Information


Road has a minion!

Beached the Squid Monster




Road


The Common Experiment #3485
Owner: Pureflower

Age: 3 years, 2 months, 3 weeks

Born: January 1st, 2021

Adopted: 3 years, 2 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: January 1st, 2021

Statistics


  • Level: 195
     
  • Strength: 263
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 245
     
  • Books Read: 231
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Master Key Turner


July 4, 1942

Our road was little more than a dirt trail traveled by horses. Those once-critical beasts of labor were disappearing. You swore to me that yours was the first car to ever make that bumpy voyage - road signs were still a distant dream. Your boast may have even been true.

I was eager to believe anything out of the mouth of my man in uniform. You were so handsome with your cap tipped slightly to one side. Your teeth were white then, and perfectly straight. You and half the country believed we'd have the Nazi Party licked in six months.

Our first kiss was under a giant beach umbrella patched together from every color of the rainbow. Your hand slowly traveled down my side. You sought forbidden fruit despite my much-hated old-fashioned bathing suit. I wanted less cloth and more sun on my skin. I'm sure you felt the same.

Three tense years of wondering if I would wear the white dress of my dreams or the black one from my nightmares.

Throwing myself into your arms as you stepped off the plane, bruised in body and spirit. I didn't see you hurting then. I was blinded by love-sickness, seeing only your perfect body stretched out on golden sand. Everything seemed painted in gold, the night after our wedding.

August 4, 1952

Fat with our third child, I watched you bounce the oldest on your knee. A strapping lad who looked so much like you, it was a little scary. Our daughter, the one nearly born on the side of the road, played with her corn husk dolls. One real doll, a present from your dear sister, had been loved until the features were all worn from her face. You could turn anything into a toy with your clever hands.

You looked up and I saw the mingled love and concern that bonded us forever but kept us temporarily at a distance. I wanted to lower my swollen body to the floorboards, just to be closer to you. A preposterous thought. My bladder let me know I was a fool in no uncertain terms, forcing me to waddle the distance to the outhouse.

When I sank onto the rough-hewn seat you shaped, I liked to imagine I was driving your monster car with its shiny fins. We would go see a movie at the drive-in. I'd wear my best Sunday dress and you'd wear that darling cap you keep cleverly hidden on the top shelf of your closet.

September 4, 1962

We were blessed with a baker's dozen children, all told. I learned to drive by sheer necessity. You built a bomb shelter with your restless hands, enlisting the boys to help. Fifteen of us huddled in a cramped concrete box for nearly a full day. I saw your face redden. I knew you were revisiting the memories you'd always been so careful to lock away.

You didn't hear our youngest daughter when she asked if you were alright. I hushed her, afraid she might upset you.

You didn't hear me, either.

You insisted we pack a few suitcases and go see the country...in case it ceased to exist in the tense months ahead.

We ate enough drive-thru hamburgers to feed a small nation. We slept in rickety motel beds and watched programs on ancient rabbit-eared TVs. The children were all having the time of their lives...until that solemn announcement that the President had been shot.

It took the wind from your sails and you insisted we head home. The children all cried. They'd hoped to see the beach where we first met.

October 4, 1972

You were furious with our son the day he told you he was going to Vietnam and there was nothing you could do about it. You called him a fool...and worse things.

You cried as hard as I did when a soldier...a stranger...came to our door.

I couldn't even pronounce the name of the village where he'd fallen. I shared my woes with my friends. Plenty of them had lost sons too. We baked pies to take to mothers of the missing and prayed fervently that they would never know our sorrow.

You made friends of a different kind, down at the local bar. You would fly into a rage at the mere mention of the President's name. Sometimes your rage was too big to be contained by one face or name. You were better than some husbands on the block. You turned your rage against things, rather than people.

I cleaned the cuts on your battered hands and held you until sanity returned.

November 4, 1982

You walked your daughter down the aisle. Despite your muttered complaints about "trashy modern music" and "crazy hippie hairdos", I know you had a good time.

All seven of your grandchildren just adored you. We both hoped there would be more though we'd resigned ourselves to the fact that our youngest son would probably never find a wife. He spent all his time with machines.

Television was magical when it came out. It brought people closer together, gave them plenty to talk about. Those computer things...what's the point? They're glorified typewriters, you liked to say. Useless. They'd be parked on the curb like so many bags of trash in a year or two.

We went on a road trip, just the two of us. A celebration of our empty nest. I was more in the mood for crying until that moment when you looked at me just as you had on the beach. For that night, we forgot to be sad.

December 4, 1992

You were diagnosed with cancer. I sat and listened numbly to some man in a white coat who claimed to be a doctor while also claiming he couldn't heal you.

We'd both thought it was just a cold. You'd given up smoking when the babies started coming...mostly. I'd always suspected you snuck off now and then.

I'd already pleaded with you to give up drinking. You did that for me, though I know it was hard. I couldn't stand the thought of taking something else away. You were always so considerate, keeping spare clothes in the barn so the smell wouldn't settle into the furniture.

I watched you slowly fade. I felt like a ghost myself.

January 4, 2002

Our youngest daughter was in New York during the terrorist attack. She called me from her hotel to reassure me she was alright. She'd spoken to her husband and children first. That was the right thing to do, of course. I still couldn't help feeling a little jealous.

I would have been the first person you called.

Our oldest son invited me for Christmas. His rowdy bunch of five sang carols and his lovely wife cooked up the most delicious meal. You would have loved it. I sat huddled in a crowd of warm bodies and showed them pictures of our life together. Stories flew into my mind like I was reborn.

It was almost as good as seeing you again.

February 4, 2012

It's been more than ten years since you left me.

The nice lady from the church down the street takes me to visit your grave every Saturday. I try to bring you flowers whenever I come to visit but sometimes I forget.

I know you can hear me as I recall our favorite stories. You were right about those awful computers. People are forgetting how to talk to each other.

Many of them look at me, a little old lady kneeling by herself in the dirt. I can almost taste their pity.

Poor ducklings. I pity them. There are so few young couples strolling in the moonlight simply for the thrill of being together. They'd rather look at pictures on their phones than see the natural wonders surrounding them.

One of the granddaughters tried to teach me how to play a game on her phone. I was terrible. She kindly didn't say so but I didn't miss her rolling eyes.

Would you believe that we have great-grandchildren now? I've shown them our wedding pictures. The girls all agree you looked dashing.

March 4, 2022

They tell me I'm one hundred years old today.

Everybody wants to touch my hand and take my picture. I smile at them because that seems to make them happy.

They keep asking me to blow the candles out on my cake. I was hoping you would be here by now. I can't keep these nice people waiting all day, you know.

There isn't much I need now. I guess I'll wish for a shiny new car. We'll take it all over the country and find that little dirt road where our adventure began.

TBD

PETNAME


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PETNAME


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