Blessings of Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  I was winding up for my next pitch when I realized that an unusual quiet had settled on the field. I paused and glanced over at Doug, then followed his gaze toward the stands. Sitting on the bottom bench, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, was Vivien Bodine, her fine blond hair swaying prettily under her large, straw hat. But instead of clutching a lollipop this time, she was pulling a drag from a cigarette.

  As the rest of us waited, Doug strolled over to her with the confident swagger of a twelve-year-old boy. “You can’t do that. You have to be eighteen to smoke, and the person who gave them to you could go to jail. Besides, it’ll rot your lungs.”

  She did that eyebrow look at him and blew a puff of smoke in his face. I expected her to put him in his place. She surprised us all by saying, “You’re pretty good-looking. But you ruin your first impression by being such a fussy-pants.”

  I could see the darkening red of Doug’s face from where I stood on the pitcher’s mound. I glanced around at the other players to see if anybody had plans to come to Doug’s rescue, but they were all hang-jawed staring at a girl getting the best of him.

  I felt as if I’d been hit square in the middle with a fast pitch. Doug started smiling at her, his expression almost dopey. When he sat down next to her, I thought I might puke right there on the pitcher’s mound but all I could do was stand by hopelessly. I watched as she handed him her cigarette and he neatly and effectively squashed it under his high-top sneaker.

  Then Vivien turned her attention back to the game. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “Let ’er rip, Sammie!”

  Reluctantly, Doug returned to his spot behind home plate and I wound up for my pitch. I never pitched a better game, before or since, but it did me no good. Every time I looked back at Doug, he was watching Miss Vivien Leigh Bodine. I learned my first lesson in heartbreak.

  I guess Doug did, too, eventually. But his was a lot harder won than mine.

  * * * *

  By the end of that long, hot summer, Vivien and I had become inseparable. We were more different than night and day, but I suppose we saw in each other that part of us that God forgot when he made us. Not that I ever felt the need to want to priss around in a dress. It was more about her being clever and funny and the way she could make people turn their heads without even opening her mouth. Mrs. Bodine called it stage presence. My mother called it the ability to know who buttered her bread. But whatever it was, I wanted to know how to do it. I was getting tired of having to climb onto a pitcher’s mound to get people to notice me.

  My life before she came into it had been like vanilla ice cream. Nice, but not too exciting. Vivien came and added the hot chocolate syrup, and I was unaware at the time that sometimes chocolate stains and nothing you can do can ever rub it out.

  As for why Vivien wanted to hang around me, I didn’t understand that until my mama explained it to me the week before school started.

  Mama and I had been tying up her tomato plants when Vivien came by. She was wearing pink silk shantung pedal pushers with a matching top and looked like a strawberry sundae. I could tell even Mama was impressed by the way she slid her glasses down her nose to look more closely.

  “Mother’s having one of her headaches,” Vivien said, “so I thought I’d stop by.”

  Mrs. Bodine’s headaches happened at least three times a week. I knew from my window eavesdropping that the headaches were a result of too many nights spent with a bottle of gin. I felt kind of sorry for Mrs. Bodine. But her headaches meant that she wasn’t paying any attention when Vivien escaped from her house and came over to mine.

  My mother smiled and stood and put a gentle hand on Vivien. “I’ll go get us some Cokes. I’ll be right back.”

  Vivien watched my mother disappear inside the house, a strange, wistful look in her green eyes. She faced me again, the expression gone. “You need to start wearing a bra. Do you think your mother would take you to go get one?”

  I looked down at my flat chest beneath the Braves tee-shirt I wore. If my mother bought me a bra, it would have been for encouragement purposes only. “What are you talking about? I don’t need a stupid bra.”

  She acted as if she hadn’t heard me. “Because if your mother takes you, maybe I could go along, too. I’ve started to develop a womanly figure, but Mother still pretends I’m six years old and won’t get me one.”

  For the first time I noticed Vivien’s chest. She normally wore loose fitting dresses that concealed everything, but today was different. She had breasts that were nearly the size of Mama’s.

  I thought of Doug looking at those unfettered breasts and knew we had to get her a bra. That’s what friends were for. Maybe I could get one with padding.

  When Mama returned with a tray of Cokes and cookies, she said, “I need to run into town and get a few things. Would you girls like to come with me?” Vivien and I shared a look. I suspect Mama had overheard our conversation through the open kitchen window. “Sure,” I said.

  Vivien just smiled and nodded. We went shopping for bras. That night at dinner, Vivien joined us. It had become a regular thing, with her mother having her headaches all the time. It was so expected that Mama had stopped calling to ask permission from Mrs. Bodine.

  When we bowed our heads and said the blessing, Vivien squeezed my hand tightly, and I looked up to see her gazing around the table at my family before bowing her head again. She seemed to be in as much awe of us as we were of her and it made me happy and sad at the same time. Even my brother, Hutch, who was two years older, seemed to be caught under Vivien’s spell and I thought, not for the last time, that Vivien was a force to be reckoned with.

  That night, as my mother tucked me into bed, she paused before turning off the light. “I can see that you and Vivien have become really close friends. And I’m glad. Truly I am. But . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes traveled to the high shelf above my bed that housed all my softball trophies. Her cool hand touched my forehead as she pushed my bangs aside. “I just want to make sure that, despite her influences, you’ll always remember who you are.”

  “I know who I am, Mama. I’m Samantha Louise Pritchard.”

  “But who you are is more than just your name. You’re who your parents are, and your grandparents. You’re all the things we’ve taught you and all the things you’ve learned. Who you are is in your heart. It’s the things you hold close — like your family. It’s knowing where you come from. Knowing that is more important than where you’re going.”

  I thought for a long moment, studying a framed poster of the Beatles on my wall. Pretty people got so much attention. “But what has this got to do with Vivien?”

  “Everything, sweetie. She doesn’t know who she is. She knows she’s beautiful, and smart, but she doesn’t know those other things. It’s not her fault. It’s mostly because of the way she’s been raised and her mother . . . well, her mother seems as lost as poor Vivien. She and Vivien don’t know what they want because their hearts are so empty. They try to fill their hearts up with what feels good for the moment. They’re like children crying for the moon, but once they have it they don’t know what to do with it. So then they put it on a shelf where it slowly fades until all its light is gone.”

  I frowned. “I thought you liked Vivien.” My eyes stung from unshed tears.

  “I do, sweetheart. It’s just that I want you to be careful around her. She’s got one of those personalities that can swallow a person whole. Just remember who you are.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead and I smelled her Youth Dew perfume mixed with talcum powder. “Goodnight, Sammie.”

  She had already turned off my light and closed my door before I remembered to say goodnight. I was too busy thinking about what she said. It took me six years to figure out what she’d been talking about.

  * * * *

  By the time Vivien and I reached high school, half the boys were madly in love with her and the other half were simply sideswiped with awe. She pulled me inside her inner realm where I co
uld sit and be admired just for being in her light. She also came to every one of my softball games and headed up the loudest cheering sections along with my parents and brother.

  She convinced me that the world outside Mossy Creek was flat and swore Creekites who moved out of town never came back. “They follow the creek to the edge and jump off,” she deadpanned.

  I always laughed at Vivien’s put-downs about Mossy Creek and her claims that she was headed for the big time. She didn’t date any of the local boys, since, according to her, they were only after future wives who would give them children who were as stupid as they were and live in the same dull town their parents had been raised in. There was always an edge to her voice, a longing I couldn’t recognize. But it wasn’t until our senior year that Mama’s words came back to haunt me.

  Doug had apparently given up mooning for Vivien and had started dating me the summer between our junior and senior year. It was clear to everyone but me that I was just the runner-up, and that he still carried a large and flaming torch for Vivien. Looking back, I probably did know. But I had loved him for so long that it didn’t matter.

  Doug’s father was pushing Doug’s baseball talent. It seemed that I was the only one who saw that Doug was much more interested in biology and chemistry than throwing a curve ball.

  Vivien never said anything, but I knew that she didn’t approve of me dating Doug. She’d complain if I wasn’t available for her because of him and made a point of being at my house when Doug would show up to take me out.

  One night, I asked Doug to stay in the car while I went back to speak with Vivien.

  “Why are you doing this? You had your chance to go out with him but you didn’t want to. So let me be. You know this is what I want.”

  Her beautiful face was furious. “How do you know what you want? You’ve never been out of Mossy Creek! How do you know what else is out there to want?”

  I studied her carefully for a long moment. “Because what I want is already here.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I don’t need to go anywhere else to find it.”

  The blood seemed to drain from her already pale cheeks and she stared at me while her green eyes snapped. “I thought you were different. But you’re just like your mealy-mouthed mother and all the rest of the women here in this stupid town. You’ll never be anybody or anything special. You deserve Doug because you’re the kind of woman he’ll want to marry down the line. Barefoot and pregnant in a little starter house with linoleum floors and Formica countertops. It makes me sick. It all makes me sick.”

  She stood there shaking like a leaf in the crisp autumn breeze and I stared at her for a long moment. Finally I just said, “Goodnight, Vivien,” and went back to Doug’s car.

  I never told Doug about our conversation. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder if it would have made any difference at all.

  When we returned from our date, Vivien was still sitting on my front porch, her bare arms limp beside her, her lips a pale blue in the light from the porch lamp. I refused to have sympathy for her. “Why are you still here?”

  She looked at me with lifeless eyes. “I was waiting for Doug to take me home.”

  Doug walked up behind me. “Get in the car, Vivien. I’ll be right there.”

  He took my arm and led me to my front door. “Tell your parents good night for me. I’ll take her home before she dies of exposure.”

  “I could get Daddy . . .”

  “No.” The word was firm and non-negotiable.

  He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, but there was no warmth, only bitter chill. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I nodded and watched him walk toward the car before letting myself into the house.

  * * * *

  Nobody knew where they’d gone until five days later when Doug and his car returned to Mossy Creek without Vivien. I never talked to Doug after that — about him and Vivien or anything else, for that matter. I learned what had happened through eavesdropping on my parents through my bedroom window.

  My daddy’s voice was thick and gruff, filled with cigar smoke. “Mr. Elmore told me that Doug thought he and Vivien were eloping. That’s why he helped her sneak into her mama’s house and pack up her belongings. They drove all the way up to New York. Who would have thought that girl would do such a thing? And Doug, too.”

  “Oh, Lloyd,” was all my mama could say. She’d seen enough of my weeping for the last three days to take away any sympathy for Vivien or Doug.

  “They stayed in some flea-bitten motel room and Doug swears he tried to get Vivien to a justice of the peace, but she wanted to wait. On the second night she disappeared. He called the police and helped them search for two more days before driving back home.”

  There was a long pause before I could hear my mother speak. “It’s best this way. I don’t think she could ever have been happy here. It breaks my heart about Doug and Sammie, though. I don’t know if she’ll ever get over it.”

  I closed my window against the chill and went to bed. Mama was right. I never really did.

  * * * *

  Doug and I graduated with our class but that was about the only thing that turned out the way it was expected. I stopped playing softball and concentrated on my studies for the first time. Perhaps galled by Vivien’s accusations, I went away to college in South Carolina and studied agriculture. I guess I surprised everybody, including myself, when I decided to return to Mossy Creek and help my daddy run his landscaping business. Even bought my own house, a fixer-upper across town from my parents. I proved the world outside Mossy Creek wasn’t flat after all.

  Doug left town, too, first for college and then medical school at Emory University down in Atlanta. Most people thought it was to get out from under the thumb of his daddy and his thwarted dreams of having a major league baseball player in the family, but I knew the reason was as much Vivien as anything else.

  Vivien’s mother never left her house anymore except when she’d receive a letter from Vivien — first from New York as she worked in the theater, and then Hollywood. Vivien got some small rolls in a few films and I went to see one of them. Vivien had five lines spread over two scenes. I wanted to say that she wasn’t anything special, but she was. She looked beautiful up there on the screen, and she had an ease of movement that showed she was comfortable pretending to be other people. But she still had that hungry look in her eyes and I couldn’t watch it. It was as if she were borrowing lines from somebody else’s life. I left halfway through the film.

  I didn’t date much. Mama said I needed to move on with my life and I did by throwing myself into the landscape business. I knew what she meant but I just couldn’t seem to find anybody worth moving on for.

  And then Vivien came back to Mossy Creek.

  As I was tending to the flowerpots on my front porch, I heard a car pull up in front of the house. When I turned, I saw a tall, willowy woman climb out of a rented sedan. She wore a large hat and sunglasses, but I knew who she was right away. Then behind her, a little boy of about four stepped out of the car.

  He had white-blond hair and large green eyes and wore a child’s suit and tie. But he didn’t squirm or look uncomfortable. He just stared up at me with those eyes that were so much like his mother’s.

  Vivien paid the cabdriver and he drove away, leaving the two of them standing by the curb.

  With the little boy’s hand in hers she approached, stopping at the bottom step before removing her sunglasses. “Hello, Sammie. I’m back.”

  I put down my gardening gloves and spade and came down the stairs to stand next to her. She moved the boy in front of her. “This is my son, Joshua. Joshua, this is the nice lady I told you about. Miss Sammie.”

  He held out a small hand and I shook it, wondering why he was so still and solemn.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said and then looked up at his mother. “I didn’t know you got married.”

  “I didn’t.” Her eyes met mine coolly.

  “Welcome back, Vivien.” I tried
to keep the emotion out of my voice and for the most part, I succeeded. “How long will you be staying?”

  I looked at her closely for the first time and saw how thin she was, saw the black circles under her eyes and the way her veins seemed to show under her translucent skin.

  She sighed. “I was hoping we could stay with you for a while. Come on inside. We need to talk.”

  Unsteadily, she walked up the stairs toward the front door. I picked up the small suitcase that sat by the curb and followed.

  We sat on opposite sides of the parlor sofa with Joshua perched in the middle. His feet barely reached the edge of the couch. Vivien’s delicate brows knitted tightly together. “Is there some place Joshua can go so we can talk in private?”

  I held out my hand to the little boy and led him into the kitchen where my new puppy, Maxwell, was napping in his crate. I sat Joshua at the table with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies and told him I would be back soon to let Maxwell out so the two of them could play.

  When I returned to the parlor, Vivien lay against the back of the sofa with her eyes closed and her chest barely moving with each breath. She didn’t open them until I had sat down.

  She pulled some papers out of her bag along with a pen and laid them on the coffee table. “I’m looking for a home for Joshua.”

  I remembered the sweet face of the silent boy and felt my anger rise. “For how long?”

  “For forever.”

  “He’s not an old shoe to be discarded, Vivien. I don’t think he particularly wants to be given away to a total stranger.”

  She closed her eyes again, her mouth set in a wan smile. “You’re not a stranger to him. He’s heard about you since he was born. He even has a picture of the two of us on his bedside table.”