Memory is a funny thing, the way it marries time to blur facts, alter details and yet still insist that a thing happened a certain way. You can forget something occurred for many years until a particular smell, sound, or texture triggers it. And then there’s the important role reflection plays when we as adults tease out the truth from our kaleidoscope of childhood memories.
But sometimes the childish version is better. I’m delighted to say that the memory below remained in its original form until just last year when I suddenly realized the truth behind the ticket.
I don’t remember if the bench seat in Melanie’s car is vinyl or fabric.1 The color also escapes me, but for some reason, I want to say it is maroon and that the car is a Buick. What has stuck with me as not inconsequential is that she let me ride in the front seat. Supremely exciting for an almost four-year-old.
We are driving back from a weekend at Melanie’s parent’s house in Mississippi where she’s been tidying up last minute details for her wedding to my Uncle Greg (name also changed). I have been along for the ride to get fitted for the flower girl’s dress that Melanie and her mother are sewing. It is a floor-length flouncy white cotton-poly ensemble with pale yellow ribbons and puffed sleeves that end just above my elbows. Melanie’s own gown draws inspiration from the most popular bride of the decade—Princess Di.
Besides playing dress-up, I also learn what fainting is and then entertain Melanie’s family by pretending to pass out with exuberant dedication—for hours.
By the time we leave, I am coming off a sugar high. Strapped in without my booster seat I can’t see anything but sky through the front windshield. But I maintain an eye on the sinking sun on the horizon out Melanie’s window as I chatter endlessly about the wedding. I take my job as flower girl seriously, promising to throw the silk petals down the aisle to ensure she has a trail to follow so she doesn’t get lost on her way to the altar.
Eventually, I drift off.
The slowing of forward motion partially awakens me. It is dark now, but bluish flashing lights from the rearview mirror blind me. Melanie pulls off the road. An official looking man in a brimmed hat appears at the window. They speak briefly to one another. After a moment, Melanie accepts a small piece of paper from the man.
I can’t contain my curiosity. Once we are driving again, I ask my soon-to-be aunt about the paper the man gave her.
“It’s a ticket.”
A ticket!
Tickets are for getting into special places. Like the fair. Or Joyland! Only a few months ago I’d earned a ticket to Joyland for potty training. I can still taste the cotton candy and hear the nickelodeon music from the carousel.
Melanie must have been very, very good to get this reward.
“What’s it for?”
She sighs. “A new casino just opened up and it’s free voucher to stay there tonight.”
“What’s a casino?”
“A special place for grown-ups.”
“I can’t come?”
“No. I told him I’ve got to get you back to your parents tonight.”
She speeds up and turns the radio on.
“You must have done something special.”
Melanie snorts. She runs her pudgy fingers though her glossy dark brown hair.
I can’t sleep the rest of the ride home as the thought of tickets leaves me breathless.
Name changed to protect the guilty.
This is so funny. Also, OMG YOURE SO CUTE