The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

I can’t pass up seeing Cedar Top as it was sixty years ago, so I say I’d like to stay overnight. Mr. Larkin agrees it’s a fine place to spend the night. I mention Gran is from here. Maryellen wants to visit her, but I explain she moved recently.

Mr. Larkin parks the trailer in a shady spot, and everyone scatters: groceries for Mr. and Mrs. Larkin, a music store for Beverly and Carolyn, and a drugstore for Maryellen and me. We hope to find postcards home to Grandmom, Grandpop, Tom, and Mikey in Georgia, and Joan and Jerry in Daytona Beach.

Mr. Larkin unhooks two bicycles from the trailer. Carolyn’s for me, Maryellen’s own clunker for her. It has flat tires and rusty handlebars. It doesn’t look speedy, but even so, her dad reminds her to take it easy, and she sighs and agrees.

After Mr. Larkin leaves, I ask why. Maryellen explains she had polio three years ago, which weakened her lungs, so Dad doesn’t want her winded from riding too fast. I must look doubtful, because she laughs that the bike’s too small for her, though it only looks slow until she starts pedaling. Maryellen likes to go fast.

I tell her my parents fuss, too, that’s just what parents do. Maryellen nods. She doesn’t let polio slow her down any more than the old bike does, zipping along the quiet streets of Cedar Top, where in 1955 there’s hardly any traffic.

Downtown, we lean our bikes against a parking meter and go into a store called Five and Ten, stocked with candy, toys, and postcards. Maryellen and I pick two cards. On the back of each she writes, “We miss you!” and sketches a cartoon of all of us stuffed in the station wagon, then dates them November 1955. Seeing that date, something tugs at my memory, though I can’t place why.

Mailing the cards, I spot something bright on the ground, a brand-new 1955 penny someone dropped. Maryellen notices the date looks off—it’s stamped twice. But it’s still money, so do I want to buy a gumball with it?

I’m tempted, but I tell her no, I’m not supposed to chew gum, even though I’m also not supposed to ride without a helmet, and no one here wears one anyway. I add that Gran collects weird stuff, so maybe the messed-up penny will amuse her.

I pocket the penny. If it makes the trip back to the twenty-first century with me, it’ll prove this visit wasn’t a dream. We walk on until I find the street where Gran used to live, relieved her old house is still standing, and tell Maryellen that’s it.

Maryellen asks where Gran lives now, and I say she lives with us. Maryellen calls me lucky, but I hesitate, since it means sharing a room with my sister, which neither of us likes. Asked if I’m happy about it, I just shrug.

Maryellen looks puzzled, so I explain that I barely know Gran. She isn’t cozy like Maryellen’s own grandmother. Before retiring, she traveled the globe, so we hardly saw her, and Mom says she was famous at her job, though I’ve never asked. She mostly stays in her room now, organizing a collection of dusty, broken things she once invited my sister and me to see, though we never went.

Maryellen asks why, and I admit Gran seemed more interested in her old stuff than us. She raises her eyebrows. If the collection’s that interesting, she’d be dying to see it herself. She has a point, I decide, resolving to ask Gran about it instead of resenting it once I’m home. We’re about to pedal away from Gran’s old house when the front door bursts open with a boom and a boy bolts out, a girl our age right behind him, shouting for us to stop him. He took it!