Author's Note: This story is a creative nonfiction piece about a real car ride in May 2006, narrated by my current perspective of my teenage self.
“Where in heck are we going?” Mom yells in her Taiwanese accent. “Where to turn?”
I roll my eyes as my mother anxiously drives her old, clunky minivan. I reply, “I told you like three times Mom, we don’t have to turn until a couple miles or so.” Then I lean back, breathe, and try to relax.
From the back seat, my 10-year old sister Michelle leans forward and says reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Mommy…we’ll get there.”
My mom ignores the attempt to calm her down. She’s clearly losing it and fuming at me. She yells, “You told me this place near China Bowl restaurant! I only comfortable drive to China Bowl! We pass it ten minutes ago. I am so lost!”
For Mom, driving past a few familiar locations is as difficult as it is for a third grader to take a metaphysics exam. Currently, she’s driving 35 miles an hour on a major Jersey highway. Furious that she’s driving 25 miles below the speed limit, several drivers honk and zoom past my mother, merging in front of her. Mom couldn’t care less, as she clutches the steering wheel tightly and stares intently at the road.
I sigh as I tell my mother, “You’re not lost, Mom. I have the MapQuest directions printed. You just need to turn right onto Lawrence Street in like two minutes. Then the breeder’s house should only be like five minutes away, easy.” I think to myself, More like 15 minutes away. It’s a white lie, but my mom doesn’t need to know.
Trying not to get stressed, I focus on my excitement to bring home an adorable little Shih-Tzu puppy. I begged and begged my parents for one since I was six years old. My parents promised that if I consistently got straight A’s, they’d get me a puppy when I was in junior high. And sure enough, I did just that. Now that I’m in junior high, my mom and I had been surfing the web. Eventually, I stumbled upon a website named “Cheryl’s Shih-Tzu Puppies” with a tiny eight-week-old black male pup. It was obvious that he couldn’t sit still...he was trying to get off the person’s hand that was holding him in his photo. I knew I just had to convince my mom to get him.
The next day, I told my mom anything I could to persuade her. I pleaded, “He costs $800, only a couple hundred above our budget...and the breeder’s house is super easy to get to…really close to the China Bowl restaurant!” Although I secretly knew that the breeder is a good 20-minute drive away from our favorite Chinese restaurant, I said what I needed to say to get her to agree. She finally said yes, knowing she was keeping her promise from years before.
And now here we are…my mom, my sister, and I are about to pick up the precious pup. We decided not to tell my dad we were bringing home the dog. To my father, getting a puppy is too expensive and too much work. But my parents have had major marital problems for years…so the imminent fight my mom would have with my father for bringing home a dog would be just another normal day.
Milton Avenue…Grand Avenue…according to my MapQuest printout, it looks like we should have turned by now. My father does not believe in any new technology, so we don’t own a GPS. Trying to sound as calm as possible, I take in a deep breath, turn to my mother and say quietly, “Mom…I think we passed the road we were supposed to turn on to.”
“WHAT?!” she shrieks in alarm.
“Don’t panic,” I tell her, raising my voice a bit. “Just make a U-Turn somewhere. We’ll find it.”
She screams, “WHERE IS U-TURN??”
I shake my head and think about how easy this trip would have been for my friends’ normal parents. I reply, “I don’t know. If you had a GPS, we would know…but we just need to follow the road signs now.”
My mom yells, “FIND U-TURN FOR ME, OR WE IN BIG TROUBLE!”
There’s no U-turn is in sight. I ask my mom to pull into a gas station so I can ask for directions. Secretly, I also want to get a break from my mother, who’s angrily ranting. My mom drives into the parking lot, slightly bumping into the curb as she parks.
I ask a man at the gas station, “Excuse me, do you know how I’d drive to Lawrence Street in Rahway from here?”
The man replies in a thick Jersey accent, “Rahway is south of here…you probably passed it while going up Route 1.”
Trying to sound composed, I ask, “Where’s the closest U-turn?”
He responds, “Should be a few miles north, just follow the signs.”
Feeling hopeless, I call Cheryl the dog breeder with my flip phone and it goes to her answering machine, so I leave a message telling her we got lost but should be there shortly. I think to myself, We’re probably not going to end up getting this puppy after all.
Getting back into the car, I explain to Mom that we should make a U-turn a few miles north. My mother is staring out the car’s front window, surprisingly calm. She then decides, “Let’s just go home.”
Michelle and I start to protest, but when my mother shoots us a look that tells us it’s best to be quiet, we immediately become silent. As my Mom starts driving, I lean my head against the car window, thinking, The dog wouldn’t have liked living with our weird, dysfunctional family anyway. Probably better off this way.
Suddenly my cell phone rings. It’s Cheryl, who says, “Cathy? Is that you? I just got your message on my answering machine.” I hear a couple dogs barking in the background.
I answer, “Yeah, hi Cheryl. So sorry, we got totally lost. I’ll give you a call at a later time…”
Cheryl cuts me off, “Oh no worries at all, honey! The cute little one is just so excited to meet you! Tell me, where are you now? Maybe I can help you find my house?”
I whisper to Mom that it’s Cheryl on the line who can help us with directions. Mom groans reluctantly, but to my delight she replies, “Tell her we near Shop Rite…and Wendy’s…”
Thrilled that Mom’s on board again, I tell Cheryl, “My mom’s driving, and we’re heading South on Route 1 and just passed the Shop Rite near Scott Avenue…”
Cheryl replies, “Just tell your mother to make a right when you get to Hancock Street…you should see it in two minutes.”
Soon Cheryl directs us off the highway, and we drive into a suburban neighborhood with a nice canopy of dark green tree leaves. When we finally find her house, I get out of our minivan and greet her as she walks outside. I tell her, “This is my mom Nancy and my sister Michelle. So sorry we’re over an hour late…it’s been quite an adventure to get here.”
Cheryl responds, “No worries…aren’t you from East Brunswick, though? Isn’t that just a quick drive away?”
My mom answers, “Yes, but I don’t like drive to new place. Your house so hard to find…”
At that moment, I immediately tune out my mother when I see a small black fur ball in Cheryl’s hand. It’s the puppy! I could barely see his eyes, nose, and mouth since they’re too dark to distinguish on his black, flat face. Like a mini alligator, the puppy yawns, and the size of his pink inner mouth seems to be larger than his whole body. I exclaim, “Mom and Michelle…look! Isn’t he so tiny and cute?”
Cheryl remarks, “Yes, he’s a little one…just two and a half pounds. Want to hold him?”
She puts him into my palms. The puppy turns his head and looks at our group curiously, his circular eyes wide. He starts kicking his tiny feet, trying to leave my grasp.
I place his little body into my mother’s hands. As she looks into his eyes, my mom’s face breaks into a small smile. The puppy starts to calm down, enjoying being in my mother’s arms.
Mom asks Cheryl, “Is he trained? Will he poo and pee in house?”
Cheryl replies, “No, he’s really well-behaved, ma’am. He usually goes on those wee-wee pads which you can find in any pet store. Soon he’ll be able to go on walks!”
Mom responds, “Good. So, what we have to do to bring him home?” My sister and I look at each other and squeal with excitement.
Cheryl ushers us into her house, and she places the tiny dog on the floor as she discusses the paperwork and check to fill out. The puppy walks around the room, sniffing the walls and corners, and then he poops a bit on the carpet. Michelle starts giggling.
“Oh no!” Cheryl exclaims, as she promptly grabs a napkin to scoop up the poop. She assures us, “This rarely happens. Trust me.” My mom and I look at each other skeptically, with slight smirks on our faces.
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The puppy rests serenely as my sister and I pet him on the back seat during the car ride home. My mother directs us, “Tell your father we only got dog for $500 if he ask. And remind him we will walk, feed, and wash dog...he don’t have to worry about doing anything.”
We all know that Dad will be furious. Usually I’d be nervous, but I’m too content to think about it, as I stroke our new puppy’s ebony fur. The little dog’s body starts steadily going up and down as he breathes quietly, and it looks like he’s fallen asleep.
“What should we name him?” Michelle asks enthusiastically. “Maybe Fluffy…he has such soft fur!”
“Eck…I hate the name Fluffy,” I retort. “Although I do love his soft dark fur. Maybe we’ll name him something having to do with his black hair.”
Mom says, “We should name him something start with letter P. P for peace. Maybe he would bring our house some peace…since we never get along.”
We all become silent, as we contemplate how life would now be like with a new puppy. Would he help bring some warmth and harmony into our divided family?
“Pepper,” I say suddenly. “We should name him Pepper.” Pepper, like black pepper…and like salt and pepper. P for peace.
“Yes,” my mom and sister agree. Pepper is his name.