By Jeremy Dunn (sound/smell/taste)
Jimmy squirmed in his seat, trying to find some relief from the sticky grasp of the hot vinyl. He peered out the window and sighed. His sister, Becky, glanced over knowingly and asked, “Wanna play a game?” He really didn’t, but what else was there to do? It was seven long hours to their grandparents’ house and he finished reading his books three hours ago. Seven long hours of looking at the vast expanse of oil derricks and mesquite trees. Jimmy sometimes wished he was one of the numerous tumbleweeds they passed along the way or a hawk able to soar above the landscape. He played along with Becky; counting cars and looking for objects, but his heart wasn’t in it.
As night settled in, the kids fell asleep and the miles continued to roll aimlessly by. It was late when they arrived at the little frame house, but a light was on. “Wake up kids! We’re here”, their dad said as he gently poked the sleeping children. Jimmy slowly opened his eyes and he could make out two figures on the front porch. Their faces were lined and tan from years of working out in the hot sun, but the smiles were unmistakable. Strong hands reached for him as his grandfather pulled him close. “We’re so glad you came to see us, Jimmy-boy,” he said as he tussled his hair. “Better get back to sleep, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Jimmy woke to the smell of bacon and eggs frying in the kitchen. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled into the dining room where his parents and grandfather were drinking coffee. His grandmother called from the kitchen, “I hope you’re hungry, because these biscuits won’t eat themselves!” He was hungry and wasted no time diving into the mountain of food on the table. After breakfast, he went outside to explore. This was his favorite part of visiting his grandparents. There were barns with heaps of every kind of tool and implement. There were hay bales, lined up in a row, perfect for jumping from one to another. An old school bus sat on the lot, ready to cart off its occupants to imaginary worlds. But the best part was the hot tub. Grandma and grandma didn’t swim, so the tub wasn’t hooked up to anything. It was just a huge hulk of fiberglass that grandpa found somewhere. Standing on one side, Jimmy could make the tub stand up on end. Then, jumping to the other side the tub would pivot end over end. Something this much fun was no doubt dangerous, but he couldn’t ever remember anyone getting more than a few pinched fingers.
Jimmy was lost in his play time and almost didn’t hear the creak of the back door. His face lit up as his cousins came running across the yard. They didn’t live close, so moments like these were rare. The boys spent all day running over, under, and sometimes into the hotwire fence that separated the big yard. Late in the day, it was hot and they slowly collapsed in the cool shade of the grapevines that covered the back porch. As if guided by some mysterious all-knowing force, their grandmother suddenly appeared with a pitcher of lemonade. The boys jumped to their feet, gleefully accepting the ice cold liquid. The tart taste made them scrunch their faces as they gulped it quickly. Their exhaustion vanished as they saw their grandpa make his way out of the house and toward the shed where he kept his fishing equipment.
“Let’s go boys! Don’t want to keep those fish waiting,” he said as he tossed poles, bait, and tackle into the back of the truck. They bounced and bobbed as the truck made its way through the bumpy pasture down to a muddy creek. They reached the banks and set about getting their poles ready. Jimmy snagged a huge crawdad from a bucket and hooked him through the tail. It wasn’t long before hungry catfish began to take his bait. Jimmy would squeal and yank hard, almost smacking his grandpa with the fish he caught. Before long, the line was full of wriggling channel cats and it was time to go.
Cars and trucks began pulling into the driveway and yard as friends and relatives made their way to the farm. Laughter rolled across the air as people who hadn’t seen each other in years renewed their acquaintance. The kids playfully wrestled, waiting for the food to be ready. “This grease is hot now, ya’ll get back”, grandma called. They all joined hands for prayer and even though their eyes were supposed to be closed, Jimmy’s were wide as he took in the sight and smell of fried catfish, sweet creamy coleslaw, tangy beans, and hot cornbread. Jimmy snuggled up close to his grandmother, the smell of her lavender soap tickling his nose. “I don’t ever want to leave, grandma,” he said. “I know,” she said. “But even after you go, you’ll always remember what it was like.”
The seven hours going home never seemed as long as the seven hours going out. Maybe it was the call of home. Maybe it was the memories of those summers, filled with love and laughter, that made the miles fly by.
Jimmy squirmed in his seat, trying to find some relief from the sticky grasp of the hot vinyl. He peered out the window and sighed. His sister, Becky, glanced over knowingly and asked, “Wanna play a game?” He really didn’t, but what else was there to do? It was seven long hours to their grandparents’ house and he finished reading his books three hours ago. Seven long hours of looking at the vast expanse of oil derricks and mesquite trees. Jimmy sometimes wished he was one of the numerous tumbleweeds they passed along the way or a hawk able to soar above the landscape. He played along with Becky; counting cars and looking for objects, but his heart wasn’t in it.
As night settled in, the kids fell asleep and the miles continued to roll aimlessly by. It was late when they arrived at the little frame house, but a light was on. “Wake up kids! We’re here”, their dad said as he gently poked the sleeping children. Jimmy slowly opened his eyes and he could make out two figures on the front porch. Their faces were lined and tan from years of working out in the hot sun, but the smiles were unmistakable. Strong hands reached for him as his grandfather pulled him close. “We’re so glad you came to see us, Jimmy-boy,” he said as he tussled his hair. “Better get back to sleep, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Jimmy woke to the smell of bacon and eggs frying in the kitchen. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled into the dining room where his parents and grandfather were drinking coffee. His grandmother called from the kitchen, “I hope you’re hungry, because these biscuits won’t eat themselves!” He was hungry and wasted no time diving into the mountain of food on the table. After breakfast, he went outside to explore. This was his favorite part of visiting his grandparents. There were barns with heaps of every kind of tool and implement. There were hay bales, lined up in a row, perfect for jumping from one to another. An old school bus sat on the lot, ready to cart off its occupants to imaginary worlds. But the best part was the hot tub. Grandma and grandma didn’t swim, so the tub wasn’t hooked up to anything. It was just a huge hulk of fiberglass that grandpa found somewhere. Standing on one side, Jimmy could make the tub stand up on end. Then, jumping to the other side the tub would pivot end over end. Something this much fun was no doubt dangerous, but he couldn’t ever remember anyone getting more than a few pinched fingers.
Jimmy was lost in his play time and almost didn’t hear the creak of the back door. His face lit up as his cousins came running across the yard. They didn’t live close, so moments like these were rare. The boys spent all day running over, under, and sometimes into the hotwire fence that separated the big yard. Late in the day, it was hot and they slowly collapsed in the cool shade of the grapevines that covered the back porch. As if guided by some mysterious all-knowing force, their grandmother suddenly appeared with a pitcher of lemonade. The boys jumped to their feet, gleefully accepting the ice cold liquid. The tart taste made them scrunch their faces as they gulped it quickly. Their exhaustion vanished as they saw their grandpa make his way out of the house and toward the shed where he kept his fishing equipment.
“Let’s go boys! Don’t want to keep those fish waiting,” he said as he tossed poles, bait, and tackle into the back of the truck. They bounced and bobbed as the truck made its way through the bumpy pasture down to a muddy creek. They reached the banks and set about getting their poles ready. Jimmy snagged a huge crawdad from a bucket and hooked him through the tail. It wasn’t long before hungry catfish began to take his bait. Jimmy would squeal and yank hard, almost smacking his grandpa with the fish he caught. Before long, the line was full of wriggling channel cats and it was time to go.
Cars and trucks began pulling into the driveway and yard as friends and relatives made their way to the farm. Laughter rolled across the air as people who hadn’t seen each other in years renewed their acquaintance. The kids playfully wrestled, waiting for the food to be ready. “This grease is hot now, ya’ll get back”, grandma called. They all joined hands for prayer and even though their eyes were supposed to be closed, Jimmy’s were wide as he took in the sight and smell of fried catfish, sweet creamy coleslaw, tangy beans, and hot cornbread. Jimmy snuggled up close to his grandmother, the smell of her lavender soap tickling his nose. “I don’t ever want to leave, grandma,” he said. “I know,” she said. “But even after you go, you’ll always remember what it was like.”
The seven hours going home never seemed as long as the seven hours going out. Maybe it was the call of home. Maybe it was the memories of those summers, filled with love and laughter, that made the miles fly by.