The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

I decide to answer honestly. I tell them that I’m not moving into their neighborhood. Maryellen smiles and says we should go in. I hesitate. Clearly, Maryellen thinks I’m someone I’m not. But Mikey puts one of his chubby hands in mine and pulls me to the house. I follow the girls into the house, and I notice that all of the houses on the Larkins’ street look alike. They look old-fashioned. They look like the house my grandmother used to live in before she moved in with us. Her house was built back in the 1950s. The Larkins must like that style a lot. Even their car is from that era!

Maryellen says I’m very lucky to be moving. She asks if I’ve ever been to Washington D.C. I say no, and Maryellen says that she loves to travel, and she hopes to go someday. Beverly says she wants to go to the White House. She wants to meet President Eisenhower. I get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Wasn’t he the president of the United States a long time ago? Either Beverly is terribly mixed up or something strange is happening.

We go into the kitchen, and the funny feeling gets stronger. The appliances in the kitchen look retro. The refrigerator has curved, streamlined edges, and shiny silver trim, and the stove has big buttons and knobs. The wallpaper has roosters on it, and the curtains are flounced and polka-dotted. There’s no microwave, computers, or digital clocks. And the wall calendar says that today is Tuesday, November 22, 1955.

I gasp. It’s not possible. The watch not only transported me to Florida, but it also sent me back in time more than sixty years! How did this happen? Weirdly, the date, November, 1955, sounds familiar, but my brain is so fuzzy that I can’t think of why. But before I can make sense of what’s happening, Maryellen calls out that I’m here.

A smiling woman comes into the kitchen. She’s wearing capri pants and sneakers, and gives me a hug. She says that she was planning to pick me up from the airport, but it seems I’ve arrived early. I am very independent and enterprising, to have taken a taxicab all by myself. I don’t think anyone has ever complimented me for being “independent and enterprising” before. Back home, Emma is the leader and I’m the follower. But although I’m puzzled as to what’s going on, it feels good to be thought of as “independent.” Beverly announces that my name is Sophie. She does a little pirouette, and it’s clear that she’s not only a queen, but also a ballerina. Mrs. Larkin questions my name. She thought Betty said that my name was Cindy Lou. Oh well, she must’ve misunderstood. She could hardly keep her own children’s name straight. Then she introduces Carolyn, who is coming into the kitchen.

Carolyn, a girl who looks about fifteen, rolls up the cuffs of her blue jeans and says that it’ll be fun having me visit. Since me and Ellie are the same age, it’ll be like having twin sisters. I nod and smile, try not to flinch at the word “twin,” thinking of how stony Emma’s face looked the last time I saw her. But I realize that Carolyn is making a joke. Maryellen and I don’t look like we’re the same age at all. Next to Maryellen, I look like a giant Creature From Another Planet because I’m so much taller and broader.

Maryellen says that they have another sister, too, but she’s married. Her name is Joan, and she and her husband, Jerry, are students, so they live at the college. I nod, my face starting to flush. I’m getting hot. Mrs. Larkin notices my discomfort, and says that she knows that it was chilly when I left home, but I don’t need a snowsuit down here. I should change into something cooler. Maryellen says that I can borrow some play clothes. Carolyn says that I can try some of hers, too. They might fit me better. Maryellen nods and says that I’m more longer-legged than she is. She says that I’m lucky. She wishes she was as tall as I am. I’ve always thought of myself more as gawky, but now I stand up a little straighter.

I follow the girls to go to the bedroom. We pass through the living room, where I see a piano and a tiny TV in a giant cabinet. The girls room is small and crowded, but it’s much tidier than you’d expect with three girls living in it. The shelves aren’t overloaded, and the closets aren’t stuffed the way Emma’s and mine are. Carolyn gives me shorts and a sleeveless blouse and sandals to change into. I thank her. The clothes feel deliciously light and loose after the tight, constricting ski team uniform. The truth is, I’ve never liked the uniform. It’s all part of how skiing got so serious when Emma and I joined the team this year. I peel off the uniform and put Carolyn’s clothes on, and I feel comfortable. It’s as if the heavy burden of my ski team disgrace, and the strain between me and Emma, has lifted.

Maryellen comments that Carolyn’s clothes fit me pretty well. Carolyn asks if I like music and I nod. She asks if I like rock ’n’ roll. She whispers the word, as if it’s some sort of special secret. I nod and Maryellen exclaims that I’ll just have to listen to this new record. It’s their favorite.