Crenshaw

20

When the minivan was packed, we stood in the parking lot. Nobody wanted to get in.

“Why don’t I drive, Tom?” said my mom. “You were in a lot of pain this morning—”

“I’m fine,” my dad said firmly. “Fit as a fiddle. Whatever that means.”

My mom strapped Robin into her car seat, and we climbed into the minivan. The seats were hot from the sun.

“This is only for a few days,” said my mom, adjusting her sunglasses.

“Two weeks tops,” said my dad. “Maybe three. Or four.”

“We just need to catch up a little.” My mom was using her there’s-nothing-wrong voice, so I knew something was really wrong. “Pretty soon we’ll find a new apartment.”

“I liked our house,” I said.

“Apartments are nice, too,” said my mom.

“I don’t get why we can’t just stay.”

“It’s complicated,” said my dad.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Jackson,” said my mom.

“Play Wiggles,” Robin yelled, squirming in her car seat. She loved the Wiggles, a group that wrote silly songs for kids.

“First a little hitting-the-road music, Robin,” said my dad. “Then Wiggles.” He slipped a CD into the car player. It was one of my mom and dad’s favorite singers. His name was B.B. King.

My mom and dad like a kind of music called “blues.” In a blues song, somebody’s sad about something. Like maybe they broke up with their girlfriend or they lost all their money or they missed a train to a faraway place. But the weird thing is, when you hear the songs, you feel happy.

My dad makes up lots of crazy blues songs. Robin’s favorite was “Ain’t No PB in My PB&J.” Mine was called “Downside-Up Vampire Bat Boogie,” about a bat who couldn’t sleep upside down, like bats are supposed to do.

I’d never heard the B.B. King song my dad had chosen to play. It was about how nobody loved this guy except his mother.

“What’s he mean about how even his mom could be jiving him, Dad?” I asked.

“Jiving means lying. It’s funny, see, because your mom and dad always love you.”

“Except when you don’t floss,” said my mom.

I was quiet for a while. “Do kids always have to love their mom and dad?” I asked.

I caught my dad’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked back at me with a question in his eyes.

“Put it this way,” he said. “You can be mad at someone and still love them with all your heart.”

We pulled out of the driveway. Aretha sat between Robin and me. She was only a few months old, and still had her puppy-soft fur and clumsy paws.

Our neighbor Mr. Sera was cutting yellow roses from his garden. We’d already said official good-byes. He waved and we waved back, like we were on our way to the Grand Canyon or Disney World.

“Does Mr. Sera have a cat?” I asked. “A really big cat?”

“Just Mabel,” my mom answered. “The Chihuahua with an attitude. Why?”

I glanced back at the rear windshield, but it was blocked by boxes and bags.

“No reason,” I said.

My dad cranked up the volume on B.B. King, who was still pretty sure nobody loved him, including his mom.

Aretha cocked her head and howled. She liked to sing along, especially to blues songs. Although she liked the Wiggles too.

We drove a few blocks. My lower lip quivered, but I didn’t cry.

My mom sighed softly. “Let the adventure begin,” she said.