Music was playing on a radio when Kenny woke up in the morning. His mother was in the kitchen, having already made coffee in a glass percolator on the stove. Kenny had to hop down from the Murphy bed because it was a bit high.
“Well, hello, sleepy-bear.” His mother kissed his head. “We have a big problem.”
“What?” Kenny rubbed his eyes as he sat at the two-seat kitchen table.
“I didn’t get milk yesterday.” She did have a can of something called Evaporated Milk—there was a cartoon cow on the label—that she was using for her morning coffee. “Can you go around to Louie’s Market and get a half gallon of milk? You’ll need some for your cereal.”
“I can.”
Kenny had no idea where Louie’s Market was. His mom explained that it was out the front door, one right turn, then one left turn. A three-minute walk. There were some dollar bills on her dresser in the bedroom, he could take two and buy himself a treat for later.
Kenny dressed in the same clothes he wore the day before and went into his mom’s tiny bedroom. There was money on her dresser, so he took two one-dollar bills. Her closet door was open with the light on inside; Kenny could see all her shoes on the floor and her dresses and skirts on hangers. There was also a man’s suit jacket and pants hanging in the closet and some ties on little hooks. A pair of man’s shoes were in there with her high heels.
The streets around the apartment were lined with big trees, but not the blue gums of Webster Road. These trees had wide green leaves and branches that were thick and high. The roots of the tall, old trees had grown so large they buckled the sidewalks and made them uneven. Kenny carried the two one-dollar bills in his hand as he turned right, then left, finding Louie’s Market in less than three minutes.
A Japanese man was behind the cash register, surrounded by candies and sweets on display. Kenny found the dairy case and carried a half gallon of milk over to pay for it. As the Japanese man rang up the sale he asked, “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”
Kenny told him his mother lived nearby and had forgotten to buy milk.
“Who is your mother?” the man asked. When Kenny told him, he said “Oh! Your mother is a nice lady. A very pretty lady. And you are her boy? How old are you?”
“In nine days ten,” Kenny said.
“I have a girl just like you,” the grocer said.
For the treat he would have later, Kenny picked out a twin pack of Hostess CupCakes, chocolate with the swirl of white icing down the middle. They cost twenty-five cents, which Kenny hoped was not too much. His mother said nothing when he got back with the milk. She made him toast to eat along with his bowl of Rice Krispies and cut up sections of a seedless orange.
Kenny was watching Channel 40—a whole morning of cartoons and commercials for toys—when the phone on the wall of the kitchen rang. After saying hello, his mother said something he did not understand.
“Que paso, mi amor? What? Oh, no! He was looking forward to it. Are you sure?” Kenny looked at his mom, she at him as she listened. “Oh! Yes, that could work. Yes, two birds with one stone. Love it. Okay.” She listened on the phone for a moment more, then giggled as she hung up.
“Kenny Bear,” she sang, coming into the room. “Change of plans. Jose, Mr. Garcia, had business come up and he can’t fly you in his plane today. But…” She cocked her head, as though a more exciting possibility was about to be floated, like there was a trip on a rocket ship available instead. “He can fly you all the way home tomorrow! We won’t have to drive.”
Kenny did not quite understand how a flight home on an airplane was possible. Would the plane land on Webster Road right at his house? Wouldn’t they crash into the blue gum trees?
With the whole day now to fill, Kenny and his mom spent the late morning at Fairytale Town, a place for kids run by the Parks Department. There were little houses painted to look like they were made of straw, sticks, and stones; a long and curling version of a yellow brick road; and puppet shows every hour until 3:00 p.m. The whole family used to visit the storybook village when Kenny was little, although never with Dad, who was always sleeping at home. Since Kenny was now nearly ten years old, the fairy-tale sets were too young for him. Even the swings were for kids littler than Kenny.
The zoo was nearby. That, too, had been a favorite destination when Kenny was smaller. The monkeys still aired out their limbs by swinging on the rings in their cage, the elephants were still in a pen on the other side of the fence that was no longer as tall as it had been, and the giraffes could still be fed carrots from pails full of them, kept on hand by the zookeepers. He and his mom stayed at the zoo longer than they did Fairytale Town, lingering in the Reptile House. There was a huge python in there, wrapped around part of a tree with his head, as big as a football, right next to the window glass.
For lunch they ate at a little market that also had sidewalk tables with checkerboard cloths. Kenny had a tuna sandwich with no lettuce or tomato, just the tuna, and his mother had a small tub of pasta salad. To drink, there was golden juice that came in bottles shaped like apples—this was instead of a Coke. Kenny was disappointed at first, but the apple juice was so sweet, so thick that his whole body felt good when the drink slid down his throat and into his tummy. He imagined that must be what drinking wine was like, since grown-ups were always making such a big deal about “fine wines.” He had his Hostess cupcakes for dessert.
“What shall we do now, Kenny Bear?” his mom asked. “What if we tried our hands at peewee golf?”
She drove the red Fiat onto the freeway, heading west toward the foothills. When they crossed the river, Kenny realized they were near the exit for Sunset Avenue, which was the off-ramp they used to take to get home, to his old house. He recognized the big green sign with the white arrow and SUNSET AVE, and he saw the Chevron station on one side and the Phillips 66 station on the other. But his mom didn’t merge into the exit lane. She kept going. Farther down the highway a colorful little town of tiny windmills and castles appeared, the Miniature Golf & Family Fun Center. The place looked brand-new and magical.
Because it was a Saturday, there was a pretty good crowd made up of carloads of families and idle kids who had ridden their bikes or been dropped off, kids who were supplied with enough money for a day of Fun-with-a-capital-F. There was a circle of baseball batting cages with automatic pitching machines, an arcade filled with pinball and shooting games. A snack bar served corn dogs and giant pretzels and Pepsi-Cola. Kenny and his mom had to wait in line to get the balls and the right-size putters from a teenage boy who smiled at his mom with the same cow eyes as the man at the Shell station in Iron Bend. There was a choice of two courses to play and the young man behind the counter not only suggested the Magic-Land course, with the castle, but also walked them to the first hole and took pains to explain how to use the little pencil to keep score on the card. He also explained that if they got a hole in one on the eighteenth, they’d win a free game.
“I think we have the gist of it,” his mom said to the kid, hoping to get rid of him. Still, he lingered until they both putted. He wished them a good round and went back to the counter to hand out more putters and colored golf balls.