I remember going to dad’s work around the corner from our home. There was a gum ball machine in the reception area stuffed full of pistachios.
That was my first time trying pistachios. My fingers would be stained red from the shells.
I’m not quite sure why I was at my dad’s work that day. Where was my mom? Was she working?
I remember sunshine beaming through the open garage door, which I could see from where I sat, waiting for dad.
The receptionist was the garage owner’s daughter. There were 3 or 4 of them. They were all so pretty and nice.
Across the street from the garage trailers were neatly lined on a patch of grass facing the road. I believe this was their way of storing them while also advertising them. Adjacent from that patch of grass was the bar that my parents met in.
She was a bartender, he a patron. She was 25, he was 20. She was a mother of 3 and recently widowed, he was fresh out of college. They married in a courtroom.
My mom said she proposed to him. Their reception was at my grandparents house (dad’s parents)—just a few houses down from the garage.
I remember that day. Eating cake. Playing in the creek. Drinking soda from a can. Playing with my uncle—the one that’s only 2 years older than me. At that time I was about 4 or 5 years old.