Mama Takes the Bus

Mama Takes The Bus

Mama always took the Greyhound Bus to visit her sister, my Auntie Edna and to visit my Uncles and all the rest of her family. Pop thought this was funny.

"That's what the car is for, getting around and going on trips," he would say to Mama as soon as she started talking about taking the bus here or bus there.

Her whole family was the same way. They took the bus to visit relatives. No matter what. And Pop always said, "Take the car, it's easier to get where you are going."

Uncles Louis, Homer, Leon, Lester and Auntie Edna disagreed. They all said, and I heard this my self point-blank from each of them "We don't take cars to visit family because they all have their own cars." Even I knew that didn't make any sense at all.

So the deal was that Mama went to visit on the bus and Pop stayed home with the car, the animals, Candy the dog, and the garden. The rest of us went visiting on the bus.

Every summer we went to San Jose to visit my Auntie Edna, her husband, Uncle Joe and their four kids. My cousins were awful. It was boring there because we had nothing to do. Getting there on the bus was the worst part. It was a long ride.

I met some interesting adults on the bus rides, but Mama was the most interesting of all. People riding on buses never seem too dressed up to me. But Mama got all done up nice for the long ride. She always wore high heels, nylon stockings that buttoned to her girdle, one of her beautiful slips, and a new seersucker dress that she made for the visit. Seersucker is kind of a bumpy striped cotton cloth that doesn't get messy in hot weather. It feels cool because it doesn't stick to you too much. Every spring just before Easter Mama would go to Penny's and buy six yards of seersucker in navy and white. She bought pink flowered cotton for me. I hate pink. She also bought yards of other cloth for spring dresses.

One spring as we planned to visit Auntie Edna's house there was a birthday party for Uncle Homer just after school was out. It was supposed to be a secret party, but he must have known about it since it was his birthday. That year I went with Mama on her annual shopping trip to buy seersucker. It was awful. Or worse than awful.

When we got to JC Penny's I started to whine, beg, and plead for a "no pink" dress. I said I was too old for pink. I told Mama it made my eyes look pink like one of the rabbits, because of my white hair and all. She was thinking only about her dress and never heard a word.

It was March and the wind was blowing from off Humboldt Bay like a son-of-a-gun. Pop always says that, so I learned to say that, too, because that is just how the wind blows. It blew me nearly over. Mama grabbed me by the hand and we both blew right into Penny's.

The cloth was in big round bolts laying on tables. All the different colors were neat to look at, but after an hour while Mama looked at the big books about patterns of dresses, I was pretty bored. She went through McCall's and Singer Books. The pictures were of women with their dresses already sewn together. Not one picture showed anyone that looked like Mama. They were all bony and had sad faces.

There were stairs to the men's department. Sometimes Mama let me go up and down the stairs to keep me busy. One time I got in one of the cupboards where the cloth was saved. That was fun until she started calling me, thinking I was lost.

She finally found a pattern to make her dress and yards of navy stripe seersucker. And she didn't buy pink with flowers. She bought yellow with white flowers. I really wanted blue, but felt fairly lucky that I wouldn't have another stupid pink dress.

Back at home, Mama began to stick the pieces of tissue paper all over her cloth. This way and that way. Of course, this was on the kitchen table.

When I came in from chores, I had to help her lift the cloth over on the couch and after dinner, lift back it back on the table. After the pieces were all cut out, sides and sleeves and backs and stuff, Mama laid all the pieces in order on her sewing machine top. She kept all the scraps because who knows when they might come in handy?

The next day after Pop went to work, and we kids went to school she would sew all morning. She had an electric sewing machine that went like he double toothpicks. She'd step on the pedal, give it the juice and, whee, sewed straight or curvy or, however, it was supposed to be.

I know how hard it is to even sew straight. I was supposed to make place mats for Auntie Edna for her birthday, one for her, one for Uncle Joe and four for my red-haired cousins. NOT one of the six places mats had a straight seam. I did try. Honest. I got so mad at the sewing machine and mad at me, that I had a nosebleed. Mama said she couldn't figure out why I couldn't sew straight and neither could I.

Anyway, when I got home from school the next day, there was my dress, hanging from the door top in the kitchen. It was a soft yellow with white flowers, tiny little apple blossoms maybe, and a white collar and wide ties. Some times she sewed a button in the tips of the ties to make them hang right. She always found pretty buttons. So up the middle of my back marched yellow pearl buttons that I couldn't see when I wore it and stuck into my back when I leaned against a hard chair back. I couldn't wear it until Easter and then on the bus trip, but I had to put it on so my mother could make it the right length. Mama always made wide hems in the bottoms of my dress skirts so she could let them down when I grew.

"Oh, Baby Rose, you look like a candy angel, yes, you do," Mama said, twitching at my hem. I could sort of see myself in the window. I didn't look anything like candy angels.

"Now, you can't wear this until Easter and then the bus trip, so don't you grow too much, okay?" She teased me. "I better not give you any cake on Sunday."

"Cake will me grow out, not up." I said trying to forget cake and Sunday was three days away.

I did forget all about the yellow dress until Easter. And after Easter, I was busy with the new baby animals and spring and all the things that country children do when the grass gets so green. I have a rule. When the grass gets that green, I have to roll in it, over and over. It's called "the rolling in the clover rule" because that's the kind of grass I like best.

School was suddenly out. The bus tickets were bought. My noodle brother went to stay with Gran and Granddad because he was "helping" them paint their house. I had to go on the bus with Mama. Away from the wonderful green grass, the baby rabbits and the baby chicks, and the new baby calf that our milk cow, Lulubelle, just had given us.

I cried until my eyes swelled shut but it didn't help. I had to go with Mama on the bus. As we pulled out of the bus station I waved at Pop, but he didn't wave back. He just sort of nodded like he did to strangers. I couldn't cry anymore. I just sat there.

Mama getting herself settled was something I don't ever like to miss, even when I'm unhappy. She had to set herself on the seat just right, with her skirt tucked around her crossed legs. She had to have all her bags and her purse and her movie magazine all fixed just so. She always sat on the aisle side to keep me in line, she said.

She took up most of the seat. I always said so but just to myself.

See, there was no armrest between the bus seats like in the movies? So she just didn't know her side from my side. I sat watching her silently while she fussed with her stuff and spread around. Finally, I looked out of the window and watched my hometown of Eureka, California passing by. I knew I'd never be back. When would I ever get home again? I missed Candy, my black Lab dog and my best friend already and we weren't even out of the parking lot yet.

In the end we started and I stared at the houses and then the fields until I fell asleep. But I didn't cry again. I almost never cry.

I woke up when I heard Mama groaning. Outside the bus window, the world's tallest trees whizzed by. I looked at Mama. She was kind of an icky color. She was carsick. She always gets carsick. Even on short trips to Fortuna, a town not far from Eureka. I watched in horror as she stood up in her seersucker dress and red high heels. She staggered down the center of the bus. Holding the seat backs and nearly falling on people, she stumbled up to the bus driver.

"You must stop the bus," Mama cried.

"Ma'am, what's wrong?" the driver asked, glancing back through the bus in his big mirror. Everyone on the bus was looking at us. I closed MY eyes.

"Stop this bus now!" screeched Mama. "PLEASE."

"Okay, the next stop is the Drive-Thru Tree. We'll stop there. Please sit down," he told Mama. So she did, right on the floor next to the bus driver. Now, I did hide.

"Don't worry, little girl, your mother will be better soon." The lady across the aisle in the other seat said to me. That was when I started gagging in sympathy with Mama. The lady leaned way back. Afraid, I guess.

"It's okay, I never throw UP unless I WANT to." I told her as soon as I could talk. I could tell by the look on her face that she thought I was not telling the truth.

Mama, meanwhile, was starting to pray.

"Oh, Jesus, take me with You, Lord," Mama cried out.

Some of the people around looked sort embarrassed 'cause they weren't use to out loud prayers. When Mama was sick or anyone else was sick, Mama always prayed. Out loud. Very loud.

"Oh, yes, Lord Jesus, come and take this dying woman to her glory," Mama went on. We couldn't get to the Drive-Thru Tree soon enough, I thought.

Just as she was starting to get ready to pray harder, the bus made a switcheroo swerve into the parking lot. My mother was up and at those weird sucking doors before the driver had a chance to pull the handle to open them. Wham!

I saw her through the window running straight into the bushes. Thimbleberry bushes and dogwood trees parted as her high heels went hoofing off. Somebody on the bus laughed.

I stood up and glared all around. No one looked guilty. I frowned, about to hit somebody if they laughed at my mother again. Then all the people started getting off the bus, one after the other.

Dang. I picked up Mama's two-ton purse; I knew better than to leave THAT thing lying around. I waddled as I carried it into the little restaurant and gift store. A black sign on one door said "Pointers" and a sign on the other said "Setters". For a minute I couldn't remember which was which. Then I saw the woman who was so nosey pointing at me to go in the "Setters" room and I followed her.

I put Mama's purse between my feet while I waited my turn. I felt very grown-up.

"Well, why do you suppose they don't have more toilets for women?" I said this politely to a lady next in line. She looked nice, not nosy.

"I don't know, kiddo, just the way things are," She told me, scratching her backside over her dress. When she stopped scratching, her dress stuck up on her fanny kind of like a flag. I snickered.

"Well, I'm going to write the President. Then, there'll be heck to pay." I am very knowledgeable about politics, my Pop always says.

"You go ahead, kiddo, I can wait 'til after you," the lady said as a stall door opened and a lady came out.

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am," I said to her, tipping my imaginary cowboy hat and hauling Mama's purse into the little room after me.

When I was finished, I quick washed my hands and went out to the store. I was thinking that Mama's purse was stretching my arms out even longer.

I saw that there was a glass case over the candy so I went to check on the Mounds bars. Yep, they had them, both kinds, with almonds and plain, my favorite. I looked around. No Mama yet. I stayed where I was and started reading all the signs.

"Own a Redwood Burl!" was the sign over a bowl carved from the knots cut off a redwood tree. I guessed people would buy them and then find out it took at least two hundred years for it grow up to be even a baby redwood tree.

Another sign said "Horoscopes" and one that said "Fresh Roast Coffee" and a stand-up sign on the counter. I leaned closer.

Travel Sickness?

Nausea?
Peeples' Dramamine
cures the nightmare of
TRAVEL UPSET
only 89 cents for 10 doses

What an idea! This is it. I'd fix up Mama and be a hero. I sat right down on the floor and took off my shoe. I felt in the bottom of it. Nothing. Took off my other shoe. Nothing again. Then, I remembered that I had put my emergency dollar in my sock. I pulled off my sock. Yep, there it was.

"I'll take one of these," I said, handing the little travel sickness packet to the man behind the counter. "My mama is feeling sick and this is sure to help her."

"Snake oil, huh?" He said to me. I quick looked around. No sign of Mama. If it had anything to do with snakes, she wouldn't get near it. He gave me the change and the packet. It was smaller than a pack of gum. I put it in my pocket with the change.

"Thank you," I told him. I sat back on the floor to put on my sock and my shoes. I saw Mama's legs through all the grown-ups standing around. Her red high heels clicked out of the "Setters" door without a waver. Something that someone said made her laugh. I could hear her talking.

"Just fine now, thank you for asking," Mama said, and her laugh went its way all around the room. I tied my shoes and stood up.

"There you are, Baby Rose. Mama is all better now." She waved at me. OF COURSE, all the people turned to look at the big baby. My ears got hot.

She came over to me and said, "How about a candy bar? Just don't eat it where I have to smell it."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm not quite well," Mama told me in whisper. She took her purse under her arm and I was greatly relieved of its weight and responsibility. I sighed as my ears cooled off.

"A plain Hershey bar, please. And could I get some ice water in a paper cup and a nice cup of coffee?" she asked the man behind the counter. I hoped he wouldn't tell her about the snake oil. He handed her the ice water. And then he set down the paper cup of black coffee. She took one look at the coffee and couldn't take a drink.

"Mama, listen, I got this wonderful stuff that keeps you from being sick. I bought it with my emergency dollar, but it says it works." I took the packet out of my pocket and started to read it to her.

"Ladies and Gents, now boarding for San Francisco, San Rafael and points south," the bus driver called. Mama looked up, her paper cup of water sloshing a little over the edge.

"You want more, Mama?" She handed it to me and swayed toward the bus. As she waved her hand at me, I knew exactly what she meant. Get the water and get on the bus.

I took the water over to the man. "Could I have a refill of my mother's water?"

"She is sure one sick lady. How come you don't get sick, too?" He laughed. He filled the glass and handed it back.

"I don't have time, and thanks again," I nodded to him, just exactly as Pop had nodded at me in the bus depot four hours earlier.

I ran outside with the paper cup. The people were lining up to get in and find their seats. I took a drink of water. Then I held the cup in my teeth while I tore open the packet. The pills fell out into my hand. I turned the paper packet over, "two every four hours" I read to myself.

I held the paper cup in one hand. I glanced around to see if I was being watched, and seeing the grown-ups were all busy with their getting on the bus, I dropped two of the pills in the ice water. I shook it a little, hoping it would be like Alka-Seltzer. But I could see trails of milky pills stuff still in there. I stuck my finger into the cup and stirred it a little.

"Uck," I said out loud, after licking my finger. It tasted awful. Would she drink it?

It was finally my turn. Boy, were people slow. I like to hurry. That's just me. I finally went down the aisle, hoping I wouldn't spill the medicine water on somebody.

When I got to our seat, Mama was lying back, her eyes closed, her lips perfectly red and her face sort of green. I looked to see if she had gills to get green. Nope, not yet green to the gills Laughing at my own joke, I padded my mother on the shoulder.

"Mama, Mama?"

"Oh, dear, I feel sick still. And so dry. Parched as a desert toad." Mama sat up, grabbed the cup and drank down the water. I blinked.

She moved her legs aside to let me in. Very careful not to step on her toes, I slid past. I struggled with my conscience about to tell her or not to tell her about the pills in the water. Then the bus started. Before I could completely figure out what to do, the big old Greyhound Bus was humming down Highway 101 again.

"Leave the driving to us," I sang under my breath; it was the TV commercial about the bus. "Take the bus, leave the driving to us."

Too late now. I looked at Mama. Her hair was nicely combed, her seersucker dress tucked around her, her purse clasped by her round arms on her lap.

As I watched her, her eyelids flickered and she started to snore. And drool sort of got started in the corner of her mouth. I did laugh then.

The rest of the trip was long; finally, I had to crawl over Mama to use the bathroom at one of the stops. The lady across the aisle went with me, just to be sure, she said.

"Sure of what?" I asked, trying to smile nicely. After all, she was a grown-up.

"Well, to be sure nothing happens to you and that you don't get lost or miss the bus. We're getting close to the city now.,” she said, showing me her teeth.

I ran for the bathroom. OF COURSE, there was a line of ladies. The lady from across the aisle asked me if Mama always got sick on bus trips.

"Umm, hmmm, don't know, for sure, maybe you should ask her," I said, knowing Mama wouldn't like strangers asking about her throwing up. I finished my business and didn't wait for that lady.

I ran straight to the big silver bus. I was glad we were getting close to Auntie Edna's. I was hungry and could have eaten a whole chocolate cake. Usually, Mama had sandwiches, like peanut butter, but they were in the cupboard over the seat and I couldn't reach them unless I stood on Mama.

When I got back to my seat, there was a big man sitting in it. He was asleep, too. Snoring, too. I stood there. Gawking. What could I do? The lady came back. Then to me, she said, "Oh, dear, I'll move over by the window and you can still sit by your mother, only across the aisle. Here, honey." She patted the seat.

"Thank you. It's very kind you, but Pop told me to look out for Mama." I told her. I scratched under my braid. I chewed on the end of my braid. The bus driver started the motor.

"Well, honey, they're just napping. I am sure it will be fine."

I know for a fact that anytime anyone calls me "honey" I'm going to regret it.

I sat on the very edge of the seat, turned toward Mama. What else could I do? Just keep my eyes on her. My eyes started watering from staring at Mama and that man so hard.

All of a sudden, we were starting over the Golden Gate Bridge. I jumped up to see down into San Francisco Bay and see the ships. It was the best part of the bus trip.

The bus swayed and I bumped against Mama. Then, I fell, yelping, backward into my seat by the lady. Mama's eyes popped wide open. Her mouth went big and then shut tight, turning down. She sucked up her drool. Then she looked at the man.

"Sir," said Mama to the sleeping man, "I'll have to ask you to lean on your own breakfast, Mister. Up, sir, up!" She poked his chest with her long red fingernail. Poke, poke.

I couldn't stop laughing at the look on the man's face when he woke up. He looked like he'd stepped in a cow pile. He said sorry a whole bunch of times to my mother. Then, he and I changed seats so that the nosy lady could just take care of him instead of me. I slipped past Mama as she smiled at me.

"Baby Rose, I had the sweetest dream, all about being a butterfly, Baby, do you want to hear it?"

"Yes! Mama, yes!"

I was so happy that I just didn't tell her about spiking her water with Dramamine pills. Well, okay, I didn't tell her until we started home from Auntie Edna's. I had to tell her then and give up the remaining eight pills. I wish I had given them to Uncle Homer for his birthday since he gets sick on all his bus rides, too.

Pop says it runs in their side of the family.