The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

I know that I’m not ready to say goodbye to Maryellen yet. I climb into the car with the rest of the family, and we wave to Joan and Jerry as we set forth on our adventure. The station wagon is hauling the Airstream trailer, which has bikes hanging off the end of it. We look like quite a caravan.

As expected, the four of us are squashed in the middle seat, and Mikey’s between his parents in the front seat. Maryellen has a notepad and a box of colored pencils on her lap, and Beverly and Tom keep taking pencils out of the box. Beverly is using the red as fingernail polish, and Tom gives a green pencil to Mikey, who seems to think it’s a stock of celery because he chews on it while Tom beats out a drumbeat with the purple and yellow.

Maryellen is trying to wrangle her siblings and get her pencils back. So I let Mikey play with my watch and I suggest that Beverly and Tom play rock-paper-scissors. Maryellen looks at me gratefully, but it’s not a big deal for me to distract Beverly and Tom. After a few minutes, they’re so absorbed in the game that we switch places so that I can sit next to Maryellen.

I ask Maryellen, but she’s working on, and she explains that she tried out to be a reporter for the school newspaper and got rejected. The kids that were editors said that her stories were boring. But she wants to work on the newspaper, so she’s taking notes about what we see on this trip. Maybe she can get an idea for an exciting story and she can get a second chance.

I look at her pad. I tell Maryellen her drawings are really good. She dismisses me. They’re just doodles to help her remember ideas. See? She shows me a cow. She drew it to remind herself of an article about where the school lunch milk comes from. I tell her that kids would get a big kick out of her sketch of a cow. It’s funny. Maryellen pipes up and asks her dad when they’re going to stop for lunch. Talking about the school lunch milk has reminded her of food.

Carolyn groans from the backseat. She’s starving, too. And so are Beverly, Tom, and Mikey. Mr. Larkin says they’ll stop at the next diner. Out the car window, the flat Florida landscape flows by all green and serene. It’s different from the rocky, up and down world I’m used to in Cedar Top, North Carolina. The highway is lined with giant billboards, advertising cars, restaurants, beaches, and attractions. There are even a series of signs advertising a shaving cream called Burma Shave with a catchy poems on it.

Soon, Mr. Larkin pulls off the road and we go into a diner for lunch. I notice that diners haven’t changed much since the 1950s. I feel right at home when I see the stools at the long, shining counter, the booths, the napkin dispensers, and the ketchup and mustard bottles. Even the jukebox looks a lot like the ones I’ve seen in diners at home. Mrs. Larkin says that Maryellen and I should take Beverly and the boys to the restroom and help them wash their hands. Maryellen sighs. She doesn’t sound enthusiastic, and soon I see why. Beverly does pirouettes throughout the diner all the way to the restroom, dancing to the song that’s strangling out of the jukebox. And when we get to the restroom, Tom and Mikey refuse to wash their hands.

But then I have an idea. I wet my hands and fill them with the foamy soap from the dispenser. While I hum, I put some bubbles on my chin, and then pretend to shave them off. Everyone burst out laughing, and of course, Tom and Mikey can’t wait to fill their hands with soap and put bubbles on their faces, too. And without even realizing so, soon they’re cheerfully washing their hands, and their faces.

Maryellen comments to me that I’m very good with kids. I never knew that I was good with them. At home, the only kid I see is Daria, who comes to our house with her mom, who is my grandmother’s secretary assistant. Gran was an archaeologist. She’s retired now. Daria’s mom is helping her organize and catalog the boxes of weird bones and broken pots and stuff she’s collected in her travels. It’s a big job, and I don’t blame Daria for getting bored waiting. One reason why Emma and I aren’t particularly happy with our grandmother moving in is that Daria once wandered into our room and wrecked Emma’s laptop. Now when we see Daria coming, we close the door.

I don’t tell Maryellen about Daria or the laptop or my grandmother. First of all, Maryellen has never even heard of a laptop. And second, I feel so bad about how Emma and I have been unforgiving to Daria and unfriendly to Gran. But as we herd the little kids back to the table in the diner, a new thought enters my mind. Maybe I could be nicer to both Gran and Daria. It might even be fun to try to be friends.