THE CAR RIDE

  

The Car Ride

  My brother Lou called on Friday. He told my mother that he had

 received the word that Hank’s squadron would be landing at the

 Bangor, Maine Army Air Force Base that Lou was stationed at. He

 said that Hank would only be there for a few hours to refuel. Then

 off to France.

   We would have to get up very early on Sunday in order to see

 Hank off. Saturday night my dad played cards until quite late.

 It wasn’t easy for my father to get up on Sunday. He overslept.

 We left about an hour after our plan. Our car was a black 1939

 Pontiac that for four years had served the family well. My two

 sisters were in the back seat along with my brother David. I was

 in the front on my mother’s lap. Nobody was talking. It wasn’t

 until we had driven many miles that my oldest sister Jean broke

 the silence. She began to say that she smelled something burning.

 My mother told Jean to shut-up. My mother said, You are always

 smelling something.” Jean began to cry. “Something is on fire in

 this car,”Jean exclaimed. My sister Charlotte said, “I smell it

 too. We could all burn up.” My father pulled over. We all got out.

 Smoke was pouring out from under the car. My dad found an open

 service station. The attendant crawled out from under the Pontiac

 and said it will take at least three hours to repair the axel.

  We never saw Hank off. My mother never forgave my father.

      Dana and I walked on either side of my dad. My mother had

  died ten years earlier. Dana was telling my father “Don’t be

  nervous, I promise she won’t bite.” Dana squeezed my father’s

  hand. We were taking my dad across the street to meet Dana’s

  very distant, elderly cousin Sarah. I had heard quite a bit about

  Sarah. I was really looking forward to meeting her. Sarah had

  been a social worker in NYC for many years. Sarah had also been

  a practicing Communist. Sarah had been married once. The story

  I had heard was that this very wealthy gentleman had pursued

  Sarah for over twenty five years. On each New Years Eve, he

  would ask her to marry him and each New Years Eve, Sarah would

  say, ”not yet”. Finally some time in the early fifties Sarah

 became very concerned. Senator McCarthy was rounding up

 “commies,” and “pinkos.” It was a scary time. Sarah decided to say

 yes. She decided it would be wise to change her name and move  

 to Boston. Their life together sounded romantically wonderful.

 He had been a world traveler. He introduced Sarah to a world

 that he knew and that she grew to love. They traveled and

 traveled. He was the teacher and she became the adoring student.

 Unfortunately, after a time, he became quite ill. Sarah remained

 by his side, until he finally died.

   My father and I sat in the living room while Dana was in

  Sarah’s bedroom helping Sarah get ready to meet my dad.

    My dad and I did not have a particularly good relationship.

   I had not enjoyed the way my father allowed my mother to

   say the terrible things she said to him. My worst moments were

   late at night when I was trying to sleep. He would frequently

   come home too late from one meeting or another, that was really

   a cover for one card game or another. The screaming would start.

    My mother would start yelling at him and not stop until the

   wee hours of the morning. I would lie in my bed unable to

   sleep, praying they would divorce. My dad had little to say to

   me. When he did, it usually was something along the lines of “I

   can’t talk to you, your mother ruined you.”

     My dad and I sat in silence waiting for Sarah and Dana.

   Finally, my dad broke the silence. “Henry was a rat. He only

   loved his mother. One time, when he was stationed in New

   Orleans, I took the train to meet with him and take him out.

   When I got off the train, Hank was waiting. I rushed over to

   him. I was going to hug him. He looked over my shoulder.

  “Where’s my mother?” he asked. Do you know, I was there for three

   days and he never spoke to me. Not once! Not one word! Henry

  was a rat. I listened in disbelief. I had only remembered meeting

  Henry once or twice, but all I had ever heard was that he was

  the best. He was an idyllic son. He was the wisest, the

 handsomest, the only thing he wasn’t was the tallest. I was in

 shock. My father was finally expressing his feelings. He could

 say it. He could tell his truth. My mother was long dead.