what i did during summer vacation, or, how i became neurotic part I

I had recently overheard lots of whispered chatter among my parents. I hadn't witnessed such secrecy since Mom was pregnant with Erin. I worried that there would soon be another mouth to feed. The apartment was already overcrowded. I dreaded the thought of another screaming baby in the house.

One night, Dad came home from work earlier than usual. He had that rare grin on his face that made my toes twitch in anticipation. Mom's eyes shot back and forth from us to Dad. I imagined the forced look of joy I would have to mime when they announced a new baby was on the way.

"Well," Dad started, "looks like you're goin to Florida." Chris and I did a happy dance in front of the television. Erin tore off her diaper and squealed, as she did whenever she was happy, or annoyed, or bored. I'm sure she had no idea what going to Florida meant, but any excitement was cause for nudity.

It had been years since my family had had an actual vacation. Even though Dad worked two full-time jobs, there never seemed to be enough money. We took lots of day trips to beaches and lakes and parks, but that's as far as we got. As we galloped around in glee, Dad looked so proud it almost hurt my heart to look at him. I stopped my dance and stared at him.

"Whaddya mean, 'we're' going to Florida?" I asked suspiciously.

"You three and your mother are goin. I'm gonna stay here and work."

I pouted and bit back my tears. "I don't wanna go without you!"

"Yeah you do. You won't even miss me."

"Mickey! Mickey! Mickey!" Chris and Erin chanted, while I worried about Dad home alone.

As it turned out, Dad only had enough money to send us TO Florida, where we would stay with my Aunt Bernie and Uncle Frank. We had seen many pictures of their pool and had begged to visit for years. The plan was, Dad later explained, we would stay in Florida for a week or two. Once Dad had the airfare, he'd send the money for us to fly home.

We bought the cheapest tickets money could buy. Mom had only flown twice before and hated it. It was a first for the three of us. I was 10, Chris was almost 7 and Erin was almost 2. We were all a mess of raw nerves. The plane was small and cramped. As we sat on the runway awaiting take-off for two hours, an old woman sitting behind us proceeded to get completely soused. Her nose was running into her open mouth, and she kept licking at it. The sight of this drunk old hag flipped my stomach over on itself.

"Nice a ya ta take the grankids on a trip," she slurred at my mother.

"They are my children." Mom responded, none too politely.

"Oh. Thought you was a young granma."

"No. I'm an old mother."

This conversation replayed itself several times during the flight, but we soon had bigger problems. Shortly after we were airborne, Erin began to scream as if she were being paid to do so. Her keening wails made my spinal cord vibrate. Nothing we did or said could calm her down. Her face turned purple with the exertion of her sobs. Everyone on the plane shot us deadly looks.

One man stood up and said he'd rather spend the rest of the flight in the bathroom. Apparently he did, because that was the last we saw of him.

When we finally stumbled out of the plane and into the frosty airport, Aunt Bernie and Uncle Frank waved and smiled at us. They looked tan and relaxed. Their clothes were coordinated and pressed, their expressions serene. They both would age drastically over the next month.

"Glad you kids made it in one piece. A 747 just crashed into the Atlantic not an hour ago. Glad you weren't on that one!" Uncle Frank hugged and kissed us roughly as Aunt Bernie gave him a warning poke in his big belly. I clung to Aunt Bernie, who was the sweetest and warmest of my mother's three sisters. Her tiny arms held onto all of us as Uncle Frank herded us to baggage claim and then towards the garage.

The automatic door swished opened onto the parking garage. The Florida heat wrapped around me like a wet sock. Uncle Frank had left his station wagon running with the air conditioner on high. The dark coolness of the station wagon was a relief.

During the hour-long drive to Aunt Bernie's and Uncle Frank's, Uncle Frank regaled us with one horror story after another. I became so terrified of Florida that I was willing to walk home rather than spend one night in this accident-prone state.

"See this here bridge we're crossing? Just reopened last week. Shut it down last year when it collapsed with 30 cars on it. Didn't pull out a single survivor."

"Lemme teach you kids something. You see an alligator you run in zigzags. Damn things have no peripheral vision. Can't see you but straight on. You run zigzags you'll be all right. Boy up the canal was walking his dog too close to the water. Gator pulled the dog and the boy under. Found the boy's arm a week later. Nothin but an arm to bury."

"Wait'll you kids see the storms we get here. Thunder'll knock you right out your underwear. Fella next door's got a lightning rod on the roof [pronounced ruf]. It actually attracts the lightning, keeps it from setting things on fire. You'll see. You look out our side window during a storm and the lightning'll hit that rod dead on. Channels it right down to the ground under us. Just don't get too close to the window during a storm. Lightning'll knock you right out your underwear."

"You kids sure are lucky to get outta that dangerous city for a while. Your dad oughta move you down here where it's safe. No drugs or guns or gangs."

The three of us hunkered down in the back seat, eyes wide and mouths shut. Even Erin was uncharacteristically quiet. I prayed for a motorcycle gang to car jack us and carry me back to the city, with the drugs and the guns and the gangs. Where it was safe.

Aunt Bernie tried to counter Uncle Frank's gloom-and-doom talk by reassuring us of all the fun we would have. She detailed the toys she had bought and the warmth of her in-ground pool. Chris and Erin immediately perked up. Looking out the window at the flat land, I thought of Dad. I pictured him sweating in the cab all night and worried that he'd get lonely without us.

After a while on the highway, we pulled off onto local roads. We passed mall after mall, and eventually turned into a circuitous community. Most of the houses looked alike - small ranch houses with screened-in backyards, in-ground pools and attached garages.

"Here ya are!" Uncle Frank said as he pulled into the driveway. Standing next to the front door was a black lawn jockey with a wide grin holding a lantern. The sight of that lawn jockey made my stomach feel funny, though I didn't know why. Directly above the lawn jockey was a large, flowing American flag. As we unloaded our luggage and trudged in through the front door, the steely gaze of a large, bronze bald eagle stared me down from its perch above the doorway.

The house was cool and comfortable. All of the furniture was colonial, dark and heavy. The four of us were staying in my cousin Nancy's room. She was in her 20's and living in Orlando, two hours away. Her sister Kathy, also in her 20's, still lived at home but was at work most of the time.

We took a cursory tour of the house and shot out to the screened-in backyard. The pool looked cool and inviting.

"Why's the pool inside a cage?" Chris asked.

"So none a them gators eat you while you swim," Uncle Frank answered. "Here. Have a look."

Uncle Frank led us to the far end of the backyard. We looked through the gate at the canal down below. A few feet away from our property, the ground sloped downward into a canal which ran out into the Gulf Coast. The canal was about 15 feet wide, and bordered on both side by tall reeds. That, Uncle Frank whispered, is where the enemy lives. Over the course of our stay, we would spend countless hours with our noses pushed up against the mesh of the screen, observing the alligators that terrorized the neighborhood.

After dipping our toes into the cool pool, Uncle Frank marched us inside to the living room. We plopped down onto the couch for "the talk". Uncle Frank bent down towards us and lowered his voice. He held his palms together as if in prayer. We leaned forward expectantly.

"Kids, this home is your home. There are items in this home that belong to you. I would never touch your belongings. That would be disrespectful. Now, we're all adults here. I expect the same courtesy from you. Agreed?" Uncle Frank nodded his head, grinning widely. Our heads bobbed up and down in return.

"Now, I will enumerate several items which you must never touch - never touch! - without my sole permission." More nodding from all of us. With reverence, Uncle Frank opened his large entertainment system, revealing electronics the likes of which we'd never seen. There was a television set larger than my bathroom wall surrounded by several speakers. Underneath the television was a massive stereo system, a turntable and two VCRs. Erin, already out of her clothes and sitting in her diaper, slid off the couch and reached for the nearest shiny knob. Uncle Frank slapped his shiny forehead in frustration.

We were forbidden to touch any electronic equipment anywhere in the house. Although we were granted access to the television remote control, we were never, ever, to touch the stereo. Especially the volume. Uncle Frank had sensitive ears due to the war, and could not tolerate any noise above a certain level known only to him. (Incidentally, "due to the war", he could not lift anything heavier than a bag of rice, talk to children after dark, or drive at night.)

Naturally, Erin made it her mission to find out what would happen if the volume were raised, or if Uncle Frank heard children's voices after dark.

TO BE CONTINUED...