Chapter 2
I got the hump. Boy, what a surprise. Here I was, 12 years
old, and I still got stuck sitting in the middle of the back seat. That's always
been my spot, just because I'm the third child in the family.
Even with David driving, I kept my same spot. He moved up
front, Dad moved over to Mom's place in the front and Mom moved back to David's.
David always got a window.
Robert always got a window.
Sarah always sat up front in the middle and messed around
with the radio.
I always got the hump.
"Move," Robert hissed at me when we were all in the
car. He was to my left and he gave my foot a shove with his foot.
"You move," I said.
"What's the problem?" Dad turned around and asked
us.
This was not good. With David driving, Dad was free to turn
all the way around and get involved in anything that was going on in the back
seat. Dad was free to get very involved.
"Boys," Mom said softly.
"Tell him to keep his feet out in front of him,"
Robert said. "He had his foot way over here." He kicked the door.
"I did not. I..."
"Keep your feet in front of you," Dad said.
"Keep your feet on the hump, chump," Robert said.
"Robert, stop that," Mom said. I was glad to see at
least she was on my side. "Michael, keep your feet in front of you."
"The freeway?" David asked, not paying any
attention to the rest of us.
"What?" Dad turned back around.
"I should take the freeway?"
How many times had we been to Fair Brook? Had we ever not
taken the freeway?
"Sure, it'll be fine," Dad said and patted him on
the shoulder.
What did he mean "it'll be fine"? Why wouldn't it
be fine? What was wrong with going on the freeway?
Nothing.
So what was wrong with David going on...
David going on...
"Are you sure, John?" my mom asked my dad. "He
hasn't had a lot of experience."
"You learn by doing," Dad answered.
This was great. And in the meantime, my big brother would get
us all killed.
We live in a suburb with a bunch of houses that all pretty
much look the same because they were all built at the same time by the same
construction company. They're nice, but not fancy or anything.
Fair Brook is in a neighboring suburb that's a little older
and little more run down. To get there you go out to the freeway, hop on, drive
for half an hour or so and then hop off. It's no sweat.
It was no sweat until today. Today it was still raining
pretty hard, there was an occasional flash of lightning and roll of thunder and
my big brother -- who had had his driver's license exactly two weeks -- was
going to get us all killed.
"You think we could go any slower?" Robert asked
David.
"Shut up," David said.
"I mean, we're supposed to be there for lunch not
dinner, right?"
"Robert," Dad said but he didn't take his eyes off
David. Why didn't he take his eyes off David?
"He's driving like an old lady," Robert whined.
"He's driving like Mom."
I almost laughed out loud. Not because what he said was funny
but because what he said was sure to get him in trouble. I didn't think calling
Mom an old lady was a good idea.
She is, of course. All moms are. But she isn't a really old lady like
Grandma or Great-aunt Helen or Great-great-aunt Lauretta.
"Robert," Dad said and my brother mumbled
"Sorry" and turned and looked out the window. That was a smart move on
his part.
It had taken me a while to figure out all this
"great" stuff but I thought I had it down now. It works like this:
When it comes to grandparents, your grandparents' parents are
your great-grandparents. My great-grandfather -- the
other birthday boy -- is my grandfather's father.
When it comes to aunts and uncles, your grandparents'
brothers and sisters are your great-uncles and great-aunts. And your
great-grandparents' brothers and sisters are your great-great-uncles and
great-great-aunts.
Don't ask me why. I didn't invent this stuff.
So Great-grandpa's sister Lauretta was my great-great- aunt.
At least, I was pretty sure that was how it worked. I decided
to test myself. "Aunt Carol is your sister, huh, Dad?" I asked.
"Uh huh."
"And Great-aunt Helen is Grandpa's sister."
"Uh huh. You got your lights on?"
What?
"Yeah," David said.
"And Great-great-aunt Lauretta is Great-grandpa's
sister," I said.
No one said anything.
"Dad?" I asked.
"What?"
"Great-great-aunt Lauretta is Great-grandpa's
sister."
"What?"
"She is, huh?"
"Right. His baby sister."
Baby? She was this little, old, old lady who was
all wrinkles and was so bent over she looked like a question mark.
"How much younger is Lauretta than Charles?" Mom
asked Dad.
"What?" he said. "I don't know. Five years.
Eight? I forget."
Gee, so she's only 92?
"And they used to live on a farm right over there,"
Robert said, tapping the window. "You tell us this same stuff every time we
go out to that place. We already know it. And it's boring."
"The Farrell farm!" Sarah said. "I'm a
Farrell."
"We're all Farrells," Robert said.
"So why don't we live on our farm?" she asked.
"The farm got sold a long time ago," Dad said.
"How come?" Sarah asked.
"I forget. Something happened. Did you bring that pocket
knife?"
That last question was to me.
"Yeah," I said.
"Great-grandpa said he wants to see it," Dad said.
"He what?" Robert asked.
"Who told him I was getting a knife?" I asked but
nobody answered me. They were all distracted by a huge truck that was speeding
right by us and spraying us with even more water. David reached down and
switched the windshield wipers to "high" and nobody said anything. I
was pretty sure Mom was praying.
Go to Chapter 3.
