THROUGH THE ROLLED-DOWN back window of the station wagon, a yellow one, slightly green like an unripe banana, I smell the traveling cloud of dust being kicked up in our wake . . . and through the glittering dust I see the high-winding levee road.
I see four children in the back of the station wagon — two by two, face to face in folded-out seats. One of the children is me. There are two big humps in the road coming up. We know how fun they are to roll over, so we wiggle waiting for them. And when the banana rolls over the hump, the humps, we float for a moment and squeal.
I see four children in the back of the station wagon — two by two, face to face in folded-out seats. One of the children is me. There are two big humps in the road coming up. We know how fun they are to roll over, so we wiggle waiting for them. And when the banana rolls over the hump, the humps, we float for a moment and squeal.
Then we gravel to a stop where the levee’s dotted with buttercups, and the glittering dust catches up with us. We cough. We tumble down the levee.