Untitled Memories

I wish I could remember the many things I don’t. I wish I could forget the many things I can’t. Was it Mom’s old Ford coupe? It wasn’t the yellow Mercury station wagon. It wasn’t the green Country Squire with the faux woodie sides either. That was much later. I remember there was a blue Ford Galaxy 500, an Olds Delta 88 convertible, two, maybe three, Merecedes. They were much later. At least, much later for a nine year old boy. Other than the ’49 Ford coupe and the yellow wagon, they were all, along with a few others, cars from the Ken years. The point is I don’t remember which car it was.

I don’t remember if it was summer, spring, or fall? It wasn’t winter. It was raining. It didn’t rain in the winter back then, not the way it does now. It must have been cold, at least unseasonably cool. I was wearing a coat. It may have been a jacket. It could have easily been both, and a couple of sweatshirts or another jacket. It was hard to move. I remember that, and it was hard to breathe. It was crowded in the back seat of which ever car it was. What with me and my two younger siblings stuffed wherever we fit. The whole car was crowded. My older sister sat shotgun. Blankets, clothes, and miscellaneous housewares tucked in nearly every nook and cranny. The only open space ---- an empty driver’s seat.

Mom was wearing a white, knee-length raincoat. She handed me a lamp I secured between blankets already packed. Dad wasn’t wearing any coat. He held out a small, pearl white Samsonite suitcase with brass latches and lock. Mom took it from his extended hand. I heard say without emotion, “Not now, David. Not anymore”.

We moved in with Grandfather. He’d been alone since Grandmother had passed two years before. I remember. It was summer. It had to have been after school let out. Proper people didn’t actually separate during the school year. What would the others think?

JFK was President. He hadn’t yet been assassinated. America was Camelot. I remember now. I was eight years old not nine.