By Cindy Wiggins Tapia
Mama came tearing toward me, arms waving, “THROW IT! THROW IT!” I threw it, and we scrambled…
Mama had to just about put Daddy’s .22 revolver to his forehead before he’d take us anywhere. She strong-armed a trip to Tennessee where we bought a skunk. The Cherokee Indian Reservation where Vickie was terrified of losing her hair. And Six Flags where Mama tried to trick Daddy into riding a winky-dink roller coaster. When the jig was up, he looked as if he’d dodged a bullet thrown down by one of his Texas outlaw ancestors.
Never heard a boo about shopping for food at Burel’s or for camping gear down toward Atlanter, of course, because there was something in it for him, whereas he didn’t benefit from mini tent dresses, kitten heels, pocketbooks, or school supplies. But it was either take us or fly the coop, and his wings were merely disgruntled flappers in the sixties.
I hated school with a passion felt only by those who are invisible or bullied. Yet, shopping for the supplies tickled the screaming daylights out of me. Eating out ran a close second. If we were headed to Lakeshore Mall in Gainesville, we ate Whoppers and Big Macs down toward Atlanter.
Late one August afternoon, we piled into the car and headed south down and bound. About halfway to our destination, I looked out the window and saw a car wheeling tandem with us. It did not have a driver. My jaw dropped into my lap.
“Uhuhuhuh…”
“Straighten out back there!” Daddy ordered.
“Jimmy, something’s wrong with her.”
About that time Daddy pulled a little ahead of the car. When I saw it was being towed by a chain, I broke out into hysterical gales of giggles. I’m sure straightjackets and Milledgeville were dancing in Daddy’s head.
By the by, Daddy turned off the highway onto a bridge and rolled over a humongous dead German Shepherd. It was like thumping over a speed bump. We managed to park in the lot without me seeing a driverless shoe or Daddy rolling over a dead elephant.
Anybody could walk in off the lot and purchase stuff for cash money at the GEX Department Store, but you had to be working under a government contract to qualify for a membership credit card. That season, the Lumite Plant was making fabric barriers for Uncle Sam. Voilà! another card pending max-out. My parents acted like they were A-list members of the University Yacht Club.
We walked inside and scattered. I turned left and went racing up and down the two aisles, snapping up pencils, Bic ballpoint pens, dividers, filler paper, ringed and spiral notebooks, when Mama shot out of nowhere, arms waving like a turboprop propeller minus four blades. Her face was a replica of Munch’s Scream.
“THROW IT! THROW IT!”
I threw my school supplies every which way, and we scrambled into the hokey pokey toward the double doors. Bomb threat, that’s what it was all about. To keep out of harm’s way, we did what school children did in the same situation. We stood out of harm’s way against the outside walls.
