We didn’t travel much. I was the one who scrimped and saved the money so we could take Brian on vacations. Bob always said we couldn’t afford it. With each trip, I hoped Brian wouldn’t have a tantrum while we were away. That we could relax and enjoy ourselves. That we could be a normal family.
When Brian was five years old, I decided we needed to take him to Disneyland. Besides that, I’d been writing to Mom’s cousin Frances in Oakland, and I really wanted to see her. But when Frances insisted we stay at her house, I began to worry. Brian had acted out all too many times. He didn’t exactly have a positive track record when it came to going somewhere. But I couldn’t disappoint Frances. She’d feel hurt if we stayed in a hotel.
I had my own memories of staying with Frances and Petrov as a kid. They had lived in Berkeley then. My parents and I were on one of our rare summer trips to California when I was about eight and we stopped to spend a few days with them. They were a couple of characters, all right. Free thinkers. The original flower children before it was “cool”.
The Couches lived in a tall, old house, I remember. Three or four stories. It looked like a gray cardboard box with lots of windows, or some sort of hotel with a wrought iron gate out front. They opened their home to college students in the fall, a sort of dormitory, renting out eight of their ten bedrooms. And they had a dog. An Airedale, named Mojito.
They were different, but they somehow fit into the California scene: Frances dressed in gypsy garb, her long, black hair halfway down her back, and often barefoot. Petrov clad in patched jeans and a black turtleneck, Love Beads hanging around his neck. They were forty-ish, for Pete’s sake. As old as my parents. But I loved them. You couldn’t help it. They were just so much fun.
“They’re vegans,” I heard my mom whisper soon after we arrived. She made it sound like some sort of religion. Not until we sat down to dinner in their black paneled dining room, did I understand what a vegan was. With the table covered with a feast of earthenware bowls, I studied the tossed greens, mashed beans, pickled sprouts, and pulverized fruit. My father groaned and my mom gave me an apologetic sigh. We were meat lovers at my house. Broiled steaks every Sunday night and hamburger on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“We don’t eat anything that has a face or a mother,” Frances said tearing off a hank of flat bread and putting it on my plate. “No dairy. No eggs. No honey. No meat or poultry. No fish.”
“What’s left?” I inquired.
Frances gave a hearty laugh. “You’re look’n at it, Kiddo.”
She served us sliced squash pie with whipped tofu cream for dessert. It wasn’t half bad.
After that, my dad offered to take everybody out to eat for lunches and dinners and we were introduced to the best vegan restaurants Berkeley and the surrounding areas had to offer.
Frances was great at telling stories. She and Petrov had just returned from a trip to Europe.
“We were driving in the countryside one afternoon when nature knocked on my door,” she stated as we sat grazing on weeds and paste in a small cafe´ in Sausalito. “All I saw was a hut, an outhouse of sorts, so I hit the trail.” She ate a chic pea and continued.
“I stepped inside and all I saw was a pit. A hole in the ground for me to do my business. So, I squatted.” Frances took another bite of salad as Petrov began to chuckle.
“As sometimes happens, I was taking my time and Petrov began to worry. He opened the door just a crack and asked me if I was all right. ‘I’m fine,’ I told him. He closed the door and all of a sudden water began to gush from the four walls of the tiny shed.”
My parents and I were laughing hysterically by now.
“What happened?” My mom asked her cousin, wiping tears from her face.
“Apparently, when the door was opened for the second time it was assumed that I was leaving. That’s how this thing flushed. Door opens, you come in. Door opens again, you go out. So, I’m squatting there and the waters are coming. And, of course, I got drenched. I was furious with Petrov for the rest of the day!”
It was a great visit for all of us, even my father came around to the vegan diet, though I did catch him eating a candy bar now and then. Since it was summer vacation for the college, we’d had the entire third floor of the house to ourselves. Now it was time to move on.
At the end of the four days we began to prepare to leave the Couches and continue our drive south. Frances was determined to get up early and make us breakfast before we left.
“Franny, it’s just too early for you to bother.” my mom told her. “We want to get on the road by five.” Cars didn’t have air conditioning back then, and my dad wanted to get an early start before the heat advanced on the highway.
“Nonsense,” Frances insisted. “I want to see you again before you go. Why don’t you leave at six, and I’ll make you breakfast.”
My mom thought about it. “All right.”
But my father had other ideas. “I want to be on the highway by five, Annie. I told you that.” I heard him tell my mom later.
“I know, but I didn’t want to disappoint Frances.”
“What about me? If I eat one more dish of fried tofu and prunes, I’ll be sick!”
So we remained on schedule. At five a.m. the following morning, my parents and I were dressed, packed, and were making our way down the dark, narrow stairways.
“Don’t make a sound,” my mom whispered to me.
Mojito crept down alongside me. I was going to miss him. He was a great dog.
We took the steps one at a time, hugging the flowered walls to keep our bearings. We were careful not to wake Frances or Petrov. Mom had written her cousin a thank you note and left it in her room beside the bed.
Flight after flight, we crept from one landing down to another. I could see the front door just steps away. But as we reached the entry, I saw a tall shadow move. Holding my breath, I grabbed onto Mojito’s curly gray head. Then I relaxed. It was Petrov.
“Petrov, what are you doing up so early?” I asked him.
“I had a feeling you’d try to sneak out earlier than planned.” He grinned, speaking in a soft voice.
“Where’s Frances?” my mom asked.
“She’s sleeping.”
“I left her a note. Thank you, Pertrov,” Mom gave him a warm hug. “We had a wonderful time.”
“Next time, I promise you we’ll take you to the Vegan Festival. Tofu-garlic ice cream like you wouldn’t believe.”
Mom gave a gentle laugh. “Nonsense, Petrov. We wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
* * *
Now I would be visiting Frances and Petrov again, this time with my family in their home in Oakland. I’d always kept in touch with them during the holidays. They’d never made it up to Portland and I hadn’t seen them since I was a kid. So I looked forward to finding out what was going
