ROAD TRIP

                                       
                                                                           1976

Wild Woman, before she knew

she was Wild Woman,

once packed up a little yellow Pinto with:

a ten day old baby, two small sons,

a St. Bernard puppy (who grew!),

an English pram, an Underwood typewriter,

and assorted cereals, breads and cold cuts.

That's the Before shot.
(Note the high-water jeans!)

Behind the wheel was

an alcoholic con man,

temporarily disguised as

My Baby's Daddy,

with his calculating eye

and a beer never far

from his right hand.

Down Highway 101 we rolled,

past the glorious ocean

at which he refused to stop,

past the Monarch butterfly migration,

which we flew through,

because he was always rushing

to get Somewhere Else.

My baby daughter smiled

her first smile at me,

on that long drive.

We lived in and out of the car,

our own Hotel California,

for two months, give or take.

He had promised to get a job

and "look after you for a change"

but that didn't happen.

My kids grew lean and hungry

and once I wrote

the only bad cheque of my life

to get them some food.

(I repaid all of what
this entire aberration cost,

for years.

But it was all worth it,

to have my sunny little daughter.)

It was an adventure.

There were high moments, laughter,

the feeling of being young, and alive,

along with the worry
of living on the absolute edge
of desperation;

there was the coming to see

exactly how impossible

my life had come to be.

Late fall, we pointed
the nose of the car north,

and made our way back up the coast.

I looked out at all the little houses,

the small yards, men washing cars,

kids playing,

moms hanging their wash out on the line,

and Normal had never looked

so good to me.

Note: on return, he hit the road, and I was able to start my life over again from scratch, not for the first time, and not for the last. There is more to this story, but I'll save it for my memoir, LOL.

for The Muse