The exposure

My mother was not in a hurry, for once we travelled leisurely. She and I, two temporary pals setting out on a suburban journey. Free from much thought, no tense conversations. Our roles of mother and daughter turned off. Just us gals. Me with my thighs stuck in a pleasant way to the vinyl seats in the station wagon, Her with one hand on the bottom of the steering wheel and one hand rolling down the car window.

Time for another cigarette. A perfect moment, she is alone in the car, without another adult judging her. The short frantic grope of her purse, her fumbling. Me helping in my way. My emotional support of her rather than my help with the search of the cigarette pack. She finds them once I steady the bag and she steadies the wheel. The swift snap of the lighter and deep penetrating drag of the cigarette. The once coveted lighter now quickly thrown in the direction of the bag, so quickly forgotten once the cigarette was lighted.

I am six years old.

We drive to an antique shop. It is 10 o’ clock in the morning and in the middle of summer. All the windows are open in the long shop. Is it dark? It is a bit. A storm is coming. A summer storm. I hear my mom across the store. She speaks to the shop owner about what we are looking for. Small talk. Wind through the windows. I look around. I have figured out that I can pick up things in store, small things, even expensive things as long as I set them down carefully and no one is around. Cautiously like my mother. My hand moves over a ceramic cow creamer. I pick it up turn it upside down like I have seen my mother do, look at the price tag on its belly and right the creamer and set it back down on the shelf. Softly. Expertly. No one is looking.

A man approaches, he says something matter-of-factly. I freeze as he drops his pants. I am aware how much distance is between my mother and I. He rubs his flaccid penis up and I see it fall against his leg. Snap. My breath is short. Then a blur to find my mother. Fast, fast. I find her laughing in the shop with the shop keeper. The shopkeeper gives a history about antique violins. My mother discusses the Stradivarius that hangs in our hallway. My grandfather would play it when no one was looking. He also played the piano when I would visit then stop playing when people started to gather around him. His little secret. Music wasn’t something farmers respected. He thought of them as silly parlor tricks and the like. Life was to be planned and earth to be tended. Around me he was a miracle. Frivolous and throwing me in the air. I had all his attention. He followed me everywhere. He would laugh so hard when I tried to catch the geese that settled in the fields.

Mom and I climb into the station wagon. It smells of home and safety. I am in the back seat. If I sit in the front I smell the cigarettes too much and the view was better in the back. I have all the space back there. We are separated. My brothers Star Wars figurines roll forward at the light. I watch them roll under the seat again. A light turns green.

I tell my mother about the man and how he took his pants down in front of me. I tell her as best I can but I am a child. I am suddenly aware of how small I am, almost useless. She carefully asks questions. Everything is strange because everything is so careful. I try to tell her he touched himself. I am not sure what I am saying but she gasps and then does something amazing. She says “okay” then covers her mouth. She pulls back into the parking lot of the antique shop. We sit there and she has both hands on the wheel. A small bit of time goes by. She then heads the car in the direction of home. She is afraid and turns the wheel softly and carefully. I have done something wrong but am relieved she is not yelling at me. Usually there is yelling. We continue to head home. She is afraid and I have frightened her. How is that possible? She is huge and I am terribly small. I am sorry. I want to forget the whole thing. I want to take it back suddenly wiser now. I am exposed. Silence. I stare out of the window and fumble with my brothers toys in the back, all alone again.