The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

My curiosity and my heart tug too hard for me to leave, so when Mrs. Larkin and the kids return, I tell them I can stay. She sends me to wash up for dinner. While I do, Maryellen’s older sister, Carolyn, arrives in rolled-up jeans and a man’s shirt tied at the waist, and Maryellen introduces us. At the table, Tom asks what’s for dinner, and Mrs. Larkin says meatloaf. Then a man comes through the door, and Beverly shouts that it’s Dad. Everyone starts talking at once.

Mr. Larkin hugs each child and gives Mrs. Larkin a big kiss. Maryellen introduces me, and he shakes my hand like I’m a grown-up, which makes everyone giggle. He jokes about how a nice girl like me fell in with such hooligans. Beverly explains that I moved here, and Mom says I can stay overnight. “The more the merrier,” he says.

Mrs. Larkin serves the meatloaf, then fills the sink with sudsy water since they clearly have no dishwasher. Partway through the meal, Mr. Larkin puts down his fork and announces it’s Tuesday night. Everyone suddenly shouts, “Hi-yo, Silver! Awaa-a-ay!” and I jump a foot in the air. Maryellen explains that on Tuesdays they eat dessert in the living room while watching The Lone Ranger on TV.

After dinner, Mrs. Larkin whips cream by hand and spoons it onto chocolate pudding. We carry our bowls into the living room, where the kids sit on the floor and Mr. and Mrs. Larkin take the couch in front of the tiny TV in its huge cabinet. Everyone cheers for the Lone Ranger and Tonto, even Scooter, who howls along. It’s chaotic but fun, and it makes me wish my own family watched TV together like this.

After the show, Mr. Larkin helps Tom and Mikey build a cabin from Lincoln Logs, Carolyn practices piano, and Beverly strings a beaded necklace. Maryellen sketches a Thanksgiving card for her grandparents, drawing herself holding a cornucopia while a startled turkey runs off in the background, feathers flying. I tell her it’s good, and she says she loves to doodle, joking she’d get an A+ if doodling were a class. Then her grin fades. Talking about school reminded her she has to present a report tomorrow about something she’s thankful for in Daytona Beach, and she’s terrified to stand up in front of everyone.

Beverly, eavesdropping, pops two beads apart and predicts Maryellen will freeze up like she did during her polio talk. Maryellen groans, so I offer to let her practice on me. She jumps up, calls it a great idea, and leads me to her bedroom.

Before we go upstairs, Mrs. Larkin reminds Maryellen to take out the trash. Scooter keeps us company as we haul the kitchen garbage out, paper, glass, cans, and food scraps all mixed together, since there’s no recycling in 1955.

At the end of the driveway, I gasp at the wide, clear sky, thick with more constellations than I’ve ever spotted at home, even without a telescope. Maryellen asks me to teach her some, so I point out the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, and Pegasus, a constellation I’ve never seen before live. I tell her I love astronomy and want a telescope someday. She says I’m smart enough to figure it out.

I tell Maryellen I’m not great at getting what I want. Last summer I wanted astronomy camp, but Emma campaigned for ski training camp instead and won. When Maryellen asks why we didn’t just go separately, I explain that Emma and I do almost everything together, since it’s easier for the family. Maryellen nods. It’s like that in her family, too, and sometimes she feels hemmed in. Looking at the stars, it strikes me that constellations move across the sky even while staying together, and maybe Emma and I can, too, always a pair, but still free to change.

Maryellen wishes she could change her report. She wrote about the Daytona car races, Daytona Beach’s most famous claim to fame, and figures everyone else did, too, which means it’ll be boring as well as terrifying to present. Suddenly I have an idea for making her presentation different, one where no one will even be looking at her. I drag her back inside.