Growing up in Florida and having a rambling sort for a father meant that our childhoods were probably a bit different than most. Deep-sea fishing trips were likely to happen any weekend, trips to Disney World were spur-of-the-moment, go-jump-in-the-car get-aways, and going over to the beach was as commonplace as going to the grocery store. My brother and I enjoyed all of this stuff, mind you, but our favorite place was Monroe County, Alabama. More specifically, Monroeville. That’s where we were born, where my mother’s family was, and where we could heave ourselves onto the back of a horse and snake through the woods for hours--that was better than anything Florida had to offer. So if Dad said we were leaving for Alabama the next morning at 9, our suitcases would, by 8:45, be lined up in formation in front of the door, just to make sure that nobody tried to leave without us.

On one of these trips, when I was about 8, my brother about 10, we loaded up all the stuff in the family car and climbed inside. Yes, indeed, we were all set to go--Mom even had the required Mom-things-to-pack-for-a-car-ride-with-the-kids: a roll of paper towels, a can of Charles Chips potato chips, and an empty coffee can for, well, y’know, just in case. We were so excited we could barely rein our voices below a screech, so the disappointment among us was audible when the car wouldn’t start…which meant we’d have to take my grandparents’ car while they were away in Ohio.

While my dad repacked the other car with our stuff, my brother and I stayed in our car, motionless except for the occasional intensifying of the looks of disgust on our faces, our own personal rebellions against having to ride in the other car. Among the issues we had, the most obvious was the two matching bumper stickers that were stuck on the rear of their car, on either side of the license plate, stickers that read, in bold print, “KIDS NEED TO PRAY.” And, for emphasis, next to the lettering was a picture of two devoutly clasped hands over the pages of an open Bible. “Get in the car,” my father ordered, drowning out our pleas to take off the stickers. “It’s not our car—you can be respectful, if for no other reason than you don’t have to walk.” Nonsense, we thought.  

About an hour into our trip, I was awakened by a thump, thump, thumping sound. I squinted my eyes in the mid-morning Florida sun and saw my brother rather violently banging his head against the window on the other side of the backseat. My father had barely finished saying, “What the hell,” when a car pulled up beside us. “Oh shit, I think we’ve got a flat tire.”

My mother shook her head. “They’re not staring at us because of the car.”

“I bet it’s the stickers,” I offered. Mom shook her head again.

“Then what the hell is that sound and why is everyone looking at us?” My father was worried and losing patience with my mother.

“I suspect it has to do with your firstborn. He’s acting a fool back there.”

“What the hell are you doing back there, son?”

“Dad, he can’t talk. He’s licking the window right now.” I was trying to be helpful. “He looks like that dog in Old Yeller.”

“Jesus H. Christ, son, what ARE you doing?”

My brother's head stopped mid-thump.  “I told you I have to pee, Dad. I ain’t gonna stop until you pull over and let me pee. I gotta get this liquid out of me somehow and I think this is working." And before my mother could reach for it, my brother added, "And you can forget about that coffee can." The thumping and licking resumed.

Mom turned to look out her window, obviously hoping to hide her grin. “Bill, I guess we’re going to have to pull over and worry about making up time some other way.” My dad relented.  As he started to slow down the car, Mom handed my brother a paper towel. “Clean up that window. Now.”

“Oh Momma, he’s gonna need a lot more paper towels than that. And I think he’s gonna need a dry shirt too.”

“Pipe down, little girl.” Uh oh. Warning #1 from my father.

“Momma, you might need to give him something else to clean up with, just in case peeing wasn’t the only thing he needed to do.”

“Annnnn.” Wow—Warning #2. And I hadn’t even done anything!

“Dad, I was just saying that he might’ve…” but my voice trailed off when I saw that my dad was turning into Homosassa Springs, a park/roadside attraction that was my favorite. “Oooooo—we get to go see the monkeys on the boat!”

“No—your brother is going to the bathroom and that’s it. The restrooms are in the lobby and I suggest you take full advantage of the opportunity yourself. I don’t want any more bodily fluids inside your grandparents’ car. And hurry.” Uh oh. I was beginning to get the feeling that Dad wasn’t in a good mood.

He pulled into a parking space and before he had the car completely stopped, he screamed towards the backseat—“What the hell are you kids waiting on? Go pee.”

We jumped out and hit the hot pavement barefooted, running, giving the necessary appearance of the extreme urgency that my father had pressed upon us. Once we got inside, we, of course, slowed dramatically.

 I didn’t really have to use the bathroom so I lingered in the lobby, waiting on my brother, hoping one of the monkeys might try to sneak out and come right past me. I waited and waited. No monkey, no brother. Since Dad was likely already pissed, I thought I should go back to the car, just in case my brother had slipped out without me seeing him. But when I got there, my parents were just sitting in the car, still waiting on both of us. I asked for change for a Coke, thinking that if I went back inside, I’d get another opportunity of seeing a monkey. I didn’t linger nearly as long the second time, but when I returned to the car, my brother still wasn’t there.

“Where’s your brother?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him.”

“Jesus H. Christ—I told you kids we needed to get back on the road.”

“Dad, I tried to tell you he had to do more than pee.”

“Ann, if you open your mouth one more time, you are walking home from here.”

I knew he wouldn’t make me walk barefooted so I was sure to kick my shoes farther up under my mom’s seat. “I’ll go look for him. I bet someone kidnapped him and he’s living on one of those boats with the monkeys…”

“You sit your ass in this car right this second. I’ll go find him.” He slammed out of the car. A few minutes later, my brother sulked his way back, my father following a few steps behind. Everyone was quiet. At least until my father had turned back out onto the highway and the car was picking up speed.

My brother broke the silence. “Do you know how hard it is to flush an orange down the toilet? It’s almost impossible.” My father’s forehead fell to the steering wheel. My mother turned to look out the window again, barely able to muffle her laughter.

We rode in silence for a long time, with our mother periodically looking into the back seat, shaking her head to let us know it wasn’t time to speak yet. Dad was still pissed. Asking for McDonald’s was almost out of the question. But we were sure to die if we didn’t at least get a milkshake so we mouthed the words to our mom: "WE NEED A MILKSHAKE. A MILKSHAKE. A CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE."  But she was pretending like she didn’t understand us. She was cruel like that sometimes. So when she complained of needing to use the restroom a few hours later, we teamed up against her.

“Oh no. We’re fine. Dad told us to pee back there and we did what we were supposed to do. We don’t want to be the ones who slow down the entire family.”

“Cut the shit, Orange Boy. Your momma’s got to go so we’re going to stop.”

My brother pointed at me…my turn…I had to be the mouthpiece for our side. Somehow his orange-flushing attempt had eroded his credibility. “Oh, we understand, Daddy. But can we just stay in the car?”

“By all means, yes. By God, I don’t want to have to chase you kids down again.”

He pulled into the reststop, brought the car to a stop between two others, and he and Mom got out. My brother and I sat motionless in the car until we were sure that both of our parents were inside. Then, without so much as a word between us, we got out of the car and did what we had silently planned without once consulting with one another. We were back in the car, having assumed the roles of well-behaved kids, by the time our parents returned.

They got in, Dad cranked the car, put it in reverse, and leaned over the front seat, looking out the back window. “Look, Dad,” my brother said as he pointed out the window. “Those cars there have stickers just like Nanny and Poppy’s car.” Dad’s head spun around and his eyes darted quickly to the bumpers of the two cars beside us. He hit the brakes so hard that we all jumped in our seats.

My mother turned to look out the window, laughing out loud. “We’re never going to get there if you don’t get on the road, Bill.”

He laughed. He finally laughed. He put the car in drive and headed back towards the highway. Then he looked in the rearview mirror at us and said, “But you two are walking home from Alabama.”