Playing hooky
This story is dedicated to Evie Kinkade, my (initially unwilling) accomplice.
We drove to school in silence. It was raining and dark, the sun only a soft glow cloaked by grey. It had been four weeks since dad died, and there isn’t much more to say about that. I watched as schoolmates bounded to class, laughing emphatically with friends. Without saying a word, I stopped the car in front of the school and flicked the hazards on. I dialed the number for the school nurse while Evie stared at me wide-eyed in the passenger seat.
Yes, hi this is Nanette Kinkade. The girls wouldn’t be attending school today. They were very, very sick.
Evie protested, we had to go in. She begged me to call back. My refusal was made clear as I drove us away without a word. Perhaps I kidnapped her that day.
We drove deep into the Santa Cruz mountain fog and cut holes in trash bags to use as raincoats. We found railroad tracks and followed them through the mountains for a long time. We pointed at lichen and newly sprouting funghi. I sketched some. We ate our packed lunch sandwiches quietly in the back of the car, trunk open with our legs dangling out.
I don’t remember much, but there was a subtle joy in that day. I don’t remember much, but it was a silent time in what felt like a very chaotic, loud world. And silence, that day, it seemed, was the medicine we needed.
(Mom if you’re reading this, please forgive me 💘)