Friday, April 26, 2013

Compton's Mayoral Candidate Was Along for the Ride

By Kelly Sinon


  I sat on the front porch with cherry popsicle dripping in red rivulets down my chin and onto my favorite shirt. I was five (and a half, if anyone asked me), and nothing was better on a hot East Bay day than the shade of our Spanish-style tract house's front porch while the smiling face of Jack in the Box spokeskid, Rodney Allen Rippy across my chest, caught errant drips of Safeway popsicle.
  Life was good. I hadn't hadn't had my first pimple on picture day yet, all of my bad dye jobs lay in front of me, far into the future and I hadn't had my heart broken, yet. My hair was often a light brown mess, in a lopsided pony tail that hung down my back, and I had more scrapes and bruises on my legs than I could count from mishaps while learning how to ride a two-wheeler down my neighbors' driveway, or misjudging how far to jump after the jump rope had swung high over my head. I wasn't the most agile kid, but I was willing to try.
 Rodney smiled, and declared,"It's Too Big A'Eat" as I pulled the last of the popsicle off he stick and crammed it into my mouth. Again misjudging. Too much popsicle, not enough room. That's okay. Rodney could have the rest, as the remainder slid out of my mouth, down my chest (I didn't have anything there to stop it from going any farther, yet), and landed with a wet slap in front of me on the entry walk way. Dad's going to be mad,I thought, as I kicked it with a sandaled toe into the planter box which held just dirt and remnants of dead daisies to my left, while wiping my red stained hands on Rodney.
  My Dad was in the house watching football, and had promised like always, to come and get me and my sister when the half time show started. We liked the cheerleaders and the band (Ah, future Band Geek in the making).
  I didn't know where my sister was. Dodging me, probably. At seven, she was much more sophisticated and did not want her younger sister tagging along when she went to Dorla's (what the heck was her last name?) house or to Marcy Van Horn's house a block over.
  I could see my sister cringe when Mom would call down the stairs "Take Kelly with you!" when she would announce that she was going to one of their houses to play. She would heave a sigh, grab me by the wrist and haul me along. "Fine. Come on." Yay! I got to play with the big kids! I didn't care that I wasn't actually invited.
 Once there, we would carefully pick our way through Marcy Van Horn's bedroom floor, as it was littered with toys, laundry, crayons, paper; all of the things that our rooms were not to be littered with. My sister and I gave each other the glance that only sisters can. It said,"You know, Mom would make us clean this room if she knew it looked like this." it was true. Our mother often had us clean the rooms of their friends' children when we would visit them. She had OCD by proxy.
  I only wondered about my sister's whereabouts for so long. I was going to take my "Small Wheel" (a tiny version of every 70's kid's Big Wheel, which I was too small to reach the pedals on) for a spin down the block. I opened the front door to the house and walked down the hallway to the living room, so I could tell Dad where I was going. He never cared, as long as I was where I said I was going, and if I changed my plans, I had to let him know. He was a big believer in freedom, even for a five year-old. And nothing was safer than the suburban streets of the Danville Station subdivision in the spring of 1975.
  Mounting my trusty steed, I felt empowered, cruising down the block, my legs stretching to meet the pedals. Even at five, I knew I could go anywhere with these legs. I could go down the block or even... to the creek! But, I was already at the end of the block. Did I want to turn around again, just to tell dad I was going to go to the creek? Nah, he's watching football. He won't even know.
  I looked back toward the direction of the house one last time, and crossed El Capitan, and onto Zephyr Circle. I was in familiar, yet as of now, forbidden territory. Zephyr Circle was longer than Daylight Place. I wanted to get out of sight fast. Besides, the pollywogs were waiting. At the horseshoe of Zephyr, lies an expanse of lawn, with shade trees lining the far and, and just beyond that, The Creek. Parking my Small Wheel on the muddy bank, I kicked off my once white sandals. Cool clay mud squished stiffly between my toes, as a carefully made my way to the green/brown water alive with pollywogs and tiny water bugs.
  The air was hot and still. The trees didn't move. But I could hear someone coming. I looked up to hear the soft swish that the plastic Big Wheel tires made on grass. Through the reeds that lined the creek, I could see a figure moving toward me. I wasn't scared. Big Wheels weren't driven by scary types. I was more curious. My sister pushed through tall grass.
  "Hey, does Dad know you're here?" asked the authoritative seven year-old.
  I thought about lying. But then she would invariably say at dinner or while I was trapped in the car with Dad, "Hey, remember that you were at the creek that time?" I gambled with what she might do with the information and told her the truth. She might spare me. Then again, she might use it against me as a bargaining tool for chores. Oh, well. This was better than the fear of the unknown.
  We crouched on the bank of the muddy creek, scoping for semi-frog formed pollywogs, The ones with the back legs were the best. I leaned forward and stuck my hand unceremoniously and clumsily in the water. Pollywogs scattered. My sister, being older, was less Bull in a China Shop and managed to sneak up on some and scooped up three or four with a handful of water. We put our heads together and watched them swim in her hand. She lowered her hand and let them go, while I fell back on my butt and hands with a thud. Rodney then got a face full of mud, as my hands smeared across my chest. It was nice here, if not a little hot.
  We played for a while and then didn't realize what time it was. I was five afterall, and don't even remember if I could tell time. Probably not, which was my (our?) undoing.
  Voices. A deep one I recognized and a less deep one that instilled as much fear as the deeper one. My sister and I exchanged a quick fearful glance. Apparently, neither of us were supposed to be there. That's interesting.
  Without saying a word, we grabbed our getaway vehicles and pedaled as fast as we could, but we knew there was no escape. They would see us. I risked turning around in my seat as I nearly stood up from pedaling so hard, that my heart nearly flew out of my chest; my ponytail smacking me in my face, in time to see my father's angry, yet somewhat surprised face. Were those stupid kids actually trying to...run away? My mother looked furious at having to come and look for us.
  My sister, as usual was was way ahead of me, pedaling with all her might. she was too smart to turn around. Plus she had a Big Wheel, and I only had The Small Wheel. I was doomed.
  This is where it gets hazy. Honestly, I do not remember ever making it to the house. Especially, making it before my parents who were on foot. Did we wait on the porch to be let in? Did we try to go around the back and go in through the sliding glass door, run and sit on the couch in the living room, pretending to watch TV like we'd been there the whole time? Never mind that they saw us, and my Dad being a cop, could very easily identify us. Yes, that's right. Two stupid kids on plastic tricycles. One inept, riding the tiny one and one less inept, riding a bigger one.
  What sparked this random memory? The re-appearance of a name that I hadn't heard since form that spring, 38 years later. Jack in the Box was just a stepping stone into Rodney Allen Rippy's burgeoning political carer, as a candidate for the City of Compton Mayoral Seat, according to news accounts. He was always there for me. my portable napkin with the smiling face, my getaway companion.
  Good luck to you, Rodney! I hope Compton's not "Too Big" for ya. _____________________________________________________________________________________________ Kelly Sinon can be reached at thesinons@yahoo.com