Kallan is all annoyed, “Maj put too many ice cubes in my glass.”
Mark sighs, “Kallan, you have to learn how to let the little stuff go. Worry about the big things. Ice cubes are little. Get over it.”
Maj snorts, “Good advice, Baby K. Let the little stuff go. You should write that down so you don’t forget.”
I snort, “Kallan should write it down? Maj, you should get that tattooed on your arm.”
She glares at me.
“Maj? In the car? You were not exactly letting the little things go, babe. Just saying.”
A little earlier, here we are in the car . . . a short ten minute drive to the library.
Maj is pissed, “Oh my god. Kallan, stop snapping your gum. That is disgusting!”
“OH MY GOD! STOP.”
“Mother, bring this snapping to an end this instant. Control the K!”
I speak into the car, “OK, Kallan. You are driving your sister nuts. Stop snapping your gum.”
Kallan snaps one more time, “No problem, Mom.”
There is about 30 seconds of quiet.
“Kallan, that window sticker is important. Stop peeling it off.”
“Kallan, you are not allowed to simply IGNORE a sister who has good advice.”
“One day, we are going to resell this car, and the person who buys it is going to be all . . .what happened to the manufacturer’s sticker on the window? And then that person will have negotiating power. Mother, do something!”
“IT’S CALLED RESALE VALUE, KALLAN! If Mother was any sort of mother at all, she would be highly concerned.”
“Mother, control the K!”
I sigh, “OK, Kallan, stop scratching off the window sticker.”
Kallan giggles, “I just have to get this one loose bit . . . scritch . . . done.”
There is about 30 seconds of silence.
“For god’s sake, Kallan. This is not the time or place to practice snapping your fingers. Are you kidding me?”
“I am a reasonable person, but you need a pounding.”
Thwap, thwap, thwap.
“AUGH! That noise is going into my head! It’s like you are trying to snap with fingers made of play-dough.”
“Mother, control the K! CONTROL THE K!”
I reach backward to hold Kallan’s hand in mine for a moment, “Geez, Kallan. Can’t you just sit quietly?”
“OK, Mom. How about if I car-dance quietly?”
I turn on the radio, “Yes, do that.”
Maj shrieks, “Oh my god, Kallan, you may not touch my hair!”
In the rear-view mirror, I see Kallan’s arms swaying back and forth above her head.
“Stop touching my hair!”
“Stop dancing your fingers into my hair!”
“I am going to dance my fist right into your nose. Stop swaying into my hair!”
“MOTHER, CONTROL THE K!”
I turn the music down, “OK, Kallan? You are being a pain. You so are. And Maj? You are overreacting to every single thing she does. Get a grip.”
Maj is incredulous, “How is any of this MY fault?”
Kallan leans forward, “I like this song. If I stop dancing, can I clap?”
I sigh, “This is a good clapping song. Yes, you may clap.”
Maj sulks, “I hate this family.”
“Seriously, Mother. It’s going right into my brain and echoing like poison.”
Clap clap clap.
“Fine, I am echo-poisoned. Make a note, Mother, so that you can explain this insanity to the doctors when I fall unconscious to the ground.”
“I can’t stand it!”
“MOTHER, UNCLAP THE K!”
And then we are parked.
The library was lovely.
And then we climb back in the car for the ten minute drive home.
“Listen, ladies. Let’s just turn the music loud and we’ll all sing along, OK? No arguing, no fighting. I’ll find a good song and we’ll just sing along.”
Kallan happily agrees, and Maj agrees cautiously, “OK, but make her sing the ACTUAL words to the songs, Mother. Tell her she can’t do her own versions.”
Several songs play and we sing happily.
And then comes Jo-Jo’s song, Leave (Get Out)
We have heard this song a bazillion times, and we know all the words.
Kallan starts singing her own lyrics, and I turn to tell her to stop, but I see that Maj is laughing hysterically.
So I turn the radio up.
The song is about a girl who is sitting waiting for her boyfriend to get home so she can confront him with the evidence of his lying cheating ways and tell him to get out of her life for good.
Kallan plays the role of the boyfriend (who does not actually speak in the radio version), and she brings her voice deep and stupid and loud to voice her lyrics.
So JoJo sings . . .
get out . . . right now
it’s the end of you and me
it’s too late . . . and I can’t wait for you to be gone
cause I know about her
and I wonder how I bought all the lies
you said that you would treat me right
but you were just a waste of time
And here it is with Kallan’s additions (which are sometimes imposed right over the lyrics, but I can’t really capture that).
So imagine . . .
get out (Huh?) right now (Baby, you talking to me?)
it’s the end of you and me (What are you trying to say?)
it’s too late (Wait, what?) and I can’t wait for you to be gone (Just talk, baby. Tell me what you want.)
cause I know about her (Girl, that was my cousin. No lie.)
and I wonder how I bought all the lies (See, you never just communicate)
you said that you would treat me right (Was there something you wanted to tell me?)
but you were just a waste of time (We got any sandwich meat left?)
get out (Talk to me, baby) right now (I can’t keep guessing at your meaning)
it’s the end of you and me (See, right there. You are unclear, baby.)
it’s too late (Wait, what?) and I can’t wait for you to be gone (I am not a mind reader)
cause I know about her (Girl, that was my sister! No lie.)
and I wonder how I bought all the lies (Did I not just tell you I was not lying?)
you said that you would treat me right (So let me get this straight . . . you did not make dinner?)
but you were just a waste of time (Fine. I will order a pizza)
The song ends.
Maj takes a deep breath, “Sometimes, Kallan? Sometimes, you are just awesome.”
Kallan giggles, “The K thanks you.”
And we’re home.
Mark meets us at the door, “It’s almost time for dinner. Maj, could you get glasses and fill them with ice?”
And that’s where you came in.