The Leisure Seeker Read Free Page B

better.”
    “How? By killing me? I’d rather go on vacation with your father.”
    “Damn it, Mom!”
    “I don’t like being yelled at, young lady.”
    There is a long pause while Cindy gives herself a time-out. She used to do this when she was frustrated with her kids, now she does it with John and I.
    “Mother,” she says, newly composed. “You know Dad shouldn’t even be driving in his condition.”
    “Your father still drives just fine. I wouldn’t go with him if I didn’t think that.”
    “What if you guys get in an accident because of him? What if he hurts someone?”
    I know she has a point, but I also know John. “He’s not going to hurt anyone. If they let sixteen-year-olds on the road to run wild, then your father, who has an excellent driving record, should be able to do the same.”
    “Oh God. Mother, ” she says, her voice rising, signaling surrender, “where are you?”
    “It doesn’t matter. We just stopped for lunch.”
    “Where are you going?”
    I don’t appreciate the “20 Questions” from my daughter.I’m not even sure I should tell her, but I do anyway. “We’re going to go to Disneyland.”
    “ Disneyland? In California? You cannot be serious.” This is where I realize that my daughter still has the flair for the dramatic that she developed when she was a snotty teenager.
    “Oh, we’re serious.” I think I’m going to end this call soon. Who knows? They could be putting a tracer on the call, like on the television.
    “Oh God. I can’t believe this. Do you at least have the cell phone we bought you?”
    “I do, but I don’t like that thing, honey. But I’ve got it in case of an emergency.”
    “Would you please at least turn it on,” she says, pleading, “so I can keep in touch with you?”
    “I don’t think so. Don’t worry so much. Your father and I will be fine. It’s just a little vacation.”
    “Mom—”
    “Love you, honey.” It’s time to hang up, so I do. She’ll be fine, but she’s crazy if she thinks I’m going to turn on that cellular telephone. I’ve got more than enough cancer, thank you.
    Back at the table, John and I eat our Route 66 burgers. My chocolate Pelvis Shake is not half bad.
     
    Back on the road, the fatigue comes on hard and sudden. I want to tell John to call it a day, but we’ve only been driving for about four hours. I try to ignore it. After the phonecall with Cindy, I want to put more distance between us and home. Yesterday I was afraid to leave home for all the obvious reasons, but now that we are gone, I want us to be really gone.
    John turns to me, looking concerned. “Are you all right, miss?”
    “Yes, I am, John.” He is having one of his moments where he knows I am someone dear to him, but he’s not entirely sure who I am.
    “John. Do you know who I am?”
    “Of course I do.”
    “Then who am I?”
    “Oh, knock it off.”
    I put my hand on his arm. “John. Tell me who I am.”
    He stares at the road, looking annoyed, but worried. “You’re my wife.”
    “Good. What’s my name?”
    “For Christ’s sake,” he says, but he’s thinking. “It’s Ella,” he says, after a moment.
    “That’s right.”
    He smiles at me. I put my hand on his knee, give it a squeeze. “Keep your eyes on the road,” I say.
    As far as what John does and does not remember, I cannot say. He does know who I am most of the time, but then we have been together so long that even if he is slowly working his way back in time, forgetting as he goes, I’m still there with him. I wonder: are the eyes deceived along with the mind? If it is, say, 1973 to him, do I look as I did back then? And if Idon’t (which I most certainly don’t), how does he know it’s me? Does that make sense?
     
    Route 66 is the frontage road of I-55 for this stretch. To the left of us, telephone poles, blackened with age and exhaust and crowned with blue-green glass insulators (the kind you sometimes see in antique shops), run parallel to the highway.