It was a beautiful Fall day, so my friend and I got library passes to the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, MA, where we intended to explore the new extension.
But something was very amiss in the clogged roads and WAZE was struggling to find us a way to keep moving, as is its wont. The closer we got to Salem, the more gridlocked it became. Cars were searching out non-existent parking spaces, and every spare space – from official lots to peoples’ driveways – displayed hand-made signs with a $20 or $30 price – or more commonly a big sign saying FULL.
The streets were impassable with excited crowds. The town was bulging with pumpkins and alive with excitement. Tourist Trolleys promised tours of witches’ sites and costumed guides were squiring families to all the haunted houses. I did not know, because I am not a Halloween kinda girl, that every October weekend in Salem is a massive big deal, not the least the first weekend. There was no approaching the Museum and so we concocted a plan B.
We set off south down the Essex Coastal Scenic Byway along the coast. The weather was glorious, absolutely perfect. We went to several beaches, noting the offensive “Private Beach: Do Not Trespass” signs in the wealthier seaside towns. We discovered the Audubon nature preserve at Marblehead Neck, which was gorgeous. As we drove through Marblehead, we detoured down a narrow road between two bloated mansions, to catch the view of the scenic harbor where the boats were as abundant as the ghost hunters had been in Salem.
Before we got to the end of this little road which was about ½ block long to see the harbor, out popped a little blond boy from behind a mansion vanity wall. He was gesticulating and waving us away, a big scowl on his little pale face.
I stuck my head out of the window. “Are you trying to tell us to get out of here?”
“Yes,” he yelled, all puffed up and full of himself, “This is my grandmother’s house.” He continued to point down the road and shoo us, petulance and privilege swelling his features.
From behind the wall, a woman said to him, “It’s okay.” But he stood his ground.
I said to him, “When you get a chance, look up the word ‘entitled’ in the dictionary.”
And the disembodied voice of the woman responded, “He’s only four!”
My friend said to me, “And she has taught him already.”
I found it spookier than Salem could ever be.
Comments