Dating : The Milk Glass Bowl

Jane had packed the bowl carefully, or so she thought, willing it to survive the move across the country. After being wrapped in several towels, she placed it inside the truck itself, among the boxes that held her other special things. The rest of her stuff was being pulled in the U-Haul trailer. Her son, Jack, raced his truck westward, toward the mountains, eager to get to Utah.

Jack was on the cusp of nineteen. College would start in a month back in Michigan. Jane’s husband, David, had moved to Utah for a job and Jane stayed behind with Jack so that he could finish high school with his friends.

Jack was their youngest child. He would have left home, creating an empty nest, if they had not dismantled the nest out from under him and moved it 1700 miles away. The road trip marked the end of a treasured year spent with her boy, just the two of them. She and Jack would deliver her belongings, then retrace their route to settle him into his burgeoning adult life before she returned west for good.

“We should tell dad that the truck broke down — and we won’t be there until Sunday — and then surprise him. We ‘ll probably make it before he gets out of work on Friday. We can be sitting in the driveway when he gets home.”

Jack drove most of the way, lip-syncing and gesturing to the music in the exaggerated way that she loved, hanging his recently-tattooed arm out the window and occasionally riding the wave of the wind with his large hand. His hazel eyes held the joy and anticipation of the open road. She struggled to hold on to the moments as the miles ticked on.

#

Jane saw the damage as soon as she unwrapped the bowl. A plume of emotion coursed through her. It was a white mixing bowl that she referred to as milk glass, but it was different from traditional ornate milk glass pieces that she saw in antique stores. Maybe it wasn’t milk glass at all.

It had belonged to her beloved Mammaw, dead these thirty years, and now it had a crack that ran from the lip to the base. It was still intact, but more fragile than before.

In Jane’s eyes, Mammaw had been perfect — sweet and funny, but tough. She gave crushing hugs. They had used the bowl to bake together while they had their little talks.

“Mammaw, did you really kick that rooster just one kick and it died?”

“Sure did. It was pecking at your uncle when he was just two. He was screaming and crying.”

Jane giggled. “Poor rooster didn’t see Mama Bear coming.”

“My brother, Lester, wasn’t too happy about it.”

Mammaw’s arms were strong as she whipped the chocolate filling for her family-famous pie by hand. She laughed fully with an open mouth. They were each other’s favorites.

Mammaw had asked Jane to call her Grandma when she was twelve, embarrassed by what she felt was an unsophisticated remnant of the Appalachia that she had left behind fifty years prior. Jane struggled to shift. It pained her that her term of endearment had caused discomfort and now that Mammaw was gone, she could revert back to the beloved name.

#

The Utah house had built-in shelves situated prominently in the dining room. She placed the bowl at eye level, turning the crack toward the back where it would be hidden.

A quick phone call to her mother assured her that it would be fine — the crack would not likely grow if she was careful.

#

Jack steered them back toward Michigan on a sunny morning. Their return trip would be leisurely, full of roadside attractions the exact opposite of the rush to get their old dog to Utah and ditch the trailer.

Their first destination was the Ice Caves of Superior, Wyoming. They left I-80, following the path the navigator laid out through, from all appearances, a barely-inhabited town; there was no evidence of a live person in sight. Jane’s phone directed them to turn on a dirt road that led up to a mountain. She felt as though they were visible to the entire town, watched by eyes behind closed blinds. They began to take switchbacks all the way to the top and then dipped slightly down on the opposite side, following a road that purportedly led to the archeological site.

When they reached the point where her phone told them they had arrived, there was nothing but rocky slopes on either side of the road — no sign or building or marker. The place was desolate. They drove a bit further and saw a semi-truck off in the distance — a strange sight in such a deserted place — but no other evidence of life. The old movie of the crazed trucker hunting down an unsuspecting driver flashed in her mind, along with any number of movies that dealt with being trapped in a corrupt, remote locale with sinister residents.

Jane felt a tweak of panic. Why had she directed her boy to such a place? It felt mildly threatening to be so isolated. If something happened, there was not enough signal on her phone to even place a call. No one knew where they were.

Jack was at ease. “Do you want to drive around some more, see if we can find it?”

“No… can you do a U-Turn? Let’s just forget it.”

Jack carefully turned his truck, as the semi gained on them, and headed back down the mountain. As he navigated each blind switchback turn, she braced herself for a roadblock, but soon they were back in town and then on the highway.

Jane let out her breath, unaware that she had been holding it. “I hope we have better luck with our next stop.”

#

Jane took pictures from the moving truck of the vast fields of wind turbines in Rock River. Her screen showed a row of bright white stick figures doing calisthenics in a distant line.

They arrived at the Wyoming Territorial Prison in Laramie a couple hours before it closed and meandered through well-maintained grounds and unexpectedly engaging exhibits.

They learned that Dr. May Preston Slosson was the first American female prison chaplain and the first woman in the country to receive a Doctorate in Philosophy and a Ph.D. from Cornell University. When she died far from Wyoming, she chose to be cremated so that she could be buried in Laramie with her son, Alfred, who succumbed to Scarlet Fever at the age of six. Her loss and sorrow were undiminished in the 60 plus years that she had survived him. It must have broken her heart to leave him behind; her last wish was to rejoin him.

Dr. Slosson wrote a poem about her son, “My Little Boy.” Jane read it several times, immersed in the unexpected poignancy of the exhibit. She finally copied the lines on the back of the entrance ticket. Jack had gone outside to explore the grounds. She found him in the prison yard and they walked to the giftshop.

“Do you want one of these?” Jane held up a sheriff’s star badge with his name on it.

He smiled. “Don’t you think I’m a little old?”

“I’m serious. I’ll buy it. You can hang it from your rearview mirror or something. It’s a respectable souvenir. Unless you’d rather have another pen.” She held up a souvenir pen and smiled mischievously at him.

“I outgrew pens a long time ago.” There had been a time, around age eight, when he always had several pens in his pocket — and could produce one on the spot for whoever needed it, like a prepared administrative assistant. Those pens had ruined several loads of laundry. Now, he had moved on to cellphones and car keys. He grinned at her. “Okay, I’ll take the badge. If you can find a siren to go with it, I can get us home a lot faster.”

“Oh my god, I just realized I’ve encouraged that dream you have of becoming a police officer, haven’t I? Give it back.”

He held it up high, out of her reach — always enjoying his height — as she tried to grab at it. “Ma’am, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to take you into the station.”

She read Dr. Slosson’s poem to Jack as he drove.

The other children grow so tall, I would not wish it otherwise, And yet — we mothers lose them all, They grow to men before our eyes — my little boys. But he who slipped away in spring, Six summers on his shining head, His baby eyes still wondering, He only, tho long years have sped, Is still my little boy.

“It’s so sad. I feel sort of the same. You kids — your younger versions — are like people that I used to know that I’ll never see again. I have all of these memories of the things you’ve done and how you used to be, but you don’t remember much of it at all. What I wouldn’t give to make you all four years old again.”

“Then you would have to be my mom all the way through Junior High. Are you sure you’d want to redo that?

“I’ve loved every stage. I would do each one over a hundred times.”

“Well, I DO NOT want to go back to eighth grade even one more time. College sounds a lot more fun.”

“Do you remember when you were about six and that kid at the hotel pool was bothering you? You asked your dad to kick his ass? We thought his mom was going to have a heart attack. That gasp she gave…” Jane was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.

Jack smiled in pleasure. “I could be a stinker.”

“If you were four again, I could make you grow your hair out. God, I loved your little mullet.”

“Well I didn’t. Someday I’m going to get my hands on all of the pictures and burn them.”

”Only if you want to break my heart.”

The memories were flooding in and she was rushing to tell them before she forgot.

“I remember the time you were your sister’s hero, when she got locked in that closet at the old house and you ran to get me — you couldn’t even talk yet, but you knew your sissy needed help. I was busy but you practically dragged me upstairs… and when you were three and I was telling you that there are certain words you can’t say at school and you gave me the F-word as an example — You mean like F@&k mom? And when we were at Yellowstone when you were five and you said, ‘If somebody doesn’t buy me this backpack, I’m gonna be pissed’ and your grandpa about fell over. You were a spunky little guy.”

“I still am.”

“Yes, you still are… do you remember when you would run to the front of the movie theater at the end of every movie and dance your heart out during the credits? God, you were so funny. And cute.”

“Were? I’m not funny and cute now?”

“Adorable and hilarious. Park here.”

Jane had been directing him to Laramie proper so that they could pay their respects at the Matthew Shepard Memorial. The trip was organically acquiring a series of stories about boys and men leaving, in one way or another, and the irony was not lost on Jane.

The tragic events that ended Matthew’s life caused Jane to assume that Laramie would be a backwater place; she wasn’t expecting a vibrant college town with a picturesque campus.

They were running short of time, needing to make it to North Platte by the end of the evening. Jack was staring at his phone, trying to figure out which direction to walk, but the navigator app was not providing much help. Jane finally asked a woman who was being tugged along by two bulldogs where the memorial was located.

She looked confused. “There’s a memorial?”

They finally found it — a bench that bore a small commemorative sign, wishing peace to all who sat there in honor of the beloved son, brother and friend who died so tragically. Jane had expected more.

#

North Platte was buttoned up for bed when they arrived. They drove through quiet streets in search of the small motel Jane had booked from the road. Jane chatted with the front desk clerk who greeted her with freshly baked muffins and cookies. Her name tag said Ji-Woo.

“Are you from Korea?”

“Yes!”

“Annyeonghaseyo.”

The woman exclaimed in surprised pleasure. “How do you know Korean?”

“I visited Seoul two years ago, I learned two words. Hello and thank you. Gomabseubnida.”

“Those two are the most important!”

Jane collected an extra muffin for Jack, who had gone ahead to the room. He was sprawled out on his bed with the TV on.

He yawned. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

“We are going to see the largest trainyard in the country. The Golden Spike Tower is in the middle of it. We can go up and watch the trains.”

“That sounds cool.”

“During World War II, soldiers traveled to North Platte by train and the locals fed them — lonely boys far from home.”

#

The next morning, when Jane checked out, Ji-Woo gestured for her to wait a moment, disappearing into her private quarters and returning with a shoebox. “I made you some breakfast for your trip.”

“That is so kind of you.” Jane slightly bowed in appreciation. The still-warm omelets were wrapped in wax paper and smelled of onions and sesame oil. The scent of steaming hot peach muffins filled Jack’s truck. Ji-Woo was carrying on the local tradition of feeding strangers. The box was empty by the time they got to the Golden Spike.

The Fort Cody Trading Post was their final North Platte attraction. It boasted a stuffed two-headed calf and 20,000 figure reproduction of the Buffalo Bill Cody Wild West Show. It was kitschy, a fun reprieve from sad stories.

Further down the road, Jack spent an hour at the military museum in Lexington, climbing through vintage trucks and planes and helicopters like a little kid. He seemed too big for many of the spaces. Had the men who saved the world been smaller than her still-growing son?

“Admit it — I look good in this tank.”

“Nope. You look good going to college.”

She changed the topic to dinner — not wanting to restart the debate about enlisting, something that appealed to him and made her cringe at the thought of him in danger’s way. She wanted to eat somewhere memorable and had a list of options pulled up on her phone. “How does Zombie Burger sound? We should hit Des Moines at about the right time. Listen to this — the Undead Elvis — peanut butter, fried bananas, egg, bacon, cheese and mayo on top of a burger — it sounds so bad that I’ll bet it’s delicious — and a shake with a Twinkie mixed in.”

Jack saluted her from inside the tank.

Dinner was over by 6:00 pm. They looked at the route on her phone as they waited to pay the check.

“Where do you want to stop for the night? Chicago?”

“I’ve been there a million times.”

“There’s a casino hotel near Indiana. Sometimes the age to gamble is nineteen. I could call and find out.”

“Let’s see how it goes. I might be able to get us all the way back tonight, save you some money on a hotel.”

“I don’t mind paying for another night. Are there any other places you want to go? We don’t have to be in a hurry…”

They had seen many things that were a perfect fit to Jack’s interests. They hadn’t seen anything amazing, but the trip had been just right. She was pleased, reluctant for their travels to end.

“I think I might be ready to get home. Cody invited me to go to his uncle’s cottage tomorrow if we’re back in time.”

As they neared the Michigan state line, Jane became quiet. A wall of emotion built in her and she felt it crack as they passed the “Welcome to Michigan” sign. She wept quietly. She reached a point where she could not contain the tears and began gulping air as she fought them off. She was awash in sorrow.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“We’re might never live together again.”

He reached out to comfort her by holding her hand, but he didn’t really know what to say.

She took a deep breath so that she could speak. “I’m grateful I got to spend this last year with you.”

“I know.”

“I’m so proud of who you are.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll miss you terribly.”

“I’ll visit.”

“Yes, but it won’t be the same. Things will change.”

She cried for the rest of the trip and much of the following days but eventually she was able to slide the crack to the back of her mind, hiding it from view. It might not get worse if she was careful, but she was more fragile than before.