Disclaimer:  I, Mrs. Gladys Kaminsky, want to state for the record that taking this creative writing class was NOT my idea.  Not that I have anything against our instructor, she's a doll.  And so young.  Only 70 or so.  I'm just not a creative person.  Never was, am not now, and I certainly do not plan to change my ways now.  I mean, how much can a person change once she has celebrated her 102nd birthday?

So why am I here, you're asking?  Because the Cottonhead Girls made me.  And who are the famous Cottonheads?  There's four of us Girls, you see:  Me, Maybell, Flo, and Bambi.  No I'm not making that up.  And please don't call Bambi “dear.”  Not unless you want a kick in the pants!

So how did the Cottonheads get started?  I'll tell you.  When you get past your 70th birthday or so, you notice some disturbing trends.  Mainly you notice that your parts stop working so good.  Some of us lose our hearing, some of us lose our eyesight, and some of us just plain lose our minds.  What's a person to do?

The way I figure, you've got two choices.  You can check yourself into an old age home and just give up.  Or, you can hook up with someone or someones who can supply the parts that you're missing.

And that's how I ended up as a member of the Cottonhead Girls.  Physically, I'm still kicking, but mentally, well, let's say I've gotten a little forgetful.  When I was younger (eighty or so), I used to write notes to myself.  Gladys, remember to turn off the water.  Gladys, your pocketbook is in the hall closet.  But, as the years went on, I forgot to read the notes.  Or else I would read the notes and wonder who wrote them and why she never signed her name.  By the time I reached 100, I couldn't always remember who Gladys was!

Lucky for me, I had these three life-long friends.  Maybell's got hair growing in some awfully weird places, but she can read a map like nobody.  And Flo can't walk so good, but her memory is intact.  Plus, she's got a full set of teeth.  And Bambi?  Over the years, she's had practically all her insides removed.  But believe it or not, Bambi's got guts.  And brains.  Bambi is our fearless leader.

Bambi's the one who organized us into the Cottonhead Girls.  She's the one who convinced us to sell our homes up north, pool all our savings to buy the biggest, whitest, Cadillac you can imagine, and head on south to Florida.  So, what was my role in all this?  You guessed it!  I'm the driver!

So, here we are in St. Petersburg, Florida.  We're all living in Building 6 at The Hub, a retirement community that overlooks this gorgeous bay.  If you ask Flo, she'll actually tell you the name of the body of water.  If you talk to Maybell, she can find it for you on three different maps!  And if you ask Bambi, she'll tell you why she picked The Hub.  But that's not the point of this story.  What is the point?

The point is....the point is....

Oh Gladys, don't do this!  Excuse me while I re-read what I've written so I can figure out the point.

Okay, I'm back now.  Here we go.

Disclaimer, continued.

What is the point?  The point is that Bambi the Brain signed us all up for a creative writing course here at The Hub.  And what one part of the Cottonhead does, we all do because we all operate as one body and one brain.  So here I am, having to write a story about an adventure in my life.  You would think that at my age, I would have had plenty of adventures.  The pity is, I can't remember any of them!  I can barely remember what happened yesterday.  But lucky for me, Flo gave me a prod and reminded me that we did have a little adventure just the other day.  A part of our adventure even made the local newspapers.  Flo kindly cut the article out for me so I could use it as a reference for my adventure essay.

Conclusion of disclaimer:  In conclusion, dear readers, I'm here because the Cottonheads needed me to drive them to Mrs. Gewertz's Creative Writing Class.  I would be happy to simply drop them off and pick them up, but heaven only knows where I would end up without Maybell directing me, and Flo reminding me, and Bambi deciding for me.  So like Bambi says, I'm here, so I may as well just go with the program.

So here I am, being a good sport at age 102 and 3 months.

End of Disclaimer

Beginning of story.

My Adventure

by Gladys Kaminsky

I moved to Florida five years ago with my three best friends:  Maybell the Mapreader, Bambi the Brain, and Flo, the Memory Lady.  Then there's me, Gladys, the driver.

We've got our weekly routine down to a science.  Sunday, there's afternoon theatre.  Tuesday, there's water aerobics class.  Thursday night is the movies.  But everybody's favorite is Friday night on the town.  Friday night we drive over to Skidaddle's Restaurant for their early bird special (fried grouper fish for $3.95 - can't beat it!).  Then we hop into the car and head towards home.  But first we stop at the fancy shmancy Don Ceasar Hotel for a drink.  You never know who you're going to see at the Don.  I used to know who I saw, but I've since forgotten.  Ask Flo if you really want to know.  Or, just make it up.  It's more fun that way, anyway.

After the Don, we get back into the car and continue our journey home.  Heading home is the tricky part of the evening.  No, I don't drink anything stronger than mineral water.  I am the driver, after all.  The problem is, once you're out of the Don, you have to go through a toll booth.  That's mighty tricky because there's three lanes.  You have to exit the Don in the far right lane, but then you've got to slide over into the far left lane by the time you get to the tollbooth.  That's because the far left lane is the one with the Sunshine Pass.  You know, that little round thing they stick on the back of your rear view mirror so that the tollgate arm lifts automatically when you drive through.  The Girls all chip in for our monthly Sunshine Pass.  Otherwise, it would cost me $50 a month!  They chip in for gasoline and car repairs, too, bless them. 

Once you're past the toll both, it gets even trickier.  Because they make you merge from three lanes into two lanes, and then into one lane.  But we're still not finished.  Because then you have to drive over the drawbridge.  There's the biggest trick of all.

Every day at exactly twenty minutes after the hour and then again at ten minutes before the hour, the drawbridge opens.  That means we've got to wait in a long line of cars until all the ships pass.  We don't like to wait - what if one of us needs to go to the hospital?  It can happen at our age, you know.  Worse, once in awhile we find ourselves at the very front of the line.  That always puts me into a panic.  I don't want to be the first car across the bridge.  What if it isn't secure?  I'd rather see someone else's car drive over the bridge first.

But when we do end up at the head of the pack, there's always Bambi crying out from the back seat, “Gladys, quit acting like an old lady!”  So, I take a deep breath and floor it!

After lots of experimenting, we figured out how to avoid getting stuck at the drawbridge.  Here's what we do.  When we go to Skidaddle's Restaurant, we make sure to leave The Hub at exactly 5:25 pm, a full five minutes after the drawbridge rises.  By the time we get to the drawbridge, the ships and the cars have gone.

We make sure to leave the restaurant at 6:45 and go directly to the Don.  Then at 7:55 pm precisely, we leave the Don and head for The Hub.  That gives us plenty of time to change from the far right lane over to the far left lane, go through the toll both, merge twice, and head across the bridge.  (And mind you, sometimes it's very dark outside!) 

We've never had a problem in 5 whole years.  But yesterday, something happened.  That's the adventure I'm writing about.

It was New Year's Eve, and we stayed out a little later at Skidaddle's because the restaurant owner treated us to an extra desert ON THE HOUSE.  Naturally, we didn't eat the extra deserts, we wrapped them in napkins, and then we jammed them into our pocketbooks.  Then we stayed a little later at the Don because we wanted to watch the younger folk enjoying the senior citizen's dance.  Makes us girls laugh to watch all those folks in their 60s and 70s bopping about.  I've got grandchildren older than some of them!

But still, we were very careful to leave at the correct time:  Nine o'clock.  A full twenty minutes before the drawbridge is next scheduled to open.

So, I guess you can say that nine o'clock is the official starting time for our adventure.  We left the Don and I pulled into the right lane.  So far, everything was normal.  But in an instant, I could see that something was wrong.  Too much traffic.  “What business do people have being out so late?” I complained. 

Flo reminded me that people always stay out late on New Year's Eve.

“Well, how am I supposed to get into the left lane?”  I turned towards Maybell the Map.  “Maybell, which way should I drive?”

“This is out of my league,” Maybel answered.  “Bambi, what do you suggest?”

“Stay in the right lane,” Bambi decided. 

“But what about the Sunshine Pass?” I asked.

“We'll all point to the pass when we see the toll booth lady.”

“I'll forget,” I reminded them.

“I'll remind you,” Flo assured me.

That made me feel much better.  I just love these Girls.  So, that's what we did.  We stayed in the right lane, until we got to the tollbooth.  Bambi rolled down her window and explained what happened.  I pointed to the Sunshine Pass on my rearview mirror, and Maybell offered the lady a piece of chocolate cake.  The lady waved aside the chocolate cake and told us to go ahead.

The arm of the tollgate rose up all the way, and I started forward.  Suddenly, the whole arm came crashing down onto the hood of the car.  You should have heard us scream!  Four heart attacks, I thought. 

“Nobody move!”  Bambi ordered.  But Bambi moved.  Right out of the car she walked, and she poked at that tollgate.  Then she did something amazing.  In a feat of superhuman strength and bravery, Bambi lifted the entire gate off the car!

Well, we all cheered.  Because then she did something even more incredible.  Bambi herself carried the entire gate to the rear of the car and stuffed it through the back window.  The thing was wider than our extra roomy Cadillac, and it stuck out the right rear window. 

Bambi bowed, got back into the car and pointed straight ahead.  “Onward, Gladys!”

“But Bambi!”  I protested.

“Onwards!”

“What about the toll booth lady?”

“What about the toll booth lady?  Gladys, she's older than you.  What's she gonna do, chase after the car?”

“Onwards, onwards,” the Cottonheads cheered.

So I drove onwards, and I merged over one lane to the left.  Then I started working up my nerve to merge over a second time.  But something was wrong.  Traffic was going slower and slower, and we were getting closer and closer to the car on our left.  Before long, I had to bring the car to a complete halt.

“I don't believe it,” I exclaimed.

“Impossible!”  Maybell cried.

“What's going on?  The two in the back demanded.  “Why are we stopped?”

“I'm not sure, I can't see too well in the dark.”

“The drawbridge must be up,” Bambi decided.

“Impossible,” Flo decreed.  “It's 9:07 exactly.”

“Can't you see anything?”  Bambi asked.

Lots of cars ahead, all stopped,” I answered.  “Bambi, what should we do?”

“We stay stopped,” said Bambi.  “And then I tell you something very interesting.”

“What?”  I asked.

“You know what this tollbooth arm is made out of?”

“What tollbooth arm?”  I asked.

“Turn on the overhead light and look in your rearview mirror, dear,” Flo said.

I did.  Sure enough, there was the orange and white pole extending out the right rear window.

“Remember?”  Flo asked.

“It's coming back to me.”

“How ever did you lift it?”  Maybell asked.

“It's made of Styrofoam!”  Bambi tittered.

“Styrofoam!” Maybell yelped.  “Then we're not safe!”

“Whatever are you talking about?”  I asked.

“I always thought that the arm was made of impenetrable steel.  That way, if we ever needed to protect our little piece of St. Petersburg, we could drop the tollbooth arm and no one could get through.”

“Why do we need to protect St. Petersburg?”  I asked.  Are we at war?”

“No dear, Maybell just needs to take her medication,” Flo said.

“What should we do now?”  I asked Bambi.

“Let's wave to the nice people in the car next to us and see if they wave back,” Bambi suggested.

We did, and they did.

“Look at all those children,” Bambi said.  “How many would you say there are, Gladys?”

“I count two blonds, one red, and one brunette,” I said.

“And a mother and a father,” Flo noted.

“Another blond and brunette,” I added to the list.

“Do you call a man a brunette, dear?”  Flo asked me.

“I'm a hundred and two.  I can call him Greta Garbo, if I want to.  Oh my goodness, look at that!”

“What's wrong, Gladys?”  Bambi asked.

“That nasty child is sticking her tongue out at me.  What should I do, Bambi?”

“Wait 'til the parents aren't looking and make your ugly face, Gladys.”

I grinned because I love making the ugly face.  I pulled out my top set of teeth, and then I swallowed my nose with my bottom jaw.

It worked!  I'll bet you could hear those kids screaming all the way to West Palm.  Father frowned into his rear view mirror, but the kids kept on shrieking and pointing at us.  Mom had a look at us, but I had already replaced the ugly face with my sweet, innocent, great great granny smile.  Still, I did feel responsible for the bedlam in the next car.

“Mmmph, Mmmph, Mmmph,” I said.

“Gladys, darling, did you remember to put your teeth back in your head?”  Flo asked.

Thank goodness for Flo's memory!  I snapped my upper teeth in place, then I tried again.  “Those children are getting wilder, Bambi.  What should I do?”

“You're not responsible for someone else's children,” Bambi said.

“They're just bored,” Maybell said.  “We should give them something to do.”

“Let's give them our extra deserts,” Bambi suggested.  “Nothing like a little sugar to settle down some wild children.”

I honked my horn, and Bambi stuck her head out the window.  “Excuse me,” she shouted.

Mother's eyes got as big as the lenses in Flo's reading glasses.  She must have been expecting us to yell at her or something.  She turned and said something to her children, then she rolled down her window.

“Excuse me,” Bambi said.  “We have four pieces of chocolate cake that we're not going to touch.  Would your children like them?”

“YES!” shouted the little boy.

“James Louis, I'm warning you,” Father said.

“Now now,” said Bambi.  “He's just doing his job and being a little boy.  And we're doing our job and being grandmothers.”

“We're hungry!”  The boy announced as he rolled down the back window.

“Stella, quit that!” the boy turned and shoved the redheaded girl.

“That's enough!”  Father said.

“Here you go dear.”  Bambi passed the first piece of chocolate cake into the boy's eager hands.”

“Really, you don't have to do this,” Mother said.

“What are we doing?”  I asked.

The blond Mother looked confused.  “I'm sorry?”

“Pay no attention to Gladys,” Bambi said.  “Here you go, sonny.  Give this to your sister.”

“No Heather, this is my piece,” the red headed girl protested.

“Girls,” Father warned.  “None of you gets any cake if you don't behave yourselves.”

“Do I know you?” I asked Mother.

The woman smiled.  “You've probably seen my husband on the telly or in a magazine.”

I looked at him closely.  “Are you the man who sings in the Denturegrip commercial?”

The man smiled.  “Uh, something like that.”

Bambi's desert idea worked wonders.  As soon as the kids had their cake, they quieted down.  Except for the little boy.  “What's that thing in the back of your car?”

“What thing?”  I asked.

“Rear view mirror again, Gladys,” Flo reminded me.

“Ah, the tollbooth gate,” I told him.

The boy's eyes widened.  “You stole the tollbooth gate?”

“Flo, is that what we did?”  I asked.

“No, you ninny, it fell on the car!”  Maybell told me.

“Hey, how come it didn't fall on our car?” the boy asked.  “Daddy, I want a tollbooth gate!”

“Quiet, James.  Ladies, do you have any idea why we're stuck here?” Father asked.

“Can't remember,” I answered.

“Gladys can't remember her own name,” Flo announced.

“Who told you that?”  I demanded.

“You did, dear.”

“Seems to be a problem with the drawbridge,” Bambi remarked.

“Hasn't happened like this in five years,” Maybell said.

“Maybe it never happened in the history of the world,” Flo mused.

“Are you ladies out celebrating New Year's Eve?”  Mother asked.

“Oh no, dear,” I answered.  Proud that I could remember something important.  “On Friday nights we get the early bird special at Skiddaddle's Restaurant and then we go to the Don for a drink and then we go to Bambi's apartment for tea.”

“You ninny!”  Maybell yelled.  “Of course we're celebrating New Year's Eve.  That's how we got the extra desert and why we stayed so late at the Don and why we're late getting home and why we're stuck in the car now!”

“Since when is being stuck in the car celebrating?”  I shouted back.  Maybell can sure shout, but she can't out shout me.  She hunched her shoulders and started muttering to herself.

“Old biddy,” I called her.

“Sour puss.”

“Bat brains.”

“Old cow.”

“Hey Dad,” the boy said, “How come you're not telling the ladies to shut up?”

Father whipped around in his seat and pointed an index finger at his son.  “Look, one more time and you're going to bed early.”

“But Dad!”

“Don't talk back to your father!”  Mother warned.

“I know,” Maybell said.  “When I was a little girl and we used to take car trips, we used to play 'Try to guess what I'm looking at?’”

“And what are you looking at in the dark?”  Flo asked.

“You know how to ruin everything, don't you, you old smelly goat.”

“Sheep's breath.”

“Ladies please.  Remember we are ladies!”  Bambi said.

At least we seemed to be entertaining the children.  They were giggling and pointing at us.

“Do that trick with your face again,” the boy said to me.

“You do one,” I encouraged him.

He leered at me.

“I don't think I like this game,” Father said.  “Supposing we all sing a song.”

“She may be weary, women do get weary, wearing the same shabby dress,” Maybell sang.  “So sing now ladies...”

“When she gets weary, buy another shabby dress,” we all chorused.

The family in the neighboring car laughed.  “Hey Dad, they could be in your new band,” the boy suggested.

“Do you think?”  Father asked.

“They do harmonize nicely,” Mother smiled.

I puffed out my chest.  “I played violin with the Lawrence Welk Orchestra,” I announced.

“That was 60 years ago, dear,” Flo reminded me.

“Hey, Dad.  You could change the name of the band to Paul McCartney and the Dinosaurs or Paul McCartney and the...”

“Look, that's enough out of you alright?  Just sit quiet and eat your cake.”

“Finished it already.  Can I have another?” he asked Bambi.

“All out of cake, sonny.  Would you like a cough drop?”

The boy frowned and folded his arms across his chest.

“Stella, are you drawing in the dark again?”  Mother asked.

“There's plenty of light,” the redhead answered.

Maybell opened the glove compartment and pulled out her trusty miner's cap.  “Here, Gladys, pass this over to the girl.”

“What do I do with this?”  the redhead asked.

“Put it on your head and turn the light on,” Maybell advised her.  “I do it all the time when I want to read maps in the dark.  Belonged to my late husband.”

“Thanks,” the girl smiled.  She put the miner's cap on her head and turned on the lamp.

“Ow, the light's in my eyes,” the boy complained.

“Should we try singing again?” the brunette asked.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” Bambi suggested.  “After all, we're neighbors now.”  Bambi reached a hand out towards Mother.  “I'm Bambi, the brains of this operation.  This is Flo on my right, Maybell is riding shotgun, and Gladys is our driver.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mother smiled.  Then Father introduced us to himself, his wife, and their four children, Heather, Mary, James Louis, and, and…maybe it was Stelladora?  I took a liking to Father right away.  Wish I could remember his name.  McDoodle I think, or Macadamia.  Anyway, I'm quite sure that Mother's name was Linda.  I remember her name clear as a bell because she had the same name as my granddaughter, Linda.  Or was it my niece, Linda?  Anyway, somebody blond in my family is named Linda.  I'll have to ask Flo.

The little boy folded his arms.  “New Year's is ruined,” he sulked.

“Nonsense,” I argued.  “It isn't New Year's yet, is it?”

“You ninny!” Maybell exploded. 

“Here, sonny, this will keep you busy.”  And with that, Bambi passed the tollbooth gate out the window of our car and through the window of our neighbor's car.

“Wow!” the boy exclaimed.  “Can I keep it?”

“With our compliments,” Bambi agreed.  “Now do you feel better about New Year's?”

“Ahhh!” I screamed.

“What's wrong?” everyone demanded.

“The Don!  It's on fire!  I can see it in my rearview mirror!”

Flo bonked me on the head.  “What's wrong with you?  Those are fireworks!”

“Fireworks?” the Maccawanna children shrieked and piled out of their car before their parents could stop them.

“Look, look,” they pointed and scampered about.

“Stella, turn your lamp off,” the blond girl complained.

Mother and Father had also gotten out of the car.  So did us Cottonheads.  In fact, so did everybody else who was stuck on the roadway. 

“Wish there was music to go with it,” one of the children said.

“Take me out to the ballgame,” I started to sing.

Flo gave me another bonk on the head.  “It's New Year's Eve, you ding dong.”

I sang louder.  “Take me out to the crowd...”

“Stop that!”  Maybell exclaimed.

“BUY ME SOME PEANUTS...”

“You're a peanut,” Bambi announced.

Well, I may be a peanut, but darned if everybody there didn't start singing along with me!

I could have watched those lovely lights forever.  But, unfortunately, traffic started moving again, so we reluctantly headed back to the car.

“I want some peanuts and crackerjacks,” James Louis announced.

Father gave the boy a little shove.  “Get in the car,” he instructed.

“I want some popcorn,” the redhead complained.

“Buckle your seatbelts, kids.”

“Hey!” said Bambi.  “We've got popcorn and peanuts at home.  And ginger snap cookies and tea.”

In a flash, James Louis burst out of his car and dove into ours.  “I'm going with them!” he cried.

A very irritated Father stepped out of his car.  “James Louis, get back in here.  NOW.”

“Hey mister, get in your car and start moving,” shouted an angry driver behind McDidley.

“Yeah, well just a minute,” McVittie shouted back.  “James, get in here!!”

“James Louis, they'll be no television for a week!”  Linda threatened.

“I don't want the telly.  I want peanuts and tea!”  James wailed.

Horns began honking and drivers began threatening.  “It's all right, dearie,” Bambi told Father MacKenzie.  “We'll have a little party at our house.  You just follow us.”

Red-faced, Father Macadam returned to his car.  Politely, he allowed me to merge in front of him, and then he followed us back to The Hub.

We had a lovely little party at Bambi's apartment.  The Cottenheads brought out all their cakes and snacks while Father Macintosh pulled out a guitar and I got a hold of my violin.  We all sang songs from the good old days, until the condo president threatened us with a $25 fine for noise violation.  I just want you all to know here and now that I never voted for that man for president of anything. 

Eventually, two of the MacIntyre children fell asleep, so Father and Mother decided it was time to go back to their hotel.  Everybody kissed everybody goodbye, and that was the end of our New Year's eve. 

The End:

So that's it, Cottonheads.  I'm finished with my story.  I wanted to pass it in to Mrs. Gewertz, but then Flo had to get involved.  She read over my story and naturally, she told me that I had forgotten something.

“What did I forget?” I asked her.

“The ending!” she said.  She grabbed hold of that newspaper article that talked about the problem with the drawbridge.  “You forgot to tell everybody what caused the accident.”

“I'm too tired,” I protested.  “And I don't understand what's in the article anyway.” 

“Just write,” she hissed.  “We've still got five minutes left of essay class.”

As far as I'm concerned, I'm too old to be wasting my time trying to figure out what this article says.  So, I'm just going to quote directly from the article.  You want to sue a 102 year-old woman for plagiarism, then shame on you!

“The accident occurred at approximately 9:04 pm, six minutes ahead of the regularly scheduled raising of the drawbridge.  The drawbridge operator admitted to being “slightly inebriated” when he raised the bridge without turning on the required warning system (stop lights and alarm bells).  

Because it was dark outside, and because the proper warning signals were not used, drivers were unaware that the bridge was being raised, and they continued to drive across the bridge at the legal speed limit (50 miles per hour).  The last driver who crossed the bridge flew actually flew over a five foot gap in the roadway.  All four tires burst immediately upon impact on the other side of the gap.  The driver was identified as former Beatle George Harrison.  Mr. Harrison received some minor bruises, and there were no other injuries reported.  Harrison told reporters that he was in town to meet up with friends.  The investigation continues.”

Lisha Goldberg is a Technical Writer/Website Developer for a Massachusetts-based insurance company. She also writes a newsletter for a Boston piano studio. Lisha has won several prizes for her writing, including the Boston Herald Star Trek Competition (write a eulogy for Captain Kirk!), CompuServe's Beatle Essay Contest, and Writers Digest Magazine Award for best Inspirational Short Story.