The Skunk In The Trunk

My younger sister is mentally retarded. And trust me…I am not above making this subject all about me, instead of her. Let me get this out of the way first. I love my sister very much. There. I said it (I knew you were wondering). Judy (my sister) is six years my junior, and when I was a teenager, I used to go into my room, into my closet, stick my face into my clothes, and scream obscenities because, A) at times, she frustrated me so incredibly much that I wanted to punch her, and B) we weren’t allowed to swear. How mean, you say? Judge not, lest ye be…ok, I was a little insensitive when I was in my teens (a little?). I loved her, but on occasion, She. Just. Drove. Me. Nuts. Case closed. I think it was the whole repeating things a bazillion times that wore me down to a teeny, tiny, blithering, idiotic nub. For those of you who do not know, it’s called perseveration (persistent repetition of a word, gesture, or act, often associated with brain damage), which stems from her disability. It could cause me to do things I normally wouldn’t, had I not heard Terry, Terry, Terry, Terry, TERRY! It was just that simple. Like some sort of Chinese torture…and you know what they say about Chinese torture. It works! She would also call out the names of places of business as we drove…anywhere! My brother (Steve) was a genius and was constantly pontificating, and trying his best to ignore me, and my sister was retarded and worshiped the ground that I skulked on. Oh, poor, poor middle child me.

We both loved horses and had a couple boarded at a stable just north of town. There was a whole cluster of kids who kept their horses out there, and all of them knew us. Some of the best friendships ever developed at those stables. Judy had a Welsh pony, at this particular time, and he was cranky all of the time and Judy was leery of him…so she’d beg me to work with him almost every time we went out to the stables, which was often…very often, and while I was correcting him, she would ride my horse. Great plan…for her. My horse was also my show horse, and for that reason, I didn’t like Judy riding her. She rode well, but didn’t know how to use leg pressure and wouldn’t correct mistakes, so when she asked if she could ride my horse, the answer was usually no. She would agree to ride her horse while I was right there with her watching, but when I wasn’t, she wouldn’t ride at all. Then when we went home, she would pout and tell my parents that I was “mean” to her. Please.

I was a pretty laid back kid, but when I needed to get away and clear my mind, I liked to drive and listen to music...still do. At times, just for some time spent without Judy, I had been known to leave the barn with my friends, who had younger sisters, too. I would get them to keep an eye on Judy while my friends and I went off gallivanting (the kind of gallivanting where we would just jet to the store and back) without having to listen to, “Texaco,” “7-11,” “Exxon,” “what a pretty horse,” Terry, Terry, Terry”. Repetition, repetition, repetition! Schnit!! (when you can’t swear, you make up stuff to use instead. I have a whole caboodle of words…schnit is one of them). And I felt bad, but not bad enough to keep me from leaving to the stables to gallivant (my dad’s word, not mine).

The barn was encased with fences and cross fences, and Judy was never supposed to ride by herself outside the confines of the stables. There was plenty of acreage to ride on, and sometimes she would sneak Pico out and take off to the back pasture to ride…but never, repeat, never took her off the property unless she was with me…or so I thought. This particular day, while I was gone, Judy got Pico (my horse) out and saddled her up. A group of kids gathered and decided to go to a neighboring stable that was a couple of miles away. Judy (the one who was told not to leave) made a decision to join in and go with them. Big mistake.

She did fine on the ride over. It was when they were coming back when things went south (or should I say awry?). A horse can sense fear, and Judy would get nervous when she did something she knew she shouldn’t be doing. As they rounded the last corner to the road that led to the front gate of the barn, they decided to pick up the pace a bit. When Judy “smooched” signaling Pico to shift into a faster gait, Pico, sensing Judy's nervousness, kicked up her heels (feeling her oats) and caught Judy by surprise. This is where it gets funny (well, to me at least). The jolt caught Judy off-guard and she tumbled from Pico’s back. That in itself isn’t funny. This part is. When she landed, her fall was somewhat softened. By what you say? On the side of the road, a skunk had met with an untimely death (vehicular skunk slaughter) and it just so happened to cushion my sister’s fall (talk about instant karma). She was not injured…well, at least not physically. Not only did she end up with the rank “dead” smell clinging to her, she was covered with the pleasant aroma for which skunks are famous.

When I returned to the barn (picture this), I saw her walking, leading Pico, (who was draaaging waaaaay behind her) with everyone else running in every direction away from her…and she was crying (I would be too), but I could see how this could turn sour for me, real quick, and I didn’t even know what had happened. But I had left her in the “capable care” of other 10 year olds. But this sight was too rich…I was in the moment, not thinking or caring about the consequences…yet.

A few months prior, my brother and I had gotten a new car…a nice car…a car we loved…a Grenada Gold Chevy SS 396 (gives me chills just thinking about it). As we got out of the car, Judy was walking in the front gate…boo hooing with every step she took. I hadn’t yet realized why everyone was either way in front of her, or way behind her. I got out of my car and goggled.

“She pitch ya, Judy?” thinking that was the only reason for her tears.

She only cried louder. Suddenly, when the wind shifted. It was then that I realized the magnitude of the situation. She stunk…baaaad. And she was gonna have to ride home with

me…in my new car…a car I shared with my brother…and he loved the car much more than he did me, at this point in time (or at least it felt like it). Then there was the other tiny issue…I had left the stables without her, and there was just no good reason…no lie I could tell that would justify the means to this ending, and I was a bad liar. How could I explain this without busting myself? When I thought the whole thing through, I became very aware that this situation wasn’t going to end well for me.

The closer she got, the more I realized how deep the poo poo was going to be. My thoughts were along these lines, “Well, crap.” (one of my most common phrases) “How can I get her home without this being about my bad judgment instead of hers?” Steve would kill me (I’m serious…he would do it, then make look like a freak accident) if that smell was in our car and I was much more afraid of his reaction than my parents. My “very bad judgment” wheels were spinning. (I put quotes around very bad judgment because that’s what my dad would tell me…a lot…”Terry, you were using very bad judgment”). After laughing at, and running from my sister, I sat down with one of my very best friends to devise a plan of action that would keep me from being grounded. It went something like this…We went and sat on the arena fence, both of us looking at the ground…

“I’m screwed, right?” I said.

She didn’t hesitate in the slightest. “No doubt.”

“Yeah, I figgered that. Well, crap.

”It was pointless to try and get Judy to lie for me, or with me, because the very thing you ask her to lie about is the first thing out of her mouth when we would go home (part of her “disability”). It was then I made my judgment call. After grooming, and when it was time to leave, I went and popped my trunk open and looked at Judy, from a distance.

“Inside, kiddo.” And pointed at the trunk. Understand…Judy throws fits when she doesn’t get her way. Fits! And this day, she was not going to get her way. As she got nearer to me, the odor followed. It’s hard to explain the smell…dead animal, coupled with fresh skunk spray, coupled with horse sweat, and topped off with fishy horse trough water fragrance (because Judy thought the skunk smell would wash off…in the horse trough!). I literally became nauseated.

“I’m not gettin’ in there!” She was not amused.

“Yes, you are. If you think you’re getting in this car, you have lost yer evah lovin’ mind.”

“I’ll tell Mom!”

“I don’t care. She’s gonna know when we get a block away from the house anyway.”You get the idea. We did this for about 30 minutes, when I finally got in the car, started it, and told her I was leaving, and after throwing a couple more tantrums, she agreed to get in the trunk. (you can quit thinking I was cruel…I didn’t shut it).

I knew having someone in the trunk was against the law, but I had to do it in order to avoid the wrath that I knew would spew from my brother. The house was about ten miles from the

barn. After five miles of listening to her cry, three miles of listening to her fuss at me, and two miles of hearing to talk to herself, we turned on to our street. It was then that I heard it. It pierced my ears and made my stomach drop as I pulled over. It wasn’t the fact that I got pulled over, although policemen scared the crap outta me, it was the fact that it was on my street, with our neighbors outside, and it was just about the time that my dad got home. Just the nice officer (sarcasm) handed me the warning slip, Dad rounded the corner. Great. And as soon as Judy had seen the policeman, she started crying hysterically and screaming, “My sister made me get in the trunk! My sister made me get in the trunk! I don’t want to go to jail!”

So let’s sum this up. I wasn’t supposed to leave the barn without Judy, but I did. Judy was riding along the road without me and fell off my horse while I was gone. I brought her home in my trunk, which was against the law, and my parents are all about obeying the laws…to a fault. I was stopped by the police on our street for breaking the law. My dad drives by while I’m being handed a warning, which, as it turns out, is “just as bad” as getting a ticket (Dads words), Steve was out front waiting for the car because he was “late” for football practice, and Judy is screaming hysterically, pleading with the policeman to not throw her in the slammer. The end to a perfect day. At this point it wasn’t a question as to whether I was going to get in trouble or not, it was just a matter of deciding on what the torture of the day was going to be.

As I pulled into the drive-way, both Steve and Dad glared at me. Judy sprang from the trunk and in to my dad’s arms. It was then that I saw both my dad and my brother wince and step away from Judy (that part made it almost worth any punishment) , which caused her to cry even louder. I smile at Dad as he points to the garage, implying he wanted to “have a talk” with me. Here is the “talk”.“You’re grounded…for a long, long time!” End of conversation.

Steve came into the garage and scoffed at me because the car “still stunk” and I was going to have to "pay" to have it cleaned" (I wasn't real clear on what he meant by "pay"), Mom wouldn’t even talk to me, and glared at me for days. She had “nothing to say to me”. The only place I could go was school…for a month. No punishment where Judy was concerned because "had I been where I supposed to be, this never would have happened." While that may be true, it still sucked.

Even though this little episode took place about 40 years ago, my family and I still argue about this little story…the day Judy fell off of the horse and onto the skunk and still came out smellin’ like a rose.

True story

© Terry Aycock Ensign

What's in a name? (are you kidding me?)

My last name is Aycock…pronounced A-cock. Although I am proud of being my father’s child, it was hard to get through high school with that name. You understand. So my brother and I decided to make it a “thang”. We didn’t have a lot of things in common in high school…for that matter…ever, but we did share the name. Because high school kids are so droll, they called us by our last name. My brother thought it was funny, or didn't think about it at all. We’ll leave it at that. It was bad enough just having someone scream my last name down the crowded hallway of our school, echoing endlessly, but what made it even worse was the fact that most of my friends had shortened my first name (and I don’t believe this was thought all the way through in the beginning) to Ter. That’s right. Ter A-cock. While I’m all about fun and games, you gotta admit, this could lead more than a few red faces. Maybe therapy. Okay…lotsa therapy. I was oblivious to it in elementary school, leaving my creative junior high school compadres to call upon their creative juices. That’s when I started dreading role call. Teachers would get to my name…hesitate, then look up and say “Eye-cock?”…which was the common mispronunciation, but the fun started when almost every kid in class corrected her or him by screaming back “A-cock!” (It was a small community and everybody knew everybody). As I slowly put my forehead down on my desk, I waited for the onslaught of laughter that I knew would follow. Don’t get me wrong, I thought it was funny too. It was the only time a kid could get away with saying that and not get in trouble. Ah, the memories.

College was much better (sarcasm). I had mistakenly assumed that college kids were more mature (stoopid) and would not make this an issue…until…

The first class I attended, role was called, last names first, of course. I was always first, beings my last name began with an A, so I cringed when the professor made an attempt at my name. He looked in his book, raised his head and scanned the room before saying, “Eye-cock?” Understand, we are a bunch o’ nervous teenagers...not even remotely close to being accountable for anything. The room fell silent and every kid in there giggled and bit his or her bottom lip as they, too, searched the room for the unfortunate soul bearing that name. I leaned over, putting my forehead on my desk, like so many times prior, and slowly raised my hand, much like a flag of surrender, and I braced myself. “A-cock, sir.” Being quiet natured and not wanting to draw attention, no one ever heard me the first time that I replied. I blame myself for that. “I’m sorry?” …indicating that he hadn’t heard me. “A-cock, sir!” and in an instant, all …and I do mean all, eyes were on me. The next question caused more than a few to lose their composure. “Are you sure?” to which I replied, “As far as I know.” It sounded like a bunch of balloons deflating as, one by one, the classroom lost every bit of its composure…or so I thought (silly me). The professor slammed his book on his desk in an attempt to gain control. Now, most of you might think it couldn’t get much worse (silly you). As the atmosphere calmed, the role call continued. My hopes and dreams were realized when the professor started calling out the last names that began with G.

He hesitated before he read the next name.

“Glasscock”

The classroom lost all composure. At that moment, I knew the baton had been passed because, let’s face it, Glasscock is much funnier than Aycock. As the class continued to laugh, we noticed the professor, role book in hand, sit down as he continued staring into his book. He stood back up, glared at us, pointing with his other hand, first to his eye and to us, signifying that he was watching to see who would fall apart, and whoever did would be the recipient of some sort of penance. And then it came.

“Hancock.”

Not only did hysteria erupt, a couple of the “good ole boys” got up and left the room, their laughter shattering the quiet hallway.

We were instant friends, all three of us, because we shared the tag now; and we commiserated all the way to the dorm, where all of us would spend the next few months as friends.

We were given clever nicknames later (two minutes later). Jennifer “Handover” Hancock, Linda “Love my” Glasscock, and of course… Terry “Rip ‘n Ter” Aycock.

And so we were. And when we were together, all three of us, we would hear…often…

“There they are…the three…”

Well, you know what’s next.

My son has suggested that my nephew (who shares my maiden name) name his first child Sharon, if he ever has a baby and the baby is a girl, and Holden if it's a boy. I’m just gonna let you put those names together yourself and realize that I will, trust me, fight tooth and nail for that not to happen, although, you have to admit…it’s purdy dang creative.

True story.

© Terry Aycock Ensign