Bob’s Market

Bob’s market is the small grocery store on Ocean Park and 16h Street. There you will find moderately priced produce and everything you can possibly think of that comes in a can. At the front door, you are guaranteed to be greeted by an employee on a smoking break and the occasional person asking for some spare change. Look to your right, and you will find the 50 cent rides covered in gum. Occasionally an unsuspecting child will hop up on top of the horse only to find it oddly sticky from spilled sodas that never got cleaned up.   Upon walking in, the aroma of cleaning solution and old people hits you like a bus.  Venture in further, and you will meet Gary. Gary is the slightly off fellow who thinks he works there.  Unlike any other employee, Gary will tell you where any given item is at the drop of a hat. I like Gary. If ever you need advice about what gum to choose, Gary is the one to ask. He has extensive knowledge about the long lastingness of each brand. Also, if you say bubble gum, he giggles.

Only at Bob’s market.

You name it; we’ve got it

My dad picks up the phone to hear the panicked voice of my cousins new wife Jenna. “Adam is sick again. I’m taking him to the hospital.”  “Okay,” he said, “We’ll be right there.” 

Familial Dysautonomia, Brain Tumor, Ulcer, Mental Disorder. You name it; someone in my family has it. My cousin Dina and I are the only ones in my family that don’t have a serious illness. Knowing that the people closest to me are constantly in danger of losing their lives, but no one seems scared shows me a lot about my family. They are all so strong. It amazes me that my cousins can look their disease in the eye and not break down.  I think that part of their strength comes from everyone else. We sort of have a family support system. If someone is in the hospital, they will never spend a minute alone. Family will fly out from across the country, even if no one asks them too.  No disease can hurt us when we are all together.

Santa Barbara

We drove and drove, Mo and I. The whole way down the windy Pacific Coast Highway, Mo’s dad talked to us. He told us about fire, and Helen Keller, and current politics. Mo asked questions, but I tuned both of them out. I thought about seeing Max again. I never thought I would be visiting him in Santa Barbara. As we slowly crept up the mountain, I grew more and more excited. Coming to a stop, I see Max skip up to the car, his face taken over by a smile. On our way to lunch, I had never seen Max this way. He was giggling at everything. Every few seconds he would poke me and wave like a little five year old. Getting out of the car, the three of us walked down the street laughing and all holding hands. It was like he never left. He seemed as though he hadn’t changed at all. When he walked through the boarding school, everyone knew him and everyone wanted to talk to him. He knew all the seniors and they all loved him. By the end of the day I realized how different it was at home without him, but he reminded me that in only two weeks he would be home again.

Tight grip

Walking on to the plane, I looked for my seat: Seat A, Row 27. I watched the numbers pass by. Row 24. Row 25. Row 26. As I sat down in my seat I felt the vibrating of the plane under my legs. I felt my stomach drop. As I sat and waited for the rest of the passengers to board, stories of plane crashes ran through my head. I squeezed on to my sisters hand so hard that I saw the tips of her fingers had turned a plum purple color, but she didn’t complain. She knew how scared I was, and she was not about to tell me that she could not feel her fingers. I glared out of my small window when I heard her whisper something in my ear. “Didn’t anyone tell you?” “Tell me what?,” I responded.  “We’re on a special plane! It is impossible for it to brake. Nothing bad can happen on this plane, so go to sleep Annie. Everything will be okay.” I slowly released her hand and cuddled up with her arm. Now I look back on that flight, and I remember how much I looked up to my sister. Though she was only eight, to me she was the strongest person I knew.

Through the gap in the fence

There was always one place I could count on to be there for me. When my family became too loud, and all movement became a blur, there it was always there to protect me. It was my place to think and to enjoy the peace and quiet of being alone. Through the gap in the fence, and down the vine covered walkway, was my fortress. A small blue chair sat proudly, imbedded in the ground, and a small table made of boxes lay in front. Long stands of grass grew all around as if it was a wall, closing me off from the outside world.  Dolls covered in grass and juice stains sat leaned up against the small wall behind the seat. Year after year of relying on this spot, the box table was torn and washed away, and the chair broke, and the dolls were carried away by cats. Although it is no longer the spot it used to be, sometimes I still go there and I am reminded of how it felt to be protected.