The Chinook, The Gypsy, and The Rain

The rain pounded on the hood of our car. Well, it wasn't really a car. My parents drove a Chinook, which was basically a miniature motorhome. We couldn't afford a car, so when a friend from church offered to sell my father a camper on wheels for an unbeatable price, he readily agreed. My sisters and I loved the Chinook because we didn't have to wear seatbelts and who else had a bathroom stall in their car?! The dining room table turned into a bed, so it was common for us to sleep our way to church…or play Boggle on the lumpy mattress.

It smelled of dust, musk, and mosquito repellent, but it was ours. And we loved it. The Chinook became an extended part of our family and it made us feel like the average trip to the grocery store possessed the promise of a vacation on the beach.

The rain pounded on the roof of our car and my mother inched home through the flooded streets. It was at a stop sign when she saw them. A mother and four children standing alone in the pouring rain at a bus stop with a few bags of groceries. She drove past them, made a u-turn, rolled down the driver's side window and then shouted to the stranger, Can I give you a ride? After a moment's hesitation my mother proffered, My kids are in the back.

Within a few minutes, two women and eight kids sat amongst the lingering mosquito repellent and stared at each other. My mom patted the lady's arm and asked, Where you off to? As we drove through the an area we called the “Dead-ends” we listened as the lady explained she was a migrant Gypsy trying to survive and raise her family as her husband hopped from job to job. We pulled in front of a shack hidden behind a dilapated house and my mom poured our few groceries into the Gypsy's bags. She cried and then told her son to stop playing with the stove or else he'd get burned.

I wanted to tell her the stove was broken.

When the rain pounds on the hood of my car, I think of my mother. When I think of my mother, I think of this story. That night at dinner we ate a simple meal in light of our absent groceries, but our meal never tasted better.