Stunned by the unexpected and horrifying declaration of the hot-dog lady, I’m rethinking my lifelong indignation about the Bronson’s good luck.
The Bronsons were the idyllic family that lived across the street. Our houses a before and after illustration; our families, choppy waters and smooth sailing.
After we moved away, I imagined the four Bronsons sailing through university (probably on scholarships) and comfortably settled in high paying jobs each with two cars and 2.5 kids. Meanwhile we four siblings struggled through community college and held fast to low-paying jobs, two divorces and five kids.
It was unfair. They started with aces: a dad who was always there, a renovated house and a mother who baked.
Today at our town’s reunion I groused to the hot-dog lady, “None of the Bronsons even bothered coming.”
“How could they?” she hissed. “They were all killed when the brakes on their banger failed.”
~ Melodie Corrigall
Published in Chronicle, 2017.