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| photograph by Russell Lee (1903-1986) |
She
was up to nine cars. She had been counting cars for the last 23 minutes
and 32 seconds. At 12 minutes and 14 seconds, she saw her friend Jane
go by in the fifth car with her mother. She waved frantically from
behind the window, jumping like a chimpanzee on the couch. She knew
there was little hope at gaining her friend’s attention, but it gave her
something to do while she waited.
Ten cars.
She
was looking out for her mother’s car. A van, to be specific. A Ford
van, to be even more specific. They were a Ford family. Her dad worked
at Ford. They only bought Fords. Before car manufacturing became a grey
area of global “fingers in the pie” Ford families thought that to buy
un-American cars meant that you were un-American. Those were different
times.
Eleven cars.
She
kneeled backwards on the couch with her nose pressed to the window and
began to daydream. Her mother occupied a space in her mind reserved for
deities. She was sure that there was no other mother as beautiful as
hers. Her mother took time to make her hair fancy and to watch her put
on makeup was like one watching Michelangelo put the finishing touches
on the Sistine Chapel. She was confident that her mother was an artist
of unique skill. Her mother could sew and could make dresses and even
pants for her children. And her mother could cook. Her mother could
perform magic in the kitchen and conjure the tastiest lasagna from some
mystical plane. She imagined her mother dressed like Glenda the Good
Witch and making dinner float to the table using her wand.
Twelve cars.
The
anticipation was comforting. She lived for this time of the day. The
waiting. The excitement of being the first to see her mother was such a
joy to her, and her mother’s smile was a treasure that she tucked into
secret spaces in her heart. She stood up and examined the pattern that
the couch fabric pressed into her knees. She liked the bumpy texture and
ran her fingers back and forth over them as she waited.
A
thirteenth car. No, it was bigger than a car. It might be a van. It IS a
van. It’s her mother’s van! Her mother is getting closer. Her mother is
pulling in the driveway. Her mother is getting out and walking up the
sidewalk. Oh, what’s that her mother is carrying? She gets to the door
just before her mother and holds it open for her as if she’s preparing
an entrance for royalty. Her mother smiles at her and bends down to give
her a kiss. The smile is tucked away into her heart’s secret spaces.
“Look what I brought you!”
She
looks with excitement at the Sesame Street Magazine as her mother slips
it into her small hands. It is like the most sparkly diamond. A
treasure. A gift bestowed from a goddess. Contentment wraps her as if
with a warm blanket. She is loved.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
