Trunk Space

Looks can be deceiving, especially through a five year old’s eyes.

I grew up in the late 80’s and early 90’s with three siblings so, like other large families in that era, my family drove a station wagon. It was a classic, navy blue with wood paneling. This was long before five point harness car seats. In fact, by the time I was born, it didn’t even have any working seat belts. So, we’d just roll around in the back as mom drove, clueless to how our death could be imminent with just the right accident.

Ahh… Ignorance is bliss.

Anyhow, the station wagon was the only car I was familiar with until my Dad bought a second family car around 1990. He had grown tired of riding his bike back and forth to work, so he bought himself a bright red 1980 Mercury Cougar. As soon as my siblings and I got a look of Dad’s new vehicle, there was one thing that impressed us all — the trunk. Station wagons had open backs which allowed us to crawl from the car seat to the trunk space and vice versa. But with the Cougar, the trunk was closed off and had to be accessed through it’s own private hatch. We were mesmerized. We had never seen such a wondrous contraption!

Immediately upon its purchase, we began to ask our dad to let us ride in the trunk. We were so curious what it was like to ride in the dark, cavernous space. We began relentlessly asking to ride in it every trip. The four of us children couldn’t spend more than 10 minutes together without fighting, but somehow decided being shoved together in a pitch black trunk sounded like fun. We all agreed it was a good idea and kept asking Dad for permission.

Dad always laughed us off.

Until the stars aligned, Dad was feeling extra generous or maybe our pestering finally wore him down, whatever it was, one day he agreed! He decided that two of us could ride to the store in the trunk while the other two could ride in the trunk on the way back home. So like any good Midwestern family, we piled into the car together on Saturday morning to go to the local Wal-Mart.

Being the middle child, and easily the whiniest, I often times got left places, and this trip was no exception. I somehow managed to lose my family as they shopped and wandered around Wal-Mart lost and alone for HOURS (at least that’s how it felt to my 5 year old mind. Pretty sure it wasn’t longer than 20 minutes). I found them at last as they were loading up groceries in the parking lot. Clearly, they were less concerned about me missing than I was, because they went about their business shopping. However, I was frantic. Even after I found them again, I was still crying really hard so my dad scooped me up, hugged me tight, and then gently placed me inside the trunk, cautioning me to “watch your head” as he closed me and my sister inside.

With the trunk lid closed, my frantic crying soon switched to squeals of excitement. I couldn’t believe I was finally being allowed to ride in the trunk. What an adventure! My excitement didn’t last long though. The ride in the trunk was everything you might imagine it to be — hot, dark, and bumpy. My older sister who was sharing the trunk space with me kept yelling to stop touching her as we flopped around in the back. My excitement for our adventure dwindled and I soon felt anxiety rise within my little chest. I feared for the worst. I was convinced my family would forget about me again and I’d be left in the trunk forever. My sister and brother on the other side of the trunk could talk to us through the seats. They assured me they wouldn’t leave us in there and would get us out as soon as we made it home. I was grateful the trip was only 10 minutes long. When we were finally let out of the trunk, I vowed to myself that I would never do that again.

Once at home, we all went about our business until about thirty minutes later when there was a knock on the door. A policeman was there and he had some questions. Someone had seen my dad place a crying child in the trunk of the car and drive away so they called the police.

We had a lot of explaining to do.

After sometime and a lot of questions, my parents were able to convince the police officer we were all four their rightful children and Dad hadn’t snatched any of us from the store. “I swear, officer! They asked to ride in the trunk. They wanted to do it. That’s the only reason I let them!” my Dad proclaimed.

Each of the children, had to speak with the officer separately, to make sure nothing illegal, harmful or suspicious was going on. We did our best to convey that we were not abused children, because we weren’t. We lived in a somewhat chaotic household, but nothing that wasn’t typical for growing up in an 80’s home. We did a great job of asserting our fair treatment until the officer asked my three year old brother, “Does your Daddy ever hurt you?”

“Well,” he said “Only when I’m bad.”

This was it. I could see my life in foster care right before eyes. I imagined living a life like Cinderella or Little Orphan Annie. Come to think of it, foster care may not be that bad if I got to sing and dance like them. We never sing and dance like that at home. I had never even seen glass slippers. Let alone, owned a pair. I had to share all my toys and never had my own space. At least Cinderella gets the attic to herself. Annie always had fun adventures. Within a few minutes, I had myself convinced that being taken away from my family may not be so bad.

Luckily for all of us, the police officer found no reason to remove us from the home. “Well, that’s good,” I thought. I have an awful lot of stuff here that would be too hard to fit in a satchel” I clearly watched too many cartoons. The officer let us off with a lecture about safety and one strong warning to “never ride in a trunk again”. A command with which, I was happy to comply!