The Swap-A-Rama

 

              Today I couldn’t stop thinking about my weekends at the flea market with my grandpa and my uncle Moe so I wanted to write a little memory that I had from those mornings before we would get there and spend our day.  I’ve lived many years and to this day, my favorite memories are of those when I lived with my grandparents. 

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The early morning rumble of raspy voices fills the walls of our tiny blue house.  It’s a typical Saturday morning; complete with coffee, bacon and the mumbled words of my grandmother as she burns her fingertips trying to flip a tortilla.  Before my eyes open, I play out my day at least twice.  “What will I find today at the Swap-A-Rama?” (The Swap-A-Rama was once an old mattress factory that was converted into an indoor/outdoor flea market), “How many people from school will I see?” That question always taunted me, because kids in middle school can be so cruel when they find out you must sell stuff at the flea market to be able to survive. 

            Then, I wasn’t as much of a morning person as I am now.  I slowly lurched my unwilling body from my bed to the table in the kitchen.  By the time I reached the table I was so exhausted that I put my head down to attempt to fall asleep, but I wasn’t allowed to lay my head on the kitchen table so my grandmother would nudge me to sit up.  Since breakfast wasn’t quite ready, I would sit and stare at the walls that were yellow at that time, but you could see all the previous colors and they were all so different.  The color before that was pink and the layer before that was blue.  The same blue as the outside of the house.  I wondered how long ago that was.  Before I could wander down too many daydreams, my grandmother would put a cup of black coffee in front of me, accompanied by a piece of pan dulce.  In rough, calming tone she would say, “come esto mi mono.” (eat this my monkey). 

            My grandmother would always tell me to go outside to help my grandfather and my uncle Moe, but I always wanted to be beside her.  I would walk outside or a bit and check on them as they loaded that old Chevy truck with parts from cars that my grandfather rebuilt.  He learned how to take apart car part and refurbish them in the Army.  After a couple of minutes of me standing there and being useless, I would make my way back in the house through the back door. Which opened into the kitchen where I would see my grandmother washing all the dishes and humming.  I immediately would start cleaning because I wanted to be useful and didn’t want her to have to clean up by herself.  She had already made us all breakfast and homemade flour tortillas!  I joined her in a game of cleaning the kitchen and drinking coffee while she told me stories about when she was young.  She only ever drove a handful of times and only ever one car.  It was an old VolkswagenBeetle.  I still have that key hanging from my rear view mirror of my truck. 

            It was time or us to leave to the flea market so my grandfather could see his part and random knickknacks.  My favorite things he sold were these little plastic birds that you would put water into, and they turned into a whistle.  I can still hear that whistle to this day!  My uncle Moe convinced me that the different colors of birds made different tones.  Even though I knew they didn’t, I still believed him!  We reversed out of the driveway that wasn’t paved but filled with white rocks that had so much dust on them that it would kick up every time we would drive down it.  When we left my grandmother would wait outside, sitting on her bench and watering her flowers.  I would scream so loudly, “BYE GRANDMA!  I LOVE YOU!”  She would wave back with the water hose in her hand making a pattern with the water which meant, I love you.