Hiccups

The roads around our house remind me of that Mouse Trap roller coaster at amusement parks. The cute mouse with its slice of Swiss fools you into thinking the ride is for babies, until you get to the hairpin turns. Our roads are like that. Made for daredevils. That is why Micah drives like Rambo and I wait for America to take the wheel. It’s common to see cars with one wheel stuck in the deep cement ditches that perilously line each side of the road. This happened to us when our Hindi vernacular consisted of fruits and zoo animals. Within minutes, males from all directions, let’s call them the heaven-sent himalayan hulks, left their homes, stores, fields, and veggie stands to come and lift our car out of its predicament. The immediate aid was not phoned in, but free. Lucy said at the time, “Mom, I don’t think that would happen in America.” 

It’s easy to have hiccups on roads littered with sleeping bulls, unrepaired landslides, and potholes like polka dots. 

I once spilled heads of broccoli all over the street when my grocery bags split open like poorly made pinatas. I had planned to make broccoli cheese soup. Gallons of it. I stood with my face all saucer-eyed, surrounded by ridiculous amounts of broccoli. An oversized truck approached. I ran to the side, embarrassed by the garden I left behind. With a screech of his tires, the good samaritan stopped and motioned for me to collect my broccoli heads. The store keeper also ran out of his shop to bring me more bags. He double-knotted the tops of my sacks with care, much like I do my 3-year-old’s shoelaces. 

I don’t know why I keep using the grocery bags provided. I’ve seen off-brand Saran Wrap accomplish more. I have watched my dozen apples drop like bowling balls and roll down the mountainside. Eggs have cracked and slimed through the mesh material into my sandals and between my toes. I’ve even lost an order of bruschetta to a bag that burst. My plastic container of tomatoes and basil rolled into the busiest intersection in town and was picked up by the policeman directing traffic with his pistol and beret-style cap. He placed my dinner on top of a tall road sign. Not many people are ordering doggy bags of bruschetta for their five o’clock suppers. I was the foreigner in the pink helmet he was waiting for.