Trashley: Fifty-One

Where the Sidewalk Ends

I spent the afternoon with Cecelia’s entire family: her parents, sisters, hundreds of nieces and nephews, and several neighbors. They welcomed Michelle and me into their home, where removing our shoes was optional. *Hulk Hogan voice* Hell yeah, brother. The way Ashley and her mom had described Cecelia’s family couldn’t have been further from the truth. These were good, kind-hearted people who were all about family. They didn’t care about material possessions or what kind of Tesla you drove. A membership to the Bakersfield Country Club wasn’t the height of luxury or their aspiration.

A bunch of stars.

Cecelia’s twin sister gave me a tour of her garden, where she grew every vegetable known to man. I used to think gardening was boring until the Pandemic, when I grew a single strawberry. The kids climbed oak trees and ran through the sprinkler in the backyard while the adults drank wine, beer, and homemade margaritas in the sunroom. Cecelia’s Dad told us stories about growing up in the Louisiana Bayou and how he’d met their mom. He was a natural storyteller, tall and gentle, and you could still hear the light remnants of a southern drawl despite spending a significant portion of his life in Minnesota. Cecelia’s Mom was cheery and bursting with Midwestern grandma warmth, like a loaf of sourdough bread that had just been pulled out of the oven. After a few glasses of…