skipping stones.

-1962-thirteen skips.

 We were playing alongside the monoliths of Stonehenge when I picked up this rock. I thought it was a trilobite. It wasn’t. It was just a flat rock. I knocked off the muddy crud that covered it and saw it to be a perfect skipping stone, so I sent it sailing across the bay. I counted thirteen skips. Pretty good, almost my best.

Then you said there were only twelve skips. I told you no, you’re wrong, you didn’t count them correctly.

You snipped back, “Really, what’s so tough about counting rock skips? How hard can it be?”

I said, “You don’t understand, it’s hard to count the last little skips at the very end because they’re so fast and close together. They are hard to see. You have to watch carefully and pay close attention.”

You said, “That’s silly, you’re just saying that because you always have to be right.”

“That’s not true. I don’t always have to be right.”

“Yes, you do! Look at you, even now,” she said,” you have to be right even now by saying that you don’t always have to be right. You’re saying you’re right, right now, even though you say that sometimes you’re wrong, like now.”

“Well,” I said, “maybe I am wrong sometimes.”

“Tell me,” she taunted, “when was the last time you admitted you were wrong?”

I thought, hmm, that’s a hard question, then said, “Um, let me think about that, hold on…”

“See,” she said, “you can’t even remember the last time you were wrong,” adding, ” It was probably before I was even born…”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve been wrong at least once since then. Just give me a minute.”

She gave me two, then three, maybe four minutes. Then, at that last moment, our mother began to call for us from up on the slope. She was motioning us to come back up to the car.

<<~~~~~2~~~~~>>

We walked towards her, yards away from each other, and in silence. I was peeved, she was mildly miffed, and between us, I sensed a silent stew was brewing. Only the gravel that crunched on the walkway under our feet and the mocking jeers of seagulls could be heard over these silent moments as we trod to the car…

Mom asked, “How was your walk? Did you kids have a good time?” She knew we had, of course, the whole time she’d been watching us from a bench just up the hill from where we played. Her attention was only slightly divided by a book she read, ‘Portnoy’s Complaint’.

“It was okay,” I said flatly.

“It was really fun!” Denise burst, “We met a big black dog named Cabot. He had webbed feet and loved to swim. He would fetch sticks when we threw them into the water. The man with the black dog and his two kids all came from a place called Newfoundland. The man was really nice. He told us some more about Druids and stuff about the big rocks. Then we all skipped rocks across the water…”

“Druids? Stonehenge?” Mom’s interest was half piqued. “What brought that on?”

I explained how we were playing a game about that place because I had seen a film about England during class. Stonehenge was the only really interesting part of the movie.

Denise expanded, “The man with the dog even lived near Stonehenge during the war. He told us a lot more about it, but I forget,” she continued without expanding much.

Mom told us it was time to get into the car. We had other stops to make on the way home. Denise and I ducked behind the driver’s seat and clambered into the back. I helped Denise with her seat belt. She always had a hard time getting the latch to catch correctly. It was one of a number of unofficial tasks I just always took upon myself to help with. It just seemed natural to keep an eye out for her.

<<~~~~~3~~~~~>>

I had heard some adults, including my Aunt Mary, remark to others about how protective I was towards Denise. How sweet I was to seemingly cherish her ever since she was born. They always commented on how cute it was that I was like that towards her. Truth be told, I simply didn’t want to get in trouble should I somehow damage her or make her cry. Were it today, I would call it self-preservation.

Aunt Mary had been sitting and waiting for us all of this time in the passenger seat of Mom’s car all of this time; she flicked the rest of her cigarette out the car door. It bounced across the gravel towards a couple of others. She closed the door, announced plaintively, “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.

Mom started the car, the front tires ground into the gravel as she turned the wheel, and we drove away.

We entered the narrow, paved road we had come to the park on and began retracing our course back towards the main highway, where we presumably would discover some other new distraction or adventure. The scenery from the backseat of Mom’s car was, as usual, less than premier.

We were happy to be out and about. Today was a holiday from school. We could have just as easily been still at home picking weeds from our small front yard, or sweeping the drive and walkways clean. All four of us were happy to escape the house and its endless list of chores. It was good to be away from the neighborhood as well and, mostly, away from the city. Things had not been so well in the city lately. A day for adventure was a very welcome thing.

“Hey, David,” Denise said, “You want to play the Word Game?”

“Sure, okay. You pick a word.”

Aunt Mary broke in, “Hold on, wait a minute, not so fast, you kids,” and, turning to us, “Can’t us big kids play?”

“Yeah,” said Mom. “You people in the backseat can’t have all of the fun.”

“Okay, Mom, that sounds fun,” Denise said, “go ahead. You pick the word!”

Mom wasted no time. “Super! The word is super.”

<<~~~~~4~~~~~>>

Within a couple of minutes, Aunt Mary called out,”‘S’! There’s an ‘S’– on the license plate of that car ahead of us.”

It turned out that “S” would be the last and only letter we would find during this round of The Word Game. And, the only car we would see during the seemingly endless drive to the highway. After providing that single letter, the car ahead of us turned its way down a road to the left. It would be the last car we would see until we entered the highway.

The Word Game was slow going. It soon became boring to all involved. Even Aunt Mary, who was winning the game with her letter “S”, lost interest and lit yet another cigarette from the push-in lighter at the center console ashtray. She cracked open the wind-wing window a little and flicked her ashes through it. Some of them peppered Denise, and so she moved closer to my side.

Mom rolled down her own window a couple of inches, creating a cross-draft to help better vent the smoke out from Mary’s side. Mom next turned on the radio. The reception was spotty, but she finally settled on a station that was playing “Downtown” by Petula Clark. A good song, but hard to follow because of interference from nearby hills and our distance from the city. She finally gave up on the radio and switched it off.

<<~~~~~5~~~~~>>

The road wound on. And on and on it went. To Denise and me endlessly. We began edging into the tiredness we had unknowingly accumulated during the day. After all, we had spent all of the morning and a part of the afternoon wandering about and exploring this new park Mom had heard of. What a great place it was, too! We ran and played tag and other games with our pair of newfound kids and played near shore with their dog, Cabot. The man watched on when we chased all of the lazy, walking birds back into the sky (where they belong).

Mom drove steadily along in near silence, stolidly vigilant to the task at hand. The rest of us drifted into our own soft inner thoughts, Denise and I already edging towards dreams. In this quiet, behind the wheel, mom seemed introspective, a little sad, perhaps even melancholy, yet still calm, relaxed, contemplative, and somehow content all at the same time.

She turned to her sister and said, “You know why this is so important to me, don’t you, Mary? Times being how they are, and you know how little hope I have that things will ever get any better. Not soon anyway, not for them, “she motioned her head towards the back seat,” not for us, not for the world. There are tough times ahead. I just want them to remain as kids for as long as they can.”

She went on to say she felt that was her job, her duty as a mother to fend away the real nasties of the world from us, to protect our innocence. She wished to guard us for as long as she could, protect our innocence, so that as we grow up, we will know from where the right place is to face the world. Alone, but never lonely. Always holding to the hope stored within.

<<~~~~~6~~~~~>>

Denise and I, half-listening from the back seat, were finding it hard to accept that we had worn ourselves out. Our eyelids were weighing towards our cheeks, our minds beginning to wander as we leaned slowly towards the other on mom’s side in the back seat. Our shoulders touched. We were fighting hard, resisting the urge to sleep, but slowly nodding off.

“Do you know what, David?” my sister half-whispered toward my neck, “You were right. You’re not always right. You’re actually wrong sometimes.”

“I know,” I said, resisting the tugging at the lids of my eyes, “but I’m your big brother, so I need to be right. It’s important for me to believe that I’m right. It makes me feel like you can always believe in me, that you can trust me.”

She said, “I know, and it’s okay. I can tell the difference, and it doesn’t matter.” She yawned, “You’re my big brother, and I trust you. I always will.”

“Thanks, sis. And you’re my little sister. I’ll always protect you.”

“I know you will,” she paused, “and I’ll protect you back.”

“Thanks, sis. I love you.”

I fell asleep, but I’m sure she said, “I love you too.”

<~~~~~~~7~~~~~~~>

We arrived home much later, in the night, after sleeping from those last moments I recalled. Mom had hefted Denise half over her shoulder and I took her hand as Aunt Mary led the way and opened the back door to our house. Mom climbed the three steps with us, told me to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. She took Denise to her room, dressed her quickly, and put her to bed.

Aunt Mary wasn’t supposed to smoke in the house, but went inside to get a beer from the fridge and then went back out to light a cig and then remained outside smoking, sitting on the patio chair outside my window. Her smoking always bothered Denise more than it did me. Denise had asthma. I didn’t. As an adult, I would smoke until I was hospitalized for familiar symptoms.

Mom came to my room and followed me through my prayers (“Now I lay me down to sleep…) tucked me in. She said, “I love you.” Kissed me on the cheek.

“I love you too. You know, we had a great time today.”

“I’m so happy you did,” she smiled,” now get to sleep.”

“Okay,” and before I knew it, I was.

<~~~~~~~~~~ EPILOGUE ~~~~~~~~~~>

The next morning was Saturday. Mom let us sleep late on Saturday, but it was usually her who would actually sleep until nine. We had cartoons to watch, and Saturday morning was when the best ones were on. It was also the only day Mom let us watch them on our little black and white receiver. But this and other family rituals we must save for another story.

When the TV was turned off at nine, Denise and I would sit down at the dining table. On days like today, when Mom had side work, usually cleaning someone’s house across town, Denise and I would have the same breakfast we had on regular school days.

Denise enjoyed Fruit Loops, sometimes two bowls. I always had Captain Crunch. Aunt Mary would make us toast spread with butter and sometimes jelly or jam, pour us some orange juice, and made sure we swallowed our vitamins.

Denise was looking intently at the back of her box of Trix Cereal when I said,” You know what?”

“Cold water’s not hot,” she said, mimicking an automatic response the family had picked up from Aunt Mary.

“No, not that,” I mused. “Remember when you said that I always have to be right, and I said that I need to be right because it’s important for me to think that I’m right?”

“Uh, yeah, kind of, but you’re right. That’s true.”

“Well, when I woke up this morning, I realized there was a time, yesterday, when I was actually wrong. Absolutely wrong, and I didn’t tell you…”

“Oh,” she said, half interested, then with rushed excitement,” It was the skips, the number of skips. It was twelve, not thirteen, right?”

“No, sorry, it was thirteen skips. I counted them, but…”

Denise looked as if she might take issue on the count again.

“When I picked up that first skipping rock, I thought it was a Trilobite.”

“So,” She said blankly, “it skipped really well anyway, didn’t it?”

I wanted to explain what I meant, how it was that I was wrong about the rock being a trilobite. How I wasn’t always right…

“I know what you’re trying to tell me, about the rock, about thinking you were wrong, ” she said. “Forget about it. That was yesterday.”

She loaded another spoonful of Fruit Loops into her mouth and went back to the study of the boxes’ back cover.

“I see,” I said. “You’re right.”

And so it seemed, and she has almost always been right since, and even more so now, fifty-five years later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The object of the Word Game is to find each letter of the word “Surprise” in the same sequence that the word is spelled. Each player has to find their own letters independently, from any source outside of the car. Players can not claim letters from the same source as other players. The person who spells the word by finding the letters in sequence wins the game and gets to pick the word for the next round.

-dp-

11-20-25

Note: The Header picture was lifted years ago from a famous painting at the Norton Simon Museum.

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