The Idea of an Essay, Volume 3

28 The Idea of an Essay: Volume 3 much?” you ask, curious at her response. “All the way to the moon and back.” She quotes lovingly. You feel a feather light touch on your forehead before your eyelids droop closed and everything is pitch black once more. You squint at the sunlight behind your eyelids. You open them to discover a car window depicting big, green trees and a cloudy sky swishing past. Your eyes trail up to its normal line of view and all you can see is tan, tan, and more…tan. You realize you’re laying down in the backseat of a car and instead of plush interior, there are colorful beach towels in the seat beneath you. You smell the light muskiness of cigarette smoke in the air. You sit up, only to be gagged by your seatbelt. You loosen it and re-tighten it back to its normal position. Two front seats stand before you with big pockets on their backs. You look in them to see newspapers, bouncy balls, a Bible, and a Betty Boop brush. The driver’s seat is occupied, but your attention is caught elsewhere. On the rearview mirror hangs a cheap plastic teal cross necklace and two lanyards. The nametags attached to said lanyards spell out Lakeview Public High School and Jefferson Middle School respectively with the name Vilda Olsen written across both. A CD holder is across the passenger’s overhead flap and a heart-shaped ornament with a kitten that says ‘I Love You, Grandma’ swings from the flap. You finally rest your eyes on my grandma in the front seat. Short, cropped blond hair, a lime green t-shirt with tan shorts, suntanned skin, and blue eyes with spectacles as you notice them staring at you from the rearview mirror. “Ya ready, kiddo?” Her contralto voice asks. You nod your head. You catch a smile as you see her push a button on the stereo system with a hot pink, bejeweled fingernail. While you half-heartedly listen to the talk radio, she grabs a CD from the passenger seat and pushes it into the slot. It goes quiet until a man’s bass voice filtrates the car, “Double Fudge by Judy Blume – Chapter 3.” Instinctively, you look to the floor of the vehicle to spy a blue backpack. Your hands slip in the bag to pull out a couple of elementary school books, a pencil case, and a beat up library copy of ‘Double Fudge.’ You decide to read along and follow the voice across the juice-stained page. You lose yourself in the story until you realize the car has stopped and you’re in a spacious, two-car garage. My grandma has paused the CD and is getting out of the vehicle into the garage. You lay your head against the seat, breathing in the smell of greasy tools, oil, and