At first, Damian thought it was a terrific idea. Him, his mother, two twin sisters and his grandmother, riding across the country. From Saint Albans, Queens New York, all the way to California. The entire trip by car...a raggedy but reliable Ford s#Panictation wagon his mother nicknamed Betsy.
The silly name notwithstanding, Betsy had been a thorn in Damian's side for the past five years. Since he was eight. It had gotten to the point that even glancing at the beige and wood paneled brown vehicle instantly made him nauseous. It was the routine of it all which pissed him off the most.
He'd attend school the customary five days a week, and then on Saturday, it was the dreaded food shopping excursion which had become more of a religion in his family, than even the one he learned of in the Majority Baptist Church each Sunday. So it was school Monday to Friday, food shopping on Saturday, and church on Sunday.
When, one might ask, did the boy get time to himself...to do the things he wanted to do? And a great question it was; because the inevitable answer was never. He could tolerate church because it didn't last all day long. And he could tolerate school because he truly had no choice in the matter. Not that he had much of a choice with church, either.
But school was mandated by the city, while church was mandated by his mother. (A mother he'd thought way before the trip to Cali, was short a few screws in her mental toolbox. But knew it for sure afterwards.) And his mother brooked no refusal from any of her children on both fronts. Particularly, when it came to the food shopping.
His mother, Susan Dowling, was a social worker. And she'd often rail against the Black mothers who she assisted with food stamps and housing and medical coverages for their entire family. "Th