Some years had passed, and Melody turned ten on June 1st, 1981. She had grown considerably, was still tall for her age, and her beautiful blond hair now hung between her shoulder blades. The first of June was Melody’s favorite day of the year, but not only because it was her birthday. It was the time of year when the smell of freshly cut lawns was in the air, the colorful lilacs were in bloom, the sunshine warmed her skin, and of course, the beginning of summer vacation. Winter was a threat too far away to worry about, and as long as there was a garden hose attached to a running spigot, all was right in her world. Douglas and Barbara had prepared a small birthday celebration for her in the backyard. Melody did not usually have birthday parties unless a relative was visiting. She was always content just to spend time with her parents and enjoy the beautiful outdoors with them. For Melody, elaborate parties and gifts were unnecessary.
Unlike Florida, Melody could not pinpoint the exact origin of her next lifelong love, skateboarding. It may have been when she saw Lynda Carter skateboarding as Wonder Woman in one particular episode, or possibly when she watched skateboarders performing in a commercial. On television, skateboarders always seemed to be in warm weather, skating down beach boardwalks or through sunny parks, so naturally it appealed to her. Melody still showed no interest in ice-skating, sledding, skiing, or any other winter activity. Not even the “Miracle on Ice” excitement in New York had held her attention for very long. It was beyond Melody’s comprehension how people could actually enjoy the ice and snow.
Despite Barbara’s initial protests, Douglas bought his daughter a red skateboard with amber-colored wheels. Upon receiving it, Melody squealed in delight as her nervous mother looked on. Barbara foresaw her first visit to the emergency room for Melody’s broken arm to be imminent but remained silent. With a kiss on the cheek for each of them, Melody thanked her parents before they lit the candles on her cake. For the rest of the summer, Melody could be seen everywhere on her board. She was a natural. Melody occasionally attempted tricks, but it was her newly found freedom that she loved most. To her, there was nothing better than a smooth pavement with a gentle slope, allowing her to go long distances with little effort. Melody imagined surfing the ocean was a similar sensation. With the summer breeze in her face, and her arms outstretched, she felt a euphoric flying sensation. The exhilaration was addictive and it kept her outside day after day.
Of course, she fell and scraped her knees and elbows often, but Melody didn’t mind as much as her mother did. When Melody walked through the door at the end of the day, Barbara would fuss over what a mess she was and how she was growing into a tomboy. Barbara insisted on cleaning Melody’s cuts with alcohol and always kept an ample supply of Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet. As the weeks went by, Melody became more proficient as she taught herself to skate. Melody’s control steadily improved and her confidence grew as she discovered different techniques to slow down and stop. Most importantly, she learned how to be on the lookout for obstacles, especially small pebbles. Melody learned, as all skateboarders eventually do, that a pebble getting wedged under the wheel initiates an immediate and unexpected stop, causing the skater to forward somersault haphazardly. More than once she had picked herself up off the ground only to see a small rock with a white line trailing behind it, indicting the spot where the wheel had stopped turning after the pebble got caught under it.
Besides getting taller, Melody was growing in other ways. She did not play tea set anymore, but the table, chairs, and dolls remained on display in the corner. Her bottom drawer comic books had been replaced with magazines. The jump rope was gone, as were the jacks. A green shoe box that once contained six football cards, now had over fifty. Melody had begun buying sports cards with her allowance, birthday, and tooth fairy money. The neighborhood boys knew she would trade any card she had for a Buccaneers card, no matter how obscure the player. Melody knew that some boys sought her out purposely to take advantage of her, but she did not care. Even as the boys snickered and laughed, Melody happily traded Tony Dorsett and Terry Bradshaw cards for Cecil Johnson and Mike Washington. The only thing she could not understand was that even though the Bucs had finally made the playoffs, the boys still gave them no respect.
To her mother’s disbelief, Melody’s Sunday afternoons were now the same as her father’s, sitting on the couch, watching sports, and yelling at the television. Barbara did not object. On the contrary, she was happy to see her husband bonding with their daughter. Sometimes she would listen in on their conversations as she crocheted. During the commercials, Melody would ask about his week, what places he had been to, and what goods he had delivered. She also used this time to tell her father about her own week. The spot on the couch became known as Melody’s, and she retained it, even when her father occasionally invited friends over to watch a game. Melody had also become a Detroit Tigers fan, but only because there was no Florida baseball team in the major leagues.
As the summer rolled on into late August, Barbara noted how much her daughter had changed. She was developing and her legs had become toned and muscular. Her suntanned skin complimented both her blond hair and radiant, ice-cold blue eyes. She had grown more independent as well. In the morning, Melody would leave the house with her skateboard under her arm, coming home only to eat or sleep. Barbara could not understand how her daughter could occupy all her time, day after day, just rolling around town. Occasionally, Barbara would reminisce her own summer vacations and shake her head while recognizing the contrast between her own childhood and that of her daughter’s. As a young farmgirl, Barbara had helped her parents by collecting eggs, milking goats, and canning preserves. She fondly remembered running through the meadow, towards the pond, to go fishing with her brother, and watching her father drive the tractor, sometimes being allowed to ride with him. Whenever Barbara got lost in her thoughts and felt nostalgic for her childhood, she would eventually release a long sigh. Melody shared none of her interests.
Barbara saw glimpses of what the future was bringing and wished for time to slow down. Melody had ideas, plans, and dreams that seemed outrageous compared to her own simple ways. Whenever Melody spoke of living on a Florida beach with a pet flamingo, Barbara was at a loss to understand. While Barbara was perfectly happy to live in a small, familiar town all her life, Melody wanted to travel and explore the world. Barbara wanted to be a wife and mother upon receiving her first rag doll, whereas Melody spoke of careers during her Barbie tea parties, stating husbands were nuisances and children a burden. Barbara knew Dowagiac could never hold her daughter’s restless heart. Melody was too much like her Uncle Frank. He would have been miserable taking over the family farm, for he too had nomadic inclinations and could never stay in one place for very long. Frank sailed away with the U.S. Navy and never looked back with regret. Like Frank, Barbara knew Melody would leave home at her first opportunity, even if she wasn’t completely ready. Barbara pictured herself on the front porch, broken-hearted and in tears, waving a handkerchief as Melody squealed the tires and raced for the horizon.
Barbara let the melancholy scene remain in her mind as she rinsed whole potatoes under the faucet. Melody had been told to be home by three o’clock for a cooking lesson. Barbara reasoned even a headstrong, adventurous girl like Melody would eventually need to know how to prepare a meal or two. Hoping to hold her daughter’s attention, Barbara planned to make one of Melody’s favorite dishes, potato pancakes. Barbara glanced at the clock on the wall which informed her it was 2:57.
“Where is that girl?” she wondered. “Is it asking too much that I also spend time with her?”
Just as the clock struck three, Melody came bursting through the door, covered in dust, drenched in sweat, and dragging her skateboard behind her. She was panting hard while brushing aside her windblown, disheveled hair with a dirty hand. Unaware that she had cut herself, a thin trail of blood ran down the back of her forearm.
“I’m home, Mama!” she announced. “We still making potato pancakes?”
Barbara looked at her child in astonishment. “Melody! Just what have you been into?”
“Nothing,” Melody answered casually.
“You’re a disaster!” her mother cried in disbelief. “Girls usually come home and wash their hands, mine needs to run herself through a carwash!”
“Oh Mother,” Melody giggled.
“Young lady, you march yourself upstairs, shower, and put on some clean clothes. Don’t take all day, you have potatoes to peel.”
“On my way!” Melody called out as she disappeared towards the stairs.
Barbara gathered the potatoes into a large colander to let them dry. It was only her and Melody eating tonight, so dinner could be a little late. She got everything ready while waiting for her daughter to look presentable.
“Honestly,” she sighed. “That girl should have been Frank’s daughter. I can see those two now, down in Florida, wrestling alligators.”
ns 15.158.61.12da2
