The road to my uncle’s house in Montgomery was a winding one. It was some county road in South East Alabama that surely has a name. I don’t know what it is. I can only remember crossing that same bridge over and over. It was named Narrow Bridge. I was of such a height and living in such a time when standing up was permitted in a car by a kid. You could also climb around and over the seats. If you had a special car, you could crawl up in a back window. When you were back there, you could and would wave at people and dream of falling out and how much it would hurt, you would also take naps and play Star Wars.
My sister grew up in the same time but she was a few years younger. She was free to roam the back seat also. She only had one problem. She didn’t fare well on that winding road, on that same narrow bridge. We had pulled off on the side of the road and as they were cleaning up the remnants of my sister April’s upset stomach from her pretty dress and baby doll, I took the chance to ask Dad, “Are we lost? We keep crossing that same bridge”