Carte Blanche
by Lichen Throat (shadow entry)
When I was thirteen years old, we visited my grandparents in San Diego. We were only supposed to stay three days, but my dad got sick and needed emergency surgery to remove his gallbladder. While he was awaiting surgery, they sent me to my aunt’s house. She had gotten some movies to keep me occupied, and, not knowing my taste, rented many more than I could watch, and let me pick.
I had carte blanche to choose
The films that we would view.
I’d never seen James Bond,
So I put that one on.
I saw A View to a Kill
As Dad was lying ill.
Then after a short pause,
We watched Return to Oz.
My dad’s surgery got postponed until later that night because of people with more urgent problems. I called my grandmother a few times to get updates. Somehow she got the idea that I was really worried about him, even though I actually wasn’t, and she became quite indulgent for the next few days, in contrast to her usual temperament, which was notoriously irritable. I decided to exploit this as much as possible.
I had carte blanche for a week;
No need to fear critique.
Ate cookies all day long
And I could do no wrong.
I’d lounge and stay up late,
Leave veggies on my plate.
I never pressed my luck
And didn’t run amok.
We saw Dad every day
In his quiet hospital room.
He was really weak, but doing okay;
Up and down the halls I would zoom.
To give my grandparents a break, Mom and I tried to get out of the house as much as we could. We kept eating at Jack-in-the-Box, which was test marketing strange and delicious new products. We drove all around San Diego, and she showed me where she and Dad married, way out in Bonita at a chapel in the middle of a cemetery that was mostly used for funerals. It was a great week.
I had carte blanche for a week--
Nothing sad or bleak.
We shopped for shirts and shoes,
And through the streets we’d cruise
From North Park to La Jolla;
It was a time of joy:
A week without a plan,
Just sea and sun and sand.