The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

I decide to answer honestly and tell them I’m not moving into their neighborhood. Maryellen smiles and says we should go in, though I can tell she thinks I’m someone I’m not. Mikey grabs my hand with his chubby fingers and pulls me toward the house. Inside, every house on the Larkins’ street looks alike and old-fashioned, like Gran’s house before she moved in with us. Even the Larkins’ car looks like it’s from that same era.

Maryellen tells me I’m lucky to be moving, and asks if I’ve been to Washington D.C. When I say no, she says she loves to travel and hopes to go there someday. Beverly says she wants to visit the White House and meet President Eisenhower. My stomach drops. Wasn’t he president a long time ago? Either Beverly is mixed up, or something strange is happening.

In the kitchen, the funny feeling gets stronger. The refrigerator has curved, streamlined edges and shiny silver trim. The stove has big buttons and knobs. Rooster wallpaper and polka-dotted curtains cover the walls and windows, with no microwave, computer, or digital clock anywhere. The wall calendar says today is Tuesday, November 22, 1955.

I gasp. It’s not possible. The watch didn’t just transport me to Florida, it sent me back in time more than sixty years. Weirdly, the date sounds familiar, but my brain is too fuzzy to think why. Before I can make sense of it, Maryellen calls out that I’m here.

A smiling woman comes into the kitchen wearing capri pants and sneakers, and hugs me. She meant to pick me up from the airport but I’ve arrived early, and calls me independent and enterprising for taking a taxicab alone. Nobody’s ever called me that before. Back home, Emma leads and I follow, but it feels good to be seen as independent.

Beverly announces that my name is Sophie and does a pirouette to prove she’s a ballerina, too. Mrs. Larkin, confused, thought Betty told her my name was Cindy Lou, then shrugs it off since she can hardly keep her own children’s names straight, and introduces Carolyn.

Carolyn, who looks about fifteen, rolls up her blue jeans and says it’ll be fun having me visit. Since Ellie and I are the same age, we could be twins. I flinch at the word, thinking of Emma’s stony face the last time I saw her, until I realize it’s a joke: next to Maryellen, I look like a giant Creature From Another Planet, so much taller and broader than she is.

Maryellen mentions another sister, Joan, who is married to Jerry and living at the college since they’re both students. I nod, my face flushing with heat.

Mrs. Larkin notices and says I don’t need a snowsuit down here. I should change into something cooler. Maryellen offers to lend me play clothes, and Carolyn says hers might fit better since I’m longer-legged. Maryellen wishes she were as tall as I am. I’ve always thought of myself as gawky, but I stand up a little straighter.

I follow the girls to the bedroom, passing a piano and a tiny TV in a giant cabinet. The girls’ room is small but tidy for three girls sharing it, its shelves and closets far less stuffed than Emma’s and mine. Carolyn hands me shorts, a sleeveless blouse, and sandals. Changing out of my tight, constricting ski team uniform feels wonderful, as if the weight of my ski disgrace and the strain between Emma and me has lifted.

Maryellen says Carolyn’s clothes fit me well. Carolyn asks if I like music, then whispers the words rock ’n’ roll as if they’re a secret. I nod, and Maryellen says I have to listen to their favorite new record.