2659 Hampton Avenue-The Magical Life of a Boy

By Charles Ascello

Our family was the center of an extraordinary street called Hampton Avenue. With twelve amazing neighbors whose inspiration would live forever.

A breathtaking journey of home run kings, girls, killer dogs, neighborhood rivalries, and the secret to becoming an adult.

All starting with our pieced together household-Mom, ashamed of her background-Dad, back on the old Indian motorcycle seeking vengeance-and a mystical sister casting spells and manipulating lives.

Played out in a privileged community of atheists, nudists, religious fanatics, divorcees, LGBTQ’s, perfectionists, and adulterers.

In the heart of what would become Silicon Valley, on golden streets paved with magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Ascello
• Release date: Aug 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005224172

Charles Ascello

Charles Ascello was in his first theatrical performance at age six and has gone on to be a professional writer, actor, director and producer working with some of the biggest names in the industry. He has written several scripts including feature films, television pilots, a theatrical production with nine original songs and award-winning poetry. Charles also created and ran one of the most prominent performing arts conservatories and production companies in the Bay Area. For reels, bios and histories please see his site: www.firemoonproductions.com

Book preview

Prologue

The Birds

Albert Einstein reinvented the world. He died just a year after I came to be. I had no idea. Nor did the thoughts light could be bent, mass was energy or there were things so small you couldn’t see them come to mind. I did know something could come from nothing. Because here I was. Magic!

I remember sitting in my play pen in the backyard. How I remember I don’t know. I was an infant wanting so badly to be one of the birds. A Hummingbird or Robin Red Breast.

I wanted to be free. Of what I wasn’t quite sure. But I wanted to fly away. Free. I thought they were free, my birds, but would find out later nothing is free. For hours I took it in: Clear blue skies that went on forever. An unfinished yard. A slab of concrete. Our shed. The blossoming almond tree. Wooden fence almost covered by green hedge. In between a patch of dirt. Sun, mild and warm radiating all around. Filling me, everything, with something I wanted to become part of. Again. Do we all communicate like that at first, knowing. The separation. Some scream and wail. I just sat and wondered.

Mom’s steps came hurriedly down the wooden stairs connected to the back of the house. How she loved me. How I loved her back. Always self-contained, quiet in my solitude, she scooped me up.

Charles, you’re so quiet, I forgot all about you. You’re okay. A little red. Let’s go take care of that.

Goodbye birds, goodbye sun.

Chapter 1

Awakening

For Little Charles separation between the visible and invisible was nearly non-existent. Watching life unfold a miracle known and unknown. At an age starting to be a person, an individual. A blank slate soaking it all in. Talking, understanding, running around with boundless energy. And shy, still quiet.

My sister, Rita, stood on the narrow cement path leading to the backyard between our garage and the neighbors fence. We went to St. Pius together, but she was several grades ahead of me. So we never saw each other on school grounds unless she wanted something. Rita looked over the green hedge at Jean Fegley across the street. He paced back and forth waiting for her on his driveway. She smiled, enjoying making him sweat. Rita reached up and started to take off her underwear, thought better of it and instead pulled them up tight, exposing her cheeks beneath a wool skirt. She walked over like she was in charge, and she was. And not just with Jean.

-----

Mom, Brownie’s pooping in the house.

What!

Pooping.

Mom turned the corner from the hallway into the living room.

See.

Brownie was scurrying across the carpet dragging a little black blob between her legs. The first dog I ever knew and loved, Brownie was the perfect Pomeranian Chihuahua mix. Calm, with a beautiful coat of sand colored hair. Just big enough to hold in both hands.

Brownie, you get outside, right now! Mom said as loudly as she ever spoke. Brownie huddled in a corner, Mom approached. Oh, she said a bit startled and surprised. Charles, go in the garage and find a cardboard box and get some old towels.

What?

She’s having a baby. Just do it. Hurry.

A baby.

A little dazed I did as she asked. Boxes were carefully stacked in the left-hand corner by our sliding garage door. The top of an eleven-by-seventeen carton from Dad’s printing shop was just in reach. And across a neatly swept cement floor his well-ordered tool bench offered bundles of old clean towels. Running back into the living room Mom was cradling Brownie in her arms, speaking gently and reassuringly as always. It’s okay, baby. You’re, okay. We love you. Then she looked up at me with adoring eyes. Put the box in the corner here, Charles, and line it with towels.

Okay, but.

My friend up the street has a dog just like Brownie. We didn’t think it took.

Took what?

She spoke to Brownie.

You’re so tiny you didn’t look pregnant.

Box lined with towels, Mom placed Brownie inside, the pup still only halfway out. Slowly I watched the black slick ball of fur slide onto fluffy white cloth and waited as it began to stir lifting its head. Brownie began licking off the afterbirth beneath my stare of fascination.

Charles, are you okay? Mom asked knowing I sometimes had a weak stomach. I nodded yes. Brownie let us pet her as two other pups came gently into the world. Tiny little things that nestled up against her.

I watched Mom with new eyes. Seeing her as a different person for the first but not last time. Dad usually took charge and another side of this person, my life, was born. Slightly plump with short blonde curls and dazzling blue eyes Mom was everything. As if I was still attached to an invisible umbilical cord. She watched the new family of mother and pups with a smile that swallowed something sad. A look she carried with her always. Something I wouldn’t understand for many years. One of many premonitions that kept appearing like ghosts I really didn’t see but intrinsically understood. Phantoms I kept hidden in every corner of my life. Brownie licked my fingers, nudging this reverie away.

"Go on, Charles. See if you can find, Rita. She’s probably at the Fegley’s.

I know.

Well.

Determined feet ran around a huge piece of stereo furniture past our little kitchen and out the front door. Headed down the driveway, Rita and Jean came into view. Across Hampton two houses down they edged around the Fegley’s house out of view.

Rita! I called out with no reply.

Next door neighbors on either side of us were on the sidewalk, a usual occurrence. Paula Vonderhaar lived on the right, Nanette and Brian O’Brien on the left. I forgot about everything else.

What are you guys doing?

Nanette was pushing Brian back home on his tricycle. Nothing, what are you doing?

We had puppies.

Brian stood and came closer. Nanette followed, dark haired and skinny.

Can I see? asked Nanette.

Maybe.

Paula was chubby with longer brown hair. I’m going home, she said annoyed.

Come to the backyard later, I called after her.

Brian pulled a finger out of his nose covered with a green gooey booger and ate it. The afterbirth had no effect on me but that made my stomach begin to turn.

Is Nanette going? asked Paula.

Nanette let out a scream that shook the neighborhood and prevented me from barfing over the booger. Tears burst from her eyes. We froze. She looked down at a bee stinging her arm. We didn’t know what to do. Mom appeared out of nowhere like she often did and pulled a playing card out of one of the scoop pockets on either side of her dress. She took Nanette, still hysterical, by the arm, scraped the stinger out with the ace of hearts and smeared some white potion on the red swelling. Nanette immediately calmed. Mrs. O’Brien stormed out of her house and marched up to Mom.

What’s going on here? she said accusingly.

Just a bee sting, Mom replied.

Oh, well, thank you. Kids, time to go home now.

Dr. O’Brien had given Dad some neighborly advice years ago when they first brought me home with a rising temperature. Mom and Dad were frantic. ‘Put him in an ice bath’, said Dr. O’Brien at home over the phone. It was his day off and didn’t want to come over. Having pneumonia, it nearly killed me. Us kids got along fine, but that wound never quite healed with the adults.

Paula had disappeared and Mom hurried back into the house. I was left alone on the sidewalk in front of our home, where life unfolded.

It was 1959 just a generation past World War Two. Not that I knew that at the time. Or that this was one of the first suburbs growing across our nation with civil rights raging like wildfire. We rarely see when we are living in history, except maybe for those making it. Schools were supposed to be integrated, a black lady riding a bus caused a lot of problems for white people, and some minister instigating a boycott would later shake the establishment with a speech about a dream. My eyes never witnessed Jim Crow, black drinking fountains or hangings. I was a white kid in a white world not knowing anything else. And wouldn’t know until as an adult I looked back in astonishment that not much had changed. All I knew was that the four or five square blocks surrounding me was a perfect world, and I had everything.

Oh, yeah, I said to myself, remembering why I had come outside, and ran across the street to the Fegley’s. The side gate into their backyard was too high for me to reach up and unlatch so I grabbed a crate and stood on it.

-----

Don’t, Rita said, halfheartedly stepping back.

Jean’s hand continued sliding up the back of her St. Pius grammar school skirt. You liked those pictures.

I don’t want to go in there again.

Yes you do. Lots of stuff in my parent’s room.

They’ll find out.

They don’t really care. They’re Nudists.

You said they were Atheists.

Jean giggled. Yeah, that too. We don’t believe in those weird outfits and stuff you can’t see. Jean stole a quick kiss on the lips. Holy, holy, holy.

I gotta go, said Rita.

Here, I got some more. He showed her what looked like a hand rolled cigarette.

Lame.

No way.

Not now. Dad’s coming home early. I’ll show you some good stuff when we get back.

-----

The gate unlatched quietly onto a small pathway to the backyard, and I turned around the corner of the house. Rita had her hand on Jean’s chest pushing him away. I didn’t get it. Rita was five years older than me and Jean a year older than that. But Jean was my friend. Why did they hide from me? Being the center of Mom’s world, I was the center of everyone’s world.

Charles, what do you want? You shouldn’t just walk into people’s houses, said Rita.

But.

Go on.

Hey, Jean, I stammered.

Hey, he said his face a bit flushed.

Jean was the neighborhood ‘Dennis The Menace.’ Yellow hair combed forward, that famous smile and always in trouble. His brother Fred was a year younger, and the other brother Paul was old, already in high school. We hardly ever saw him.

Umm, what are you doing? I said feeling out of place for the first time.

Charles, Rita said sharply. She was cute with bobbed dark hair and olive complexion. And usually watched out for me but was giving me the eye.

Brownie had babies.

She did not, don’t lie, she said stamping her buster brown tan and white shoe.

Mom said to find you.

Little feet backed around the corner and started running. My heart wanted to burst. What just happened? My head swirled and without realizing I had crossed the street. Jean! With Rita? He was ‘my’ best friend! Vacant eyes stared up at the cherry tree in our front yard. Beauty was something already cherished and understood bringing me back to reality. The almost red blossoms lit up the street and filled me with a wonder that left room for little else. The wooden gate to our enclosed porch swung open and a matching almond tree to the one in our backyard embraced me with light pink fragrance. So much happened and would happen behind the white walls of this space. To the right was another gate into the backyard and there my birds were at play. Everything from Swallows to Finch’s to Sparrows. They bobbed from wire to wire crossing our yard. Black wires that intersected everyone’s garden from pole to pole like a chess board. A tangible energy filled the air, something that was alive and protected me. A gift that brought me luck whatever I did. A Robin landed on the small patch of lawn in our evolving landscape. Amidst sparkles of white clover and honeybees the bird smiled at me as if it ate something sad, just like Mom. It watched as a Hummingbird flitted for just a moment above my head. Then a ghost. And I knew something was going to happen. A terrible thing. Everything is an illusion, one of our own making. The rumblings of an awakening began. Of life and death and what happens in between. I still belonged to what happened before and after those two things, life and death. That space we say we know nothing of before finding ourselves in flesh and bone then dissolving once again. And we make the choice struggling to become a human being or stay the caveman we are. How did all that intertwine? would I ever belong? Little Charles was so filled with joy he simply ignored the ghost, nothing would rob him of his ten years. Ten years of magic. Jean was his best friend, nothing would change that. Big Charles, Dad, called out from the front yard.

Rita, Charles!

What was Dad doing home in the middle of the day?

Rita had crossed the street and stood in front of him passively. She already knew how to twist people around her little finger, especially Dad.

What were you doing over there? I told you about that.

Really, Dad, she said dismissively, Brownie had pups.

Pups, we’re going to LA.

Charles said, don’t get mad at me.

Charles is a storyteller, he doesn’t know.

I watched from the side of the house. Mom appeared.

Always protective she said. Why do you have to say things about Charles?

He needs to toughen up. You’re turning him into a momma’s boy.

An imagination is a good thing.

He’s telling stories about pups.

I called Betty. She’s going to take care of them till we get back. She’s also going to keep one since she owns the daddy. And I already found a home for the third. We’re keeping one.

We are, huh?

Mom just smiled.

We need to get the car packed up, growled Dad.

A light brown grasshopper landed at my feet. I loved life.

Where’s Charles, said Dad, turning.

There I was looking up to him, literally and figuratively. He was Dad and I was proud. Dad was Sicilian handsome with short black curly combed back hair and golden tan skin. But small, short. Tough though, an undefeated lightweight boxer. But that did not impress Mom when they first met in the San Joaquin Valley, America’s breadbasket. I guess that’s why our yard always looked so beautiful with fruit trees. He pursued Mom forever, she would say. And then one day at a summer festival he was behind a drum kit playing music that everyone danced to. Other girls were swooning, so Mom gave in and they danced. And Dad could dance too. Only one picture of Mom survived from those days. She was stunning. Leading lady beautiful. Thin with white Russian skin, blazing seductive eyes and fiery blonde hair. She could have had anyone. But she already had that smile that swallowed something sad. So, she picked Dad.

Now-a-days I wouldn’t have been considered fat. Then, I was just a bit round in a world where everyone seemed to be born lean and angular. My saving grace was that I was athletic, and with the skin of a Northern European we all looked a bit like a box of crayons.

My bags are ready. I’ll put them in the car, I said.

Good boy. Then help your mom and sister. I know how strong you are.

Dad tried, he just wasn’t cut out to be the kind of dad life asked him to be. And I wasn’t cut out to be the son life asked of me. We would both find that out. Well, we all would. Whoever says life doesn’t have regrets is lying. But who hasn’t felt life’s folly? When life springing from passionate love folds into something much different.

Running inside to help I turned down the short hallway where we all lived. My room was the first door on the right. Rita’s sat next to mine, and the bathroom we shared ended the corridor. Mom and Dad’s chamber had its own bathroom and sat opposite Rita’s. I got distracted again and moved into my little cubicle. There was no better place in the world. Our house really was a home, and my room was almost like walking back into that invisible place only I seemed to occupy.

A wooden headboard was filled with stuffed animals, my friends. Below them stacks of science fiction and mystery books. And a full-size bed displayed the latest Disney quilt. Against the left wall sat a wooden desk with mirror reflecting pages of writing. Girls and writing were already a thing.

Charles! Mom called from the hallway lugging a heavy suitcase.

Oh, yeah, I forgot. I was just-

Daydreaming again. Here take this, she said handing me a stylish vanity case. We weren’t rich but Dad had an eye for art, so our home was sprinkled with some of the latest fads mingled with a Formica kitchen table and vinyl chairs.

I handed Dad the vanity case and climbed into the backseat with Rita.

Charles where are your bags? growled, Dad.

Umm.

Go get them Honey, there on the other side of your bed, remember? said, Mom.

Finally all packed we pulled out of the driveway onto our street lined with bulbous puke-green and barf-tan cars. Neighbors cars, all of which I had unceremoniously thrown up in.

Charles, if you’re going to get sick you let us know right away this time, Dad said, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.

I don’t do that anymore. Any way that’s only when I’m in the backseat, not way back here looking out the window.

Rita glanced over the seat at me with one of her looks, waiting for me to get in trouble.

What? I said.

Nothing, she smiled. Can we listen to KYA?

Is that okay? asked Mom.

Sure, for a while, agreed, Dad.

What about KFRC? I said showing my cool but was ignored.

We pulled onto the street and past the O’Brien’s house then the DiMarco’s on the corner. No one else noticed a man sneaking into their back gate.

Hey, who was that guy? I said.

No one answered. Rita was listening to the latest music and Mom was pulling out a map from the glove compartment.

I know where we’re going, insisted Dad.

Yeah, like last time, said Mom, unfolding the car bible.

I shrugged and watched the neighborhood disappear from the rear of our station wagon. We drove onto Massachusetts Avenue past the Woodside Plaza where the neatest summer carnival ran every summer. And where I won some of my best stuffed animals. The theme from ‘A Summer Place’ played as sun and blue sky surrounded us on the beginning of our trip. Dad had something to tell his sister, Annie, and her family that he didn’t want to discuss by phone. Aside from getting air sick on a twin prop plane a while back this was my first real vacation. And the first time seeing my Aunt and cousins. I never thought it strange that we didn’t have grandparents. Ghosts I ignored.

Chapter 2

Not ‘The’ 101

Illusions. Life is an illusion until reality settles in. Sometimes the warm fluffy feelings that protect us turn ravenous. Other times monsters are shadows that can be obliterated by light.

Mary DiMarco was a thin redhead married to Bruno. He kind of reminded me of Bluto, Popeye’s nemesis. Short, dark and stocky. They were a funny match. Dennis their son was a sandy haired mild-mannered boy closer to my age than most of the other kids. She was startled as the strange man I saw sneak into their side gate opened a sliding door on the back porch and stepped into their glass enclosed dining room.

Oh, for goodness sake. You scared me. You’re not supposed to be here now, said Mary.

I couldn’t wait anymore, replied Kelly, you drive me crazy."

You need to go, he might show up any time.

Bruno’s married to that construction company of his. His hands began running all over her.

No, she gasped. Then kissed him passionately and pulled away. Dennis.

He’s at school. Kelly pulled her bathing suit top off.

Did anyone see you?

No, husked Kelly. Just some kid in the back seat of a station wagon.

The whole block talks to everyone, she groaned.

He doesn’t know anything.

Hurry, Mary pulled him onto her bed.

It was better than ever, and they dozed in the aftermath.

Mom? A dim voice opened Mary’s eyes. Mom? The voice got closer.

Dennis, she whispered.

What? mumbled Kelly.

Mom, where are you? Dennis’ voice grew louder.

Oh, crap, Kelly scrambled out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

Dad picked me up early.

Oh crap, Kelly swore again. Then took a nosedive out the window into the backyard facing Massachusetts Avenue. He hurled over the fence as he had often done and came face to face with Bruno.

Mary searched the crumpled covers for her bathing suit. Dennis opened the door.

Bruno, no, screamed Kelly from outside.

Mary snapped up from bed and her head spun around at the cracking sound of a breaking fence.

Mr. Fegley and Paul were walking home from the Plaza and rushed across the street. Kelly pulled himself out of the broken fence. Mr. Fegley tackled Bruno and Paul cornered Kelley whose face was a bloody mess.

Bruno, stop. You’ll kill him, cried Mr. Fegley.

Let me go, screamed Bruno.

Paul, let that guy get out of here, ordered Mr. Fegley.

Paul’s fists were clenched.

I said don’t hurt him anymore.

"Paul knew better than to disobey his dad and stepped aside.

Kelly ran wiping his face on a shirt still hanging open.

I give you a job and you take my wife. I’ll kill you, Bruno’s voice was a mix of rage and pain.

Let my dad go, challenged Dennis.

It wasn’t me, explained Mr. Fegley.

Mary came running around the corner, bathing suit on backwards and flip flops flopping.

Paul, said Mr. Fegley motioning towards Dennis.

Paul was older than all of us and way beyond his years. He understood.

He put his arm around Dennis’ shoulder. Come on Dennis. Come to our place for a while.

No, what happened. Why was Kelly here?

Come on, Paul led Dennis away, tears streaming down his face.

You, Bruno looked at Mary with death in his eyes. I gave you everything.

Mary stared vacantly, quietly said. You haven’t touched me since Dennis.

Ten minutes later Mr. Fegley closed the door to the DiMarco’s house silencing Mary and Bruno’s sobs.

-----

We pulled onto the Bloody Bayshore Freeway, or One-O-One. And noticed the temporary divider finally going up between the four lanes that killed more people than any road in history. I had already forgotten about that mystery man and was trying not to get sick. Rita pulled Kleenex from a box.

Come on, she said rolling down both side windows.

Thinking the air would do me some good I crawled over into the back seat. We flew our white Kleenex flags out the windows. Where that came from I don’t know. We just did it. I started reading all the road signs out loud.

Are you going to start that again? said Rita.

Just because you can’t read, I taunted.

Stop it, she warned.

I leaned across the seat.

I’ll tell, I whispered.

What? she said, like I could never have anything on her.

I giggled. You and Jean in the backyard.

Her face took on that look that made my stomach shrink.

I’ll tell about you, Nanette and Paula.

I turned bright red. She had me again. I lost grip and the Kleenex flew out the window.

Charles, don’t litter, said, Mom.

I crawled back over into my space and settled in for the seven-hundred-mile drive to Los Angeles.

Dad, can you turn up the radio, said Rita.

Dad doesn’t like it too loud, Mom said.

It’s okay. Dad turned up the knob and music blared.

Rita smiled. I frowned. She always got her way.

Little Charles watched the black ribbon of road unfurl behind them not realizing he lived in a new world. America’s renaissance happened so quickly. Just a few years after a devastating war demolished Pearl Harbor and unleashed two nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were driving on a highway, part of the interstate that traversed America, originally designed to help the war effort. But at the time it was just another road that had always been there. Built by valor, unwavering determination, and lives of hero’s I would never know or appreciate until my own history caught up to me.

Tires whined down the black top and passed by Los Altos only twenty minutes from home.

We should visit Aunt Mary in LA soon, said Mom.

Yeah, she never visits us. Dad honked his horn at someone that cut him off.

Well, we should. And you don’t have to do that.

Aunt Mary is in LA too? I said over the music.

Los Altos, where we are now Honey, Mom said with a smile.

Oh. From then on a drive to Los Altos seemed like a drive to Los Angeles. I was a bit dyslexic, getting things turned around. And in my mind rides in cars other than to the store always took for days.

This is where we cut over to Five, the new highway, instructed Mom.

Let’s stay on this. The kids have never seen the valley, said Dad.

I don’t like that place. Mom folded up the map and stuck it back into the glove compartment.

We’re not there anymore, reminded Dad.

Mom softened. They’ll enjoy it, she turned to Rita. You have a new set of teachers coming next year, don’t you?

Mostly. A lot of my friends will still be in class.

Elaine, right. And the Joyce girl.

She’s really smart. Helps us with schoolwork.

Both of you get good grades, right Charles, said Dad.

Yeah. Mine are better than Rita’s.

Rita huffed, Mom and Dad laughed.

You’re not kissing that Jean boy, right? questioned Mom.

Kissing! exclaimed Rita.

I’m going to have a talk with John, threatened Dad.

I don’t kiss anyone, claimed Rita.

Laughter came from the luggage area.

Charles, what are you laughing about? Dad’s eyes narrowed in the rear-view mirror.

Don’t you dare embarrass me, said Rita.

Tell the truth, demanded Dad.

I am, said Rita.

Okay, then.

Mom flew a Kleenex out the window.

Look, said Dad, Oregon.

Nevada, said Mom.

Kentucky, said Rita. That’s the first Kentucky ever.

We played the license plate game until everyone settled on their own.

A thousand billboards flew by until I finally looked around and noticed we were in a different kind of place. Surrounded by huge pastures of perfectly plowed rows. They clicked by like lines on the freeway. Different things grew from each field in perfect symmetry like a kingdom out of some magical book.

Charles, said Dad, see that? That’s corn and over there cantaloupes. That’s alfalfa and lots of cotton and tomatoes. And those are almond trees like we have.

The entire expanse on both sides of the small road was pink blossoms that changed into billowing clouds of cotton, then thousands of brown melons, next to tall straight stalks of corn and seas of red ripe tomatoes.

We’ll stop next time and ask the farmers if we can pick some, said Dad.

Really, they let you? I wanted to jump out and do it now.

If you’re nice and ask and pay them. Some people think they can just stop and take what they want. But farming is the hardest work in the world. That’s the farmer’s crops, how they get paid.

You did that, I said.

For a while. My grandparents and parents mostly, he said.

What happened? This was the first time he ever talked about it.

They were from the old country. Sicily. And they had some trouble with the Mafia.

Charles, Mom’s tone was sharp.

Mafia, what’s that? I turned to look over the back seat as he drove.

Well, nothing. People you don’t want to know, he explained.

How come we never met our grandparents? I asked.

Hey, Charles, what do you want to do when we get to LA? said Rita. As if she were in on something I wasn’t supposed to know.

How do I know? I’ve never been to LA.

Ah, that’s what I’ve been looking for, said Dad pulling off the road. Charles, how about some ice-cold watermelon right off the field?

We pulled alongside an old shack looking place with tables of fruit all over and a counter with round stools. People were milling around, juggling watermelons and paper bags filled with peaches, cherries and strawberries. We piled out of the car and sat at the counter. I had already put the thought of grandparents aside, tucking another ghost away into a closet of my own making.

We were all served a quarter of a watermelon each. A huge red slice glistening with juice. And like Dad said, ice cold. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. And moments like these made me not care that Dad wasn’t around much or he never hugged me like Mom. We spit the seeds on the ground like everyone else and ate until there was nothing but rinds in front us. Mom was careful choosing a huge variety of nuts and fruits to take to Aunt Annie’s. While Dad talked to the owner of the stand a mile a minute. Dad could talk, and talk, and talk. And he had a voice that could be heard for miles. We helped repack the back of the station wagon to fit all our stuff and Mom went back to get Dad.

He’s coming, she said settling into the front seat.

Yeah, right. Said Rita.

That’s enough, said Mom. Don’t get him started. We still have a long drive.

Rita gave one of her looks.

We can’t all be perfect like you, chided Mom.

I know, said Rita absolutely serious.

Mom and Rita cracked up. I didn’t get it. And didn’t like being left out.

Dad finally came back carrying a watermelon and we refit the luggage area again.

Ready? he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Rarely was he so happy.

He pulled out a pack of Kent cigarettes, lit up, rolled down the window and started us back on our journey.

The long summer day was fading and so were we. Everyone but Dad.

We should stop, suggested Mom.

I’m good, assured Dad.

We won’t be able to make it all the way. The kids need to eat, said Mom.

Alright. Next place.

Forty-five minutes later after a drive through nothing but hills, cows and hawks-which were pretty cool, we pulled into a little L-shaped motel. I hadn’t stayed in too many roadhouses but this one looked creepy. Dim lighting hung over a dark lonely office and a screech echoed from the scraggly orchard behind. Someone was going to get hacked to pieces and hung in a dead tree.

I don’t want to stay here. I said softly.

Mom chuckled. So did Rita but I could tell she was scared too.

Dad registered and we got what we needed for the night. I took the fold out bed and Rita had the second queen by the front window. Dad walked to the hamburger joint a hundred yards away and brought back food.

Hey, where’s yours? I said suspiciously.

Your Mom and I are going out to eat, said Dad.

It’ll be alright Honey. We won’t be long.

Three seconds would be too long in this place.

There’s nowhere to go, I insisted.

We passed a little place a mile back. The desk clerk said they have good Italian food.

They probably serve dead people, I warned.

Come right back. Charles is scared, said Rita, eyes wide.

We stood in the doorway and watched them drive away. An act that probably could have gotten them thrown in jail now-a-days. But back then we did a thousand things unheard of today. We closed the door and put on the latch. The sound of crinkling wrappers coming off our burgers made our skins crawl. We started to eat.

A scraping noise slid across the back window leading out to black nothingness. We stood, I grabbed a plastic knife.

What are you going to do with that? said Rita. She trembled which made me even more scared.

What do you think, I said.

Don’t, she said, as I crept to the window.

The scraping filled the room again and we jumped back. But I was close enough to see a tree branch in the light of a full moon swaying against the glass. I screamed and charged the