Vacation
It's crazy how much I remember it all. The smell of the house when we first walked in--mothballs, slight mildew, vacancy. But also the smell of vacation. Freedom. Freedom to sleep downstairs in the huge bedroom with the shag carpet, each square foot a different color. The spiral staircase boasted the same flooring. Love beads hung from the door frame that separated the bedroom from the closet. The closet that held all those skis and so many life jackets. Those big cabinets, long enough for skis. Are they standard-built in lakefront property? Or was it custom? Like the carpet?
The bedspreads didn't match at all. Geese. Baby blue and gray on the king sized bed. The two day beds across from it. Maybe a TV in between--I don't remember. A painting on the wall, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." I remember that clicking in my brain and feeling almost ethereal.
We woke up to the sound of jet skis in the morning. The lake right outside our door. But it would be awhile before we got up and around, went upstairs, maybe had pancakes for breakfast that Aunt Becky or Mama Meg made in their nightgowns and robes. I would sit at the yellow kitchen table, look at the cross-stitch framed about the kitchen entry, "Kwitcherbelliakin." I always forgot what it meant. I thought it was German. My mom had to tell me more than once, "Quit your belly-achin'."
I would already be begging to go to the lake. Mom never liked to get in the water. "Stay on the steps," she would say. That was fine with me. I wasn't much of a swimmer. I just needed to be by the water. Needed to touch it, to smell it, to feel the waves against my body. I remember the cracks in the sidewalk that led to the water. The grass that tried to grow up. The black hand rail of the three concrete steps. I remember my bare feet on the wet concrete. Hanging onto the rail and sticking one hand down to pull up rocks and dirt and--just maybe--shells. The thrill of the hunt. Lining up the brown and white shells on the top step where the water didn't reach, the waves wouldn't wash them away. Some times I found two shells still sealed shut together. "Do you think there's a pearl in there?" I would ask her. I would sit on the bottom step, my life jacket coming up around my neck, aggravating.
I would go back up to the porch--what a huge porch! Concrete and red brick. Hang your life jacket over the porch rail. I would try to climb onto the lounge chairs. Always a struggle. My foot or my knee would slip through the plastic bands. If I could just lay flat. I would spread out my towel. The heat dried me. My uncle or my grandpa or my dad might be gutting fish at the table to my far left. The smell. We would fry them for dinner. And have hushpuppies. Birds overhead. The tall bird house--more like a bird hotel. So many holes! So many birds!
My step-grandma is there, giving someone a haircut in the grass. A towel around their shoulders. Maybe my cousins are there from Pennsylvania. Maybe not. Maybe I brought a friend with me. In the heat of the day, we might go inside, sit on the long, custom couch that went on and on, rows of tufts, and curved towards the end. We would take turns on the velour chair that vibrated and reclined. I would ask about the Zodiac signs above the fireplace. My mom would tell me they were bad--demonic. Sometimes we would go in the other bedroom--the pool room. Huge, with a pool table, three beds, a bathroom. I mostly liked the blue chalk. I would rub it on the ends of the pool cues. Play with the balls, line them up in the triangle, try to roll them to their pockets. One time my friend Beth and I put on matching terrycloth shirts and had a photo shoot of us pretending to be serious pool players. Once my whole youth group came to Hot Springs for a conference and the boys slept in the pool room. The girls slept downstairs. I loved every minute.
If i slept downstairs, my mom and step-dad would be sleeping in the pink room. The room with the sliding glass door. The bathroom that was carpeted. I remember stepping out of the bathtub onto the dense carpet. MamaMeg always had powder and a puff for us to use when we got out of the bath. And of course, alcohol in our ears. One time my mom didn't put alcohol in her ears after swimming in the lake, and weeks later she got an earache, and a plant started growing out of her ear. She would have to put drops in her ear and little pieces of plant came out for days. That pink room. I have seen pictures of me there as an infant. Same bedspread. I was born in Hot Springs. My mom told me she left Texarkana to escape some of the stigma of being an unwed mother. So I was born there, and she brought me home to the lake house--to her grandparents' vacation home. Maybe that is why I was so fond of it.
I remember going fishing. My pole was light blue and white. Maybe Mickey Mouse? I got bored easily. I left my pole laying down by my uncle. It finally caught one, after I let go. I wouldn't touch it. Crickets either. I remember taking the big step from the dock to the boat, being scared I would slip through the crack, go into the water. I imagined my legs, brushing against the green moldy underbelly of the boat. Getting to drive the boat was the best. Sitting on Pappaw's lap or Grandpa's, radio on. Jazz. Every fourth of July, we would go out at night to the fireworks display. I thought it was pure magic. All the boats out on the dark water, green lights to our left, red to our right. We would float by the bridge and watch all the fireworks. I remember one year, when it got dark, spiders descended from the top of the barge. So many spiders, I thought it was hundreds! All coming down from their houses, hungry. I remember moving to the roofless bench, a towel wrapped around my head, terrified one would touch me.
I have fuzzy memories of being very young--going on a jet ski with my Uncle John, sitting behind the boat in someone's lap on a long float--a hot dog--was it a hot dog? I remember going in the boat to a Chinese restaurant and having to climb a ladder up into a special dining room, we took off our shoes. Was that real?
At night we would play games--Dominoes or Clue. They had the old version of Clue with the pretty pictures. Sometimes Mom would play with me. I would beg to be Miss Scarlet. There was a big screen TV, but I don't remember watching it. Sometimes we would catch fireflies out on the grass. See the lights from the boats on the water. "Why don't we live here?" I would always ask.
There was a checklist posted about the washer and dryer, all the things we had to do before we leave. Wash and dry the sheets, clean out the fridge, and we would always load up the van and then my dad or step-dad would turn off the water and we would drive away. Even the drive was lovely. The closest thing to mountains I had seen--those Ouachita hills. Bluffs and cliffs and the "Falling Rock" signs enamored me. Why didn't we stay in Hot Springs with the classic tourist attractions--the off-road rock shop where I would get to pick out crystals and gemstones for my collection, the low-budge wax museum with the creepy Last Supper figures that made me cry. The mall that had an Orange Julius and a candy store. Bathhouse Row and Lake Hamilton there for our enjoyment. A grill going at night, and a stocked game closet. The dark room where we could sleep til noon, but didn't mind waking up early when the lake was waiting for us.
I can close my eyes and see the entry way with the blue glass beads holding up the fake orchid, see the waves of the lake, the curve of the shore, the dock with the barge and the fishing boat, the jet ski, the green grass. I open my eyes and walk to the mailbox. It's another bill to pay.
The bedspreads didn't match at all. Geese. Baby blue and gray on the king sized bed. The two day beds across from it. Maybe a TV in between--I don't remember. A painting on the wall, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." I remember that clicking in my brain and feeling almost ethereal.
We woke up to the sound of jet skis in the morning. The lake right outside our door. But it would be awhile before we got up and around, went upstairs, maybe had pancakes for breakfast that Aunt Becky or Mama Meg made in their nightgowns and robes. I would sit at the yellow kitchen table, look at the cross-stitch framed about the kitchen entry, "Kwitcherbelliakin." I always forgot what it meant. I thought it was German. My mom had to tell me more than once, "Quit your belly-achin'."
I would already be begging to go to the lake. Mom never liked to get in the water. "Stay on the steps," she would say. That was fine with me. I wasn't much of a swimmer. I just needed to be by the water. Needed to touch it, to smell it, to feel the waves against my body. I remember the cracks in the sidewalk that led to the water. The grass that tried to grow up. The black hand rail of the three concrete steps. I remember my bare feet on the wet concrete. Hanging onto the rail and sticking one hand down to pull up rocks and dirt and--just maybe--shells. The thrill of the hunt. Lining up the brown and white shells on the top step where the water didn't reach, the waves wouldn't wash them away. Some times I found two shells still sealed shut together. "Do you think there's a pearl in there?" I would ask her. I would sit on the bottom step, my life jacket coming up around my neck, aggravating.
 |
| Me and Grandpa on the steps |
My step-grandma is there, giving someone a haircut in the grass. A towel around their shoulders. Maybe my cousins are there from Pennsylvania. Maybe not. Maybe I brought a friend with me. In the heat of the day, we might go inside, sit on the long, custom couch that went on and on, rows of tufts, and curved towards the end. We would take turns on the velour chair that vibrated and reclined. I would ask about the Zodiac signs above the fireplace. My mom would tell me they were bad--demonic. Sometimes we would go in the other bedroom--the pool room. Huge, with a pool table, three beds, a bathroom. I mostly liked the blue chalk. I would rub it on the ends of the pool cues. Play with the balls, line them up in the triangle, try to roll them to their pockets. One time my friend Beth and I put on matching terrycloth shirts and had a photo shoot of us pretending to be serious pool players. Once my whole youth group came to Hot Springs for a conference and the boys slept in the pool room. The girls slept downstairs. I loved every minute.
 |
| The shag carpet downstairs. |
 |
| The day I was born. |
If i slept downstairs, my mom and step-dad would be sleeping in the pink room. The room with the sliding glass door. The bathroom that was carpeted. I remember stepping out of the bathtub onto the dense carpet. MamaMeg always had powder and a puff for us to use when we got out of the bath. And of course, alcohol in our ears. One time my mom didn't put alcohol in her ears after swimming in the lake, and weeks later she got an earache, and a plant started growing out of her ear. She would have to put drops in her ear and little pieces of plant came out for days. That pink room. I have seen pictures of me there as an infant. Same bedspread. I was born in Hot Springs. My mom told me she left Texarkana to escape some of the stigma of being an unwed mother. So I was born there, and she brought me home to the lake house--to her grandparents' vacation home. Maybe that is why I was so fond of it.
I remember going fishing. My pole was light blue and white. Maybe Mickey Mouse? I got bored easily. I left my pole laying down by my uncle. It finally caught one, after I let go. I wouldn't touch it. Crickets either. I remember taking the big step from the dock to the boat, being scared I would slip through the crack, go into the water. I imagined my legs, brushing against the green moldy underbelly of the boat. Getting to drive the boat was the best. Sitting on Pappaw's lap or Grandpa's, radio on. Jazz. Every fourth of July, we would go out at night to the fireworks display. I thought it was pure magic. All the boats out on the dark water, green lights to our left, red to our right. We would float by the bridge and watch all the fireworks. I remember one year, when it got dark, spiders descended from the top of the barge. So many spiders, I thought it was hundreds! All coming down from their houses, hungry. I remember moving to the roofless bench, a towel wrapped around my head, terrified one would touch me.
I have fuzzy memories of being very young--going on a jet ski with my Uncle John, sitting behind the boat in someone's lap on a long float--a hot dog--was it a hot dog? I remember going in the boat to a Chinese restaurant and having to climb a ladder up into a special dining room, we took off our shoes. Was that real?
At night we would play games--Dominoes or Clue. They had the old version of Clue with the pretty pictures. Sometimes Mom would play with me. I would beg to be Miss Scarlet. There was a big screen TV, but I don't remember watching it. Sometimes we would catch fireflies out on the grass. See the lights from the boats on the water. "Why don't we live here?" I would always ask.
 |
| Me and John |
There was a checklist posted about the washer and dryer, all the things we had to do before we leave. Wash and dry the sheets, clean out the fridge, and we would always load up the van and then my dad or step-dad would turn off the water and we would drive away. Even the drive was lovely. The closest thing to mountains I had seen--those Ouachita hills. Bluffs and cliffs and the "Falling Rock" signs enamored me. Why didn't we stay in Hot Springs with the classic tourist attractions--the off-road rock shop where I would get to pick out crystals and gemstones for my collection, the low-budge wax museum with the creepy Last Supper figures that made me cry. The mall that had an Orange Julius and a candy store. Bathhouse Row and Lake Hamilton there for our enjoyment. A grill going at night, and a stocked game closet. The dark room where we could sleep til noon, but didn't mind waking up early when the lake was waiting for us.
 |
| My mom and me, looking like Jonah and Asher. |
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