Choices

Jenna pulled open the door of the old VW bus and nearly fainted from the heat and stench that wafted out. It didn’t help that the thing had been sitting on the vacant back lot of her parents’ Sacramento place for more than 10 years. Nobody had been in it since her grandad died five years ago. God knew what was inside. Grandma refused to let them get rid of it because it had been so special to him – and to her. She told of the trips they’d made in it in their late teens and early 20s – upstate New York, Canada, New Mexico. Gene always wanted Jenna to have that bus, Grandma said.

She had seen old photos of Grandma in her long psychedelic-print dresses or bib overalls. (Funny they were coming back into fashion now) and Grandpa with the long ponytail he’d kept until it turned grey. The keys had been handed to her at Grandma’s funeral, two keys on an old keychain with a dirty red plastic “Keep on Truckin” fob.

“All yours now,” her dad had said, “not that it’s worth much.”

Jenna didn’t care. She wanted to drive it, not sell it. What she’d really wanted to do was go to school, community college that is, to get a start on becoming a vet. But her parents hadn’t had work since the beginning of the pandemic. They’d both worked in the hospitality industry, but that was dead now. They’d managed to stave off foreclosure on their small home only by using the money they’d put aside for her to go and even that was nearly gone now. She was hoping (with her father’s mechanical knowledge and help) to get the old bus running and head off for somewhere, working wherever she could along the way. She’d live on ramen noodles and peanut butter if she had to – anything to escape the anger and gloom that was crippling all of them. She worried most about her six-year-old sister, Amanda. Having to always stay home and away from her friends had changed her once-bubbly little buddy into a sad little thing, always pulling at her hair and clothes and often spouting tears.

She began making her way through the mess toward the back of the bus, shoving aside, maps, books, magazines that fell apart in her hands, and clothes, piles and piles of clothes. For three hours she worked in the heat. Outside the bus she created three piles: sell, recycle, and trash. She found two tall stacks of new tie-dyed t-shirts in various sizes on one of the benches and remembered Grandpa saying they would sometimes sell these at concerts. Maybe she could sell them now? They were vintage – would that give her enough for the gas and food to get started?

When she finally reached the back, there were three plastic tumblers filled with books. These she lifted out and onto the grass. She sat in front of the first and lifted the lid, releasing the strong smell of mildew into the fresh air. Engineering textbooks were stacked inside, the ones, no doubt, that Grandpa had been studying before he dropped out. They surely wouldn’t be useful to anyone now. She added them to the re-cycle pile. The second one had Grandma’s name on a dirty label, “Lydia.” Astrology was the subject of these. They were mostly paperbacks covering how to determine your sun sign and what the attributes were of each. Jenna was a Sagittarius, not that it meant anything real to her. To the re-cycle pile with them as well.

As she opened the third tumbler a low rumble of thunder shook the air. She looked around but saw no signs of rain. Heat lightening? Inside lay dozens of notebooks of various sizes and colors. She picked up a purple one and flipped the pages. Poetry, by her Grandpa. This was something she knew nothing about. The poems were labeled with the

names of people, “Lydia,” “Jason” (her own father) and several others she didn’t recognize. Paging back, just behind her father’s name she saw her own, “Jenna.”

Darling Jenna, I knew you would find this someday because I willed it. Did you know you can do that, will things to happen? When the stars are in the proper order, your Grandma tells me; all kinds of things can be willed into being if they are done with a pure heart. So I willed this for you because I knew you had the urge for freedom, as we did and I’ve never known a purer heart than yours.

We put this together slowly from temp jobs (side hustles you’d call them) over the years. We never needed much for ourselves anyway. In this tumbler there is a small back notebook. The real surprise is in a tiny book inside that. Use it however you wish. Help others. Throw it away if you like. We love you and your restless heart.

Grandma and Grandpa

At the bottom of the notebooks she found it, a thin black book with an elastic closure. The only label was on the back, “MOLESKINE.” She pulled away the elastic and the book fell open to its center. A tiny blue bankbook rested in the crease. First Federal Savings and Loan was embossed on the cover. Her hands shook as she slowly opened its thin paper pages. There was her name at the top, Jennifer Lydia Jessup. There were dozens of deposits made to the account over the years, some as small as $25. One, as large as $1,000. And the total, at the very bottom said, $20,000!

Jenna scraped her calve as she jumped the bin and headed for the house, clutching the bankbook in her hand. She nearly crashed into Amanda as she took the two steps onto the porch in one leap, then realized her sister was sobbing into her t-shirt like her heart was broken.

What’s wrong, kitten?

I can’t go to riding lessons. They say there isn’t any money for it, and Dad promised last year!

You’re going, you’re going, you’re going! Jenna assured her, squeezing Amanda’s tiny shoulders and wiping her face. I promise you’re going.

And was she, Jenna, going as well? Or was she staying for college as she’d hoped for so long? Maybe both, it occurred to her, she had her laptop and classes were all on line these days anyway. Was there a way to travel and work and do all her first classes on the road? They had done it – why not her? All that really mattered now was that she had choices.

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