Little boy
She’s from the street
Before you start
You’re already beat
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks
Cause everybody knows
She’s a femme fatale
Lou Reed, Femme Fatale
The sun shone brightly on the large red brick house as the preparations were being made for a week at the lake. The birds were singing sweetly in the trees; the flowers were in bloom, and the warm air drifted through the bedroom window as the eldest boy prepared his things for the car trip to the lakeside cabin.
The two cousins from Quebec, one able to converse well in English, the other speaking only French, were bright with excitement as the trip was being planned. The uncle and aunt were alive with conversation with preparations for the excursion. Everyone was in anticipation for the big trip.
The car was washed and bright in the midmorning sun, the ripples of heat from its hood signaling that the sun was already building to a noonday peak. Everything seemed so peaceful and perfect.
The eldest boy watched his mother as her early morning personality changed to the other one. As the drinks from the hidden bottles were consumed, as her personality changed to the crazy one, the boy’s inner tension and despair rose to overcome all these outward signs of perfection. He seemed to be the only one noticing her craziness as it built up.
Outside, as the cars were being loaded, the sun was so bright, the boy had to shield his eyes. The air was so calm and peaceful that nothing, it seemed, could go wrong. The boy’s favourite uncle arrived and started to load his car, hiding the ever present mickey in the trunk, underneath the duck decoys.
The time came to leave. Both cars were ready. The boy and his two younger brothers stood on the sidewalk next to their two cousins. Two cars, nine people – who would drive? Inside, the boy started to panic.
“Can I ride with you, Uncle George?”
“Sure, Steve.”
The aunt and uncle came outside, appearing to pretend that everything was fine. Then the boys mother staggered out of the house. She slurred her speech as she asked if everyone was ready, adding a phony hilarity to the words. The boy had not seen her so drunk all week. He knew that one or two more drinks would cause her to pass out completely. Her craziness was at its peak. Only the DTs were worse. Suddenly, the discussion turned to who would drive which car. The boy felt a cold terror inside. He couldn’t believe it. The adults were going to let his mother drive the car, and he was designated to ride with her.
“Uncle George, can’t I ride with you?”
“No, Steve, you go with your mother. Annette and I will ride with France too,” volunteered the boy’s Quebec uncle.
They all got in the cars.
The boy was numb – unable to say anything. Inside, he was screaming and crying with terror. His young cousin was seated beside him, oblivious to everything. His Quebec aunt and uncle were seated in the front seat. His mother was driving the car. He was sure his mother would smash the car, have an accident, injure or kill them all.
The day became more and more beautiful, as the warm breezes of the lazy summer day softly enveloped the boy’s face. The sun became even brighter, the summer scenes ever more perfect, as if to say, “There’s nothing wrong here. Everything is perfect. You have no right to be unhappy, no right to be scared.” Somehow, they negotiated the city streets, and started out onto the highway. The car sped up.
Then the car started to weave across the road. The uncle talked to the boy’s mother, telling her to steer correctly, to slow down. Finally, the boy was able to say something.
“If she won’t slow down, just turn off the ignition key.”
The boy wished he were sitting in the front seat able to reach the key. He would turn it off now!
The car started to weave more and more. The uncle guided her again, to try to get her to straighten the car. The boy felt completely paralyzed, unable to move, unable to jump out of the car. He felt that if he tensed his muscles enough, he could somehow keep the car on the road. Finally, he blurted out, “Uncle Michael, maybe you should drive.”
The tenseness in his voice was like a steel blade ready to snap, quavering with the last bits of strength before breaking completely.
The car again started to weave. The boy started to look at the ditches below the road, hoping to will the car into the shallow one. Suddenly, he started to relax, accepting the inevitable. Could it be that much worse than the present?
Suddenly, the young cousin yelled, “Mama: and started to cry hysterically. Then the aunt started to scream.
At last! They knew. And Steve knew he was not alone – at last!
