he looked over the baking contest rules, reading some of them aloud. When he got to the one that said I needed to sign up in the competition tent for a baking time, he told me he’d go do that while I waited for Gram and Mimi.

  I stood by myself looking at the l
ong list of Fun in the Sun contests listed on the whiteboard. There were competitions for everything from baking, to singing, to dancing, and sewing. The very last contest listed was, “Kooky Karaoke” for ensemble groups doing fun karaoke.

  It was the only karaoke performance contest listed that didn’t require a qualifying round. I guess the point of a kooky performance wasn’t so much singing talent, but instead just pure entertainment value. It was too bad that Gram wasn’t part of some goofy group. At least then, she’d have a chance to sing.

  When Brandon, Gram, and Mimi came back, we all decided to head across the fairgrounds to see what kind of rides there were, but, before we walked away from the whiteboard, I saw Brandon grab another list of contest rules from one of the envelopes hanging at the edge of the whiteboard. As we walked toward the rides, I wondered if Brandon was planning to enter a contest himself. It gave me a whole new sick feeling in my stomach, because I was sure if he entered something, he’d win. And I knew I couldn’t compete with those odds no matter how good my cookies were.

  Love,

  Me

  Dear Me,

  Much later that afternoon we checked in to the Borlandsville Fairground Hotel, and not long after that, Mom called me. Thankfully I was down in the hotel lobby by myself getting some ice when my phone rang, because as soon as I heard her voice, even though Dad really had convinced me that Mom was okay, I blubbered like a baby.

  Mom was probably the only one who could make me cry so hard and so fast. But that also meant she was the only one who could make me stop, and I finally stopped long enough to have an actual conversation with her.

  The bad part about that was that Mom’s first question was one I didn’t think I should answer.

  She wanted to know how Gram’s karaoke contests were going. I couldn’t very well tell her about all that right now. If I did, she was likely to have another anxiety attack of legendary proportion, and the thought of that made me feel like I might have one too.

  So, my answer was, “It’s a long story.”

  And then I added, “It’ll be better if I tell you about it in person.”

  That’s when Mom told me that I might get to tell her in person much quicker than we thought. Dad was checking flights to see if she could fly down and meet up with us at the Borlandsville Fair. That way, Mom could drive back to Sunny Sandy Shores with us.

  I objected, not because I didn’t want to see Mom. I really did! But I worried that traveling might cause Mom more stress.

  “Shouldn’t you just stay home and rest?”

  Mom told me that the doctor said there was no reason she couldn’t travel. In fact, he had told her that it would be a great idea for her to get away.

  “But what about work?” I asked. “Did you finish what you went home for?”

  “Well, here’s the thing…”

  Mom stopped talking and was quiet for a few seconds and then she said, “I really wanted to wait until we were to together to tell you this, but…”

  All I could think was,

  Oh.

  My.

  Gosh!

  It hadn’t just been anxiety after all.

  Mom was going to tell me she was dying of something.

  I wondered what an anxiety attack felt like, because now I was sure I was having one.

  “I’m likely going to lose my job.”

  “WHAT?!”

  That was not what I expected Mom to say.

  Lose her job?!

  How could that be?!

  Mom was the queen of Make It, Take It.

  So, while my head felt like it was spinning faster than the Cyclone ride at the Borlandsville Fair, Mom told me about how lately the executives weren’t really “in love” with her new ideas. They just didn’t think she was on the “cutting edge of creativity in the twenty-first century.”

  Hearing this made me mad.

  Not creative?!

  Mom was the most creative person in the world!

  And her ideas?!

  They were always the epitome of inspired.

  Mom said she just kept thinking that if she worked harder, she’d be able to convince the higher-ups that her ideas were still relevant. She had been hopeful that her Dear Me Journal would be the turning point. That’s why she’d been putting so much time into the project. But she said all her hard work hadn’t convinced anybody of anything.

  In the end, the executives said they just didn’t see the Dear Me Journal as a “viable way to record memories.” And they “killed” the project.

  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

  Not a viable way to record memories?!

  What a bunch of numskulls!

  Clueless and nuts is how I’d describe them.

  They probably wouldn’t know a good memory if it took them by the lapels of their fancy suits and stared them in the face.

  The Dear Me Journal Mom had given me had not only been a “viable way to record memories,” but it had been my lifeboat in the middle of a shipwreck in the middle of a hurricane.

  Mom went on to tell me that when the executives killed her project, she fell apart.

  And after her little “breakdown,” that’s what Mom called it, she said she realized that she had been missing out on so many things in life, including being down in Florida with Gram and me, all for a product that was never even going to see the light of day.

  She said it made her sick to think that she had spent her whole career at Make It, Take It helping other people preserve their memories, while forfeiting so many of her own.

  When she said that last part, she sounded like she might cry.

  So, I have to admit that after hearing the details of Mom’s breakdown—even though I felt really bad about what she was going through—I felt somewhat elated to hear that my bratty sarcasm wasn’t the cause of Mom’s anxiety.

  (Even so, I knew after all this, I’d be toning down my rancor a little. Actually, maybe more than a little.)

  You might be thinking that I should’ve jumped right in and told her all about these letters I’m writing and about how it was going to be such a great way to cherish the memories I’d made with Gram.

  But Mom had just told me that Make It, Take It was why she ended up in the hospital. Even if the executives changed their minds about Mom’s project this time, what would happen when Mom needed to come up with her next idea for a new product?

  Would she end up with another anxiety attack, or worse yet, maybe a heart attack this time?

  And the even bigger question was, did I really want to try to save Mom’s job at Make It, Take It when she had just told me that her job had stolen so many of her chances to make some of her own memories with me?

  Maybe because you’re older and a lot smarter, you think the answers to these questions seem obvious. But they’re not obvious to me. I’m not at all sure what I’m supposed to do. So right now, more than ever, I wish you could write to me, because I’d love to know what you would do if you were me right now.

  Love,

  Me

  Dear Me,

  After my phone call with Mom, I headed back to the hotel room. As I walked down the hallway, I thought about the pros and cons of telling Mom about my Dear Me Journal, but that whole dilemma flew out of my mind the minute I walked into the room where we were staying.

  Here’s why:

  Mimi sat on the footstool, which she had pushed up against the bed. She held two wooden spoons in her hands, and she looked like she was pretending they were drumsticks and that the bed was a drum. Gram stood next to her holding a broom like it was a guitar, and Brandon stood in between them with my hairbrush up to his mouth like it was a microphone.

  “I signed us up for the Kooky Karaoke Contest!” Brandon said like I should’ve been as excited as that gas station guy must’ve been when he reali
zed he won the lottery.

  I have to tell you that at this point, if it was possible for a person’s brain to short-circuit, mine would’ve sent sparks shooting out of my ears followed by plumes of smoke coming out of every one of my hair follicles.

  It’s not as if when I’d seen the Kooky Karaoke Contest listed on the competition board at the fair that it hadn’t crossed my mind that it could’ve been a chance for Gram to sing karaoke, but that fleeting thought did not include me being part of that ensemble. (Or Mimi and Brandon, for that matter.)

  I stood speechless staring at the three of them, while they all jumped in to explain.

  Mimi praised “Brandy” for finding a way for Gram to get to sing karaoke after all.

  Brandon boasted that besides having the “stupendously wonderful” plan to sign “us” up for the contest, he’d had the idea of calling hotel housekeeping to get the props they were using for their “pretend” instruments.

  (I probably don’t have to tell you that “stupendously wonderful” were my words, not Brandon’s. And even though I also probably don’t have to tell you that my sarcasm here was off the charts, I feel compelled to do so, because I don’t want you to miss a single nuance of the situation.)

  Brandon chattered on and said, “We reshaped a wire hanger that we found in the closet to look like a tambourine. That’ll be perfect for you, Sam!”

  Gram explained that Brandon was going to sing lead, and she, Mildred, and I would sing backup.

  Gram finished by saying, “That way I’ll get to sing, but won’t have to be a nervous wreck like I was at 3XB. Who knows if I ever could’ve even pulled off singing by myself anyway? That’s what makes Brandon’s idea so brilliant!”

  “What a way to save the trip!” Mimi said.

  And I know, that you know, exactly what I was thinking when Gram said that Brandon was brilliant and Mimi said he had just saved the trip.