The month of August brings me many things: humid days, cool nights, memories of the Northern Maine Fair, lingering back-to-school jitters, dear friends’ birthdays, “dog days,” memories of two very sneaky young ladies, a high capacity stereo system, and a black Chevy Impala.
I am not sure just who came up with the plan but my cousin Peggy and I decided to “borrow” my mother’s black Impala one hot August night and take it for a spin. Peggy had her driver’s permit and I was just 14. Both of us had been driving long before our feet could even reach the foot pedals but never on the main roads and certainly never after midnight. We loaded up my stereo with six LPs, snuck quietly out of the back door, somehow got the automatic transmission into neutral, and with Peggy behind the wheel, I pushed the car out into the street. Once we were past the front of my house, we started the car and voila! We were in business.
In the throes of youth, we did not think beyond the moment. We were young and infallible. We drove around the little city of Caribou for well over an hour; only panicking once when the car’s engine threatened to stop. There was not a lot of traffic on the streets and we avoided the police station; though we did see a patrol car several times. For some reason, holding our breath seemed to ward off any potential disruptions while on our quest, and when we pulled into the driveway, engine running, we were literally home free! We shut the doors of that grand car with great care, stifled our girlie giggles, and got into bed. The records had long ago stopped spinning and the house was in deep slumber. Secure in our foolery, we fell asleep at once.
The next morning seemed to be moving along without a hitch; that is until Mom decided to go to the store and purchase some chocolate coconut doughnuts, a gallon of milk, and some ground beef for a barbecue she had promised us later in the day. Dad had gone to work in his Gould & Smith service truck; which by the way, had been parked off to the side of the Impala the night before. Mom placed the bag of groceries on the kitchen table, and with one hand on her hip, said, “The funniest thing happened! The car seat and mirrors have been reset and the gas gauge indicator has moved just a hair. Any idea why, girls?” Quite unexpectedly and out of the blue, I broke down and confessed everything. Mom called her sister, Aunt Edie, asking her to pick Peggy up early. “The girls have pulled a fast one on me, Edie. Sending Peggy home will be a good lesson for Belinda.”
Years later, my parents confessed that they thought the car borrowing stunt was very clever, but alarmingly devious. For months, my mother would walk quietly into my room and touch my face lightly. “Just checking,” she would whisper, bending forward to kiss me on the cheek.
“Mom, are you afraid I will steal the car again?” I asked her one night.
She stood by my bedroom door, pushing back her long brown hair. “No,” she said. “It is really the other way around. I am afraid that the fast and flashy things in this world will steal you away from me.
“Never,” I said. “Not even my dream car — the Jaguar — can take me away from you.” We laughed then as she blended into the darkness of the house, her fleece slippers sweeping across wooden floors; guiding her back to her dreams.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
