Not every story needs to become an essay. Sometimes, a silly little tale is just that—a small moment that lives in my head rent-free. I call them “Anecdotes,” because that’s exactly what they are.
It’s high summer. I’m about to enter seventh grade, and my family has temporarily moved into a trailer court, a small clump of aging manufactured homes with the sort of bougie name most such communities have: Breezy Knoll.
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On our last visit to Grandma’s, we went to Woolworth’s, where Grandma bought Scott and me latch-hook rug kits. Scott’s is an owl, and he’s obsessed with the process, sitting in front of the TV hooking away while we gather to watch Happy Days on the dirty shag carpeting.
The living room is Mom and Dad’s bedroom by night because, correctly believing a bookish preteen girl needs her privacy, Mom has assigned me the tiny primary bedroom. When we moved in, mushrooms were growing out of the carpet. The kitchen was filled with cockroaches, prompting my terrified and grossed-out mother to buy a dozen Roach Motels—“Roaches check in, but they don’t check out!”
On the day in question—probably day 36 of our confinement at Breezy Knoll—the sun is shining, and the sky is brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white cumulus clouds rolling slowly across it. Everyone at Breezy Knoll is outside. They’re washing cars, watching kids play in plastic kiddie pools, mowing their quilt-scrap-sized lawns, grilling hot dogs.
Dad is heading uptown, probably to hang out with his friends at the bar.
And Scott has lost the hook for his latch-hook rug.
As Dad climbs into his pale blue International Harvester Scout—the one we have to jump-start at the solenoid with a screwdriver whenever it rains—Scott comes sailing out of the house, flailing his arms wildly.
“Daddy, are you going into town?” he cries.
“Yep,” Dad replies, climbing into the Scout. He’s trying to get away before Scott insists on going with him.
But Scott doesn’t want to leave the house today; he’s too engrossed with his latch-hook rug. So, instead of begging to go along—in front of the neighbors, God, and everybody—my little brother bawls:
“Bring me back a hooker!”