This story is about my husband and to somewhat protect his identity, I am referring to him by his childhood nickname. When he was growing up, everyone called him Barry; some of his cousins still call him that.
Barry loves to tell stories as much as I enjoy writing and every once in a while, this story resurfaces to be told yet again. The following account is how he remembers it from years ago and how it all went down:
The family of five crammed into their small white Corvair on a Saturday night; Mom and Dad in the front seat, baby Melanie on her mother's lap, and young Barry with bespectacled little brother Jeff in the back. Off they drove to the drive-in movie. Upon arriving everyone settled down to watch Mary Poppins starring Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews, enhanced by the sound effects and squirms of two youngsters and an infant.
Long before Chim Chim Cher-ee, Barry's dad told him to go to the concession stand. Barry did not want to go and complained but Dad pressed on, so he gave in then huffed and puffed every step of the way. Standing in line behind other snack-seekers, his adolescent ire fumed. Finally, with refreshments in hand, he stomped back to the car.
At the white Corvair, he yanked open the door then plopped down in the Twilight Zone as his mind began racing through these questions. Who are these people? Where are my parents? Where are Jeff and Melanie? Then it dawned on him. I'm in the wrong car!
There in the dark a misplaced Barry scrambled for the door handle and jumped out to spot another white Corvair nearby. He gently opened the door and slid onto the back seat without a peep. Still traumatized by the last few minutes, he quietly munched on popcorn and Raisinets.
His memories of that frightful night have now faded into more than half a century of years, but he still feels the embarrassment of getting into the wrong car. He remembers his parents' laughter after he told them about his mistake, and he still hears the echoes of "a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down."