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Author Topic: Silly start....  (Read 12618 times)
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Tylergal
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« on: July 01, 2006, 08:59:06 PM »

Having been raised there and returning there are not much different.  

Today felt the same as it had on many occasions. This was the same town.  Yes, the town looks the same, except the stores have different names and different products.  Some are a little more dilapidated, but others have had a facelift.  Just driving into the town limits with its rows of houses on either side of a median planted in palm trees, dividing the houses from the street, and the cars from the houses, gives me the same feeling that I had years ago.  The day is warm but there is a feeling of fall in the air.  The sun shines very brightly promising to give up the cool morning to a warm humid afternoon.  Some things never change.  The houses sit high above the street on either side and the street looks pedestrian although the sidewalk is meant for such in this town with its sidewalks for children walking to and from school, for shoppers who want to walk into town from their nearby residences which they consider the best life has to offer.  Most of them live in a world here in this town totally unaware of those who live outside the confines of their immediate area in the same town.  They have no problem stating that a drive to the other side of town is just so far away and yet, they talk about their trips to New York, London and Paris.  This is a town filled with hypocrites.  What is it about lazy towns that never grow old and never were young?  Most people there are friendly enough to one another. In this town the houses are all occupied by the same names that occupied them 50 years ago and probably farther back than that, but their holding onto their houses means little to those of us who have moved away, because we have learned that entitlement is not being born, but earning what you have.  These people were all born into their houses on the hill above the busy sidewalk within walking distance of the library, the doctor’s office or their own law offices.  It is friendly enough, however.   There are no fights in the streets, and if there are fights at all, they occur on the back streets and always, liquor and romance are at the heart of the fights, which occur in the absence of anything better to do.  Everyone has at least one phone, perhaps two and of course, a plethora of cell phones in recent years.  Who do these people talk to all day that requires so many phones?  What have they to talk about?  This is not a whole lot different from my youth.  Everyone seemed to talk on the phone a lot but there were party lines, and everyone knew what everyone talked about, and they all talked about each other.  Surely, our generation and the boomer era have changed all that.  

As I drove into town for my class reunion, I had already passed the house of my childhood.  I glimpsed, acknowledging its presence and resenting its past and its future.  I moved away too many years ago, although some family members remained behind in this sleepy town where everyone who is born, dies and there always seems to be the same number of people with the same surnames.  Some of these names have become hyphenated names.

I had time to drive through the lazy little town, to see all the decor and time expended on this, the biggest day of the year and perhaps the century.  This was going to be the YK2 homecoming and everyone who had ever darkened a door to this school had been invited to come.  There was just one major problem.  There was one motel with 8 rooms and a bed and bath with three rooms.  Otherwise, a 45-minute drive was not bad.  Some were having to stay more than an hour away.  

If I am correct and I think I am, I recall that everyone of the men who lived in the houses high above the streets, near the library, could be found at some point in time with one of the ladies here who drove an old smoker and back then, maybe they did not even drive an old smoker, but rather walked the sidewalks from one part of town to the other.  Maybe they walked by and sent signals for meeting places.  Whatever it was, I knew it occurred.  Everyone knew it but no one talked about it.  I am sure this practice continues until this day.  Nothing else has changed, just the first names of the residents on the live-oak-lined street with its sidewalks and palm trees dividing the rich from the poor.

I drove slowly by the drugstore where I once drank sodas, read comic books, talked to other girls about boys while I idly dreamed of Buddy, knowing that life with Buddy was as far-fetched and ridiculous as Eisenhower sending me a record player.  

Ah, right over there is the barbershop.  My grandfather had his hair cut there.  Grampa seemed to garner a lot of respect from the townspeople, although I never knew why.  He did not fight in any wars, he was not a large property owner and our transportation was usually by foot.  Our small farm of 200 acres was constantly being threatened for late taxes.  A car was just out of the question.  I remembered the days suddenly of DDT trucks coming to our house, to spray so we would not get some kind of fever.  I suppose, in retrospect, it was probably malaria, but it was also referred to as that “fever, you know that people in jail and in the jungles get.”  

It looks like the mosquito sprayers and DDT trucks might not be such a bad idea in this town, after all.  I don’t think most of the shrubbery has been cut in years, except that along the median and the houses that line it.    

However, today the lawns sprawling in front of these houses on either side of the median are perfectly manicured although the rest of the town’s shrubbery is overgrown and unkempt.  On the owner’s sides, everything appears happy from the street and yes, there is the library.  

I remember my first trip there. The regal steps divide to form another median as one climbs to the top, to gain entry into this great hall and wall of books.  It was with my little band of first-grade peers that I first visited here.  It was so stately, so ivy-league looking.  I had never been in such a place with so many books.  I loved books.  I first learned about books from my grandparents who loved to read.  They introduced me to books when I was about 3 years old.  I learned to read right away.  Hardly any of my fellow first-graders could read as well as I but there were a few.  Buddy read extremely well.  Buddy had smooth, well-tanned skin, beautiful blue eyes and hair that I would refer to as blonde.  He was a beautiful boy.  His father was a “tycoon.”  I did not know what a tycoon was, but I supposed it was something like a raccoon.  I could not imagine how a man who looked like a raccoon could have such a beautiful son, but he was beautiful and he read as well or better than I, although he could not spell as well.  Then there were Bryan and Rod, both of whom could read.  Bryan’s parents owned a store.  I thought they were rich.  I supposed all rich people read early, but Rod was not rich and he could read.  Everyone knew Rod was not rich, but he was clean.  He was really clean.  He had nicely ironed shirts and pants and he was cute but he was not beautiful like Buddy. Rod was tall with very black hair and dark brown eyes and brown skin.  In fact, he was almost Spanish in appearance, but I knew he could not be.  There were no Latinos in this town. Although he had no shoes, just nicely starched and iron clothes, he was never pretentious and was a ‘good boy’  ‘Good boys’ are not to be mistaken with ‘gold ole boys.’  Good boys are those who stay out of trouble, keep on their side of town and do not interfere with the business of the socialites of this little town.  In other words, they know their place and keep that foremost in their minds.  They are allowed to speak to the social elites, but nothing more than small amiable conversations, preferably commending the socials on how beautiful they are and stating repeatedly how happy they are just to know them.  Bryan was the boy with the glasses, who I suspect could read all the books, but even if he could, he was not as lovely as Buddy.  Bryan was neither a social elite nor a member of the lower class.  He was hard to classify, so I suspected that his family had probably moved from here by now.  They would probably be ‘middle class’ which this town had no use for.  It was all about the SUV drivers or the smoker drivers.  Either you had or you had not.  Anyone who might want to edge his/her way into the middle class, was not welcome here for an extended period of time, and were made to feel so uncomfortable, that existing was made most uncomfortable by the two classes who ran the town:  the upper and the lower.  

I smiled widely, just thinking of the fanciful childhood I had lived here in this town, the days I would dream of being more than I would ever be.    My summers were not spent with my peers, or with a group of well-heeled girls who spoke the vernacular of a lazy town’s homecoming and beauty pageant queens-in-waiting, but with books, books, and work.  I had to work and in fact, work consumed more of my day than books, but books could be sneaked in at night and read by the dimmest of lights.  The lights were another problem.  I heard the power bill preached over and over again.    

Days would turn into years and the first grade would fly by, the second, the third, etc.  My teachers seemed to respect the fact that I was bright, but they never seemed to like my personality.  I never learned the reason for this, but maybe it had something to do with “impetuousness”.  

My elementary school days, which should have been the happiest and most carefree days of my life, were riddled with absenteeism and threats from the truancy officer to remand me to some place known as the reform school.  Many who had perfect attendance could not read, but that mattered not, they were perfect in something.   They were healthy as horses.  Among them were ugly girls would stare at me when I had a coughing spell or an asthma attack, and often made me cry.  Some of these girls appeared to need a bath and others were afflicted with strabismus.  They often stole money from my wallet, which I was unable to care for (or guard) when I had these coughing episodes.   The boys were rough and said words that made me cringe, and when the social elite girls were around, they were reprimanded for their behavior.  Nonetheless, they were the useful idiots of the social elites.  They made the social elites look good and made those struggling to get into the middle class look bad.  The middle class that existed here, be it ever so small, was no more than dirt on the feet of the upper and lower class. The lower class used the middle class for its needs and pandered to the upper class, hoping one day to be allowed to sit at the tables with them.  

Boys liked me in elementary school, and were very protective of me during the early years but as time passed, I became to independent, and the boys in this town sought the girls who made them feel superior.

The morning sun was beating into the window and seeing was difficult but as I drive past the department store where I was allowed to buy clothes on credit, as long as they were reasonable and not too trendy, I am reminded of a time the town allowed us to paint Hallowe’en scenery on the storefronts, and I won the painting contest at this very store, the largest storefront in town.

As I turned the corner, I saw the restaurant where I learned to like raw oysters.  I had eaten there with a brown-haired girlfriend, Patsy, whose father bought oysters there every Friday afternoon before ballgames.  For some reason, he liked me.  I never knew why, but he did; his wife loathed me.  She worked with my mother and was constantly sewing seeds of my “impetuous” behavior in the workplace.  I knew that.  No one had to tell me.  Subtle hints are dropped occasionally and one learns, albeit, an impetuous one, to connect dot one to dot two.    

I wanted to eat oysters today.  I imagined how I would walk in and sit down, order oysters and no one would think a thing about a woman traveling alone, eating raw oysters in her hometown oyster bar, although I was sure no one would know who I was, but this homecoming weekend for many was a big event, perhaps one of the biggest of their humble lives, so I knew it would probably be alright.  As impetuous as I am, I opted to keep on driving and go straight to the high school where there would be an assembly meeting and the usual festivities of homecoming: cheerleading, football madness and teachers’ droll speeches.  I could already visualize the little queens-in-waiting with their beautiful black tresses and waist-coated suits, the homecoming beauties, daughters of the town’s best, parading to the stage as I had witnessed many times in years past, beaming with capped teeth, gold bangle bracelets and secrets of the night before with the major football players locked into their minds and hearts, telling their friends at spend-the-night pajama parties, when the sorority girls swore to secrecy everything told in these overnight talk sessions.  “Nothing leaves this room for fear of our social status being demolished.”  Ah, yes, the “skull and bones” of small town, USA.  

I remembered those days and recalled how although I had been elected cheerleader, I was not one of them.  Sometimes their parties were kept secret from me and other times, they whispered while in the same room with me.  I smiled when I recalled one of the reasons, my breasts were bigger than most of theirs.  I always hated that myself, but they seemed to envy that.  I had tried wearing smaller bras in junior high to disguise that but it was difficult.  Smiling even wider, I thought to myself, how they would like to know I had undergone a bust reduction.  Well, it was not for them.  It was for me.  

I was getting that sick feeling in my stomach, just as I always did everyday that I had to go to this school and smell the smells, hear the voices, and confront my peers.  Now we were older, it would be different, I assured myself over and over.

When I pulled my car into the parking lot at school, there were very few cars.  I was early.  Gee.  I forgot about the time difference.  I had an hour to spare.  Everything looked fine.  My clothes were still neat, despite the 45-minute drive from the motel where I had spent the night.  My attire was appropriate.  My black crape silk skirt barely touched my ankles, with black stockings and black shoes that adorned my long feet with red toenails peeking through the sandal hose, my silk sweater set was gold.  Damn!  I had on the school colors.  My hair was red.  The last time they saw me I was blond.  In the sunlight, my hair was too red.  I had just done it two days before and it is always too red for a week or so.  But time had not been on my side in preparation for this event, neither with my friends or my foes.  

The young girl who was handling seating asked my class year and when I told her, she sat me down beside Buddy.  Oh, no.  He was as handsome as ever and he smelled the same.  Like clean clothes, summers at the each followed by a shower or was it my imagination.  His eyes  met mine and I realized that not only did he remember me but was happy that I was sitting beside.  He glanced at my hands, and I was happy that I had chosen to wear gloves because the years showed in my small hands.
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mrs. red
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« Reply #1 on: July 01, 2006, 10:00:54 PM »

OH... tyler..  I need to hear more!!!
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« Reply #2 on: July 01, 2006, 10:05:50 PM »

Wonderful, Keep it coming.

You all might give me the courage to do one I wrote years ago. It is scary though when I see your talent.
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Tylergal
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« Reply #3 on: July 02, 2006, 02:05:40 PM »

I leaned forward to place my bag onto the floor and as I sat back up, I asked Buddy how he had been through the years although it was really no secret.  Anyone who could read and write knew how he had been.  His whole life was an open book.  He had gone on to play football at Harvard, graduated at the top of his undergrad class, attended law school at Duke where he graduated in the top five of his class, went to work in Atlanta and within a few short years had become quite famous or infamous as he was the senior partner of the largest law firm in the southeast, and among his clientele were clients such as Ted Turner, Jimmy Carter and a litany of other well known’s.  

He went to great lengths to tell me that he was twice married, and twice divorced, had one lovely child by each beautiful woman, neither of whom shared his ambitions and marriages had ended amicably and all were friends.  Oh, Buddy, Buddy, Buddy, I wanted to say, “even if they had tied you up with leather, bound you to a tree and beat you with chains for their lovers’ satisfaction, you would say the same, that they are lovely people.”

What a class act that guy was and still is.  He asked about my family, etc., as if he knew and/or cared.  After we got through the long-lost friend greetings, we went on to discuss the less-than-perfect condition of the school and how he loved this place and most of what he had learned in life that really counted, had come from within this small town and its churches, civic groups, these halls and walls.  He recalled with a broad-tooth smile, a pink sweater I once wore with a matching skirt that he detailed as the epitome of femininity, and how he watched my blond hair bounce on the back of the pink sweater as I walked away from a locker we shared for a year in our lives, a year of life together, most of which was public but much of it left behind as we left the padlock at the superintendent’s desk that last day of school, our junior year.  All he said with the serious but cavalier flavor so as not to put too much or too little meaning into whatever part one chose.  Yes, he was the student council president, always a good politician.

My mind was going back now, far back to how we had been attracted to each other as far back as second grade and though we had attended the same functions, the same church, and often sitting together in movies in grammar school and even junior high, we would never really share those feelings until our junior year of high school but I knew deep inside, intellectually I knew it would be short-lived, but my heart kept telling me it would be long-lived.

While I was driving through town before I came here to school, I had not allowed my car to stay away from the street where he lived.  I drove around for a while, looking at the houses, most of the houses I had never entered, nice green lawns, well manicured, beautiful brick with black shutters and ivory trim or white frame houses with Georgian columns and forest green shutters, always a welcoming wreath on the door.  I had always wondered what the interiors looked like and if they smelled like good cherry and rosewood furniture, Oriental rugs and leather-bound books.  Through the years, I had lost some of my impetuous nature, so I opted not to just walk up to the door and introduce myself and ask for a tour, but still imagined the contents of the homes as they always had been and always would be:  Elegant European furniture, nice Oriental rugs on hardwood floors and the smell of leather-bound books, a black maid with a white organdy apron serving cantaloupes and coffee on the lanai, while caged birds sing.  I knew the occupants would not recognize me from the past and since I now look as though I belong in their class, I do not.  But I had been to Buddy’s house and Carol’s, and had spent many days at Sandy’s, gossiping about Carol or Buddy, or any of her targets.  

Soon, there were other arrivals, and many of them I did not recognize.  I could not believe all these old people were my peers.


I saw our class’s own homecoming queen, Katie, nearing us.  She was prettier than I recall her being, much prettier, more sophisticated.  Age has been good to her.  She was no longer dowdy, but sophisticated and hair is no longer mousy, but striking blond.  She was dressed very nice. She always had such poor taste in dressing, but today she looks
very sophisticated in her black dress and smart animal print sash and trendy jewelry.  

Miss Smalltown, Jayna, accompanied Katie.   She was just as beautiful, charming and fresh, with her face still dimpled and smooth, tanned and smiling.  Nothing was more shocking than seeing  Katie and Jayna looking so beautiful.  They were just as beautiful or more so today, as when they were judged to be the queens of this little town.  They surely could compete with anyone today.  There was no sharp contrast in our attire.  We all dressed appropriately.  Mary followed not far behind.  Mary was one of the would-be-queens who moved away to another city when her father died.  She looks swimmingly gorgeous.  Dark hair, blue eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion.  She seemed very well preserved.  Everyone was oohing and ahhing over the beauty queen section.  I feel as
if I am 1000 miles away from home and my cubbyhole, and that I do not belong with them, although they find their way to sit with me, instead of the opposite.  More cheek kisses and hugs and flattery and Buddy rises to allow them to sit inside while he sits on the outside seat.
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« Reply #4 on: July 03, 2006, 06:10:20 PM »

Keep it coming Tyler Gal. We have to know more.
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Tylergal
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« Reply #5 on: July 04, 2006, 03:49:39 AM »

Soon after everyone greeted and was seated, the current principal introduced special guests, mayors, councilmen, and do-good civic workers, all of whom had “done so much”, blah, blah, blah, but it was difficult for me to concentrate on the speeches because my tired mind was moving back in time, a time when days were long, hot and trips on bikes and swimming in the afternoon, football practice later on and even cheerleading practice consumed my time.  Each morning that summer, I awakened to the sound of work.  There was always work.  There were always workers and it seemed our house was in a constant state of repair and construction.  Each summer my mother found it necessary to paint everything, remodel a room or two, re-do the kitchen and even without the chores she had laid out for me, no one could work in the heat coupled with all the noise.  

I rose early each morning to clean the breakfast dishes as soon as I had brushed my teeth.  Eating breakfast was not and had never been on my agenda. Once my mother’s back was turned, it was a Pepsi for me.  

In early July, the summer between my sophomore and junior high school years, Sandra and I were planning my 16th birthday party.  Sandra was such an enabler and outright controlling person, that she had to direct everyone’s life.  Sandra was very popular and there was hardly anyone who did not love her.  She winked and smiled and worked circles like she was a beautiful female Huey P. Long.  There was hardly a secret she did not know and there was no one whose life history she did not know, even to who his/her mother dated in high school.  This was just a part of Sandra.  No one found it intrusive, nor did they find her to be a gossip.  Lord knows, I never did figure that out.  Maybe I was the only one she gossiped with, but it had always been my opinion, if one will gossip with me, one will gossip with thee.  Not Sandra, no one ever mentioned that.  Sandra could have had any boy she wanted.  She lived in the right neighborhood, having been adopted very young by the right people.  She was definitely Italian and was no less beautiful than Sophia Loren and of course, the most popular girl in our class.  She was cheerleader captain and I was a new cheerleader, want-to-be-in-the-right-circles although I realized I never would be at the meetings with all the gossip, just the ones where hints were dropped but nothing ever stated.  Although I did not care, I got an uneasy feeling they all knew something about me, and what could they know?  I had lived a pretty solid-as-a-rock life, hardworking and good student, who dressed well because my grandmother was a great seamstress and no one had more clothes, or prettier clothes than she made for me.  They always looked tailored and all were designed by her and sewn, even to the hand tucking or welting that she did.  

I got up early the day after the Fourth of July, still reeling from all the work the day before.  My grandparents who lived nearby always had everyone who was remotely related to them for a big family get-together, which meant a lot of work before and after for Mother and me, but even more for my grandmother.  Like Sandy, my grandmother was controlling and sweet as well, although she abhorred gossip.

I finished cleaning the kitchen and was about to start to the fields to deliver water to the workmen when the phone rang.  It was Sandy, of course, encouraging my list of guests, wanting it to enlarge.  My mother had set a limit at 100 people for my 16th birthday and she would put her foot down, even if it meant explaining to Sandy that she was not my boss.  Before the discussion of my guest list became an argument with Sandy, my grandmother called to me to hurry to the fields that the workmen were tired and thirsty, they had been working since 5 a.m. and it was almost 8 o’clock.  I loaded my water vessels into the wheelbarrow and made my way to the fields.  Man, was it hot.  Poor workers, they really were thirsty and my grandfather was quick to remind me that they would be ‘knocking off’ at 11 a.m. for lunch, and that I needed to get back and help my grandmother get the table set, and start washing the clothes because all the workers’ clothes were wet and they needed to have clean, dry clothes for the afternoon.  I hurried back and told my grandmother.  She did not say anything but nodded in acceptance of what I told her.  She turned and waved at me, toward the buffet, reminding me I needed to get the tables ready for lunch as she would be on time, according to my grandfather’s wishes.  She never argued with him, or he with her, and it seemed as though they were symbiotic in every thought.  I liked that, and I loved the way they seemed to be able to read each other’s minds.  My mother and daddy did not have that kind of relationship.  Theirs was one of constant nagging at each other until the ripcord was pulled, all hell broke loose and a divorce ended the daily grind.

Just as my grandfather said they would, they stopped at 11 a.m. and came for lunch.  Every man, black, white and tan washed up on the screen porch where my grandmother had installed a faucet and kept a dishpan with soap and fresh white hand towels.  It was my job each day to count the workers when I went to the fields and on my return, I counted out the number of hand towels needed at the wash stand and placed the little neatly starched-and-ironed towels to the left and the two different soaps to the right.  One was soap my grandmother made after hogs were slaughtered in the fall and the other was ivory soap, which she told me left the workers with  “a better smell” on the hands.  I was not as worried about their hands as much as the way they smelled after being out in the sun sweating all day, but we did what she asked and each one had a clean towel and two soaps were placed there and they all knew that they used both soaps but the ivory was saved for last.

My grandfather graced the table at each meal and at lunch when the workers came, they all said “amen” individually around the table before partaking of the food, which they shortly thereafter devoured like dogs would an animal carcass.  I can still see my grandfather.  How much I loved that man.  He had beautiful white hair and blue eyes, very clear blue like water.  He was 6-4 and carried himself with the command of a man in charge at all times.  He was well loved by all who knew him and loved his family.  I always knew I would marry a man like that, but I wished he would not be a farmer.  I was not sure I could carry out the tasks of making soap, sewing clothes, washing and ironing towels, sheets and worker men’s clothes.  

Just as I was savoring the moments that I had spent that summer doing chores for my grandparents, my mother, riding bikes with Sandy and swimming with all our friends after the chores were done and finally dragging myself to cheerleader practice and remaining for football practice so I could see Buddy, I heard the principal call out for all the cheerleaders from my class to come to the stage.  Most of us were sitting in the same row where Buddy sat on the outside, so he stood and smiled, reached out with his hand assuring our footing by holding onto our hands as we made our way up the steps and onto the stage, he seemed to still be in control of all the activities of this school even to this day.  Oh, goodness, no one told me we were going to do a cheer. I was off the hook as far as recalling the cheers that we did as I remembered them all.  Of course, no jumping from a group of frumpy old women, just doing hand motions and trying to get our voices up enough so that everyone could hear us.  Sandy was totally in her element.  She was passing out sheets with the words of our cheers on them, as we were already getting in line to proceed.  It seemed she had lived for this day.  Her parents had died not long after we graduated, as they were an older, wealthy couple who had adopted her, and she had stayed behind, while most of us had gone on to live elsewhere, but she remained in her parents’ home and kept tabs on all the gossip.  No one told me, but some things never change.  

After that little round of cheers, the homecoming court was introduced along with the football players.  Next, was the recognition of all the do-good people.  Buddy’s name was called out as having purchased a new curtain for the auditorium, black velvet with the high school letter in gold and all new seating for the auditorium.  He seemed to beam that he had been able to do this for our school and gave a very eloquent but funny little speech, encouraging all alumni to return to the school a small portion of what it had done for us.  

Once this was all over, we departed the auditorium, many remaining behind catching up, sharing pictures of children and stories.  The chamber of commerce was giving our class a cookout at The Lake.  Oh, the Lake.  The lake was where I spent those summers dancing and swimming, loving every minute and feeling that time was standing still just for me and for Buddy.  We made our individual ways to our vehicles and proceeded to the Lake.  The glimmer was gone.  It had not been cared for since Mr. & Mrs. Richards, the former owners, sold it.  There were still three pools, the concession stand, the bath houses, the restaurant and the dance hall where summer was spent strolling, twisting and laughing, eating and sometimes even smoking but always at the end of the evening, Sandy cha-cha’d with Buddy while Jerry Kene and I showed off with our newly learned fox trot skills.  Four jukeboxes were required for the sound to cover the area.  It was really just as big as I remembered it being and maybe even bigger.  There was no one at the ice cream stand, and it had been permanently closed down.  Cherry cokes and chocolate ice cream were sold to swimmers for a mere penance.  Ah, yesterday and yesterday is gone.

Upon entering the dance hall, it was obvious the town had gone all out for this.  The smell of barbecue and hamburgers was overwhelming, even from inside.  There were grills set up and barbecue pits were all lit as they were back that summer when “Twilight Time” came too soon.  Tables filled with snack foods, salads, deserts, all kinds of finger foods, encompassed most of the dance hall floor.  It felt different and yet familiar.  Sandy was making her rounds, greeting and smiling at everyone as if she had planned and paid for the whole event and was taking a poll as to how she had done.
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« Reply #6 on: July 04, 2006, 01:49:10 PM »

I am hooked. I feel like I am there. You need to send this off. It need published. JMHO
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Tylergal
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« Reply #7 on: July 04, 2006, 09:39:20 PM »

Mary, Kate, Janet, Brian, Rod, Lawrence, Terry, Sandra, Deloris, Doris, Sharon, Anita, Nell, Nancy, Jeanette, Irma, Steve, Jimbo, Don, Ray, Neal, James.  So many faces, so many names and it seemed that even though some of the class members we thought would not make it in life had done fairly well, with few exceptions.  

Lana was a pretty girl in high school but she had difficulties at home caring for her sick mother and a house filled with younger children and a father who rarely worked.  She was waiting tables today at the affair and I was embarrassed for her.  I knew she would rather be with us, celebrating the victories of life, talking about the close calls and savoring old friendships and discussing her successful life but instead she was serving coffee, tea and soft drinks to her peers, who were all decked out in their finery, everyone driving new automobiles, new SUVs and Lana was stuck in the job as a waitress here at the Lake.  Life had left her behind.  She was still here.  My heart slowed down as I felt a tear from the corner of my eye when I realized she only had 2-3 remaining teeth.  I wanted to stamp the floor and yell out to her parents to look and see what they had done to her, and for one of them to do something for her.  I wanted to hold her in my arms and share my life with her, to make her a part of it, but I knew my life would be foreign go her.  She was always a very nice person, humbled by, but not bitter about the life she had been dealt and she dealt with it without complaints and seemed to be doing the same today, laughing and smiling, trying to be one of us, but knowing she was not.  If I could take all the money I have spent on frivolous items of clothing, make up and whatnot items in my life, I could fix her teeth, buy her a car, put her in a nice home, and send her on a cruise, but I could not.  I knew there were people stuck at the back of the line, but it never occurred to me that someone who had dedicated her life to others would be stuck in this gear that would not change, but Lana was.

The unstated statement today was that we were being given a party, but some tip was expected, and I expected that the people who managed this little fete expected more than $5 per person.  

It was a nice luncheon where we all made small talk.  Unfortunately, some of our small talk was about Marie, who was obviously absent.  Marie was a cheerleader; she and Sandy were as much alike as two peas in a pod, except that Marie was not left with a home paid for, luxuries for the rest of her life and starring in the role of town matriarch.  Marie had made some bad decisions when she was in college, ended up losing the person she had cared most for after having his baby and giving it up for adoption.  Everyone knew, but it was not spoken aloud.  Most of what people had to say about Marie was her sense of entitlement all through school, thumbing her nose at everyone when they turned their backs, only to find a knife in their backs or a precious item of clothing or jewelry missing.  Marie had a problem with kleptomania of her own making.  Everyone knew about it, and no one openly addressed it.  Marie could be nice and very engaging but her own selfishness and her tendency to take that which was not hers got in the way of her long-range plans.  

Marie was a late-life baby and had been spoiled by her family.  Her brother was a very successful doctor.  She was a bright student, and he had borrowed money to make sure she could attend Vassar.  The roads between Vassar and Harvard must have busy that first fall after we graduated, as Marie and Buddy kept in touch.  In fact, it was more than keeping in touch.  It was said that Marie had gotten pregnant in her second quarter of school, and ended up back home, where she moved in with her brother, Dr. Pridgen, who insisted she keep the baby and allow him and his childless wife, McDuffie, to raise the child.  Marie vowed she would get the baby when she graduated college, but she never graduated and she never got the baby.  Instead she married a local guy, Ray, whose family’s reputation was less than stellar.  After they married, they were blessed with two small children.  Unfortunately Ray’s father later went to prison for molesting hers and Ray’s children.  Her mother-in-law, who owned a licensed baby sitting agency, cared for other children along with Marie’s and Ray’s children in her home, while Marie and Ray went to work.  He was molesting some of the children, including his own grandchildren and when it was discovered, Marie having testified against him, he went to prison.  Ray and Marie cared for Ray’s mother in her waning years, and never left the immediate vicinity.  Ray was a nice person, a very dedicated and devout husband and father much like his mother, he was a victim of a sick man.  Marie, now knowing that she could no longer out-talk the gossip, take others’ precious belongings and keep down the talk, chose to live far out in the country, away from her former friends, living like a hermit without contact with others.  She was broken and it was unfortunate that her children had been the victims of that man, and not even Marie deserved that to happen to her.  Stealing clothes and jewelry is one thing, but molesting young children is quite another.  

No one discussed the baby that Marie had while within earshot of Buddy.  Of course, everyone here would blame Marie.  She had enough faults to make her an easy target, and Buddy was the golden boy, so blame it on Marie.  I hoped that Marie had matured from the self-centered girl I knew in high school, someone who would look deep into your eyes, search your soul and lie in such a pathologic way that she seemed credible.  Marie and I were very good friends back in elementary school, but her veneer began to wear down for me when I realized she was the one who had stolen my ruby birthstone ring my father gave me at one of the last family events he ever attended in our home.  Marie’s mother passed it off as a mistake and apologized, returned the ring but through the years, other items would go missing when Marie was spending the night at my house, up to and including my best lingerie.  Fearful to mention it in school because my mother asked me not to, I kept this secret guarded and no one else ever knew.  Or were there others who had been the victims of her kleptomania, who like myself, were asked not to mention it in public.  Whatever, it seemed like something we all knew but did not discuss.  Boys liked Marie, she was cheerful and happy with them.  She had beautiful teeth, blond hair and beautiful brown eyes that matched her tanned complexion.  Boys were easily taken in with her triple row of curly fluttering eyelashes and large smile, red lips and big white teeth.

When the textile industry began to fade in the south, Marie and Ray bought Buddy’s father’s textile business, down-sized it and make a small business of it to accommodate the size of the town, their own needs and the availability of textile workers in the area.  It did not take much math to figure how she and Ray had come to afford what was once the largest textile business in the state.  If Ray and Marie kept quiet, Beau Buckhannon would reward them.  An illegitimate baby could spell trouble for the Buckhannon family.  

While milling around getting to know people from the past all over again, Katy approached me and asked if I was going out to the Collins place that afternoon for cocktails and hors d’ouvres, and if so, what was I wearing.  Actually I had no idea of the event, but she and Janet informed me that everyone was invited and should have been a flier inside the packet for the weekend.  

I had not seen Sherry Collins in years, not since she was Sherry Turner.  I knew she had married Chuck, which I thought was a strange pair, but through the years, I had acclimated myself to their being a pair and was anxious to see how they were, how their lives were, and know about them.  They were both intellectuals but Chuck liked to play loose and wild with the wine, women and song while Sherry was totally studious and probably had never touched a drink of liquor or a cigarette.  She was somewhat of a prude, but a likeable prude, nonetheless.  Far more attractive than Sherry, I wondered if Chuck was still as handsome as he was in high school and if he had settled into family life, or just the opposite.  I could not imagine Sherry tolerating him if he was wining, womanizing and gambling as he did in high school.  It should make for an interesting evening.

Janet started telling me how she loved this place, the Lake, and how anxious she was to see it again.  She recalled so many good times here, among them our Christmas party, her birthday party, and in particular my joint birthday party here many years ago, because it was in mid summer when everyone was tired of trips to the beach, not ready to return to band, football, cheerleader practice and school but looking for a different pace.  All of us who had not turned 16 before, for the most part, turned 16 that summer.  It meant drivers license, being able to jump into someone’s jeep or old family station wagon and feel our independence.  

Oh, yes, that party.  It had quite the turnout.  Time was running out by July 6.  Mother had to make reservations.  I had to get out invitations.  The party would be July 31 and these things took time.  I called the bakery to ask what size cake I would need for approximately 100 teenagers with big appetites.  We went over several options and prices, which I quoted to mother that night, which seemed to make her headache worse.  After laying out all the options, sizes and prices, she told me she had called the Lake to make reservations, only to find that Topaz Buckhannon had already booked the Lake for Buddy’s 16th birthday party.  I was crestfallen.  I knew we shared a birthday but he had never had a party in his life.  We were 16.  They were members of the Country Club.  Why did he not have his party there and on a different date?  I was so annoyed.  I knew, given the choice of my party which we could have a few days later or earlier, most would choose to attend his and although I would have a nice-size crowd, probably not 100 people.  For that my mother seemed delighted, but she was annoyed that she had not remembered to call earlier so she could have reserved for us before the Buckhannon reservation was made.  There was much to think about.  I thought about it all night before I called Sandy and Marie the next morning to tell them.  I could not think of anyway to make this work.  I was so distraught.  Marie and Sandy did not see a problem with my delaying my party until the next weekend, but somehow I did not think that fair to me.  It was just as much my birthday as Buddy’s and I wanted to have a nice party; I had counted on it so long.  I wanted to be able to show off my newly gotten drivers license, my new independence and revel in it.  I was not happy with the postponement of my party and let Marie and Sandy know that, and chose not to speak with them about it further until I decided what to do.

It was a workday.  I had to work all day helping grandmother with the laundry, ironing curtains, which we did once a week.  White organdy curtains, washed, starched and ironed and hung immediately to prevent wrinkles from forming.  We still had the workers to feed and I had the twice daily chore of water for the workers today because the Lake trips were out on washday, just too much to do.  In the midst of making beds after my grandmother laid out the sheets, Patsy called.  My one friend who I could count on to listen to every single thing I ever said and commiserate with me.  

Faithful Patsy.  She was not as pretty as most of the girls in our circle but she was dependable.  She was always there to wish one well.  She always remembered birthdays, special events and with the exception of disliking Babs for dating the boy she wanted to date, never had a single bad word to say about anyone.  She understood.  She did not agree with me, but she understood.  Like me, she knew that Buddy’s party would be such a major event, mine would get pushed to the back burner and my event would be considered an “also ran” as far as parties.  I would probably have to end up inviting Lana, Ann, Betty, and their friends to have 100 people there.  Oh, misery.  Another roadblock in my life had presented itself.  I remembered the darn cheerleader try-outs.  I was in a runoff with another girl, who I thought I would handily defeat.  We had to have a recount of the votes.  I won by a few.  My party would be anticlimactic like the cheerleader elections.  My party would be a runner up to Buddy’s.  

It weighed heavily on my mind and when mother came home, I asked her to cancel the whole thing, the whole idea, that I would have a Christmas party, and we would go ahead and plan it now, make the reservations so no one would get the Lake before us.  She acquiesced but only reticently.  

I was not allowed to go out tonight.  It was a busy night.  We had to get ready for the painters who would be there Monday, which meant taking down all the curtains that grandmother and I had just washed, dried, starched and ironed the day before; we would remove all the bed linens that I had placed on the beds this morning, even the beds that were not used.  Mother had decided the house’s interior needed painting.  It never seemed to fail.  Mother got restless in July; it was a month she seemed to dislike so she made herself and others projects to keep her from brooding over spilled milk.  Her work was light right now and she had a very creative mind, which when not busy with her work, kept others busy with worked she produced for them.  It always seemed July and December are among the months when she was the most prolific with projects for others.

We removed all the bed linens and stored them in the linen chest, took down all the curtains and placed them over the closet poles where normal people hung clothes, but not mother.  We had more closet space than clothes so we chose the extra closets for “project portals.”  If they were not filled with fabrics for her prospective projects of upholstery, draperies, new garments, they were being filled with other things we had no place for.  Grandmother caught the opportunity to catch mother’s back turned and shook her head in desperation as mother called out to us to start getting things packed away.  It is now Friday night and the painters will be here early Monday morning.  

As soon as the chores were done, I got a bath and made my way to bed.  Afraid I would not be able to sleep for worry over my party, I took a book to bed with me.  I must have fallen asleep shortly as I did not even remember what I was reading the next morning when I awakened to find it under my head.  It was early but already hot and muggy, very humid and although the white starched organdy curtains were blowing with a slight breeze, I could feel the heat already building up.  I looked out the window and saw all the transpiration on the flowers and knew the sun was gathering water.  I hoped that some nice cloud would blow rain out and I could be saved from all the chores.

It was Saturday, and everything must be done for the Sabbath, which meant cleaning the house, polishing the furniture, mopping the hardwood floors and beating the rugs.  The preacher might come home with us to eat and we did not want him to think we were “nasty.”  I hardly think he thought that, otherwise, he would not want to eat with us every Sunday, but I promised I would be good and not say that.  Mother was paranoid about cleanliness and we just marched to her drum beat most of the time.  I almost felt sorry for my daddy sometimes, but I knew that he did not divorce my mother, nor she divorce him, because of her cleanliness, perhaps for his lack of it, but not because he was physically dirty, but morally dirty.  

I had gotten excited about the idea of a Christmas party by now and was actually looking forward to the party that Buddy would have because I knew I would be invited and it would be great, and then we could have a nice celebration at Christmastime when everyone had football season behind them and we were looking forward to the next chapter.  My party would be the final chapter to this year or the beginning of our new journey into the last half of our junior year.  It was beginning to be exciting.  I was already thinking about designing my own dress, red velveteen, drop waist, low cut back with a high front to disguise the bust thing and lots of gaudy jewelry.  I was very self-conscious about that.  I rushed to the bathroom in hopes I would beat mother there, but I realized when I heard water running, she was already in there, so I went over to my grandmother’s apartment which was actually a guest cottage where she and my grandfather chose to spend their evenings most of the time, and a place they could call their own, but they spent far more time here with us than in the cottage.  Mother could not function without my grandmother.  Mother was creative but grandmother was the organizer.  Mother knew how to produce work for everyone, and grandmother knew how to get it done.  

I tried to slip out the back door but my grandmother called to me as she had seen me.  “Child, don’t forget we have work to do.  Don’t make any plans ‘til you check with your mother.  She has an agenda that will keep us busy for a month.”  I looked at her and smiled.  She knew I understood exactly what she meant.  My granddaddy had already gone to the fields.  It seemed a cloud was building and he was probably trying to get things done that needed finishing before the rains came.  If the milk cows were grazing, he would always get them in for fear they would be frightened.  My grandmother said they did not give much milk if they were scared, so he tried to make sure they were under shelter if it stormed.  Stupid cows did not have enough sense to get in out of the rain.  

I got a quick bath because I felt dirty from all the humidity, brushed my teeth and hurried back to our house, as I did not want to be stuck at the cottage if a storm was approaching.  I saw my granddaddy’s white head coming toward me.  It was turning dark, much darker than it should be at 6 a.m. in July.  He waved at me to hurry as he was following not far behind.  I ran inside as mother yelled at me to start closing the windows as a storm was coming.  Windows were getting harder and harder to close.  The paint hardened on the wood and after all these years of repainting each summer, the swelling of wood in moist weather, made it difficult but we hurried to get it done before it started raining.  My grandfather came in the back lamenting he was unable to find Bessie, our best milk cow, but he started with the chore of helping close the windows.  

I went to the bathroom and grabbed a box of talc and went to my bedroom, pulled the sheets off and sprinkled my bed.  Ugh, I was caught.  Mother stood there with her hands on her hips.  She was pretty even when she was angry.  I knew she was angry.  She was biting the side of her mouth.  She still looked pretty.  She had on a baby blue brocade robe with an amethyst brooch obscuring the zipper that closed at her neck line and it was pretty enough to be worn on the street but for mother it was just any old duster, something she had designed and my grandmother had sewn to perfection.  Her pretty blue eyes looked younger when she was angry and her skin actually had a blush of color about her cheekbones.  My mother had perfect facial architecture.  I always wished that I did but I had sunken eyes and low brows.  Mother had surprised eyebrows and high cheekbones, tight skin with just the right amount of melanin.  

With questioning eyes, I lifted my head as if to ask her why she was mad, but I did not have to say a word.  She reminded me that I did not need to put expensive talc on my mattress to absorb the moisture, that cheap baby powder was just as good and less expensive.  Oh, I did not want my bed to smell like a baby.  I wanted it to smell like a woman.  I just always imagined Marie, Carol, Buddy or Sandy walking into my room and thinking how exotic it smelled, even though that would never happened, but I could daydream about it.  With apologies, I placed her talc back in the bathroom and proceeded to remake my bed.  Just as I was about to finish, the phone rang.  I answered and the caller was Topaz Buckhannon, who did not want to speak to me, but to my mother.  I held my hand over the phone and told mother it was Topaz Buckhannon.  Mother looked confused but off-put.  She flipped her long, chestnut brown hair to aside and pressed the phone against her ear, motioning for me to be on my way.  Grandmother met me in the dining room and told me mother had been over to the cottage and saw where I had left my towel lying on the bathroom floor and was very upset that I had laid a towel on the floor without brining it with me.  Gee, I was in a hurry, afraid I would be struck by lightning and mother was worried about a towel that “might sour” if left lying on the floor and horrors, the bugs it would cause in our house.  My grandmother rolled her eyes in agreement with me, although I had not said anything, and we made our way to the kitchen, while trying to eavesdrop on mother’s conversation with Topaz Buckhannon.  Grandmother felt something was either very right or very wrong for Topaz to call mother.  Mother and Topaz had always had a love/hate relationship.  Topaz was probably the most beautiful woman in town and mother wanted to be and though mother was quite beautiful, she neither had the finances or physical stature of the 5 ft 10 inch Topaz whose Indian black hair and red-tanned skin framed the most beautiful black eyes that teased her audience and lured men into funding her civic projects or volunteering to leap from tall buildings with a single bound.
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There is always one more imbecile than you counted on
Tylergal
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« Reply #8 on: July 05, 2006, 01:48:21 AM »

Grandmother and I busied ourselves around in the kitchen, quiet as two little mice trying to listen and trying to work.  We could hear mother laughing, so it must not be so traumatic that Topaz called her.  Other than mother being somewhat jealous of Topaz’s looks, her money, I never figured out what the problem was.  Topaz was always nice.  In fact she taught me in Sunday School in my fourth grade year.  She was never on time for class, but I always imagined she was fashionably late and just making her presence known when she arrived.  We enjoyed the class, because it normally meant we had time to talk and boys make spit balls and toss them our way before she arrived.  Once she arrived it was almost as if a general commanding his troops called them to order.  We sat straight up and listened to every word and even at our tender age, boys were already recognizing what a beautiful woman was in our midst.  

Mr. Buckhannon was not very attractive. He had kinky red hair and green faded eyes, his complexion was ruddy and his teeth crooked but he was a very kind man, and definitely a businessman.  His family owned all the textile industry, a large part of the land where sharecroppers tended and the bank.  I always wondered where Buddy got his beautiful blond hair and blue eyes, but those genetics do strange things.  But for me, Buddy probably had the prettiest blue eyes in our school.  My blue eyes were my virtue.  I had definitely gotten daddy’s eyes but unfortunately I had gotten his facial architecture.  It looked good on daddy but not on me.  Daddy was very tall and handsome.  He knew it, and my mother always said that was their problem:  not only did daddy know he was good looking but he knew every woman in town knew it also.  Grandmother and I tried to make a little more chatter and noise so mother would not suspect we were eavesdropping and when we heard laughter and what sounded like a lilt in mother’s voice, we stopped our eavesdropping, knowing mother would soon tell us every detail of her conversation.  

Sooner than expected, mother sashayed into the kitchen with her arms outstretched as though she wanted to hug the world.  Mother definitely had difficulty hiding her emotions.  She was upbeat, and we knew it.  With great aplomb she began telling us how the Buckhannon family had planned Buddy’s party for the country club but on their return from Europe, they realized the Hamptons wanted to celebrate their daughter’s graduation from Sorbonne at the country club, and with all their friends coming from abroad, the Buckhannons had offered to change the location of Buddy’s party, to which he more than agreed, and scheduled it at the Lake.  She had later learned that I had been counting on having my party there and was disappointed with the conflict, so Topaz had offered that we celebrate our parties together.  Mother seemed excited about it, but I was somewhat deflated by this offer.  I really wanted a Christmas party.  Mother was beaming and I hated to ask, but I did.  “So does this mean I am going to share a cake with Buddy and cancel my plans for a Christmas party?”

I don’t think mother was expecting that reaction and I was sorry I had said it the way I did.  It appeared she was now on the verge of tears, trying to accommodate me, trying to be appreciative of Topaz’s offer and never thinking how Buddy and I would feel about it.  I was not very hot on the idea, but mother went on to say that she had already agreed with Topaz that it would be a great idea.  I knew it was a bad idea, and turned away as mother was chattering about the plans.  My grandmother knew I was disappointed, but she was keeping quiet.  As mother left the kitchen, she threw her arms up and said, “I do all I can, and who appreciates it around here?”  

Grandmother looked at me and asked me to sit down and talk.  I sat.  Grandmother commanded respect.  She told me that it took more strength and more courage than I could imagine for mother to come to this agreement with Topaz and although it was nice of Topaz to offer, mother was the one who was stuck in the middle.  She further went on to explain that mother would have preferred anything but this, but she felt I needed that party so bad, especially this year, that she was making any sacrifice she could to make it work for me.  I must say it was not what I wanted to hear, but I could see sadness in grandmother’s eyes, and I felt that she and mother felt I did not appreciate anything they did.  I wiped the plate I held in my hand and placed in the cupboard, went to mother’s bedroom where she was busy drawing.  She was designing a pants set with a beautiful top.  I wondered if the suit was one she would want grandmother to sew for Jacqui, her friend who did some modeling for her, to wear to market, or if this was something she was doing for herself.  Mother looked sad.  I could see it in her facial expression.  I sat down beside her and she hardly noticed.  I put my arm over her shoulder, pulled back her hair and kissed her.  I whispered to her, “you are the best mother in the world, and I love you very much.”

She looked at me and smiled, put her arms around me and assured me this was going to be a memorable party, and she would see to it.  Oh, mother always tried so hard to make Randall and me happy.  Poor Randall.  Mother always seemed to pamper Randall more than me, but I did not mind.  I knew he was her first born who she had been dependent on him during the tumultuous times with dad, and Randall was there for her, doing all that he could for her.  Now Randall was in Military and mother had a selfish little daughter who thought the world owed her something.  Now I had a guilty monkey on my back but at least, I felt I had made things right with mother.  I would accept the party and whatever it brought.

**
I was so lost in thought that I was not able to focus on the homecoming party that I had driven all day to attend, and others who had flown many miles, some thousands to attend.  I had lost sight of the reason I was here.  

As soon as everyone had said their good-bye’s, and made their contributions, we all headed our separate ways to our motels, hotels, or families to prepare for the next series of planned parties.  Actually I had talked more than eaten.  I do not like to eat in big crowds, never have, and I played with my food but drank two cokes while milling around.  In fact, I was hungry.  I needed to use the restroom before I left and as everyone was boarding their SUVs or automobiles, I was finding the bathroom.  It was in the same location as always.  I brushed my teeth and freshened up my face by the dim incandescent light.  I wondered how many bulbs had been placed in it since the last time I was here.  It was still activated by a cord instead of a switch.  Oh, some things never change.  Time stood still here.  The toilet was new, probably out of necessity but the lava bowl was just as I remembered it, except it was rusty around the drain site and much porcelain had peeled away through the years.

When I stepped out, I realized that everyone was gone except the employees, the mayor and Steve, one of our classmates.  Steve had never married.  He was somewhat socially +++++++.  He had a big crush on me in high school as well as a few other girls, but no one ever seemed to want to be paired with Steve.  He was a great dancer and I loved being dipped by him on the dance floor, but never felt I wanted to be in the same car with him at a drive-in movie.  He was kind and nice enough, but he was just a little different.  I realized he was waiting for me and I was unsure why.  He met me as I was headed from the bathroom to the center of the room, in order to exit the door.  He asked if he could have a ride with me that his car was in the shop.  I was relieved that was all he wanted, and we made our way out the door.  He was somewhat interesting to talk to so instead of heading straight to the motel, I invited Steve for a cup of coffee with me at one of the local restaurants.  We went inside and beside two employees and a few flies, we were the only live beings in the place.  Steve’s brother had married Jayna, the smalltown USA beauty queen.  They attended University of Southern Mississippi together, where John played football and Jayna studied for both of them, but Jayna got pregnant and John joined the army, went off to Military but returned within a few weeks.  John was a free spirit.  His father was the chief of police, his mother a probate judge and his grandfather was a circuit court judge.  It did not matter if the young handsome boy went AWOL from Military, it would be fixed right there in the square, in the middle of the courthouse, most likely Doctor Pridgen would give him a medical excuse and his family would notarize it.  Jayna was back in college while her parents cared for their baby.  This time she had chosen to attend a school nearby so that she could see the baby each night and correspond with John in her spare time, but John had surprised her by coming home without an announcement and when he came home, he told her he was on leave.  She found it hard to believe he had an official leave after such a short period of time, but it seemed not to bother him and she accepted his truth as he told it to her.  Within a few weeks, John began losing weight and Jayna insisted he see a doctor.  He told her he did not have a six-week leave, but had been told by doctors at Walter Reid he only had about six weeks to live, that he had sarcoma which was well advanced and no treatment was going to save him.  

Within a few short weeks, he was emaciated and yet wanting to go on living life to its fullest.  They were such a handsome pair, I knew they must have a beautiful child.  I had visited Jayna and John after learning of his illness and he was definitely not going to make it and it was obvious, but he tried to convince Jayna that he would like to go to the beach just one more time, just one more day to play in the water and sun.  Of course, she could not grant his wish and death came quickly.  She continued on with college, caring for their daughter and remained a widow for 11 years.  

Steve, of course, not knowing that I knew the story replayed the whole thing.  I did not tell him that I knew and had even gone to see John before he died, because it is always interesting to hear another’s perspective on how things evolved and with few exceptions, his story was just as I had heard it.

I told Steve I was hungry and might have a burger, and asked if he would like something to eat.  He agreed that he too was hungry and we sat there eating our burger and discussing mutual friends, mostly about how well everyone looked, and how we missed those who were unable to attend, and particularly those who had passed on before us.  I took this opportunity to tell Steve that I had given money for a library table (the items needed were listed and we could either donate for one of them, or just make a contribution) that would have a brass plate with John’s and Jayna’s names engraved on it, as they were in high school, her maiden name and his name.  Since Jayna had remarried, I did not want to put John’s last name to hers.  School was where they had spent most of their years as boyfriend and girlfriend and they always had study hall and library period together.  They had been sweethearts since seventh grade.  

We made small talk and I realized if I was going to get back to the motel and get showered and dressed for the Collins party, I must drop Steve off at home and make my way, because it would take me 45 minutes each way and then I had to find the Collins house.  Steve told me that Sherry and Chuck lived on his mother and father’s old farm place, that they had built a very large two-story frame house in the middle of what was formerly a cotton patch.  

After paying our ticket and tipping the waitress/cook, I drove Steve home.  He still lived in his parents’ home.  It was more rundown than I would have imagined but it still looked the same.  It needed paint and some shutters, a good lawn-mowed and window washing as far as I could see, but I had not ventured inside.  

Steve seemed slow to depart the car and I felt he was on the verge of saying something that was going to embarrass one or both of us.  He stuttered but that was nothing new.  He asked if I would mind coming back by his house and taking him to Sherry and Chuck’s party, as he would not be able to attend otherwise, his car was still in the shop.  How could I say no?  I did not.  I agreed and regretted my decision all the way to the motel.  Time was running out on me, so I grabbed something from the hanger that was travel-wear and laid it out on the bed, got a quick shower and brushed my teeth quickly and then brushed them again.  I needed clean teeth more than clean hair, but I shampooed my hair in the shower.  My hair was easily dried and required no blowing.  I was born with daddy’s hair, great thick hair and just running a brush and comb through it after towel drying made it work perfectly.  A blessing in addition to my blue eyes, was my hair, both gifts from my father.  I would open the top on the car and allow the wind to finish drying my hair and run a comb through it.  No big deal.  I would splash some cologne on it and spray it when I parked the car.

Steve was ready and waiting for me on the porch when I arrived and we went directly to Collins’ house.  We were not late, I could tell, as there were only a few vehicles parked but enough so that I knew where I should park.  I wondered if Chuck and Sherry would think that Steve and I were a twosome.  Horrors.  I hoped not.

We rang the bell and her butler answered the door.  As we started in she and Chuck greeted us.  Sherry was very hump-shoulder and although Chuck looked older, he had not aged as much as Sherry.  She was extremely nice and very hospitable but age was multiplying its effect on her.  Sherry told Steve she was so glad that I had agreed to pick him up because she and Chuck had been so busy they did not know if they would have been able to.  I realized then that Steve had been panhandling for a ride with more people than myself.  Well, at least they knew we were not a twosome.  

Chuck led us to the veranda where several people were drinking beer, cocktails and eating.  Oh, joy!  They had raw oysters.  I commended Chuck on his good taste in selecting the oyster, and he admitted it would not quite be the same without oysters on Friday night before football game.  

Shortly thereafter the crowd was gathering and there must have been more than 100 people here, but there was plenty of food, drink and room to accommodate everyone.  Chuck’s success was on display by the grand manner in which they were living.  The home’s interior reminded me of Buddy’s parents’ home when I had visited them many years ago.  

It was great spending so much time with all these now adults.  It seemed a happier and more mature crowd than we were when we thought we were a little better than we really were.

Jayna had revealed to Nancy and me that Steve was not doing well.  He had lost the best friend he ever had when John died, John who had cared for him and protected him from everyone when he was growing up, and then Steve’s parents died.  John had asked her on his deathbed to ensure that Steve was cared for.  She had promised him she would do what she could to care for him.  She confided that John never worried about dying and leaving her and their daughter Johnna, because he knew she would care for her and her daughter, that they had each other and her parents were nearby, and they would be cared for but he worried about Steve.  He realized once his parents died, Steve would have no one but Jayna, if Jayna would agree to care for him.  She promised she would do what she could.  Steve’s father had gotten him a job on the police force but he was unable to function, not able to understand the structure.  When his parents died, Jayna gave hers and Johnna’s share of the home and land to Steve but with the understanding she would be the executor.  She saw him on a daily basis until she met her current husband, Don, who would become her husband for the rest of their lives.  She spoke of the contrasting personalities of Don and John and how she loved them both in so many ways and they were entirely different people whose personalities and her love for them could not be compared nor equaled.  When she and Don married, she had offered for Steve to move with them because he was being transferred to California.  Unwilling to leave all that was familiar to him, he remained in his parent’s house and Jayna finally relented and gave him charge of his finances.  She said that he had failed to manage his financial affairs and was eager to give money to anyone who wanted it, eager to win friends through money and all he had left now was the house and a small social security check, which he had gotten secondary to having HADDD.  Jayna still cared for Steve in a brother-sister way, and it was obvious as Steve and she had a very good rapport.  It was very sad.  I thought about Lana and her plight, and wondered if they could have found each other.  Lana was good with money, worked hard and she might have been able to work through some of his disorders in order that they both have some reasonable facsimile of normalcy, but that thought soon vanished as I noticed, Margaret approaching me.  Oh, migoodness.  My dear husband’s former fiancée.  Vincent had been engaged to Margaret when we met.  I never knew why he broke his engagement to her, because he met me and sometimes it scared me.  I thought for the first few years he might meet someone and break up with me for a newer model, but Vincent was so in love with me that I doubted the thought ever entered his mind.  I not only knew, but had been told by many people that he loved me more than life itself.  I loved him too. We had had a very good marriage.  We had melded into one.  

Margaret was thinner than I recall her being, her hair seemed thicker and her voice more wispy than ever.  She flaunted her diamonds and immediately after blowing air kisses all around, told us of all her recent travels, her husband’s new multi-million dollar contract and the new coastal house they had bought for entertaining.  I knew right away why Vincent had chosen me over her.  Margaret’s father was a mechanic and her mother a hairdresser, but they wore their lower middle class as if it was wealth beyond comprehension.  She had found the perfect man for her.  I had found the perfect one for me.  Life had a way of sorting things out.  Her husband came to the table where we were gathered and immediately repeated all the information Margaret had just given us, embellishing it even more with stories of all the jewelry he had bought her and how he had always chosen the best for her, as she deserved the best.  Within an hour, I realized this was her fourth husband and wondered if it would be her last.  It was hard to tell if everything was bought and paid for, or only their stories were bought and paid for with a marriage license.  Enough of her, I was ready to get out of here.  I had visited with all the ones I cared for and some I did not care for and some that I realized tonight I liked more than I thought and others who I liked less than I could ever have imagined.  Lorraine, another noveau-rich girl, who was in her third marriage, sat with Margaret while they told stories of all their wealth, each one trying to one-up the other.
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There is always one more imbecile than you counted on
Sam
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« Reply #9 on: July 06, 2006, 10:50:07 PM »

Tylergal,
I know you were ill yesterday, I hope you are soon well enough to continue the story. I still think you need to send to a publisher.
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Just a swinging with the tribe
Tylergal
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« Reply #10 on: July 07, 2006, 03:29:51 AM »

From the time Lorraine sat down, I knew I would no longer have to sit and listen to these two pontificate about their glamorous lives, that I could slip away and they would never notice because they had each other.  Just as Margaret was getting into her last shopping spree to Paris, I did just that, I slipped away and joined Bryan, Rod and Nell who were talking politics.  I wished I would not do that but I seem to be particularly attracted to political discussions.  I would be able to judge right off where they stood.  It was a long way from where I had been raised to the political circles I had traveled in and then “slipped out of,” and very few of the ones here knew that.  Patsy knew.  Sandra knew but Sandra was so self-absorbed that she felt herself indeed the First Lady and had some impediment of some kind not stood in her way, she would have been.  That’s Sandra.  She always had an impediment in the way of her great achievements.  I wanted to tell her she spent too much time entertaining and then gossiping with and about those she entertained but it was none of my business.  Sandra was what she really wanted to be. Rod was discussing the upcoming presidential campaign and I thought I would eavesdrop.  He had done a biography page for his our reunion publication that he included in the packet we had all gotten, and his awards and they were certainly impressive.  Rod was never one to over-extend his curriculum vitae, just the truth and the truth was certainly impressive.  He was one of the major planners of the Gulf War.  (That he might not appreciate.  He is a retired general).  His biography included the days of growing up in a cotton mill village, the son of a foreman in a factory to all kinds of accolades received as part of our military.  He retired during the Clinton administration and took a teaching position at the University of Tennessee.  He was answering questions but not ad libbing much.  I expect that was part of his top-secret training.  He knew when to answer questions and how and not to over-extend the answer sessions.  He was still a very handsome man.  He was first married to a classmate who he divorced later on for infidelity.  That was not in his CV but Sandra would have included if she could.  He married Babs, Patsy’s adversary and Patsy had married someone that she met when she was working in Washington.  She and her husband had lived in the same neighborhood in Fairfax as Rod and his former wife. Patys’s marriage had gone well and they had three lovely children. Unfortunately her husband, Sam, had died of lung cancer at an early age, which was believed to be secondary to the Agent Orange of Vietnam.  

Mesmerized by Rod’s impressive career, the ever-inquisitive and intellectual Bryan was asking more questions than I could ever have thought to ask, but my brain was drained from all the questions that were on the verge of popping out for everyone here.  Several others were gathered around to listen as he was always interesting.  Rod and I had been sweethearts back in ninth grade.  Rod was not a very good dancer but he tried and because that was what I wanted to do, we danced.  A smile must have lighted my eyes as I recalled his struggles with dancing and trying to be as suave as the other guys who were no intellectual match for him, but he felt he had to measure up in every way, like Buddy, John and James.  

I was trying to fathom why Babs would have felt the need to seek out Earl as a lover when she had Rod.  Rod might not dance well but this is adult life and he is an excellent catch for any woman.  I wondered if the woman he was married to now appreciated him more than Babs apparently had.  Perhaps there were things about their marriage that I did not know that drove her to finding respite in the arms of the ugly awkward Earl.  I felt sure Earl could not dance, and in fact, felt he was more comfortable behind a plow than on a dance floor.  He was the stereotypical farmer, more so than Chuck Collins.  Chuck was a gentleman farmer.  Chuck farmed on paper and others did the labor.  Earl was a laborer farmer, I felt sure of that, but then maybe I do not know the adult Earl.  Babs obviously does.  

With other conversations moving along slowly, all females except for Margaret and Lorraine gathered on the deck above the veranda drank beer and talked about our children, our silly experiences with and without our children.  Nancy told us about how she had been married eight times to two different men.  She was now contemplating leaving husband #2 who she had married four times and going back to husband #1 for the fifth time.  She spoke of it in a cavalier manner, as if it was a pair of shoes that hurt her feet and she would wear the other pair until she got tired of them.  Both men she married were classmates and neither was here.  I expect like Vincent, they had more productive matters which needed attending or opted not to have all the jocular comments that would be made about them being husbands-in-law.  

Many guests left to attend the homecoming football game but as many remained here, perhaps for the same reason as I, just too bone-tired and no particular interest in a high school football game where one does not know the participants.

When the night finally came to a close, I found myself so tired and weary, I was unsure if I would make it back to the motel for fear of falling asleep.  

The drive was short as I had a lot to think on.  Erma had told me she thought we were staying at the same motel.  I had hoped I would not encounter her tonight.  I liked Erma. She was always nice, never pretentious, but I did not have time for her tonight.  It seemed her life had taken a different turn entirely from what others expected.  Erma was the late life child of sharecroppers, who already had grown married children when she was born.  She had little in the way of attention and even less in material things.  Her father had lost his sharecropper contract for the Buckhannons when we were in fourth grade and my grandparents hired them to work on our farm.  They rented a house not far away and many days Erma and I would play after our chores were done.  Erma had a lot of cooking and cleaning to do, but without the help of her mother.  I had plenty to do but my grandmother was always there helping me and doling out chores that were easier than hers, and teaching me how to do things in a more simplistic manner.  Erma had no guidance and everything took her forever, so most of her time was spent sweeping or mopping, washing dishes or cooking, and washing clothes in two iron pots that sat side by side with bubbling water over an open wood fire.  She had long poles that looked to be old oars from boats that she punched the clothes with.  She would take an oar and pull a pair of overalls from one pot to the next.  I never understood that but I suppose one probably had soap in it and the other did not, so she was washing and rinsing.  My grandmother was always worried about her getting burned, but was not quick to get involved as they seemed a very proud but poor family who wanted to handle their own matters, in every way.  

Their first Christmas living nearby, I had drawn Erma’s name for the Christmas party.  My mother wanted to give her clothes but my grandmother was totally against that, thinking they would that as a condescending gesture.  Mother chose a beautiful tea set which she wrapped with crinkled up aluminum foil, made a lace bow from her fabric closet and placed glued-on silver bells all along the package’s upper surface.  It was a beautiful package, so carefully created by Mother.  Those were the days before Christmas wrap was so commercial and mother felt she could make more beautiful packages than those offered in the 5&10-cent stores.  Erma was not a pretty child.  She had more freckles than her dog had on its belly, which were many.  She had blond hair that was truly the color of dishwater after many greasy plates had gone through it but she had a beautiful smile and happy eyes that smiled when she greeted you.  She liked to read and had a creative imagination that she had gained from reading books.  My Uncle Till and Aunt Pauline were often paring down their library, which was vast and always let me have the books they had read.  After I culled them, I gave Erma the leftovers.  Her family did not seem to mind books, because they knew even with their limited knowledge that Erma’s gateway to a better life would be through books.  

I stopped at the gasoline station nearest the motel to fill my car’s thirsty tank before I found myself like Abigail who gave out of gas on the way to the Collins’ house.  I could see in the short distance that the motel was well lit outside so I was not afraid to unpack in the night and go inside, as it looked very nice and well lighted.  I slipped the credit card in, signed the ticket and drove on over to the motel.  First things first and most importantly I needed to call Vincent.  I knew he would be concerned about me since I had not called and wondered why he had not called me but as soon as I picked up my cell phone, I knew.  I had shut it off.  Darn.  I listened to my voice messages and he had called, concerned as he could not get in touch.  I called him back, woke him but he was happy to hear from me and did not seem to mind that I had awakened him.  He had some things to tell me and I did not bother to go into my day.  He had met many of my classmates as he once dated Margaret who first introduced him to a few of them, but he was more interested in telling me about a new contract he had gotten, and how excited he was and wanted to share it with me.  I was joyous for him and let him know.  We did phone kisses and good nights, and I was ready to put my day behind me.  Having taken the time to unpack most of my clothes earlier, I had little to do but brush my teeth, take a quick shower and slip into a nightgown and slumber.  Sleep did not seem to know that I needed it very badly tonight and as I lay there I thought back on that summer with Buddy.  It was really hard to put all this behind me.  I loved Vince so much but that summer with Buddy was magical, young tender love, so sweet, so warm and everything young love should be.  I did not like to think about the termination of our year of sharing nor the reasons for it.  I just wanted to think back on that summer.

Grandmother and Topaz had done a mystical job of making this a beautiful birthday.  I had spent days driving, practicing so I could get my license, and finally I walked in on that day and saw Buddy waiting in line.  We were both getting our licenses at the same time.  It seemed like destiny.  Mother had told me to dress like a responsible person so the state trooper would see me in a more positive light and although I thought that was silly, I had worn a white button-up blouse with three-quarter sleeves, a beige skirt that fit neither too tight nor too loose.  

Buddy stood up and smiled.  “I knew you would be here.  I just knew it.”  I know that I knew he would be here, but I had really not thought about it.  I wish I had, I would have worn something less matronly.  

“Oh, well fancy meeting you here today.  How did you know it was my birthday?”  We both laughed and he asked me if his mother had driven my grandmother and mother crazy yet about our joint party.  

I responded that it was probably just the opposite.  He grinned and said, “No, no, you just don’t know my mother.  She likes your grandmother.  She thinks your grandmother can do anything.”  

Without a long wait, the clerk called Buddy’s name and jumped up, started to walk off and then turned around and said, “Wish me luck.”  I grinned back and told him I was the one who would need the luck.  That would be the last time I would see him until that night.  

Soon after Buddy was called, so was I.  We went in separate rooms, separate cars and by the time I returned from the parallel parking workout, he had already gone.  I got my license and rushed out the door where Randall was waiting for me.  He was home on leave from the military and volunteered to bring me.  He only wanted to bring me so he could drive mother’s new car but so he could get out of any work, I felt sure; nonetheless, he was good enough to drive me as I had to have a licensed driver. I thought he would let me drive home, but to my surprise he chose to. I could not be disappointed.  Today was my birthday and I was a newly licensed driver.  We had not had a family car very long.  Grandfather had a truck and a car.  Mother mostly drove grandfather’s old car and we used it more or less like it belonged to us, but it did not.  Grandfather liked to walk so he walked almost everywhere he went except to pick up workers and farm supplies in his truck.  Grandmother rarely went any place except the small amount of shopping she did because mother did most of it and was in and out a lot, so grandmother chose to make mother lists and let her pick up items.  

When we returned home, grandmother had finished with the cakes and they were displayed on the dining room table, but mother was complaining that she thought one had more frosting than the other, so grandmother was trying to get everything done to mother’s specifications.  

Mrs. Buckhannon was responsible for everything but the cakes and punch.  Mrs. Buckhannon was providing soft drinks, barbecue, hamburgers, hot dogs, finger foods and several cooks.  She had rented the kitchen from the Lake so we would order as if we were at a restaurant from a menu she had made.  They had opened up the seating area and it was going to be quite the evening.  

Mother was busy chatting and directing, running back and forth from the public area to the kitchen, back to her design room, her bedroom, but found time to tell me she had something she wanted me to see, what she wanted me to wear.  I rolled my eyes as mother headed to the closet to get my new attire while grandmother looked at me, put her finger to her lips and said, “shhh.”  

Grandmother asked Randall if he would be good enough to peel some potatoes for stew while she finished pounding the meat.  I asked if there was anything I could do and Randall gave me a snide look as if he thought there was too much being made of my birthday and he had not expected me even if I offered, to do anything.  I asked grandmother if the carrots or onions needed peeling.  She asked me to do the carrots but told me she did not want me to do the onions, as my hands would smell like onion for the party.  I was beginning to see where mother had adopted some of grandmother’s ways.  It never mattered before today.  

Grandfather walked into the kitchen asking if his ‘lunch’ was ready and grandmother told him today she would warm him some leftovers as she had a lot to do and stew would be for supper.  As usual there was no disagreement but Randall said he was hungry and did not want leftovers, so he would go down to the city grill and get himself a burger.  He looked at me as if to say, “don’t you wish you could do that?”  I did not return any nod or sign of agreement.  I knew he was being a big girl’s blouse today.  Gee.  He’s my big brother.  One would think he would be happy for me, but not Randall.  I am sure when he walked out the door he was pouting about not having his 16th birthday party at the Lake.  

Mother came running through the door yelling, “Where’s Randall going?” “I told him not to leave.  I need to go to the dry cleaners, and I need the car.”  Over her arm was draped a laundry bag that most likely contained “what I was going to wear.”  She looked perplexed.  She turned to grandmother and said, “How could you just let him walk out like that with the car when I need it and I need to talk to him.  I don’t want him upset that he does not have a warm meal.”  

Grandmother kept on with her busy work while granddaddy was washing up.  I was trying to help grandmother with the leftovers and quite snappily I turned to mother and said, “Whatcha got in the bag?”  The look in her eyes remained the same, wide-eyed but perplexed.  She looked older right now than I had ever thought her to be.  She seemed lost and out of control.  I knew she was upset thinking that Randall felt slighted.  I walked over to her, put my arm around her waist and told her she looked quite lovely today.  She briefly smiled and told me to look in the bag.  I felt that she was going to make a big presentation of it but instead she handed me the bag and walked to her bedroom, as if she had things to do that did not involve me.  

Grandmother shook her head and told me to “let her be.”  She tried to console me by telling me that mother was just tired from all the painting, more work than she expected this time of year and apprehensive about the party.  I trusted her judgment but I was worried about mother.  Grandmother told me to go into my bedroom and open the bag that mother had given me and to try it on so that if it needed alteration she could get it done before this afternoon.

I took the bag into the bedroom, laid it on the bed and slipped out of my skirt and blouse knowing that I needed to make haste trying it on.  I opened the bag and the most beautiful surprise, the beautiful pants set that mother had been designing was for me.  A beautiful peacock blue, Nehru collared, sleeveless waistcoat blouse with an open split down the back which was a whole 12 inches longer than the front, that buttoned every inch up the front with colored pearl buttons in the identical color of the fabric.  The slacks were of the same soft fabric but were lined.  It was not only one of the most beautiful things mother had ever designed, but the most colorful thing and she had done it for me.  I quickly put it on and it fit in every way.  Just perfect and the color was my color.  I knew it when I put it on.  She knew I would like it because my bust would look smaller.  I had never had anything this color.  Mother liked for me to wear more subdued colors and tailored clothes, and this was her coupe de gras for me.  I took it off, carefully hung it on a hanger but did not want to put it back in the bag.  Instead I hung it in the closet doorway just so I could stare at it for a few minutes.  As I stood there looking at it I cried, because the day I had seen mother designing it I thought she was doing it for Jacqui, who was her favorite model, someone who wore anything beautifully, and to think how selfish I was that same day for agreeing to this party.   I had been hoping against hope that she could forgive me.  She seemed sad all afternoon although I apologized and tried to make things right.

The phone kept ringing and it was always Sandra, Marie, Patsy, Jayna, Katie or one of the girls wanting to know what I was wearing.  I had to tell them something that mother designed for me but I did not have to tell them what it was, how beautiful it was nor what color.  I chose to lie.  I really did not like to do this, but I was afraid if I told them, they would all be out shopping that afternoon to try to find something equally beautiful and I wanted just that little bit of my party to be my own.  I knew this was more Buddy’s party than mine but I could at least have the pleasure of being the most beautifully dressed.  

Instead of being honest, I told them it was a blue pants set, something mother had done that I had not seen, just knew it was blue so I would wear silver sandals which would look fine with any color of blue.  I just knew they were expecting me to wear powder blue linen pants and a dowdy powder blue shirt blouse, so they did not question any further.  

The afternoon passed fast and Randall was still not home.  I hoped I would not have to go to the party in granddaddy’s old car but it was looking more like it.  Granddaddy had already delivered the cakes and punch to Mrs. Richards at the Lake for her to set up.  All I had to do was get dressed and I so hoped I would not have to ride to the Lake in granddaddy’s old car with my peacock blue silk pants set and gold pumps.  Mother had chosen a gold bracelet that was several feet long and wrapped from my elbow to near my shoulder with a snakehead, very Cleopatra looking.  Earrings were small dot gold with no fanfare.  The pants set and bracelet were to be the window dressing and the earrings just to fill voids.  

Even tonight I was not allowed to wear bright fingernail polish.  Mother made me wear clear fingernail polish all the time but she did acquiesce and allowed me to do French nails tonight.  I felt as though I was ready for Fifth Avenue.  

We spent the last two hours trying to decide what to do with my hair.  Mother did not like “fixed hair”.  She always preferred a very casual look but tonight she was wrangling with my hair.  She did not want me to wear it in my usual bob look but that was the best we could do.  I had worn the same hair cut because mother wanted me to since I was in first grade.  

Just before I was ready to cry, Randall showed up and when mother asked him where he had been and why he did not check back in with a phone call because she was worried, he smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why, were you afraid Cinderella would turn into a pumpkin before Buddy saw her?”

Mother responded by saying that she was worried he might have had a wreck.  She never said a thing to him about the comment he made as if I was not in the room, as if I had no feelings, only that she was worried about him.  My grandmother turned and walked away, I believe in order to not have to speak to the situation as she would have said, “it’s none of my business.”  

Just as we were about to don our “coach,” I had to make one last check.  I was convinced that I was ready for this event, physically but maybe not emotionally.  My grandparents told me how pretty I looked and grandmother reminded that “pretty is as pretty does,” so “act pretty and be nice to everybody.”  “Show gratitude, child.”

If my grandmother and grandfather thought I looked pretty, mother must have thought otherwise as she was quiet and kept reminding me about putting on lipstick at frequent intervals, “give yourself a blood transfusion…”  “don’t forget to wash your hands often.  In hot weather, your fingernails get dirty easy without doing anything, so wash up frequently.”  

Randall said he did not want to drive me, but mother insisted he take me and if he did not want to take me alone, she would accompany us.  Whew, I was glad.  I just did not like Randall today and was becoming less fond of mother.

For all the unspoken words about how nice I looked from Randall and Mother, Topaz Buckhannon and Buddy made me feel like I really was Cinderella.  Buddy and Topaz and even Mr. Buckhannon kept assuring me I was beautiful.  Mr. Buckhannon made up for all the deficiencies in mother’s mood tonight by commending her on her work, her ability to get so much done and the party.  Of course, Topaz probably was biting her tongue and feeling like she had done it all but mother and grandmother had struggled with the cakes and they were wonderful.  Enough cake for 500 people.  The cakes were made to look like our high school and it was quite a fete with the limited time grandmother and mother had their limited resources to get it done so perfectly.  I could see why Randall might be jealous of the cakes and the party.  After all, they looked professional.  Mother had opted not to let the bakery make them because she wanted them the way she wanted them and no one but grandmother seemed to be able to do what mother wanted done.

Before I got swept up in my thoughts of that wonderful night many years ago, my motel phone rang.  I was in a daze.  I let it ring twice before picking it up, but decided to because it was probably Vincent, and his voice would sure sound nice to me right now, bring back the reality of the wonderful life we had had together, even with its up’s and down’s but it was not Vincent.  It was Erma.  She was wide awake and very excited, chattering away as if she had just won the lottery.
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« Reply #11 on: July 07, 2006, 12:08:49 PM »

Oh Tyler, the pants outfit sounds lovely.

As a very young adult I saw the movie Love Is A Many Splendered Thing.
it starred William Holden and Jennifer ? Jones I think. She played a Chinese Dr. She wore these beautiful dresses. I can't think of the name of them now, slit sides and Mandarin collars. I want to say Samsuns but not sure if that is right.
 My neighbor was a seamstress and I hired her to make me a royal blue silk one. The dress was beautifully made but she would not make it as fitted as I wanted so I never wore it. I had this young shapely figure and wanted to show it off. LOL

A very few years later the chemise was all the rage. I found the guys actually liked them leaving a little to the imagination what was underneath. LOL You may not be old enough to remember but chemise's were semi fitted at the hips but not waistline.

I was glad to read the next chapter in your book. Keep it coming.

Sam
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« Reply #12 on: July 07, 2006, 08:57:48 PM »

That Chinese style dress is called cheongsam. Sorry no edit button.
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« Reply #13 on: July 10, 2006, 02:11:22 AM »

Stop shouting, Erma.  Let me wake up. I am half asleep.  Let me wake up.  

From the other end of my phone was coming protests and a very excited woman telling me that she never told me to leave me alone when I needed her help.  Oh, I guess not, so I would listen.  Wondering why I came here in the first place to rehash the past even if with only myself was something I should have let lie there with the locker’s padlock many years ago.  

“Miranda, I always listened to you, no matter how late, and I never told anyone what you told me. “

“Okay, okay, Erma, what do we need to talk about – I mean what do I need to listen to?”

“Well, you need to listen to me.  I saw you when you drove into the portico and I knew it was you and I wanted to speak really bad but I did not have the time.  I saw where you had parked your car tonight and knew what room you were staying in.  I just called directly to your room rather than going through the operator.  We need to talk.  I have tons to tell you.”

“Erma, would it be all the same to you if I made some coffee, brushed my teeth and invited you to my room to talk?”  

Erma agreed, and I brushed my teeth while putting on coffee.  Before I dressed, Erma was tapping lightly on my door so as to not awaken anyone else who might be there for sleep.  I called to the door and asked for the password.  Of course, it was “Erma here.”  I opened the door to find Erma still wide-awake, looking as though she was only in the midst of the day when by all appearances I was in the middle of a normal night.

I asked Erma to sit down but she hovered over me while the coffee finished perking and I poured each of us a cup.  Although Erma’s demeanor was still in midday, her makeup had worn down and she was still lovely and I thought even more so.  I saw her freckles now as more charming and less glowing, as a subtlety to her skin that had endeared with age.  She was very fair skinned and her hair very thick but she had cut it in a more appealing style and no longer appeared unkempt.  My first guess is that Erma had chosen to have a bust enhancement and had maintained a rigorous diet and exercise program, as well as frequent trips to the manicurist, pedicurist and health & fitness spa.

I was still dressed in my silk aqua colored short gown and she looked at me, laughed and said, “What happened, you lost your boobs?” As polished as she had become on the outside, her ability to cut me down to size had not changed.  She was always able to do that, as she was quick to remind me that the only thing special about me was her friendship.  I was the only friend Erma had those years of elementary and high school who chose to see her as more than a sharecropper’s daughter, but she was more than that and I did not mind her barb about my boobs but rather I put it right back at her.  “Yes, and I am happy to see you found them.”  She laughed and I knew she was the same Erma.  She could dish it, but she could also take it and I liked that about her.  

“Sit down, sit down,” I said to her in an almost demanding fashion.  She obeyed only because she wanted to and over the next two hours she told me that she had been having an affair with Chuck Collins for several years.  No one else knew and she had to tell me.  She felt guilty through the years not sharing with me because I was the only person who had shared everything with her; no one else gave her the opportunity to be trusting.  She went on to tell me about many other things that I did not want to hear.  I wanted to leave here knowing no more about this small town than I already knew.  I wanted to take a shower tomorrow morning and return to Vincent, my safe harbor, in a storm.  

It seemed as though Erma had left soon after graduation, taken a secretarial job a few hundred miles away, large city, where she had done well and had lost the ugly little girl with thick dishwater blond hair and freckles, the haphazard way she dressed and neglect of her body, as she had climbed the corporate ladder, to become who she is today by being disciplined, something she knew a lot about.  I wondered how disciplined one must be to be carrying on an affair with Chuck Collins, whose wife Sherry, had been so loyal to him, had given him the best of her life and two beautiful children, but I bit my tongue and listened.

Erma was working in Miami when Chuck had called on her business as a prospective client.  She had given him the business and obviously they made the connection over many hours of dinner, cocktail and negotiating.  She told me it was a big plus for her company and for Chuck.  I tried to digest all this.  Instead of giving me the opportunity to ask questions and punch holes in her “doing the right thing,” I just listened.  In the midst of this story, she told me that Linda’s baby did not belong to Alex, it belonged instead to Glynn (more classmate stories of old).  Linda and I were friends in high school and I knew she was in love with Glynn although she married Alex.  Alex was stable and Glynn was not.  Glynn was the “bad boy,” the one who although very popular and very capable, ended up doing very dismally in life, marrying some woman he met while he was in the military, whose morals at best were no more than that of the streetwalkers who drove the smokers and sent signals to the men who lived along the oak-lined streets in this small town.  Alex and Linda married after graduating college.  They had lived together for approximately six years when Linda’s wanderlust outpaced Alex’s income and ability to make her happy.  It was said that she had several affairs with local men, but I did not know that to be fact, but what I did know for fact was that she had ended up marrying a man who was 10 years her senior, whose entrepreneurship had brought him to this town, where he bought the hospital, later selling it for a large profit and moving to the Gulf Coast where he invested heavily, and became a multimillionaire from casinos, liquor stores, motels, malls and banking.  I had read in the newspapers that he had gotten into some kind of trouble in a partnership he had formed with the Secretary of State, who was later convicted and served out most of her remaining life in prison, while he went scot-free.  I knew Linda was married to him at the time, and I also knew from conversations with Linda that hers and Mr. Thomas’ marriage had been one of convenience for them both.  She was a beautiful woman, knew how to entertain and had the morals of a cat in heat.  She would acquiesce when it came to morality, in order to live the good life, and she lived it with Mr. Thomas until one day that richer, more wonderful man came along.  By now, Linda has been married to Alex, given birth to Glynn’s babies who bore Alex’s surname, married Mr. Thomas, the wealthy entrepreneur and dumped him for some Texan whose fortunes made Mr. Thomas appear a pauper.  That was one of many tales that Erma would share with me, most of which I had already heard, but what was most troubling was Erma’s relationship with Chuck.  

I never cared much for Chuck and never trusted him much but I respected Sherry.  She was a serious student and a good person, and I was upset now to find my good friend with whom I had trusted many secrets, was not only having an affair with Chuck but planning to make it common knowledge tomorrow, the day of the parade.  Oh, the parade.  It would be almost time for the parade before I got through with lunch at Katie’s house.  

Katie and Gil bought the old Ward mansion.  She and her husband Gil had retired here after many years of absence.  Not being satisfied with the retirement life they found on the Gulf Coast and in New Orleans, they chose to return to their hometown.  Gil was older than Katie but not by many years.  Katie was almost the anointed one who would live in the stately old mansion.  Her parents were restauranteers here when restaurants fed the masses of mill and field workers who came into town for lunch or for dinner after work.  They served the Lions and Kiwanians, their groups of privileged people.  Katie’s family owned the restaurant who had the highest class clientele and her mother always felt she belonged with those gracing her dining room, not as owner/waitress/cook but as “one of them.”  Katie’s father had not been the successful entrepreneur he had set out to be nor that her mother wanted him to be, but had settled in this little town with a restaurant and family grocery store that sold groceries with inflated prices to the mill and field workers on credit, adding an even heavier burden to the struggling class of farm hands and textile workers.  

Katie had married Gil who was from a more affluent family, as family who had been able to send him through medical school.  He practiced in Durham, North Carolina, but they opted to retire to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans, where they had bought two houses, one summer and one winter.  I never knew the reason they left but I always guessed it was because Katie’s name was not one easily recognized on St. Charles when all the movers and shakers planned their social events, and Katie would indeed want to be the head of the social register, and moving back to her hometown would ensure her of being able to be the head planner of parties and most invited guest if she could figure out some way to find a larger home than the one left to Sandra by her parents, who for the time being was holding that matriarch title.  A contest was brewing like an old cauldron full of juicy gossip for the title of town matriarch.  Sandra would not want to lose that which she had and Katie would not want to be back here without nudging someone out of that most cherished title.

My bets were on Katie.  Not that Katie was not a gossip and every bit as sinister in making her moves into the higher echelons of society by her diligence and undermining but she would use subtle tactics as to appear to be the lamb in this little sparring competition.  

I had told Erma I would have breakfast with her, and it was my hope that over a cup of decent coffee and muffins, I could reason with her about what she had in store for Sherry and the homecoming guests.  

Sleep came easy as Erma walked out, I am sure feeling she had an accomplice, but I was not an accomplice in what she wished to accomplish, but an accomplice in trying to have her leave town with her dignity intact.  I did not want her to taint her image with these people and although they are not worth it, I felt Erma was.  Somehow Erma had talked herself into believing life could be beautiful with Chuck Collins and all she had to do was carry out her plan of making her relationship with Chuck known about town and Sherry would quietly walk away from Chuck and all that they had created together.  I knew that Erma was letting her imagination overrule her normally good judgment.  

At 7 a.m. my phone rang, and it was Erma wanting to know if I was going to meet her for breakfast.  I was almost ready for the date.  Since this would be a day of riding on floats and doing battle with what could be obstacle courses, loading and unloading, decorating and dismantling these flat-beds trailers pulled by tractors, I chose something as comfortable:  a pair of jeans, a white linen see-through blouse with a white tank top underneath, sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet and ring.  I could not compete with Margaret’s and Lorraine’s diamonds, even if they came from Home Shopping Network, so I chose to wear what looked good with what I wore, packed something to wear for dinner that evening and made my way to the dining room where I met Erma.  

She must have felt I was not gung-ho about her plan to out her relationship with Chuck because I sensed she was not as comfortable with me as she had been the night before after having had a few drinks of wine.  She was more subdued.  I was unsure what to make of this, if she was anticipating I was going to lecture her or if she had re-thought her game plan.  

She looked very delicately pretty this morning with her make-up covering her freckles but not such that they were totally hidden.  Her lips were soft pink and her eyelashes fluttered with golden brown mascara that complimented her gray-green eyes.  It might have been the soft pink cotton sweater that had subdued her and she did look very genteel and feminine in this with a pair of winter white slacks.  I wanted to remember her this way and I wanted to remember her doing the right thing.  She was very pretty.  I could see why Chuck would be more physically attracted to her than he was his matronly wife, Sherry, whose humped shoulders in early life, had now gotten to the point her whole body seemed to be going to her knees and the mousy gray hair was something that needed attention.  Erma was taller than I and with all this new-found information about her, with her healthy glow in those white pants and pink shirt, I almost felt intimidated.  She sat bolt upright in her chair as I took the first drink of my coffee, and said, “You don’t think I should do this, do you?  Just tell me the truth.  I will not be mad.”  

I took another sip of my coffee without looking up and stumbling for words, I gave my best answer.  “No, I do not think you should do this.”

She asked me to remember all the times she had supported me in some hair-brain schemes I had, and I was quick to remind her I was 16 then.  This was more than 30 years later.  I was a child then, I reminded her, we both were.

She countered with “I never told anything you told and I never disagreed with you.  I let you do all those things, and I was your partner in crime.”  

“Erma, having a relationship with a married man of 25 years who has a loving wife and family is a little different from a teen-age girl and boy who think they are in love and wanting to meet and asking someone to help them find that time together.”

She replied.  “It was all against your mother’s wishes and Topaz’s, and you know nobody wanted you two to be together, nobody.  Everyone knew you were making a fool of yourself but I supported you because I knew you loved him and I was your friend. Nobody was surprised that your mother and Topaz brought that to an end, that Buddy was paid to dump you.”

“So, Erma, now that we are adults, you think I should support you in ruining what remains of your life, when you would hate me later if I condoned what you want to do?”

“Well, because we are older, I am older, Chuck is older, and we are more mature than you were.  We have only a few good years left at best.  I have thought about this.  Chuck does not have the wherewithal to tell Sherry, and he does not want to hurt his children.  He loves me.  He does not love Sherry.”

“Oh, Erma, your argument is ludicrous.  If Chuck loved you, he would tell Sherry to take a hike, give her half of their worth, pack the kids off to some nice boarding school or college and live with you.  Chuck does not care for you that way.  He wants the stroking.  You stroke his ego.  You are a beautiful woman.  You are very intelligent.  He likes having that on the side, but he does not want to leave Sherry and the children, no way.”

“Chuck has told me that he will leave her and I wanted to ask you to tell Katie and Sandra, so they would start the gossip ball rolling, and when confronted I will be honest with everyone and that includes being honest with Sherry.”

Having heard that, I almost spewed my coffee.  “You asked me and I am your friend, but you are nuts, Erma. You would want to live with a man who cares so little for you that he cannot muster the courage to tell his wife “goodbye.” He is playing you like a violin.  He wants to keep the great contracts he has with your business, and he knows without you, they are gone.  He wants the comfort of a wife who is there for him when he comes home from his lengthy outings with you, but moreover, he wants to keep all that land, all that money he has stock-piled and pass it on to those children who bear his name.”  

Not quick to concede defeat, Erma asked, “So why would Chuck ask me to tell you about us if he was not serious?”

“Oh, Erma, he knows I will not tell but I am not sure he wants me to know, but if he did, I think he would have told me or he has ulterior motives for my knowing.  He knows me that well. He knows I never participated in gossip and never would do anything unexpected or mean.”  

“Then you have chosen to be friends with Sherry and no longer with me?”

“No, Erma, right now I am the best friend you have in the whole world.  I am the one who is a big enough friend to tell you the truth.  I hoped that you would be able to see that.”

With that, I got up from the table, paid my check and walked to my car while Erma sat there glaring in the distance. I opened the door, pushed my seat back and sped away to Katie’s house where I knew we would have a nice luncheon in the midst of a lot of bragging and gossip.  I would know who we were going to talk about by seeing who was absent from this gathering.

There must have been more than 100 people at Katie’s house.  Her very long driveway was full of cars, which meant the parking area in the back was filled up.  I could see smoke coming from the grills set up in the back.  I locked my car on leaving as I do at home, although no one would steal it, not here, not in front of Katie’s house, but out of habit, I did it anyway.  I walked up the long brick walkway, which seemed longer than I recall it being but in my youth I never paid much attention to a long walk.  I was sure now it must be at least 12-feet wide x 300 feet from the street to her front porch, a porch which encircled the large house as if it was arms enveloping it to protect it from those who might want to intrude.  I had not been in this house in many years.  Having always thought Katie had terrible taste, I was anxious to see if her style of interior design had changed as much as her taste in clothing, which was certainly a vast improvement.  There must have been 40 or 50 people on the large wrap porch, which held dozens of white wicker chairs and two large swings on either side porch.  There was so much banter and talk going on it was difficult to even know to whom to speak first.  I made the long climb up the steps to the porch and did not recall there being that many steps.  Youth ignores the long haul ahead while age brings it into focus.  This house had dozens of rooms.  It was a large Victorian with a lot of fretwork and gingerbread, which required many, many gallons of paint and constant care.  The exterior was so fresh and clean, so pretty with its dozens of planters full of fall chrysanthemums, the perfect compliment to the homecoming queen.  Katie was regarded as the nicest girl in our class.  I never understood the thinking but I never understood the thinking about much that went on here.  Katie had dated a boy who graduated with us, who was indeed a very bad boy.  If sex was not on his mind, his mind was switched to off, and if he was not drinking it was because he was already passed out drunk.  He spent more breaks in the bathroom smoking or drinking beer he had sneaked in than one could imagine, but he belonged to the right social group.  His parents walked and played in the right circles, and though he was a questionable character, it was okay for Katie to date him because he was from the “right stock.”  They had been boyfriend and girlfriend twosome since sixth grade and that continued on through high school.  

Katie’s mother was a huge woman, very big with dyed black hair, painted red lips, heavy rouge, and bright red lips that never parted for a smile, but her father was her polar opposite.  Her father was more subservient and very personable.  I never knew why her mother felt herself so much better than most people in this town, but that was always the case.  She gave one the sense she had come from old money but had not married into it but still held out hope that if she was snobby enough, there was hope her daughter would make it into the old money crowd, or at least the new money crowd.  Her mother was not only accepted by those with money but was one of their social friends, and on days when she was not serving up over-priced meals to the masses, she was entertaining from a beautiful colonial home that somehow they had managed to buy and maintain in style.  Katie remained small like her browbeaten father, wore his easy smile and the air of a higher class like her mother, as if they were a gift to the commoners.  She had inherited the best from her parents, very likeable like her father but untouchable like her mother.  She was small and attractive with beautiful blue eyes and mousy hair, which she had now learned to color and style.  I suppose the fact that her husband was a doctor made the house payments and hair color easier than it would have been in her youth.  It seemed her mother spent all the extra money for furnishings and hair dye and red lipstick for herself, as Katie was never well dressed, nor did she have a nice mane of hair, although as a teen, she started doing her own hair instead of her mother braiding it into pigtails or French braid as she had worn it in grammar school.  

I never knew when her break with Darrell came about, because the last I heard when I moved away was that they planned to be married when he finished college, and Katie was going to attend a business school with some of her friends who did not make it to college.  I doubted Katie’s family had the money to send her to college and felt that a secretarial job might open the doors to some businessman along the way.  Fate was better to Katie than that.  Somehow she had married Gil, who when I last heard was married to a nurse he had met while in medical school and who had a child by the nurse.  I was sure Katie would not share any of the sordid details of how she and Gil became a happily married couple but only the happy moments, possibly of how she had saved Darrell from himself and went on to bigger projects, by saving Gil from some greedy nurse who only got her degree to find a doctor.  Whatever she served up with lunch, I would take with a grain of salt, a large grain of salt, because I knew she would spin it for all it was worth.  That was the reality she chose, just as had her mother.  Live in that world and it will become you.

After many re-introductions and some new ones of classmates from the homecoming event at the high school, Katie asked if I would like to do the tour of her home.  Of course, I would love to.  (I was sure that was why everyone was asked to be here today, to stroke Katie’s ego).  We entered through the large center of the house to the right of a winding staircase and took our tour.  I tried to be in awe of her wonderful house, but I was not.  I had hoped it did not show but I was happy for the working elevator off the foyer.  The furnishings had a tawdry look to them and did not echo the period of the house, nor did the colors she had painted the house, and the kitchen cabinets were painted a flat red and which showed fingerprints, perhaps from little children hands, all along the bottom cabinets.  The bathrooms had been redone and were more Marilyn Monroe than Queen Victoria.  I cringed seeing what a mess she had made of this once grand home.  The Oriental and Persian rugs were among the few things that I could even abide and she told me how generous the Ward grandchildren had been to leave them.  (I wanted to smack my hand against my forehead and admit, “Now you tell me, the only thing in this house that is nice is what they left with the house.”  But I maintained my good manners throughout the morning).  No one talked about it.  No one noticed, or did they?  Was I the only one who noticed that she had absolutely destroyed the flavor of this beautiful home while emotionally patting herself on the back for the great job everyone told her she did of decorating it and how quickly and easily she transformed it into a lovely place.  Well, at least the den was bearable.  She said Gil had done the library and den combination himself and she wanted so much to have her input but since he paid the bills, she let him do it.  It was almost perfect.  Thank God, she had let Gil have some input into his den.  Beautiful bookshelves lined with all his medical books, old leather-bound journals, mementoes, a copy of the Bill of Rights, awards, a coin collection framed perfectly, some orchids that he grew where they got sunlight from the Palladian windows.  The study/den was adjacent to the kitchen.  The kitchen was quite large and housed a harvest table whose mahogany color fought with the oak of the woodwork.  

As new visitors arrived, each was carried on the tour.  I heard Gil telling one of the guests that they had not had to paint anything but the kitchen because the owners agreed to paint the whole house taupe before the deed was recorded in their names.  Taupe.  I just wondered why not just carry on with the rest of that porch and exterior paint and paint the whole thing white. Of course, it had occurred to me that everything outside was white and I was not opposed to that as I thought it gave the house a fresh look and I am not a purist who believes that the exteriors of Victorian houses need 13 colors to maintain their flavor.  I was aghast at the sharp contrast in the well-appointed home of Sherry Collins who had come from humble but proud beginnings and the tawdriness that Katie had given this once grand home.  I wondered if Katie got a pass on this just like everything else from grammar school to now.  I just wondered if her friends talked and giggled on the phone, making light of her to her back, or did they want to take her out and tar and feather her for ruining this landmark.  

If I thought too long on this, I might become nauseated.  Of course, as Katie darted back and forth from the grilling, to the kitchen, onto the tours and porch, she looked quite chic in her jeans and fire-engine red sweater.  I could almost picture her mother kissing the sweater and it becoming the color of her lips.  Oh, I must not be evil today.  The sweater was so near the same color as her mother’s lips but it was very becoming to Katie.  With her pretty blue eyes, slightly tanned skin and blond coif, she looked absolutely gorgeous in this color.  

It was really nice to see that Jayna, Nell, Nancy, Janet, Anna, and so many others who knew how to have fun without getting into gossip about their fellow classmates, who could turn themselves into the object of gossip with savoir faire and not leap into areas that should be forbidden were all gathering here today.  I enjoyed all the time I had with them and even Lorraine and Margaret were more amicable today.  Perhaps, they had unloaded on each other to the point over the last evening they were even tired of hearing themselves talk about themselves.  

There was not a soul there who did not laud Katie with praises, and fill her with more esteem than I felt was possible.  I almost reached the point of feeling sorry for her, on the chance that next week, Nell might tell her what a horrible job she had done of decorating the house, or have the historical police call her into account.  

Katie spoke perfect English and had a flair for making people feel welcome (until they heard what she said about them upon their departure the following days.  I knew that.  I recall spend-the-night parties with Katie when she was syrup-sweet with her fellow classmates until one went to the bathroom and she was quick to take the chance to gossip about them).    I supposed she inherited that from her mother, as well, secondary to what was said about her.

Katie dearly loved Buddy from first grade to which time she quit loving him and well, I am not sure until when she quit worshiping him.  I supposed I would find out today or maybe not.  

With the demeanor of a sailboat captain whose crew was safely aboard and who could walk about and glad-hand the crew, Buddy ascended the steps.  I walked away as I saw him coming toward the gathered crowd.  I really did not want to force him or myself into a difficult situation.  I grabbed Nell’s hand and asked her if there were some hamburgers we needed to turn.  She looked at me, smiled and gladly walked outside with me to the area that once was a beautiful garden, which was now a concrete sitting area surrounded by bamboo.  Oh, dear, it just got worse.  I wondered if we would next hear of oak trees being felled, and replaced with pine.  

Through the smoke of the grills and the bamboo plants, I saw Erma walking toward the back yard where she had caught up to Marie whose husband had not joined her today.  I honestly did not find that strange, because I knew he and Marie had probably been persecuted in this little down, since his father had gone to prison for molesting their children, and in little towns you are just as guilty of the crime if your DNA runs in the same blood line, regardless of whether it is a physical or moral match.

Erma and Marie seemed an unlikely pair, but I saw them nearing the back yard.  I seized this opportunity to get away from the smoke-filled area, back onto the porch where I could talk about high schoool football (one of my least favorite subjects).
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« Reply #14 on: July 11, 2006, 01:18:42 PM »

Ah, spared yet another bullet.  Jayna was engaging Erma in conversation and Lorraine was yakking it up with Marie.  Marie would have her perfect set-up if she could get Erma to divulge to her what Erma had told me.  Marie would like nothing better than to hear this story and shred Sherry’s live to pieces over this.  Marie would need no cause to do it.  Marie felt as though she had been discriminated against here, and perhaps she had, but Marie brought a lot of problems on her herself.  The situation with her children was horrible and that was not to be forgiven.  This was the act of a monster, and any monster that would do that to anyone, anyone’s child, deserved no forgiveness, but Marie still had her skeletons and though not wanting them exposed, she was more than willing to expose any number of other persons.  I knew that Marie did not love Buddy; there was no doubt in my mind.  Marie used that relationship as a stepping-stone, and the boulder was so big she could not push it away.  It got in the way of her plans.  Marie never loved anyone but Marie.  Perhaps the situation with her children had changed her.  I did not know.  I should not be assuming that Marie was still the same person I had known that would pick your pockets while a guest in your home, would prefer telling her side of the story while standing on her head as opposed to sitting straight up and telling the truth.  This could have been a turning point in Marie’s life.  Surely something so devastating would be a shattering event, one so horrific that a person might come to grips with her own frailties.  

Marie had gained more weight than many here but not to the point she was unattractive but it was obvious that she was no longer the petite siren she had been in high school.  Her dark brown, almost black eyes stilled pierced you as she talked as if she could not believe what you were telling her, instead of it being the other way around.

Of course, it was only proper that we would eventually greet each other with hugs and kisses and pretentious words, and we did.  We embraced as she looked into my eyes mentioning that I still looked as I always did and while doing so she looked into my eyes as if I was lying to her.  She had a triple thickness of black eyelashes that curled almost unnaturally but the curl was a most attractive curl and highlighted eyes that pierced one’s soul.  Although naturally sun-tanned, she had the look of someone who had been spending a great deal of time in the sun, whether at the beach, the farm or in the tanning bed, and it was very becoming and even her extra 30 pounds did not look bad.  She was almost credible as if the added weight gave her some measure of integrity, a more grown-up, more realistic housewife look.  She looked like a loving mother and wife. The story I had heard about her children and the trauma she had been through added to the extra 30 pounds gave me a reason to want to be her best friend if for only a few minutes, but I would not allow myself to be disarmed by her for fear of losing my rings or bracelet.  

As conversation moved from one grade of our lives, one teacher to another, one football game to another and losing, winning and parades, yearbooks and spend-the-night parties were discussed, Nell told me she had something she needed to discuss with me, something of great importance that involved the bridge near mother’s house and the renaming of the bridge, so we stepped outside, because I was afraid somehow or other, Randall was going to figure into this story.  I had no doubt.  All my worrying about Randall and a bridge would be put to rest when Nell whispered to me that I need to be careful of Erma, and keep my distance, that Erma had been having an affair with Chuck Collins for years, and although it was well known all over town, Sherry was always hurt when it was brought up or she had to be in the same room with Erma, and Nell having known through the years that Erma was a confidante of mine, wanted to warm me in advance.  “Knock me over with a feather” seemed such an inept way to explain how I felt.  Erma swore to me that Sherry did not know, that no one knew, only, she and Chuck and now myself and yet Nell is telling me this has been common information in town for many years.  I wondered who was yanking my chain, and I did not think I wanted to know.

Absolutely the bridge did fit in with her plans, as Nell wanted me to know there was some kind of controversial discrepancy about whom the bridge should be named for, my mother or her father.  Of course, the bridge should have been named for my grandfather, but who was I to argue.  

I felt like I needed a really big dose of Maalox whether I ate or not.  I was not only happy I no longer lived here, but happy that within a few hours I would leave here and hopefully I might never have to return.

It seemed like a good time for me to escape.  I still had time to do some things I had not done in a long time.  I looked out to the large sprawling lawn and saw that my car was in perfect location to make its way through the streets and away from here unnoticed.  I did take a minute to tell Nell I had to retrieve something from my car, and made my way through the crowd totally unnoticed, I was sure, except for Nell who always knew that I would not have left anything in the car that I would need at a time like this.  What could it be?  She knew there was a plan to my game but did not question it.  She looked at me, eyes searching up and down, so that she might be able to notice if I had added a piece of jewelry or donned a new pair of shoes on my return.  I knew her searching eyes were for complete identification of any new items I might add or the removal of one.
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« Reply #15 on: July 17, 2006, 10:55:29 PM »

More, More... I need more... LOL Laughing   Please???
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To accomplish great things we must not only act but also dream, not only plan but also believe.
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« Reply #16 on: July 18, 2006, 04:38:21 PM »

I just know she will, she won't leave us hanging, not our tyler  Wink
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I continue to stand with the girl.
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« Reply #17 on: July 18, 2006, 05:54:38 PM »

Quote from: "mrs. red"
OH... tyler..  I need to hear more!!!


me too!!  Tyler...more !
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Rest in Peace Caylee
Natalee, We will never forget.
Zahra, run with the Angels

PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES AND GET OVER IT!  It's not about you or me.....It's about the Missing and the Murdered
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« Reply #18 on: July 18, 2006, 05:55:43 PM »

Tyler please do not stop now.....more!!
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Rest in Peace Caylee
Natalee, We will never forget.
Zahra, run with the Angels

PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES AND GET OVER IT!  It's not about you or me.....It's about the Missing and the Murdered
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« Reply #19 on: July 19, 2006, 04:52:51 AM »

The houses along the streets were all manicured but even with the pleasant, cooler weather, and blue skies, no one was walking along the sidewalks.  I hoped that I had reached my car without any one noticing but even so, I could pretend not to see nor hear.  I had something I needed to do.  How fate was with me, I am not sure, but as I entered the car and turned the switch, no one accosted me.  I was nervous, but I was hungry and I knew all the faire at Katie’s house today would be something I would most likely not enjoy.  It would be fast grilled food and many finger foods.  I was growing tired of such and ready for a meal of vegetables.  I knew where I could find that.  This was after all the south, and everyone had vegetables for lunch whether at home or in a restaurant, but vegetables in restaurants were the normal.

I still felt the air all about, of loud voices, laughing, each one louder than the next with tales and memories of events from the past, a moment in time standing paralyzed in groups listening to who had the best recollection of the field goal that saved the game, the goal post that was torn down, the toilet paper roll at the principal’s house, the late night call made to the coach’s home when he made a bad call that caused the team to lose a game, the repercussions for the girls who were at that spend-the-night party that cold November night many years ago.  The smoke from the grill filled the air in the area near my car and I was sure all the groups were so engaged in conversation they had not noticed my exit through the smoke.  They were totally lost in a time to which they cannot return but one that mobilizes them in this moment, with tales and times that sound grander than they really were.

I was leaving Erma to her own designs.  Come what may, it was her call.  I had already been forewarned that her secret was no secret, and I wanted no part of it either way.

I was anxious to leave in a cloud of smoke, and without a grand exit.  The car was quiet and the din loud, making it easy to swoosh away from the curb unnoticed.  I drove to the corner, looked in my rearview mirror, and no one appeared to be watching.  The car was very warm and smelled of Chanel #5.  I loved the smell of Chanel cologne and leather automobile interiors. It was reminiscent of the past and remained my fragrance since youth. It was my signature cologne.  

Without clicking on the automatic turn signal, I made a left, went one block and looked to the right.  There was Buddy’s house, and it looked the same, frozen in time, with fresh paint and new shutters but they were still forest green and unlike my peers, it appeared that it had not aged.  The people I had left at Katie’s were like me, older but wanting to recall the past, but the times I was recalling were more sad than happy, and yet their memories were different from mine and all our memories will be far different from the students who will be riding in the parade today with young editions of the group that I was a part of.  Those who will escape when handed their diplomas have a future ahead of them and most of the ones who remain would be like Steve, Paul and David, old men who roam the streets, waving to the owners of the small businesses, where Monday is no different from Friday and 1950 no different from 2000.  It would always be the same.  It had always been and will always be.

I brought my car to a full stop so I could look at the house, so I could savor the days when this house was the most special house I had ever seen, ever known and although it looked the same, my feeling was different.  I questioned my own heart, knowing that Buddy no longer lived there, but if he did, would I feel the same, would it give me that ecstatic feeling I had felt when being there before.  I was not sure but it no longer seemed unapproachable, but familiar.  

Thinking back on our past, I knew it was all a terrible mistake.  But that did not stop my heart flutters and increased pulse race each time I saw Buddy.  It was no different from the night of the party when after all the guests had arrived and we were enjoying the evening, the master of ceremonies, Mr. Lewis, asked us to dance together as birthday celebrities. I had never danced with Buddy before.  We had sat together in movies but that was long before we danced in public and long, long before we danced with the opposite sex in public.

Buddy and I met at mid dance floor, as everyone watched.  We did a fox trot.  It was a perfect dance.  He was a great dancer, who knew how to make his partner look good.  At the end, he whispered to me, walked me to the side while others then swarmed the dance floor, asked me if he could fill my dance card.  I was probably red faced now from the dance, the weather and the excitement.  Feeling that he was being a gentleman and complimenting me on my dancing skills, I assured him that would be perfect, all the time saying with a smile, but not sure if he was serious or just being nice.

Next dance, he asked me to dance, and while we were dancing I told him I was flattered that he asked me to dance again and he reiterated that he wanted to fill my dance card, that he wanted to have the next dance with me forever.

We received compliments on our “performance,” but I was sure our friends, just being nice since it was our birthday and their sincerity would reappear as they awakened tomorrow morning.  

With haste, mother, Buddy’s housekeeper, the Lewis family and their staff set to clean up at the stroke of midnight.  Buddy asked mother if it was okay that he drove me home.  She agreed but reluctantly.  I saw his mother’s face age 10 years, but his father had okayed it and we left hand in hand walking in the warm, dark night air to his parents’ Cadillac.  It was Topaz’ Cadillac, the white Cadillac she drove was considered the family car.  The black one was the business car.   I had heard from a cousin who was a Cadillac salesman, that each year they traded, his father’s car had to be fumigated for cigar smell.  His father was a cigar smoker.  I suppose this meant Topaz had to ride home in the cigar car tonight.  I suspected that was not the reason her face went pale when Buddy asked to drive me home, however.  He was a gentleman, opening the car door before he went to his side, assuring my clothes were all nestled in the car, so as not to get caught in the door.  He tucked me in and strode to his side in his very self-confident manner, opened the door with the key and sat down, pushed the seat back.  Although Topaz was quite tall, Buddy had reached his adult height of more than 6 feet.  I felt like Cinderella.

Suddenly I no longer felt like a little girl.  I felt independent, as if I had reached womanhood with the blowing out of candles on the birthday cakes.  I am sure the night was warm and humid but that part of my senses was numb and the only one that I needed was not functioning, and that was my usually easy gift of gab.  I suddenly had no idea what to say.  Talk was not really necessary as the drive was quite short.  In fact, I had made this drive on my bicycle many times in less than 20 minutes so a car ride was certainly not going to take that long.  When we reached the street that turned to take the one-mile journey to my house, I was disappointed that the drive was so short, but elated that I had had the opportunity.  When we approached, Buddy did not turn into the driveway and I assumed it was because Mother was not here yet and he could see our “new” car was not here, just Granddaddy’s old clunker.

Instead he drove to the far end of the driveway that circled to the other side of our property. He came to a full stop and turned and looked at me with beautiful white teeth and a most provoking smile.  He asked me about my grandparents' cottage, where the horses were, and soon we both ran out of questions and just sat there for a moment.

Our property was not really small but it was not the 100s of acres that his family owned in farm land but he pretended not to notice and remarked on what a nice place we had.  I never thought of it as a nice place. I usually detested it because it was not built on the streets lined with oak trees and separated in the median by palm trees with fresh green grass. I knew he was making small talk.

As self-assured as he would be on the football field or in the student council meetings, he reached over, put his arms around me, and kissed me.  I was not prepared for this but responded appropriately.  The kiss turned into one longer than the drive. I knew I had to go inside.  My heart wanted to remain here with Buddy but my mother would be driving up shortly, and I could not risk her thinking that I might have been risqué.  As if he sensed that I needed to go inside, he pulled away, told me what a wonderful evening he had had, and walked me to the door.  I blew him a kiss as he walked away, and stood motionless, watching his taillights in the distance.  While standing there savoring my time with him, thinking only of the way it felt to be near him, I saw mother’s car lights.  I waited for her.  I knew she would want me to assist her in unpacking the car, which I did.  She was a bit terse, complaining of how tired she was, how she had so much to do and I had left her to ride with Buddy.  I did not argue, but helped her get the packages, boxes and so forth from the car.  It had been a long night, and I wanted to go to bed.  Unsure that I would be able to sleep, but longing to go into my own room and think of the night that I wish could last for the rest of my life.  I started for the bathroom when mother harkened to me to hang my clothes up, brush my teeth and get in bed. She knew I would but I responded, “Yes m’am, I love you.  Thank you.  Sleep well, mother”.  She came to the bathroom when I was already brushing my teeth after having changed into my nightgown.  With toothpaste, running from my mouth still, I reached for her to hug her neck and thank her once again for the nice evening and how much she had done for me.  She responded by saying, “You didn’t let him kiss you, did you?”  I felt my face getting hotter and hotter, but pretended I was drowning in toothpaste so that I would not have to answer right away.  I needed time to answer that.  Why would she ask me that?

My grandmother had tried to teach me how to get around mother when she was testy, and I just asked her, “do you not think I should have kissed his cheek for making the evening so nice, dancing with me and bringing me home in his white coach?”  She responded, “Oh, well,” as I hastened to my bedroom and closed the door.  The bathroom was hers now and my room was my solitary confinement where I could recount the night’s events and dream of Buddy and tomorrow.

I pulled my hair back with clips, looked in the mirror to see if I had changed, if I really looked different.  I knew I did.  I had gone from a little girl playing dolls to a big girl who wanted to play house.
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There is always one more imbecile than you counted on
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