by catt dahman
It was a life-style I didn’t really understand.
Judy appraised me, “Imagine, washing a floor every day, and the floor getting dirty again, and then you scrub it, the same old dirt, over and over; it never stays clean; it just fades. It fades slowly, so you don’t notice, but one day you move something, and you see how much it has faded recently. People get that way, too.”
“It sounds terrible.”
Judy wasn’t as pretty as her sister but had a knowing look, “Whatever it took, she wanted out of that, even if it were as bad…it would be different. She dated men she shouldn’t have dated. But she had started dating better quality boys.”
“She looked very innocent in the picture in the paper.”
“Yes. That was taken a few years back.” Judy was making her mind up if she trusted me enough to talk honestly. “She made mistakes. We all do.”
“I‘ve made a few. I had a really wild streak before I settled down,” I lied to her.” I had to find common ground. Why was I there talking to this girl about her murdered sister? Why was I so curious about a girl who looked kind of like a girl I was obsessed over?
Right then, I thought it was okay, just strong curiosity, and me keeping busy more than anything else. I kind of thought I was going to write an article for the paper and find the killer and become a hero. That’s what boys do: live the fantasy. I was redeeming myself.
Now, I can see I was going a bit mad. “And I lost a sister a few years back. I know hard times,” I added to my lies. I would have told her anything to get more information.
“I’m so sorry.” Judy relaxed more. “Susie wanted out so much; she just dated some real losers before.”
“Do you think that’s who…..hurt her?”
She dropped coffee on her napkin with a tiny straw, making patterns. “Maybe. The police talked to them and didn’t think so.”
“So, no suspects?”
“Not that we’ve been told. She hadn’t been dating any of them lately.”
“Wow. That would’ve been easier if it were one of them. Not easier…I mean…it would have solved this for you.”
“There is one.” She looked around to be sure we were alone. “He was secret, and you can’t write about this.”
Well, I could give my word on that part. “Sure. I promise.”
“She liked someone new and was always sneaking around with him, but I never knew his name or saw him. It wasn’t a proper relationship. My, God, I didn’t even tell the police. How bad would that be for her reputation?”
“But if he…”
“He didn’t. She said they were in love. Anyone who loved her wouldn’t have done this to her.”
I could have argued but didn’t. Susie had been strangled, and that was a crime of passion, I thought. “So you have no idea who he was?”
“No idea at all. She was crazy about him and said she was going to introduce him to the family soon, but she was embarrassed by us, I think: by ‘the being poor thing’. She seemed to feel he was her salvation.”
“That’s pretty sad for her to have to go through that.”
“She wanted to catch the brass ring for once.”
I could understand that.
“I read what the papers said. She was strangled?”
Judy’s eyes filled with tears again, and she nodded. “Kids found her. I feel bad for them and their families...nightmares.”
“That’s bad.”
“Being strangled, it’s so personal that way. I want someone to pay, but mostly, I want this to be all over.”
“Maybe you should tell the police.” I had more questions. I wondered if Susie had been molested, but Judy didn’t say, and I wasn’t going to ask.
“It wasn’t him. That day, she was upset over something that had happened and wouldn’t tell me what it was, but she was crying. It wasn’t about this mystery man…I mean he hadn’t hurt her, but she was acting as if whatever it was might cause a problem between them..I dunno….”
“What do you mean, Judy?”
“Susie was upset but not with him, I mean. She said she was going for a long walk, and she told me she just wanted to leave it all behind.”
“But she didn’t say what it was?”
“It could have been a million things, and I’ve thought about them all. Whatever this was, it was as if she were being swallowed whole and worse than her normal life…as if she couldn’t even breathe anymore.” Judy had finished her coffee and was shifting in the booth; she was about ready to call an end to this interview. “I wish I had made her tell me. It’s haunting me.”
“One more thing. I saw Susie’s picture; she was a pretty girl.”
“Thank you.”
“Blonde hair. Were her eyes green?” Okay, now I did sound like a total nut.
“Green? No. They were light blue.” Judy stood to leave, and I stood with her. “But speaking of green, Susie had begun wearing this horrible pale green eye shadow lately that looked terrible on her, but she said the mystery man loved it. Funny things I remember now.”
“I’m really sorry for your loss, Judy.”
She nodded, and then turned back. “That day she went for her walk…her last day alive…” Tears were rolling down the woman’s face, “Susie walked down the sidewalk, but I swear, it seemed as if she were running, just running as fast as she could.”
I thought about that conversation a lot after that.
Chapter 10
Murders were rare, unknown assailants unheard of. I could recall the murders of a bit more than a decade before, unsolved, but few after that, unless the person were wealthy or if there were more, this might never be solved.
The story would never have stayed in my mind had the picture not been there. It bugged me because of the visual similarities, and then it bugged me because I thought of how Grace was a runner, too; she tended to try to escape, when fighting back would have worked just as well.
I did finally apologize to Grace, and we began talking again, but we never spoke of the night she had chosen to leave with Bernie. She wasn’t running this time, but quietly going along with her parents’ misguided attempts to set her life into a perfect pattern. In weeks, Grace’s light in her eyes was dull, and she looked like thousands of other girls, dead-eyed, accepting, just going through the motions. To my credit, I did the same. I went through my own motions.
I still wondered about whoever had killed Susie but time passed.
It was homecoming. The maids walked with their fathers, their escorts trailing behind. Football players from our team and from Navarro lined the field. Each girl was presented: Patsy, Sandra, Lu, Grace, Lorene, Colli, Cornelia, and Bev.
I escorted Colli, and yes, my ego was stroked by that honor. It was exciting, a festive feel with the cooler temperatures and crown mania. It would have saved time and nerves had they skipped this ritual and just told us what we all knew: Cornelia was announced as queen with Sandra as runner-up. It was funny to watch Cornelia try to fake surprise and graciousness, but Cornelia was always chosen as the best of everything.
She did the fake tears of gratitude, smiled beautifully as the crown was pinned to her hair, and posed for pictures with the maids, her father, and her escort, Bobby. She had the regal look and walk down perfectly
We won that game, 28-21. We, the players, showered and went to pick up our dates for the dance, despite being sore, bruised, and tired from a grueling game. Most of us, while still high from winning, were exhausted. Most of us would have preferred to fall into bed that night.
Colleen wore a salmon-colored dress for the dance, and I didn’t hold back telling her how pretty she looked, but she was very chilly that night. She had been quiet earlier, but that was something I had attributed to anxiety. Even her mother asked if she were all right before we walked out. Maybe it was not winning homecoming queen or that she was tired, but Colli was strangely peaked.
“Cornelia deserved to be queen,” Colli began as she arranged her dress in my car.
“Well, not really, it would be nice to see others win things.”
“Like Grace. Don’t you wish she had been crowned queen?” asked Colli.
“No. Not really. I wish you had won.”
Grace had looked beautiful earlier, but icy cold and out of place on the football field. And I didn’t want Grace to win; Bernie would have gloated as her escort.
“Really? You sure stared at her like you thought she should win.”
“I didn’t stare at anyone. What are you going on about?” I just sat there.
Colli fumed, “You did stare.”
Had I stared?
“I didn’t know I did.” Sometimes, like this, a fellow just knows, going in, that he’s going to lose big time in an argument with a girl; and mostly, he doesn’t even know what the argument is about.
“David, it’s always Grace,” Colli said, almost in tears.
Did she miss the weeks when I avoided Grace? I had spent more time with Colli. And I had not stared tonight. At least, I was pretty sure I hadn’t stared. Had I? Maybe bit.
“Jealousy isn’t attractive.” And let me say right here that saying a female is jealous is a sure-fire way of seeing said anger go from borderline to supersonic in three seconds flat.
“Jealousy?”
No way to take it back now. I was doomed. “Of all people, jealous of Grace?” ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’.
“You only care for her,” she made a growling sound when I tried to interrupt. “No, it’s true. You care about me, but that’s all it is, and you don’t care that’s all it will ever be.”
“Colli…”
“You’re just fine with this…this…casual caring.” I had driven down the street a bit and parked again, listening to this tirade.
I didn’t say a word now.
“I’ll always be second choice; if she weren’t around, I think you could fall for me. So, ‘second choice Colli.’ I can’t even begin to compete with her since she is almost ideal for you.”
“There is no competition. Grace is like my best friend.”
“Best friend. Confidant. Ideal. She’s everything but a lover.” Colli’s face turned pink. “I know she isn’t that.”
“Colli…”
“She’s a good girl, I know.”
“Well, so are you.”
“I’d be bad if it would win you.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
“I’m your cover, so people won’t see you pining away for Miss Perfect Grace.”
“That’s harsh.” I was getting angry now, too.
“But, oh so true. And she is so perfect that she doesn’t lead you on; she dates Bernie and is always out of reach for you; it’s a great tragedy, and you just love it, don’t you? You love being in this misery.” Now, Colli reached for her inner anger; I could see the shiny look in her eyes.
“That’s crazy talk.”
“I bet when you kiss me goodnight, you pretend I am Grace.”
I wanted to smack her.
In a way, I wanted her eyes to be green and for her hair to fall long and blonde down her back. A symbol of Grace, a good fake would be fine with me. I wanted to hit Colli until she cried, until I cried, for a long time, anyway.
She went for the gut. “How long have you been in love with her?”
“Colli…” Panic filled my gut.
“How long?” she screamed.
I whispered my answer, and she smiled sickly. “Good. I really enjoy that you and I are both suffering.”
Chapter 11
Everything was much too bright at the dance; I felt transparent, sick, and miserable. Grace was beautiful in a greenish-aqua dress, but I tried not to look at her often since it was all too clear my gazes spoke of my feelings. I danced robotically with Colli. I smiled on cue. The dance didn’t seem right; there was a lack of energy, a drained feeling. Cornelia and her followers were the brightest part, but the rest were without color.
Colli glared at me when no one was watching, smiled brightly, albeit in a fake manner when anyone looked, her teeth too bright, eyes too alert, everything false. Weren’t we all players in a foolish play?
Grace eased by me and whispered she was going home early, that some of the girls were taking her home; she didn’t feel well. Her face was pale, smudges were beneath her eyes, and her body seemed tiny. She said she was okay, just felt tired and achy, but it was all too much: Cornelia playing queen, nerves frayed, people just tired.
Colli went home early with some other girls. The dance was dying fast.
It was a good thing since I felt ill as well and drove home with nausea, filling my gut. See, the night had gotten worse. Bernie had almost seemed glad his date was leaving early, and it wasn’t long after Grace was out the door, maybe five minutes, when Jennifer, lovely in pink, appeared and then vanished out a side exit with Bernie.
Everything was rotting.
The next week was a blur with the college talent show that Kenny Howeth had won singing, and then we had a rally to announce class favorites. I was named Blue Jacket’s Beau. Sitting next to me, Cornelia won tons of categories, and her smile was broad. She nudged me when Grace won “Cutest Girl”.
“What?” Paranoia was my middle name.
“Bernie campaigned for her,” Cornelia whispered.
“No kidding?”
“Yep. Unreal.” Cornelia went to accept another award.
I don’t think Grace cared one way or the other. She was into her books, volunteered at the animal shelter, and seemed to go out as little as she could. It was always with Bernie, as no other boys asked her out, but the smudges beneath her eyes were darkening, and her light was wasting away more as she seemed to be giving up.
Her parents really wanted her married off and in a proper place as soon as possible. The best part of that time was when Grace and I abandoned our friends to sneak off to the Four States Fair where we stood for hours at the art show and spent money on the Ferris wheel, riding it over and over to see the town from that perspective. It was simple fun.
Three things happened then to make that time even worse. The first was a missing person’s report in the paper from a town nearby. The girl missing was pictured as about sixteen, blonde, blue-eyed, from a reporter’s drawing that showed that she might have looked a little like Grace, but I bet only a few of us would have seen the resemblance. I never knew if the case were resolved, I didn’t interview a family member, and I didn’t do anything crazed.
The second was a girl who had died in a car wreck; her neck had been broken in the crash, and her photo looked amazingly like Grace. I felt sick. Then, there was the third.
Chapter 12
It was late November. Bernie had a party at his house that was the third thing of note to happen. His parents went out of town, and so it was that the crowd gathered there. The boys were talking about sports, and the girls were complaining about boys loving sports. It was normal talk. Even though we were unchaperoned, the music was muted, conversation light, mood subdued.
Grace sighed and told us about how Bernie’s brother, Daniel, who was on a full baseball scholarship to Stephen F Austin had made his old bedroom a shrine to sports.
Cue here a glimpse of Bernie’s frown as topic turned to his more athletic brother. No, he was not proud of him, but jealous.
Underneath all the idealistic views, there were rot and ruin. JFK, in a few years, would use that to propel himself to a beloved icon and civil rights advocate when a new generation rose to complain and riot against the decomposing status quo.
Anyway, Grace said to follow her, and she would show everyone how devoted Daniel was to his sports. We followed her as a diversion.
The door to Daniel’s room should have been locked, but the lock was defective, and Bernie’s mother had learned to knock after finding her eldest in underwear once too often. Off at college, Daniel didn’t care about a defective lock.
Grace turned the doorknob, and it swung wide open. There was gasp, a wail that cut off, a squeak.
Sandra took a giant step backwards, banging into the wall; Lorene slapped her own hand against her mouth.
For a lifetime, it seemed, no one and nothing moved as we just stared. It was as if we needed a second to make sense of what we were seeing since it didn’t make sense at first, being so foreign. Flushing bright red, Grace fluidly grabbed the door frame. It all happened in a split second, and I looked in, wondering what had caused such a reaction.
The inhabitants had gone tharn. They froze.
We all stared as in a stalemate. Then they flung themselves apart violently. Grace, quick thinker that she was, grabbed the door handle again and flung the door, rattling, closed, her back against it, daring anyone to try to get by her.
The image, inside the room, flash-burned our retinas. Inside was a guy we all knew, Kenny Howeth, who had been awarded Cutest Boy in mirror of Grace’s award for Cutest Girl. And in the room was a guy we all ‘kind of knew’, who went to college with us: Walter Kewlin. The former was pants down, the latter on his knees.
What the hell are they doing? I wondered. It took a second for the scene to make sense to me. Well, it made some sense. Not a lot.
“Damn,” someone said. Patsy ran to the bathroom, vomiting.
This was from kids who had mostly never contemplated actually having sex, much less seen sex. Movies didn’t go much beyond kissing at this point. Add to that extreme sex as in something besides missionary position and add a big helping of homosexuality.
People weren’t gay in 1957. Cue rueful; chuckle here. The most we knew about this was something mentioned in passing from Abnormal Psychology; real people were not and had never been homosexual. It was beyond our comprehension. Last of the innocents.
We didn’t know what to say or do. The music was clicked off. We stood further apart from one another. Someone began dumping snacks into the trash can and stacking glasses and dishes.
“What were they doing?” Sandra Curry wailed. She knew it was something bad but hadn’t quite gotten the meaning, yet. No one wanted to explain.
