Pennsylvania (The Trip - Part Three)

In Pennsylvania we met who were, for a short time, to be our family. My mother introduced them as our aunt, uncle, and cousin. The cousin was a girl around my age (I forget who was older). They were staying in a huge camper, such luxury when we had been in a three man tent for so long. They had a barbecue, television, stove, canopy, all the trappings, or, uhm, trimmings.

My Little Ponies were big then, and the cousin (J) and I played with them. My brother had another ‘man’ to talk too, and my mother got to sit back in a chair, beer in hand, and smile that her dream was coming to fruition. We were away from her demons in Arizona and on to a new life.

All of which, as I mentioned earlier, was highly illegal. She was not to cross state lines because custody was joint. But, as my mother told us kids, “your father doesn’t give a damn about you anyway. He doesn’t care.”

J. and I got along, which was good. Because it wasn’t to long before we had to pack up and move to our next stop – the garage of our Aunt and Uncle. I have no idea why we weren’t allowed in the house, but we weren’t. In reflection, it makes sense. I’ve asked a couple people what they would do if they had a relative like my mother, and they said if it wasn’t for the kids they would have just sent money to shoo her away. But there is a fear of being completely vulnerable around her, or someone so unstable.

The good thing was, I got along with J and thus could sleep inside the house some nights, albeit on her floor. She had everything – braces, a computer, two bikes (so we could go riding), a whole bunch of My Little Ponies – you name it, it was in her possession. In fact, the only times I got in trouble were when I repeated things my mother had said and J. would start to cry. For instance, my mother said that our ‘uncle’ was born in the toilet, and laughed about that. J. didn’t like the thought of her father being born in such an unsightly place.

There was guilt over J. too, that’s what my mother said. Because she was born with a cleft palate, they didn’t want another child and spoiled her rotten. Indeed they did, from picking out raisins in her raisin brain (“why not just get normal bran?” I asked, “She likes Raisin Bran,” I was told.), to letting her wear whatever she wanted, to the whole play den downstairs. I got some peripheral spoiling – like the trip to the salon, some new clothes, and Honey Nut Cheerios which J. thought she would like, but didn’t. I love those.