The Thong Also Rises by Jennifer L. Leo Read Free Book Online Page A

you’re not Canadian, Mr. Banana Hammock, now beat it.”
    â€œWould you two be nice to your father,” my mother would murmur without looking up from her book and then Dad would sulk and head farther down the beach.
    Aunt Sherry knew everyone at the community pool in Rapid City, and she was still gabbing at the concession stand when we stripped off our nylon shorts and scurried for the shallow end. My feet burned on the pavement so I ran faster; Allen clasped the sides of his Speedo and tried to keep up. We didn’t get out of the water until Aunt Sherry offered us a popsicle. “I want cherry,” I told her, and she started rummaging through her purse.
    â€œThis looks red,” she announced and surfaced with a dripping piece of wax paper from the depths of her big, black body bag.
    On the way home, Mom was worried because Aunt Sherry was talking funny and the brakes in the truck still didn’t work. When we pulled into the driveway, Uncle Brooks was sprawled on the lawn like a rotting carcass. His comb-over was wafting in the breeze, and Bruno’s duck was pecking at his head. When he suddenly sat up and started sputtering, “What the hell…what the hell are you people doing up so early?” we all jumped back in our seats.
    Sherry staggered out from behind the wheel and hollered at him, “Brooks you dumb shit, it’s four in the afternoon.”
    â€œWell goddamn,” Brooks coughed dumbfounded. “Well goddamn if it is.”
    Later that night, Sherry didn’t take the chicken out of the freezer in time to defrost for dinner, so we had hot dogs outside on the picnic bench. Brooks stood on the lawn chair and vacuumed bugs off the lantern, while we shouted at each other like old people.
    By morning Dad was on the phone with Lemon’s mechanic, and he had that serious look on his face. Mom stood behind him whispering, “How much? How much?” and he motioned her away. Allen and I had a new game where wetook turns jumping on the couch to make dust clouds. “Aunt Sherry,” Allen blabbed during bounces, “at night when we’re camping, Mom pees in a bucket in the camper.” I started howling until Mom slapped my leg.
    We left Aunt Sherry’s at dusk because Dad didn’t want to drive Lemon during the day when it was hot out. We spent the next four weeks touring the country in the dark like a band of little refugees. First, though, we headed to that place where the faces were carved into the mountain. “Whose faces are they, Dad?” we asked anxiously.
    â€œA couple of ugly guys with big noses,” he told us.
    â€œDo I have to be eight?” I probed.
    Mom yawned and answered, “We’ll have to wait and see.”
    Nicole Dreon works for ESPN’s X Games in their research department, where she interviews adrenaline junkies on a regular basis. She is an East Coast transplant who headed west after college in search of cowboys, but is still single nine years later due to her fear of horses. Nicole recently climbed and worked on a documentary film about the Rwenzoris Mountains of Uganda. The only time she’s set foot in an office was to work for Points North Heli-Adventures in Alaska, where she traded a paycheck for heli-time. When she’s not on the road, she calls Truckee, California, home.

    We woke up at daylight a few hours later to the sound of the roosters. I rolled over and noticed a familiar image. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect smile, and an absurdly proportioned figure. Barbie sheets! I LOVED Barbie throughout childhood and may even harbor a secret desire to be Barbie with her great life, car, townhouse, wardrobe, and boyfriend Ken. She can do anything. And here I was in the middle of the jungle in Bolivia sleeping on Barbie sheets. I never had Barbie sheets at home. I was never even allowed to have the Barbie car or townhouse.This was true splendor. When we finally got ourselves out of the Barbie