The Scent of Crayons

THE SCENT OF CRAYONS

The man driving the car drove too fast. Not like Daddy. Christina sat in the back seat of the speeding Studebaker and tried to focus on something outside the car window. Telephone poles flashed by, tethered by dipping wires, each passing in rapid succession. This made her dizzy, so she concentrated on her shoes. White patent leather with a gold buckle and baby blue socks with lacy edges that folded down.

Christina tapped her toes together – tap, tap, tap – until Mother glared at her from the front passenger seat – a signal that the noise she was making was giving Mother one of her migraines, and Christina knew what happened when she gave her mother one of her migraines. She lowered her feet, and sighed.

On the seat beside Christina was a new coloring book and a box of eight new crayons. She opened the flap on the box to admire their newness, how each was perfect in that they had never been used. She brought the box to her nose to breathe in the familiar waxy scent, a recognizable aroma to calm herself. Because, in this car, with this man and her mother, she did not feel calm.

“Put those away,” Mother snapped, turning again to look at Christina from the front seat. “You can color when we get there.” Mother turned back around and took a long drag on her cigarette, then leaning forward, blew the smoke out the small, side window of the vehicle. She flicked the ashes into the car ashtray and turned back to her daughter. “Remember our little talk?” and she squinted at the child through stinging smoke, plucking a bit of tobacco from her tongue.

Christina nodded with reluctance. She hadn’t liked the ‘little talk.’

“You had a talk with the kid, Virginia?” the man who was driving asked, never taking his eyes from the road. Mother nodded, sucking in a long drag.

“Sure as hell did,” she said, exhaling. “Kid’s a real blabbermouth when it comes to something outside her normal day. Babysitter called last minute with some half-assed excuse.” Mother paused. “I’m sorry Honey, I really am. I know you didn’t expect her to be standing there with me when you picked me up. Won’t happen again.”

“We need to have a little talk,” Christina’s mother had said that morning. “This afternoon we’re going to take a little ride.” She had squatted down to Christina’s level and held her by her small shoulders. The child had been playing with her wooden trains in her bedroom and still held the caboose in one hand.

“Where are we going, Mommy?” the child had asked. “Are we going shopping?”

“No, Christina. Hush and just listen!” There was a strained urgency in her voice, and the child pursed her lips. She could see the frown lines on Mother’s forehead. The child waited. “Do you know what a secret is?” Mother continued. But Christina only stared at her. She searched her young mind for what a secret meant. “Oh, you can be so exasperating!”

Mother had stood, then, and fished for her pack of cigarettes in her robe pocket. She tapped the pack until one cigarette slipped forward, and snatching it, stuck it between her lips. She patted her pockets for her lighter. “Dammit,” Mother said to no one. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.

Mother had returned moments later with the lit cigarette, and moved to the child’s closet. “You’re coming with me on a little adventure,” she said, the cigarette dangling from her lips as she started rummaging in the child’s closet for a suitable outfit. She slid flouncy frocks and playtime jumpers along the rod until she settled on a blue dress with a scalloped collar. She hung the dress on the closet doorknob and squatted back down to face the child.

“A secret is something just between you and me. And this is very important! A secret is something you keep. Here,” and the mother put her hand over Christina’s heart.

“That means you must pinky-swear never to tell anybody about our little ride this afternoon. We are going to go on a car trip. Except daddy won’t be driving the car.” Virginia took a drag on her cigarette, and turned her head to blow out the smoke.

“Listen, Christina. And this is the most important part of our secret. No one must ever know. Daddy must never know. Especially, Daddy!” Mother had squeezed Christina’s shoulders just a little too tightly, digging her painted red nails into the child’s smooth skin, nails as red as Mother’s lipstick. As red as Christina’s new red crayon. “It’s a secret, you see? Do you understand that word? Secret? It’s such a special thing between two people. You and me. It would hurt Daddy so, so much if you broke your promise and told him about our secret. Daddy might even get mad.”

But Christina had never seen Daddy get mad. Still, she never would want to hurt her Daddy for anything in the world. “I won’t tell,” the child said. “I will keep the secret here,” pointing to the pocket on her jumper. “Pinky-swear,” and held up her little finger.

The man driving laughed at the mother’s words, glancing in his rearview mirror at the unwanted, unexpected baggage sitting like a painted doll in the back seat. His laugh was without joy, clipped and deep. There was no happiness in his eyes. His laugh was not at all how Daddy laughed. He stole the cigarette from Mother’s fingers and took a drag, then gave it back to her. “Just don’t let it happen again,” he said, forcefully blowing the smoke in her direction. Mother smiled at the man, and moved closer to him along the front seat. Christina thought about their secret. Mother had said, ‘especially Daddy.’ The child supposed the man knew about the secret, too, and somehow this didn’t seem fair.

The car was climbing now, higher and higher on a curvy two-lane road. Christina slid back and forth across the red vinyl seat, feeling nauseous and uncomfortable. She could see the tops of pine trees flying by in blurry shades of dark green. On one side they seemed to slope downward. On the other side of the road they sloped up. She and Daddy and Mommy had driven to a cabin once, on a road like this, with pine trees. On that ride, Daddy had driven much slower. He had told his daughter they were driving through the mountains, and if she were lucky, she might see mule deer grazing in the clearings.

“I don’t feel good,” she said. “Mommy, I think I’m going to be sick. Can we stop for a few minutes? Like Daddy did. When you, me and Daddy drove through the mountains?”

The Mother turned and frowned at her daughter. “Shush, now. Your daddy always did coddle you. We’re not stopping. Lay down if you feel sick, and for God’s sake shut up.”

“The kid won’t get sick, will she?” the man said, taking a curve a bit too fast. Christina slid across the seat. “Dammit, Virginia. Why couldn’t you get another sitter for the brat?” Virginia didn’t speak. She watched the scenery. The day was getting on, nearly dusk now.

Christina tried to lay down, but this didn’t help. The momentum kept her sliding back and forth. She sat up, looking for deer in the clearings. This was the time of day they usually came out.

In the next moment, suddenly from the upward slope, a doe bounded into the road. Everything after that happened quickly. The car hit the animal head on. Instinctively the man slammed on the brakes and swerved. The car skidded off onto the shoulder of the road, kicking up clouds of dirt, and coming to a rocking stop. Idling, they waited for the dust to clear, catching the last rays of the sun’s light. The deer lay prone on the pavement, not far behind them.

Christina had been thrown to the floor, her box of crayons flipped open, and the crayons scattered around her. To her horror, she had seen it all happen and was not too young to know this man had killed the beautiful deer. This man that was not Daddy. This horrid man who was not Daddy. She felt the car moving again, edging off the turnout to the sound of crushing dirt and gravel. In a moment they bumped back onto the highway. She could hear her mother clicking her lighter to fire up another cigarette.

On the backseat floorboards, Christina silently let tears fall. She thought of the secrets she must keep. She smelled the scent of broken crayons, a waxy comforting scent, and tried to feel calm.