“So what does my little girl want to do for her fifth birthday?” The way mom asked the question made me feel like I needed to make a specific correct answer.
“Spend it with you and daddy?” I asked.
“Of course, honey, but where?”
I cocked my head to one side like the pups in one of my favorite cartoons, “Here?”
She smiled at me, her eyes flashing both green and blue, “You really don’t care where we celebrate, do you?”
“Not if you and daddy are there,” I paused before quickly adding, “and Nona Bea.”
“Of course,” she giggled, “We can’t forget Nona Bea.”
“So where are we celebrating my birthday?”
“What place have you been wanting to see?”
My eyes lit up, “The beach?”
“Yes,” she beams, pausing almost imperceptibly before gleefully sharing, “we got a beach house with Nona Bea for the week.”
I jumped up into her arms. She cradled me close, whispering in my ear. I found out later that Nona Bea paid for the beach house as everyone’s birthday gift that year, but everyone agreed that it was special for my fifth birthday. Nothing could take the magic out of that week with my three favorite people in the world.
~~~
Everything takes too long when you are young and full of energy. Especially when you finally get to see the sparkling sands, foamy waves, and glorious sunshine of the beach. Disappointments loom larger in the moment than they do when time has given one perspective. My mom tucked me into my booster seat with Nona Bea by my side for companionship, entertainment, and basically to make all of my wishes come true. She took her job seriously. When dad announced that we would reach the house in less than ten minutes, traffic willing, and I saw storm clouds rolling across the sky, even her powers to please faltered.
My tears flowed as soon as the first raindrop splashed on the window. Nona Bea took my hand. I held on tight. She assured me it would all be okay. I nodded but didn’t loosen my grip. She offered me a piece of candy from her voluminous handbag. I shook my head. She even tried singing to me. As we pulled into the driveway of our rental, she fell silent for a moment. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths that I eventually discovered were to center herself and listen. She never quite explained what she was listening to, but whatever or whoever it was seemed to know the answer to almost every question.
“Opera, darling, why are you crying?” Nona Bea placed her other hand gently on mine and leaned across the backseat of the car so our eyes were level.
I sniffed and blinked back tears. She looked concerned as she waited for me to work through my emotions. Her eyes focused on me as I started to speak. Her forehead creased with fear of missing the most important syllable.
“The rain will wash away the beach,” I wailed.
Everyone else in the car started to laugh. They tried not to, but the tension of the long drive and the last twenty minutes carefully inching through the pouring rain left them vulnerable to hysteria. Thinking they were laughing at me, I wailed louder.
“Oh, honey,” Nona Bea cooed, unstrapping me from the seat and pulling me into her lap. “We aren’t laughing at you. I promise. We are just so glad that we finally made it to the beach house.”
“But if the beach washes away, won’t the house go with it?”
Both of her lips disappeared as she regarded me, breathing oddly.
“Nona, are you okay?” I whispered, leaning in to listen to her heartbeat.
She released a pent up chuckle, “I’m fine and the beach will be, too. Let’s get you inside.”
“You promise the beach won’t wash away?” I demanded.
“Cross my heart,” she made the appropriate motions over her heart to reassure me.
Dad hopped out of the car, threw open Nona’s door, grabbed me, and raced for the house as I clutched the collar of his shirt. Mom and Nona didn’t let many steps fall before they raced after us. We arrived inside, dripping and laughing. As mom’s laughter subsided, she cast a rueful look at the door.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked, his eyes suspiciously following the direction of her gaze.
“We didn’t bring any of our things in.”
“Let’s try to wait out the storm.” He eyed the sheets of rain with trepidation as water dripped from all of us to puddle on the floor.
“Hopefully it lessens up soon,” Nona joined the conversation, “In the meantime, we can get the lay of the land and pick out our rooms.”
We familiarized ourselves with the tiny two story bungalow with a few paces. The downstairs held one bedroom with private bath, a combined living and dining room, and a half bath. The second story had two smaller bedrooms and a bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and linen closet stocked with fluffy towels and a variety of travel size toiletries. Nona poked through these with interest before stepping back into the hall to survey the bedrooms with me.
“What do you think?” She asked.
The rooms were essentially the same. Each boasted a queen bed with a generous array of pillows featuring sailboats and seashells. A small dresser stood to one side of each bed with a nightstand on the opposite side. Nearly Identical lamps crafted of giant conch shells stood upon each nightstand. The decorator distinguished them by choosing golden tones for one room and complimentary shades of green and blue for the other.
I smiled as I reached a decision and looked up at Nona Bea, “Do you think we could share a room?”
“I don’t see why not. But which one?”
“The blue and green one. It reminds me of the ocean.”
“Oh good. I was hoping we’d pick that one.”
She leaned down to offer me a half hug before we rejoined my parents downstairs. Dad stood before an archaic television stand. He pulled back the heavy wooden doors and barked a laugh at the contents. I stared at them as well. Unlike dad, I had little clue what this time capsule revealed. Having missed his calling as a teacher when he entered the business world, his innate desire to educate kicked in.
“An ancient tube tv, a VCR, Disney classics on tape, and no indication of a cable connection. Now that is one way to encourage quality family time.”
“Here’s another,” mom directed our attention to the bookshelves.
Up high, well worn volumes offered the promise of rainy days reading. Mom gestured to randomly shaped boxes jammed onto the lower shelves. A couple were games I recognized. Others looked intriguing with faded pictures showing families gathered to play whatever lay within the battered box. My dad pulled one of these out and asked my mom if he should find collars like that. Clearly, she understood the question better than me because she emphatically rejected the suggestion. He laughed and thanked her.
Nona rolled her eyes. “So what should we play while the rain pours?”
I waited for an answer as my eyes roved over the boxes. As the silence stretched on, I realized they were waiting for me to pick. I examined my choices one more time and grabbed one that caught my eye.
“Oh my gosh! This color is so gross,” I declared as i plucked a deck of cards off the shelf.
Nona Bea plucked the pea soup green box from my hand, “Wow. You never know what you will find at rented beach house. I think this is one of the original decks.”
Mom laughed and pulled the cards out, “They sure look it.”
“Let’s play,” dad reached for the cards and started shuffling.
—
After a few games of Uno, the rain stopped enough for mom and dad to rush our bags inside. Nona stayed with me. She tried to help me better understand the rules of the game. I think she wanted better competition since she dominated the few rounds we played. Something about the beach made my parents find each other distracting, so they weren’t offering any challenges to her hone her skills.
When they returned with the last load of bags, Nona stood up slowly, “I don’t know about you young people, but this old lady needs sleep.”
“You’re not old,” I reassured her, “I’m tired, too.”
“Let me take your bags up for you ladies and then we can all go to bed,” dad offered, exchanging a look with mom.
“I’ll take our bag to our room and be waiting for you, honey,” she said.
Nona patted my head, “Yes. Definitely time for sleep.”
We wandered upstairs, passing dad who was obviously in a hurry to slip under the sheets and catch some shuteye. At our door, we parted ways so Nona could “do private old lady stuff” while I slipped into pajamas. Then we traded. We quickly finished so we could slip under the fresh clean comforter. We welcomed its warmth as the summer rain left a chill in the air.
We lay for some minutes in silence, waiting for our weariness to shuttle us into sleep. Eventually, Nona broke the silence with stories of her childhood. I loved hearing stories about my great aunts and great uncles as children. I pictured a young Nona who looked very much like me. As the pause between stories stretched toward the abyss of sleep, a feeling stirred inside me. Like when you’re hungry because you didn’t eat and drink enough but in the depths of my heart instead of my stomach.
“I think I’d like to have a baby sister,” I confessed.
Nona’s smile faded and the silence that follows a difficult to address wish followed.
“I know mommy and daddy can’t have any more kids, but I know I’d be a good big sister.”
“I know you would, too.”
She looked at me oddly as we settled down to sleep. I wondered, and not for the first or last time, if she had dreams like mine. Ones so real that it felt like memories of another life I was living.
—-
By the time I awoke the next morning, I had reconsidered petitioning my parents. The last time I had questioned my single child status, they decided I was old enough to address my request. Their tearful yet clinical explanations left us all exhausted.
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