Calliope: Voice of the Writers
The Great Novel Race 2008:
Tumbleweeds
by Erin Trauth
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Chapter 2: The Dress
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The summer chugged along like it always did, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke churning together in thick circles in our house, the sound of bullfrogs and crickets screaming us to sleep every night. Every day that summer, me and Johnny and Austin swam at the same YMCA and did the same weed-picking and clothes-hanging for Miss Zell next door. And every night, Johnny and I sat on the porch and watched the same flock of screeching Yellowhammers fly over the ditch in our backyard at sunset. And that summer, for some reason, I dreamed the same dream every night. I dreamed those Yellowhammers just one day picked up and flew far, far away, never coming back to Florida, never coming back near our creaky house again.
The end of August meant two things for me in the summer of 1992, I started my first year at Jackson High, and it also meant it was finally my fourteenth birthday.
Mama tried to make a huge deal out of our birthdays. She would announce it every year in the County Newsletter, inviting every neighbor in an eight-mile radius, stretching from the rickety old shacks on the edge of Chutney's Creek by our house to the rolling hills of mansions full of rich folks near the high school. That summer, she told me to invite my friends, too.
"Carolina, baby, you invite all your little friends from school, and I promise I'll clean the house up real nice. We'll even rent a horse for ya'll to ride, baby," this year's pledge for a full-blown party sounding even less convincing than in past years. I told her I would. And of course, I didn't.
Surprisingly, though, that summer had treated Mama well. Jasper, the air conditioning man, was staying over with us a lot, practically living in our tiny, russet-stained home just off the creek. I still hated him more than I hate seeing dead animals lying wide-eyed on the side of the highway, but he didn't say too much, so he was tolerable for the time being. I was getting really good at ignoring the dim-witted, over-exhaustive breathing noises he made at me constantly, too. Plus, he was getting good at silencing Mama when he did gross things to her multiple times every night in the room next door to mine, which was a better effort than any other male guest we'd had in the two years or so had put out.
Every night, instead of the previous reckless abandon and throat-curdling screaming and pounding, it was now something like "Uhhh…uhhh…oh yeah…Lynette….uhhhhhh…wait…wait…wait, your girl's gonna hear us again," echoing from her room to mine through the paper-thin walls. I was so very impressed by his courteousness.
Mr. Oh-So-Considerate had been better at winning over my brothers, too. He fixed up Austin's bike so he could ride it to kindergarten, even hooking it up with those colored spokes, so Austin began worshipping him. I found it to be a very clever move on Jasper's part – bait the baby and the others will soon follow.
Johnny let Jasper take him fishing for bass near the creek, and Mama told Johnny when she started making some money she'd get it stuffed up real nice for him so he could hang it on the living room wall. He was just as happy as a dog in a pile of dead meat.
Mama had started the accelerated program at Jillian's House of Cosmetology and was about to graduate with her degree in what she called "hair-fixing." She practiced on me a lot, and I had nice white streaks put in my already flaxen hair the night before my birthday. The streaks made my eyes seem even greener than the mold that grew on the corner of our house, which I actually thought was a very flattering color.
"You look like a young Farrah Fawcett, Carolina," Mama cooed at me proudly when she had finished her masterpiece of hair. "You're gonna look just so grown up for everyone at your party, tomorrow, baby." I noticed Jasper's beady eyes pounce on me from the TV room a little too adoringly. My stomach churned, and I quickly cursed him under my breath, suddenly hating the new chemical addition to my hair. I muttered a goodnight and retreated quickly to my room for my last night as a thirteen-year-old.
I woke up the morning of my birthday to my Mama's singing.
"Laaadeeeeedaaaaaa….laaaaa laaaaaa deeeee daaaa," she droned loudly as she clinked around with spoons in the kitchen, working on my token birthday apple pie. Mama was funny like that; she had a real nice voice, almost like a canary's, but she only sang when she was cooking. I thought she ought to do it more. "Laaa leeee da da da," she continued.
I checked my boobs in the mirror to see if they had grown with my new age; checked my butt for added curves. To my disappointment, though, I saw nothing spectacular. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection and walked out to the kitchen.
Mama pinched my bottom, sending chills down my unusually achy spine. "Look at my oldest girl!" she proclaimed, her parched blonde hair flailing around her head in a wild halo as she danced about. "My only girl! Fourteen! I can't believe it!" Her eyes looked abnormally red for ten in the morning, but I shrugged it off and glanced past her to the little pink box perched on the kitchen table. I was relieved to see that Jasper was already gone for work.
Mama followed my gaze and stared with glimmering blue eyes. "Open it, honey," she coaxed. "It's the best one yet." Johnny and Austin gazed up at me from behind their cereal box castles they made almost every morning, wanting me to open it, too.
"Mama let me help pick it out, Carolina! Open!" Austin exclaimed, pointing at the box as if its contents were a real live African lion, just raring to rumble out onto the kitchen table. "Open it now!" he shrieked.
I smiled and tore through the shiny crimson paper, tossing it aside quickly. I opened the box, and found something I had discovered in various colored boxes every single year for thirteen years before that day. My birthday dress. My little tradition. This one was in fact a beauty, and I could tell from the tag that it was from Betty's Sweetheart Consignments, me and Mama's favorite store. The white cotton dress was shorter than I had gotten in past years, and it scooped daringly in the front. A delicate lace overlay covered the crocheted bust and flowed in fragile swirls to the edge of the material. "Mama, it's beautiful," I gasped, really meaning it. I was astounded with my first grown-up-looking piece of clothing. It was so beautiful, so white, that I wanted to save it for my wedding day. Mama, however, had other, more immediate plans for it. "You're gonna have all the boys droolin' in that little number, sugar. Just you wait and see."
Just like every other recent birthday it was me, Mama, Johnny, Austin, and whichever man was around at the time, this year the lucky one being Jasper, who, with the putrid smell of Freon prevailing his entrance, rolled up in his air conditioning truck just minutes before my birthday breakfast.
"You thank him for leavin' work early just for your birthday," Mama ordered when she saw me scowl openly at Jasper's entrance.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for making it." I smiled, wanting with every inch of my being to slap him straight into 1993.
There was no mention made of the friends that never showed up (I never invited them) and no appearance of a birthday horse to ride (Mama never ordered one). Instead, the five of us sat around the table with a box of runny, melted vanilla ice cream from Collins' Convenience and Mama's apple pie for breakfast. I got cards from Grandma and Pop-pop in Delaware, and Johnny and Austin had gone in to buy me a pack of new playing cards, which I knew were also for their own benefit, too, the little brats.
At Mama's request, I tried on my new dress. It fit perfectly, the bright lace accentuating my summer tan and the stretchy cotton bringing rather grown-up curves I was delighted to see into light. I felt sexy, and I wanted to wear it forever. I kept it on even when we went outside after breakfast, promising to be careful with it on.
We spent the rest of the light hours in the yard, Jasper, Johnny, Austin and I playing numerous games of kickball, Alabama's summer sun beaming down on the top of our heads. Whenever I ran, I held the corners of the dress to my sides, and I made sure not to make any slides into bases. Jasper played pinch hitter, slipping and falling on his big stupid knees at least seven times, much to my delight. Mama sat with her bottomless Bloody Mary on the front porch, her feet soaking in a shallow blue kiddy pool she had bought with one of her first tips fixing hair, screaming out at me all day not to rip my dress as I ran the makeshift bases over and over again.
Dusk crept in finally, the mosquitoes starting their battle against our skin, and we went inside to avoid them. Mama put the boys to bed, not bothering to peel them from their dusty clothes. Jasper felt the need to comment. "You always let them go to bad all nasty like that?" I heard him grumble, apparently more than a little pissed off that I had beat him in home runs. I wondered since when he had the right to talk about parenting, but then again, it was about that time that Mama started letting him take over. I glanced out to the back yard from the window, deciding I was going to creep out for a little time alone. I needed a moment, a moment to just be alone. To just be free. To just wear my dress a few minutes longer.
I popped my head out onto the front porch where Mama was babbling off something to Jasper and told her I was going for a quick walk in the back by the creek. "Mhmmm, baby, whatever you want, birthday girl," she replied, her eyes intoxicatingly glued on Dipety-Doo. I scurried off into the back, out of the screen door, and out into the woods before she could change her mind.
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