CHAPTER 11 -STEAM

 

My sister, Andria, reminded me recently that we kids sang the road signs on car trips. 

"'Member, Van? Your highway taxes at work; state police? 'Member Bryan played imaginary bongos?" 

 "It drove Dad nuts," I remembered. "And you said, 'Hold onto your mittens!' when we took a sharp curve, and we all laughed. So adorable."

'Member "Over the river and through the woods to Aunt Vanda's house, we go! 'Member November smells and sights? Lying on our backs watching trees of various colors whip by?"

Andria remembered the good stuff more than I did.  

Dad liked to bring the family to a 'bar and grill' attached to steam baths a few towns away. Six of us would slide into a wooden booth. Dad got clams and beer. We kids got tuna fish or grilled cheese. The young waitress brought us festive, syrupy pink/red Virgin Mary drinks with fruit in them, preparing us for a life of cocktails.

She flirted with my handsome father. Depending on how much Dad drank, he'd be professional or damn near kissing the lady --aloof or lurid. When my mother did a thing with her eyebrows, I knew the night would no longer be fun.

Some guy joined the table uninvited. Mom said he knew Dad was a doctor and wanted him to buy drinks, which he did.

"Mike." Mom put her hand on Dad's arm, but the drunk train had left the station. 

Mom grew fidgety-quiet, wiping mayonnaise off my face as the two men talked and laughed like old friends. 

"I'll get the kids ready," Mom announced to the two men.