Sorry I haven’t posted in a couple of days. I got in a bad mood and was enjoying it too much to snap myself out of it.
I went to my local writer’s group meeting a couple of nights ago and we did a little exercise where we wrote about a childhood memory. I thought I’d share that with you tonight. It doesn’t have a title. Maybe you can suggest one after you read it.
Cruising down the interstate in Mom’s new Buick station wagon, Aaron and I, unfettered by silly things like seat belts, played in the spacious cargo area. He was 4, I was 5. I can’t tell you what we were playing, but one of us – I want to say it was Aaron because of how things ended later – suggested we open up the cargo storage area above the left rear tire.
One thing led to another, and soon we weren’t satisfied with putting only our toys in the hatch.
“Let’s hide in there,” Aaron said with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“You first,” I said, not suspecting anything could go wrong.
He giggled as he maneuvered his wiry little body into the space. “Shut the door and I’ll hide!”
I shut the door. Silence. Then giggles from both of us.
“Ready to come out?” I opened the molded plastic door.
He wormed his way out and said, “Your turn.”
I had a harder time getting myself squeezed into the cramped quarters. “Ok. Now I’ll hide.”
Click. The door shut.
New car smell filled my nose.
I laughed, still having fun, but I didn’t hear Aaron on the other side. It was loud in the compartment.
“I’m hiding!” I shouted.
Still nothing from him.
The roar of the rear left tire on the Canyon Expressway seemed to get louder as I strained my ears to hear my little brother.
“Aaron! Let me out now!” I yelled.
Hearing nothing but rubber meeting road, I began screaming and pounding on the hatch door.
Meanwhile, in the front seat, Mom began hearing odd sounds from the back of her wagon. She could only see Aaron in the rearview mirror, but couldn’t get any coherent answers to her questions because the little punk was laughing so hard.
She pulled off onto the shoulder and hauled Aaron’s bony little hiney out of the car. “Where’s April?” she asked. He was laughing and hopping from foot to foot, still unable to answer because he was so tickled. Despite his lack of assistance, she quickly realized where I was and rescued me.
I don’t remember what happened next, but based on the next 14 years of sibling interactions, I’m pretty sure he didn’t learn his lesson. Not quite sure I did, either.