Waiting For Bob

The car is uncomfortable, I will admit. It’s small and falling apart. You have to drive with all the windows down in order to not perish in the stuffy heat- not like Dada’s car, which is an SUV, and more like sitting in a living room, making long car trips easy and almost enjoyable. A/C, cushy leather seats, bluetooth connected to Dada’s phone, where he can play any song Noah requests- which lately has been “Am I Dreaming” by Metro Boomin and A$AP Rocky and featured in Spiderman: Across The Spider-verse.

“Mama’s car is vintage,” I tell him. “In Mama’s car we can listen to the radio like back in the day,” I explain. I look at Noah’s face in the rear view mirror, he is looking at me curiously, like “go on…”

“The radio is exciting because you never know what song will play,” I explain, “it’s always a surprise.” I change the station and turn up the volume only to hear Taylor Swift and I immediately change the station again. When I’m driving alone I’ll say, “shut up Taylor!” but when Noah is co-piloting I say, “and if you don’t like a song, there are hundreds of other stations you can choose from!”

Noah is now excited, and I check this off as a win. “Mama what song is playing on another station?!” We drive changing stations and Noah hears dozens of new songs. “This band is called Blink-182,” I teach him. “This band is called Depeche Mode, this is Shania Twain, this is Madonna, this is Post Malone, this is Olivia Rodrigo, this is a band called the Beastie Boys, this is Britney Spears, this is Tame Impala, this is Wham!” We drive as Noah takes in “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” He disapproves. But he enjoys Rockwell’s 1984 hit “Somebody’s Watching Me.”

“There’s Gotham city,” Noah says as he peers out the window, the view of Downtown LA in the distance from the 10 freeway. I know he is imagining Spiderman swinging between the tall buildings. “Do you think Spidey is there to save the city?” I ask him and he nods. “Of course,” he says. “I think so too,” I agree, adding “that city needs a Spiderman to save it.”

“Mama, the beach is too far,” he complains. I think for a moment. “Bubba, the beach is far, but there are some places where they don’t even have an ocean to drive to, can you imagine?” I peek at him in the rearview mirror. Noah’s brown eyes are taking this information in. “No ocean?” he asks. “Yes, states like Missouri, they are stuck in the middle of the United States, landlocked, whereas California, where we live, is on the outside, next to the ocean. And we live in Los Angeles where the ocean is just a short drive away. Can you imagine never being able to go to the beach?” Noah has retained this gratitude for where we live, I can tell by his eyes, and I check this off as another win. “What do they do in Missouri?” he asks. Drugs, I am thinking. “Well in 1919 they ratified the 19th Amendment, so they have that going for them,” I tell him. “I think you can hunt waterfowl there too, which is exciting.”

As we exit the dreary freeway and drive down PCH, Noah begins to enjoy the drive. With the windows down the sea breeze fills the car, and the coastline is so beautiful it’s hard to complain about anything. We park and I put the keys in our beach bag when Noah unbuckles his car seat and hops out on the sidewalk. “Wait,” I say opening my door and stepping out into the street, realizing I closed my door absentmindedly to get to Noah quicker. As I’m rounding the back of the car I tell him “don’t close your-” but it’s too late. Noah swings the door closed and I realize we have just locked ourself out of the car.

“Oh fuck,” I say before I can pause to stop myself. Noah puts his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Mama is….” I’m searching, “surprised!” I finally choose. I can’t say “angry” because it was a mistake and he will feel bad. But I have to repair “fuck” because that implies that we are in trouble and also is the worst of all the bad words. He begins to look worried and I realize he’s picking up my energy and the “fuck” conversation will have to take a backseat to “we are fine!”

My cellphone and wallet are also locked in the car, along with Noah’s flip flops. He’s standing barefoot on the sidewalk, looking at me like he’s about to cry. “It’s ok bubba,” I say and scoop him up into my arms. Um, are we ok? I wonder, looking around. I realize we are in Malibu, not stranded on Long Beach Blvd in South Compton where I’d have to ask a member of the Crips if I could use their phone. We were a five minute walk away from Nobu. This calms me because I realize I was about to have a Karen mom meltdown but saved myself from the embarrassment by thinking of the Crips.

With Noah in my arms, we begin to walk down the street and in about two minutes, we are in front of a liquor store next to a pot dispensary. Stoners will help me, I think. Noah and I walk through the parking lot and see the liquor store’s doors wide open and people gathered outside. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass window, I’m wearing a tank top and silky shorts over my bathing suit and my hair is wild from driving with all the windows down for an hour. Noah’s hair is golden in the sun and we match- golden hair, tanned skin and big brown eyes.

“Hi,” I say as I approach the group and then pause. Inside the store is a large black man dressed in a leather black cut off vest and leather pants, holding a neon green plastic gun and wearing a black ski mask.

Two women, their boobs bursting out of very short, tight dresses and teetering on heels are standing nearby, next to a rack of tourist keychains and an old man in a white tank and jeans is flipping through a magazine behind the register.

Noah looks at me like mama, what the fuck?

The man takes his ski mask off and looks at me, “we are shooting a movie! This is all fake,” he says to Noah who looks freaked out but also highly amused. “Oh!” I exclaim and kiss Noah on the head. “Noah, they are actors! Like how Tom Holland pretends to be Spiderman? Um..” I look at the man and he says, “Greg,” and reaches out his hand and I shake it while finishing my sentence, “Greg is pretending to rob this store.” I set Noah down and he looks completely captivated by this whole thing as the girl actresses compliment how cute he is.

I’ve forgotten why we are here in the first place until the owner of the liquor store comes out. “I’m so sorry, I was hoping you had a phone I could use. We seem to have locked ourselves out of our car.” The liquor store owner is a long haired, scruffy, wispy guy who looks like he’s in his forties but I’d also believe it if he was in his thirties and just looked weathered from a life of selling Malibu Carl, the city’s famous homeless patron, whiskey and gin and Malibu, Ca shirts to European tourists.

“Yeah,” he says, disappearing inside and then reappearing with a phone. He hands me a cordless landline phone that reminds me of the one my family had growing up. I look at him blankly. “Um, I don’t have the numbers to anyone…” Noah is standing peering up at the fake robber quizically and I wish I had my phone to take a picture of them. “Do you have AAA?” the owner asks and I nod. He dials a number and then begins to pace around outside while filming resumes. A bald camera guy and three other standard white guys begin spouting off directions and Noah and I watch as they begin rolling.

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” the robber yells and the two woman crouch down and pretend to cry. All three are terrible actors and I study Noah to see if this is frightening him. He has a huge smile on his face and lets out a giggle. Their campy acting skills have made a six year old laugh. I wonder if maybe this is supposed to be a comedy. Whatever it is, it is very low grade content.

“Here you go,” the liquor store owner says, handing me the phone. I’m holding Noah’s hand as we move away closer to the parking lot so I can hear the AAA agent on the phone.

“Are you safe?” is her first question.

“I SAID GET DOWN ON THE GROUND” the robber is yelling over screams and tears. He is waving his fake gun over his head.

“Yes, yes, we are in Malibu,” I assure her, thinking of The Crips and South Compton, looking at the actor’s fake toy gun.

I chat with the AAA agent for awhile as she arranges a technician from Bob’s towing to come unlock our car. “I’ll let him know you don’t have a phone. He will be there as soon as he can.”

“Thank you so much, I’d give you a hug right now if I could, you have been so reassuring and helpful,” I tell her sincerely.

“Aw, that made my day sweetie, it’s my pleasure and don’t worry.”

I thank the battered and beaten down liquor store owner as I hand back the phone. The actors are all smoking and standing in a group, they must be taking a break. Noah and I wave to them, “it was so nice to meet you all,” I say and they echo back “you too!”

“Ok, bubba we just have to wait for Bob now, he’s going to come unlock the car,” I tell Noah as we return to the car. I sit him on the trunk and the early afternoon sun beats down on us. I look for shade near us. There are some trees shading part of the sidewalk, but it’s very far away from the car and what if we miss Bob? I notice the car is creating shade if you crouch down and sit on the curb, so I move Noah there while I stand resting my arms on the roof of the car and scanning all the oncoming traffic for a tow truck. A group of men in a black matte Range Rover whistle at me as they drive by.

“Do you want to play I Spy?” I ask Noah.

He nods reluctantly and goes first.

“I spy something that is blue,” he says, bored.

“The sky?” I guess.

Noah wistfully looks down the road, not answering me.

“Mama, where is Bob?” Noah asks five minutes later. “He’s coming,” I say anxiously and then, “do you think that’s Bob?” I ask Noah, pointing to a large shirtless man the color of a burnt cookie strolling down the sidewalk across the street. His large brown gut hanging over swim trunks that say stop staring at my banana. Noah smiles, “nooooo,” he says. “Imagine if it was…” I say and Noah laughs. “Do you think that’s Bob?” he asks pointing to some dark haired men in orange shirts on top of the roof of a beachside mansion, working on the roof. “Nooooo,” I say.

We play this game for a long time, Noah is enjoying imagining ridiculous real life characters being Bob more than I Spy. “Is that Bob?” I exclaim pointing to a beat up truck passing by, the truck bed full of old junk and blasting music, a full Mexican flag tied to the junk streaming behind it.

“Mama,” Noah looks at me urgently. “I have to pee.”

I have to pee too, and both of us stare at one another, upset.

I look around. We are next to an empty hillside, but there is a wall separating the sidewalk from the golden dead grass and dirt. I scoop Noah up and take him to the other side of the wall. “I’m so glad you are a boy,” I tell him. “Why?” he asks, pulling down his pants and sending a stream of urine onto the wall. As it drips down the wall it lands on a snail. “Oh Noah!” I say and move his little body away from the snail. “It’s ok, that was an accident, but we never ever ever pee on animals,” I tell him with so much seriousness. The tone of a judge of the highest superior court ranking kind of seriousness.

I have realized that a good deal of parenting is just never knowing what kind of conversation you will be having at any given time with your child. In my head all the Jennifer’s have gotten up from their desk and are running around in a panic. Who cares about being stranded, Noah just accidentally peed on a snail! You simply cannot prepare for these things.

“I’m sorry snail,” Noah says to the little shell and after looking closer I am wondering if the snail is alive, it looks petrified from the sun.

We resume our positions by the car and I imagine being in the ocean and able to relieve my own bladder. Ah, that will be so nice, I think as I try to use all my mental strength to send all the urine in my full bladder back and up into my body.

“Mama, we should have stayed home,” Noah whines dramatically from the curb. He has found a stick and is poking it through the spokes of the back tire.

“No, no bubba. The day is not ruined, you’ll see.”

I am determined. This will be a good day.

Finally, we see a young friendly looking guy waving and running towards us from the direction of the liquor store. “There’s Bob!” Noah exclaims, his arm outstretched like a little thespian acting out Shakespeare on stage-“a horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

“Hi,” I say with so much relief to the guy. His name patch says “Rick” and I smile. Using a tool that he blows up with air he opens the car within 30 seconds. That was so easy, I think, do they sell those online? I am imagining all the cars I can steal if I owned that tool.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching inside and pulling out my wallet, which is a small velcro child’s Spiderman wallet. I pull out my AAA membership card, remembering what the AAA agent told me. “Give the tech your card and we can invoice you.” Rick shakes his hand in protest and his floppy brown hair falls over his right eye. He brushes it away. “It’s ok, don’t worry about it,” he assures me.

“Thank you,” I tell him, with the tone of someone who is thanking the doctor who just performed open heart surgery and is reporting to me that my father has been saved.

As Rick runs back down the street, I grab the beach bag and Noah puts on his flip flops.

“What a crazy morning,” Noah says.

I let out a breath that I think I had been holding this entire time.

“It sure has,” I agree.

With the bag slung across my chest, I crouch down and Noah hops onto my back like a little koala. We run across PCH and walk down to the beach access entrance that only locals know about.

The rest of the day we spend chasing the waves, burying Noah in sand, feeding popcorn to seagulls and chasing one another.

On the way home Noah asks me, “Mama, do you think we can watch Greg rob the bank on TV when we get home?”

Something tells me that Greg robbing the Malibu liquor store will never see the light of anything other than YouTube, but I tell Noah, “the movie still needs to go through production, but when it comes out, of course, we will watch Greg on TV. But it’s cool we got to see it all in real life, that’s better than watching it on TV don’t you think?”

Noah smiles and then drowsily falls asleep as we venture down PCH, listening to whatever comes on the radio, all the windows down, heading back home.