Gina Calanni - Dream Come True

She slams the book shut and glares up at me like she’s seen a real ghost, not like Casper or anything cartooney.

“Hush now, Sahara, we’ve got too much to contend with to live in the past.” In one swift motion she is grabbing some big old suitcase from under her bed. “Now, here, you use this for your clothes. I’ve got you settled up to stay with an old family friend.”

“What? You found me a place to stay?” I clutch my chest hoping my heart doesn’t burst through my skin and hit my mama in the face or something crazy, like in one of those special effects movies. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Did my mama really just say she found me a place to stay?

“Yes, Sahara. Now let’s get you packed up. When does that training class start again?”

“Um… on Monday. Yes, Monday morning at eight a.m.”

“Well, what are you standing still for? You’ve got more things to do than Aunt Biddy on the first day of spring and she’s canning up her vegetables for the winter. Get to it now.”

I take in a deep breath. The blood in my brain is rushing around. Like I just finished a race. But in reality it’s because I’m actually doing this. I’m leaving, and my mama is putting forth an effort to help me.

I skedaddle out of the room with the suitcase in my hand. I dig through my closet and begin filling up the case with all the outfits I think I’ll need – which is basically everything I own. Because I don’t have an armoire full of clothes, or a wardrobe, or anything fancy like that. I head back to my mama’s room. She’s got out her handkerchief and is dabbing under her eye.

“You all right, Mama?”

“Yes, of course. You done packing?”

“I was wondering if I could take the bluebonnet bell with me?” I didn’t get it from the living room where it’s sat my entire life because I didn’t want to jinx it by touching it or moving it.

“The bluebonnet bell?” My mama gasps as if I had asked if I could hitch our trailer to the back of my car and take it with me. It’s just a ceramic bell and, though it isn’t worth much, it’s something I’ve always treasured. It’s something I see like a good luck charm, in a way. Whenever I had a big test at school I would swish by it real fast and blink my eyes and sure enough I always passed my test with flying colors.

“No, Sahara, that stays with the house. If you want a bluebonnet bell you’re going to have to earn that on your own.” My mama shakes her head and pushes past me. We’re still in the same house but it seems like there are already miles and miles between us. What will it be like when I’m really gone?

Ms. Fish, that’s my manager at Dairy Queen – well, my former manager’s name – is not exactly excited to see me say goodbye. She pretends to ignore me for the first part of our conversation and then goes into the freezer and hits the sides of the ice-cream containers for at least two minutes. When she returns she takes in a deep breath and plasters a smile across her face. I nod in response, not knowing exactly what I should do except get on with this moment.

It always seemed odd to have the name Fish in an ice-cream place but she usually joked it off, saying she was a cold fish about everything except being successful. Ms. Fish would make sure a Blizzard was offered to every single customer or you would be on her Space List. She always said you could be on two lists at her store: the Fish List where you were doing everything right and were invited to the weekly fish fry (this happened on Saturday nights at her house), or the Space List. Her first name is Hailey. Of course, I would never call her by that out of respect, but it leads to her Space List like Hailey’s Comet. Every so often she would explain about Hailey’s Comet and how often it appeared and why it wasn’t the list you would want to be on. If you were on her Space List this meant you were not invited to the fish fry and the only type of annual bonus you would receive was an extra dollop of whatever you chose during our yearly meeting. Whenever she explained this to newbies, she would laugh and say that just because she spent all day in a freezer didn’t mean she was without a warm heart.

After I say goodbye to everyone at Dairy Queen I head back home to face another freezer. My mama. She has been frosty ever since I told her my news. I make my way through the house and eye my suitcase. Everything I own has been stuffed into the suitcase my mama offered to me. It had seemed so big at first and then very, very small as I zipped it up. My entire life being pushed into this vinyl case. Clothes, a few books, and zero trinkets. Not a one. I’m still bothered my mama wouldn’t let me take the bluebonnet bell. But it is what it is. There is no going back.

“Oh, well, for Pete’s sake, Sahara, that is not how you pack a suitcase. Haven’t you learned anything from me?” My mama tsks and begins dumping out my clothes and rolling them up and repacking everything. To be fair, this is the first suitcase I’ve ever packed, given that I’ve never been anywhere other than to spend the night at my friend Rachel’s house. And that was for only one night and I used my school book bag.

“All right now, there, you’re officially packed. So off you go. You best get a move on. You don’t want to be late for dinner or be driving in the dark. Heaven forbid you might get one of them flat tires or some other issues with that ridiculous contraption out front.” My mama shakes her head and taps her foot.

Poor Rontu would not appreciate these words from my mama. I know he is only a car and all, but still, it seems like he is more than a car to me. We’ve been through a lot together. He afforded me some independence to stretch my wings and make it to Dairy Queen on my own without asking anyone for a ride. Now he’s taking me out of this small town and out of the reach of my mama. My chest tightens. There is a tiny part of me that doesn’t want to leave my mama. But it’s not like I’m crossing state borders. Just a few hours’ drive away. We’ll still be under the same stars. But I’d best do like my mama says and get a move on as I don’t want to have a car failure on a long stretch of open Texas highway at night. The roads I’ll be traveling are barren. I know this for sure. There isn’t much between Mexia and Riverton. I’ve got to go.

“All right, Mama. I suppose this is goodbye for now.” I open my arms, expecting a hug in return but my mama pushes past me.

“Let me get the door for you. I suppose you’re looking for that kind of life where people open the doors for you. So let me go ahead and give you a taste of that.” My mama opens the door to our trailer and the Texas sun does not warm up the room. It’s cold. Colder than an ice-cream freezer. I rub my arms for a second, to give myself the courage to take the next step and move forward. This is it. I’m leaving. My mama wants me to go… without a hug. A lump forms in the back of my throat like a big iceberg that is cutting against my air tubes. I’m trying to breathe and move forward and hold back any kind of tears as I pass through our home. My home. But I’m moving on. I’m moving forward. I am. Onward and upward. I’m not going to cry. I need to be strong and show my mama that I can do this. I pass by her and our eyes meet. She presses her lips together and nods toward the car.

“All right, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“I might not be home. Got some appointments of my own to tend to tonight. But I suppose you can leave a message on that contraption you bought. If it’s even working.” She shrugs.

“I can go check and make sure.” I stop and put my suitcase down on the porch.

“No, Sahara. That won’t be necessary.” My mama shakes her head at me and I pick the suitcase back up and put it in the back seat. I stop once more and stare back at my mama. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She has on her nicest house coat. It’s hanging just above her calves. It doesn’t sway with the light breeze. It stands still just like my mama. No emotion. No sadness, no sorrow. No nothing.