Read Online Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! by Robin Jones Gunn - Free Book Online

This was my first attempt. My daughters do this sort of thing all the time. I’m just figuring out the technology. Wait. You have to hear the next song.”
    Noelle pushed a button and nothing came on. We kept driving and listening, but no happy sounds came from the CD player. Noelle pressed another button and turned up the volume until right in the middle of the song, John Denver’s voice filled the car with a Rocky Mountain high that nearly blew out our eardrums.
    We laughed, and Noelle quickly tried to adjust the sound. She pushed the Start button again, and a Rocky-Mountain-high note that seemed capable of rattling the windows blasted us. The volume seemed ineffective with John Denver’s vocals, so Noelle turned off the CD, mumbling, “Okay, so my technology skills are a little questionable.”
    “However, your choices for travel music were superb, Noelle-o Mell-o.”
    “Thanks for trying to put a nice coat of varnish on my mess.” Noelle pulled back into the flow of traffic and didn’t try the CD again. She said it was too dangerous when we were on the road.
    While we were still rosy from the afterglow of the gigglefest, Noelle said, “Not only are you the sole woman in the world who can get away with calling me an oen in front of my neighbor, but you are also the lone woman in the world who has ever called me Noelle-o Mell-o!”
    “Really? Noelle-o Mell-o is such a great nickname.”
    “That may be true for you and me, but believe me, you are the only one who can call me that. And until this moment, that nickname had only appeared in writing in your letters. I still have the letter where you drew the picture of what was supposed to be me with a very mellow expression.”
    “You do? I remember drawing that picture. I was in my room listening to my brand-new transistor radio. Remember those? I was stretched out on my bed writing the letter to you, and that song came on. I drew the little sketch and wrote ‘Noelle-o Mell-o.’”
    “Quite right,” Noelle echoed in a low voice.
    I chuckled. “Crazy, isn’t it, the random moments in life you can remember decades later?”
    “I’m simply glad your inspiration was that particular song. I shudder to think what my nickname might have been if you heard something else on the radio at that moment. Something like… ‘Rocky Raccoon or ‘Yellow Submarine’ or…”
    “‘La Bamba,’” I offered.
    We laughed again, both smiling and settling into the comfort of being together.
    “You can call me Noelle-o Mell-o all you want. I don’t think anyone else in my life would ever call me that because I’m not known for my mellowness.”
    “I’m surprised by that. I did picture you as more…”
    “Quiet?”
    “
Subdued
might be a better word.”
    “Try
repressed
? Noelle shook her head slightly. “At least that’s the word I would use to describe myself while I was under my parents’ roof.”
    “Was your childhood pretty awful?” I kept finding myself caught off guard whenever Noelle mentioned her parents or childhood with a bitter edge.
    Noelle shifted in her seat and made a right turn before answering. “I’m sure my childhood was much better than most people’s.”
    “Your letters never hinted at a lot of angst.” I was still fishing for details. But I didn’t know if I had the right bait on my line of thought or if I would be able to haul in the truth if she did bite.
    After a thoughtful moment Noelle said, “I think whenever I wrote to you over the years it was always a downshifting time for me. I would stop all the running around, breathe deeply, and take inventory. I’m sure a lot of my letters were like American Christmas letters. We still get a few of those every year. They are always a tidy, upbeat summary of the highlights for that family, along with a photo of everyone smiling. I think for a while most of my letters to you were like that.”
    “Not all of them. You and I both have opened up a lot to each other over the years. I know