If you have been outside lately, it should come as no surprise that we are on the cusp of summer.
Temperatures are rising, days are getting longer and that little voice inside you is telling you to spend more time outside. You’re probably getting restless at work and when you drive home it’s warm enough to put the car windows down, but not hot enough to use the air conditioning. I did this just tonight. Radio on, windows down and enjoyed the drive home as I rarely do unless the weather is just right. It didn’t matter what was actually on the radio, it was the temporary sense of unbridled freedom that hit the spot. Tomorrow was another day, but right now was “The Moment.”
For a short while, my mind drifted from what I did at work today or what was waiting for me to follow up with in the morning. I wasn’t hurrying home for the frozen pizza I was cooking for dinner. The pizza would be there when I got there. The journey was the reward. Random thoughts popped into my head. Memories, or snippets of such without a common thread, a mosaic of experiences and remembrances.
I remembered the sound of the screen door when my brother and I would run out to play. It was an old screen door, plain metal, with a battered scrollwork in the center of the bottom half with our family name’s initial in the center. The aluminum panel at the lower part of the door was bowed by us hitting it with our feet. Sometimes, it would pop out and our grandfather would have to bend it back into shape and refit it into the metal frame. The screen was well worn, with a few holes haphazardly patched like a bizarre quilt. The hiss of the pneumatic closer was ever present. We’d kick the door wide open and it would swing wide, then close slowly with the sound of the closer. Once in a while, the little metal slider would catch and the door wouldn’t close all the way and we would hear our mother complaining about us leaving the door wide open as we ran down the street.
We had a neighbor who was always washing his car. The car was a brand new Trans Am, and this guy was always washing and waxing it. He thought he was the neighborhood ladykiller and was always shirtless, clutching a container of Turtle Wax in one hand and a rag in the other. There was always music playing from his house or his car and it was usually some kind of light rock or Top 40. When I hear certain songs, I can remember that guy getting antsy every time we ran past his car or rode by on our bikes. We weren’t gonna hurt the car, we just wanted to see it up close. I haven’t smelled Turtle Wax in a long time, but I’ll bet you a dollar it would take me back about 40 years.
My wife and I were in Walmart not long ago and I saw the big display of suntan oils and lotions. I opened a container of Hawaiian Tropic and took a big sniff.
Ocean City, Maryland, summer of 1983. I was 13 and on vacation with my grandmother and brother. It seemed like the air was heavy with Hawaiian Tropic and its heavy and sweet coconut scent. Ocean City was filled with the kind of girls that were on the posters on our bedroom walls. Vividly colored bikinis and big, blonde hair, tanned and smelling of suntan lotion. For a pair of adolescent boys, it didn’t get much better than that. We weren’t clever enough to bring a camera and sneak some snapshots. All we have now are memories. My wife and I will occasionally open a container of Hawaiian Tropic in the store and “go on vacation,” albeit for a few seconds.
One of my neighbors has their grill going. I have the windows open in the house and I can smell the hot dogs and hamburgers from their yard. When I was younger, our family would get together at my great uncle’s house each June for a big cookout. There was plenty of food and we would play volleyball and badminton and we would get to see cousins we only saw once or twice a year. We wouldn’t pay attention to the time and only realized it was almost time to go home when we ran out of daylight. We’d beg for five or 10 more minutes and I can’t recall how many volleyball game were played awkwardly in the early darkness. I’ve lost touch with a lot of the cousins, most of their parents are gone and the cookouts are no more. For a moment, tonight, we were all together.
I suppose each and everyone of us has those little triggers that take us to another place and another time. I think tonight, since it’s nice, I’m gonna make a drink and sit out on the porch. I’ll be sure to listen to the screen door.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.
