A Car Drive

By Nynne Bach Breschel

A line of birds flies off from a wire stretched across the field. We are not in the city anymore. Green and yellow fields flash by. I can’t remember how far it is. I only know we must drive till the fields turn into forest. I sit beside Esther; she is taller than I am and has straight dark brown bangs. We’re going to Grandma’s house for a few days. That’s what Mum says. I don’t know why we need to bring the coat rack. Joanna is in the front seat; she tells me it’s because she’s the oldest. But Mum says it’s because she gets car sick.

“Stop looking at me!” Esther whines and hugs the Nintendo to her chest.

I was only just looking. I stick out my tongue at her. Mum smiles at me in the rear-view mirror.

“Let Ingrid watch as well, Esther.” Mum's voice is calm. She never gets angry. Not like Dad at least. He spends all his time in his office, even when we are having dinner.

In the front seat, Joanna flips through the CDs as the landscape whooshes by.

“I think that one is ABBA,” Mum says as Joanna flips past the CD.

“Pick that one, Joanna!” I jump in my seat.

“Yes, everybody can sing along to that one.” Mum taps it twice and gestures to the car’s CD player.

Bigger cars race by us. It sounds like the wind whisking us away. Esther blows into my face and ruffles my hair. I laugh at her and push her hand off my head. Esther is six years older than me. She turned eleven last September. The beginning of the first song sounds through the car’s speakers. I don’t know the words, but Mum, Joanna, and Esther sing along together. As a real-life band. The fields are stretched so wide I can see nothing else. They look like they go on forever. Maybe they do. We drive by a bunch of cows staring at us. Do they always live in the same field?

“Mum, do cows always live in the same field?”

Esther shakes her head, laughs, and turns back to her Nintendo. She is feeding her dog in the game.

“I think they move them around a little. From field to field. But they all live at the same farm when they go home.”

Earlier today, Mum packed some cardboard boxes into the trunk. She took the lacy curtains from our rooms and great-grandma’s porcelain from the glass cabinet. I got to pick more than one teddy bear and we were allowed to bring the duvets into the car. We only do that when we go on long vacations. Like when we went to that place that summer where they had a swimming pool and it was my birthday. We didn’t bring Reggie with his soft grey fur then either.

Mum's eyes follow the road. The white lines in the middle and the other cars passing and slowing and turning. Her voice is clear and sounds exactly like the people singing on the CD. A new song comes on. It’s the one when Mum dances while she drives. She points to Joanna and gestures out into the air. Almost like she is saying ‘Look at all this’. We all move with her, matching the moves with the words, “See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen!” Mum skips the next song, I guess it is not her favourite. Maybe it is a sad song?

I curl my feet up on the seat. At home, Mum tucks me in at night. She reads me bedtime stories and leaves the light on. Dad complains a lot. About the jackets falling off the coat rack, and cleaning up the crumbs on the floor, and Mum’s full-time work, and walking Reggie. I don’t know why. He does not do any of that.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t keep Reggie with us?” Esther asks as she looks up from her Nintendo. This morning Reggie wasn’t there to say goodbye.

“The car is too full for Reggie to fit. Besides, Reggie is having the time of his life right now.” Mum rubs the bridge of her nose.

I think of Reggie. He has big brown eyes. A cold and wet snout. And paws that look like they were dipped in white paint. On long drives, he would sleep with his head resting on his paws.

“Do you think Reggie misses us?” I ask and stretch my neck to look further out the window. Nothing has changed. Big white birds fly over the sky in a formation shaped like a V. Trees bent in the direction of the wind show up in batches beside houses that look like Grandma’s.

“I think he misses you all very much.” There is something sad about Mum’s voice. Maybe she is missing Reggie too? Maybe she is thinking about that song? Maybe she misses Dad?

Joanna is leaning against the window. Her hair is shining red in the sunlight. She isn’t singing along anymore. She used to play the flute for me when I was a baby. I’ve seen pictures. Me lying on a blanket and Joanna sitting beside me with sheet music at her feet. Dad would close the office doors when she played. I would fetch him for dinner and he wouldn’t smile at me. Some days he would come home when Mum had already tucked us all in. I could hear their voices from the kitchen. I don’t know what they talked about. From the pictures, I know Dad used to smile. He used to play and make jokes and smile. I don’t know why he doesn’t anymore.

“Mum,” Joanna sounds like she is crying. I can’t see her face. “Why couldn’t we all just be together? Why did we have to go?”

The song and the sound of the bumpy asphalt underneath the car wheels muffle parts of their conversation.

“It wasn’t right for us to live there anymore. It wasn’t good for us.”

Mum planted yellow flowers in the front yard. We all helped paint the house white and the window panels green. But now we’re leaving. The setting sun hits dust inside the car. It makes everything sparkle. Everything seems warm. Like the golden fields outside. Esther has turned off her Nintendo and is humming along to the melody from the CD display.

“It’ll just be us four now.” Mum drives the car off the big road onto gravelled road tracks. It feels like running your hands over LEGOs.

“Like the Musketeers,” Joanna answers as if she isn’t sure if it is the right answer.

“Yes, like the Musketeers! Just us girls.”

I smile. ‘Us girls’ sounds so nice. Like the dessert Mum arranges in the fancy bowls after dinner on Fridays. Or that Disney cartoon that Esther and Joanna always mimic after it has been shown. Or dancing in the living room to Dolly Parton. Or holding Mum’s hand when crossing the road. Or Joanna and Esther and I acting in plays together. Or Mum playing the accordion. Or Esther teaching me how to climb the tree in the front yard. Or Joanna and I painting Mum’s old canvases. Or us girls laying outside in the soft green grass full of daisies.

Mum rolls down the windows as we drive into the forest. Blinking blue lakes pop up on both sides of the gravel road. Birds chirp as we pass the white and black striped trees. A deer flashes by behind the dark green pines. Esther pricks my side and makes a face at me. I shriek and laugh.

“Ingrid! Ingrid! Look at me! Who am I now?” Esther jumps in her seat and makes her voice raspy and hectic.

“Tigger!”

“Yes! Let me do another.” Esther furrows her brows and turns her smile upside down. She acts angry. She acts mad.

“You’re Dad!” The wind rushes through the car as I speak.

Esther isn’t jumping anymore. Joanna turns in her seat and Mum looks at us in the mirror. The landscape outside has turned blue instead of golden and floats by instead of rushing.

“Do one more.”

Esther nods. Her bangs are ruffled and the music has been turned off. I don’t know when it stopped playing. This time Esther pulls a serious face and looks like she’s in a swordfight. She looks like she is winning.

“A prince!” I exclaim.

Esther keeps fighting the invisible dragon and shakes her head.

“A knight!” Joanna cries out laughing.

“A musketeer,” Mum chips in.

“No, it’s Mum,” Esther responds with a grin.

“Like Supermum!” Joanna, Esther, and I all say.

Mum smiles so wide you can see all of her teeth in the mirror. “I have the best girls.”

Around the next corner, Grandma’s house shows up little by little. Warm light streams out of the windows. And smoke circles out of the chimney. There’s no wind in the trees here

“Mum, did you live here when you were little?”

Mum parks the car beside the woodshed.

“Yes, Ingrid. This was my home when I was your age.” Her voice is gentle. She turns the car off.

Grandma is standing on the tilting stairway; she waves at us. We leave the duvets, the teddy bears, and the Nintendo in the car. Joanna and Esther get to Grandma first. They are much faster than I am. Grandma is small and wrinkly and soft and smells like cinnamon buns when I hug her. Around us, the forest is turning dark. The birds have stopped singing. Joanna and Esther sit on the steps behind us. They tell me the birds have gone to bed. I don't know what the time is. They are leaning against each other. I think they are listening to the quiet.

When Mum hugs Grandma she cries. Like the way, I cried when I scraped my knee on the asphalt. Or like Joanna cried when she broke her foot. She hides her face in her hands as Grandma rubs her back. Above the trees, stars start to show up.

“How long are we going to stay, Mum?” I ask.

Mum looks at Grandma, her face is red. Grandma puts the back of her hand to Mum’s cheek. Somewhere close to my feet, a frog sings. She looks Mum in the eyes and rests her hand on my head, “You can stay for as long as you like.”