The fan wasn’t heavy, but the box was bulky. Me and Rudy carried it to the front, where a man in a greasy ponytail munched Doritos and squinted at a gecko race on one of those teeny little TV sets. No, those were horses, not geckos.
“Can we leave this here?” I asked him. “We’re still shopping.”
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t pull his eyes from the TV screen.
We met Lynette in a section of mismatched dishes. She had a floor fan tucked under one arm.
“Five bucks,” she said. I told her about my bargain.
“Good deal, Reb! We have a little money left over. What do you think of this?” She tugged a child’s plastic wading pool from under a shelf. It was filled with spiders, some dead, others crawling up the sloping sides.
“Starting a spider farm?” I asked.
“Very funny. We’ll put it in the yard and take turns sitting in it. It even comes with an inner tube.”
“Lynette, even Rudy doesn’t fit in that pool. We’ll look like idiots.”
“Who cares? At least we’ll be cool.”
Was this my sister? The one who wouldn’t fetch the mail unless she had on mascara and an ankle bracelet?
“Oh, boy!” Rudy cried. “We can go swimming!”
If you call sitting in a teacup of water swimming.
“The pool is only two dollars,” Lynette said. “That’s—um—thirteen-fifty. We still have a few bucks left. Why don’t y’all pick something out for yourself?”
“There really isn’t anything I want in this place.” But you can give me the cash for my Kids’ Dig trip, I nearly added.
“Go with Rudy, then. I’ll meet you at the checkout.”
“Yay! I know just what I want!” Rudy dashed off. I found him on his knees rummaging through an old suitcase overflowing with worn leashes and dog collars.
“Rude, we don’t have a dog.”
“Ta-da!” He pulled out a red rhinestone-studded collar that looked brand new. “Bambi’s dog has a fancy collar, and Doublewide should too.”
I examined the collar. “It’s for a medium-sized dog, so it should go around that cat’s lardy neck. And it’s only fifty cents.”
“Okay, I got my thing. What’re you gonna get, Rebel?”
“They don’t have a meat freezer with a built-in bed. That’s all I want—” Then my gaze lit on a brown furry ball. “Look, Rudy, a head made out of a coconut! It even has real teeth! Shoot, it costs eight bucks.”
But under the coconut head was something I liked even better. And it only cost seventy-five cents. We took our prizes to the front, where Lynette paid for everything.
At home, Lynette set both fans in the living room and switched them on “high.” “At night we’ll each have a fan in our bedroom.”
Rudy jerked Doublewide from a sound sleep on the back of the sofa and clasped the fake ruby collar around his neck.
Doublewide blinked twice. Then he arched his back and bucked like a steer. He rolled and romped and stood on his head. He shook his head until his eyes were a blue blur and scratched behind his ears so hard he fell over.
“Rudy, for heaven’s sake, the cat hates that collar,” Lynette said. “Take it off.”
“He’ll get used to it.”
Doublewide pushed himself along the carpet with his hind feet, trying to get rid of the collar. He was not getting used to it. Finally he sat on the floor, flicking the end of his tail, his ears flat like airplane wings.
“Put your bathing suits on, everybody!” Lynette said. “The pool is about to open!”
While she and Rudy were out back, I took my package from the wrinkled grocery bag Ponytail Man had put it in.
When I went outside, Lynette oozed half in and half out of the wading pool like a fish too big for the skillet, her head resting on the inner tube. She dribbled water over her shoulders.
“Ahhh. This is the life.” She lifted an invisible glass. “Waiter, I’ll have another mint julep.”
Rudy danced in the puddle left by the dripping hose. “Rebel, are you gonna show Mama what you bought?”
“I’m putting them up now.” I opened the package and took out a long string of tiny white Christmas tree lights.
Standing on an upturned bucket, I draped the string of lights around the window. The cord just reached the outlet. I plugged the lights in, and the window glowed firefly-shiny.
“Oooh,” Rudy said. “It looks just like Christmas.”
I put my hands on my hips and smiled at the twinkling lights. “That’s the idea. Christmas is the coolest thing I can think of.”
“Good gravy,” Lynette said. “Christmas lights! Could we be any tackier?”
“It makes our house pretty,” Rudy declared.
“Mobile home,” I corrected.
Doublewide came out to see what the fuss was about. He walked a little sideways, still not used to the dog collar. He glanced up at the lights, yawned, then sniffed the box, hoping it contained a few grains of cat chow.
“Do you know an old-timey animal name for Doublewide?” Rudy asked. “Like you and Mama called each other.”
“You mean prehistoric?” I thought a minute. “How about Megalonyx doublewidus? It weighed thirty-five hundred pounds.”
“That’s our cat!” Rudy said proudly.
Lynette splashed her feet. “I guess we have arrived. A kid’s wading pool to cool off in and Christmas lights in July. We are truly members of the trailer-park set.”
“You said it, Barylambda. Feels good to get your reptile tail wet, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t duck quick enough.
From
The Standard Book of Cosmetology
(Milady Publishing Co., Pink Palace Beauty Academy, Frog Level, Virginia)
The Successful Cosmetologist
Good habits and practices will lay the foundation for a successful career in cosmetology. A successful cosmetologist should:
Make good impressions on others and cultivate the qualities of charm, confidence, and personality.
Practice wholesome, healthy thoughts.
Be neat, clean, and attractive.
Have a sunny disposition.
Practice good ethics: honesty, fairness, courtesy, and respect for the rights and feelings
Friday Night’s Dream
“Personally, I think Miz Odenia’s standards are slipping,” pI said to Lacey Jane as we headed down the street, clinging to patchy shade. It was Saturday, hot as blue blazes. Lynette was off from school and work, so Rudy had stayed with her.
I went on with my complaint. “The food we served at her card party yesterday was terrible. Canned soft drinks. Peanuts. Vanilla wafers. At her other party, she fixed fancy sandwiches and tea cakes.”
“You didn’t notice it was stuff we couldn’t spill?” Lacey Jane said. “Miz Odenia probably doesn’t trust us. And after the way you spied on Bambi’s mother, I’m surprised she still wants to give us pageant lessons.”
“Bambi’s mother cheats,” I said. “She acts like butter won’t melt in her mouth, but she’s a card cheat.”
Miss Odenia was pulling weeds in her zinnia border. When she saw us, she stood and waved. “’Morning, girls.”
“’Morning. Are we gonna practice walking and turning today?” I asked, following Miss Odenia into her trailer.
“I think you have pivot turns down,” Miss Odenia replied wryly. Obviously she hadn’t forgotten the neat pivot I had done at Viola Sandbanks’s party. “Today we’re going to work on the talent part of the pageant.”
An old-fashioned record player was set up on her coffee table. I flipped through her collection of record albums.
“I never heard of any of these people,” I said.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Lacey Jane asked Miss Odenia. “Bambi sings an old-timey song and the judges like it.”
Miss Odenia nodded. “Bambi also plays an unusual instrument. Harpists and violinists are often in the top ten. Pageant judges like to see a show. You need to stand out.
Be unique.”
“Unique like play the ukulele behind your head?” I said. No way was I going to do anything that stupid.
“Make fun of Bambi all you want, but she has a nice voice. Her mother was in the Sweet Adelines. Singers connect better with audiences.” Miss Odenia put a record on the turntable. Judy Garland’s “Over the Rainbow” flowed out of the speaker. “Lacey Jane, sing along, please.”
“What? Really? Okay.” Lacey Jane clasped her hands together and belted out, “Some-WHERE O-ver the rain-BOOOWW, Way UP hiiiigh—”
Miss Odenia made chopping motions with her hand. “Lacey Jane, you aren’t even on key. Rebel, you try.”
I tried to figure out where Lacey Jane went wrong. Maybe she was loud in the wrong places. “SOME-wherrrre o-VERRR the rain-BOOOOOWW, WAAAY up—”
Miss Odenia lifted the needle so fast, she scratched her record. “Maybe I’m going at this backward. Tell me what talents you have. Rebel?”
“I have lots of talents,” I said, as if I had to wade through drifts of blue ribbons just to go brush my teeth. “I can hear like a dog and read things upside down and I’m a very good observer. Plus, I’m a paleontologist.”
And an expert belch-talker, but Mama always said it didn’t pay to brag too much.
“Hmmm. Those are all interesting abilities, Rebel, but kind of hard to perform onstage. Do you play a musical instrument?”
“No.”
Lacey Jane raised her eyebrows. “What about that you-phone thing?”
I had to think what she meant. “Oh! The euphonium. I’m really not that good.”
Miss Odenia turned to Lacey Jane. “What about you?”
Lacey Jane dug the toe of her sandal into the rug. “I don’t have a lick of talent. When we put on plays in school, I always paint the sets.”
Miss Odenia put her arm around Lacey Jane’s shoulders.
“Everyone has a natural gift in something. It just needs to be brought out. Sit down and think about what you’d like to do. I’ll work with Rebel first.”
“I can do anything,” I said, practically quivering with talent. “Except play the ukulele behind my head. I mean, I can. I just won’t.”
“Because you like to talk a lot,” Miss Odenia broke in, “I think you should do a recitation of a poem.”
“You want me to tell a poem for my talent?”
“Not tell, recite. Act it out dramatically. Watch me do ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe. ‘Once upon a midnight dreary—’” She hunched over like a witch. “‘While I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.’” She nodded over an invisible book. “‘While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping.’” She looked up sharply, as if she heard someone knocking.
“Where’s the poem at?” asked Lacey Jane. “I don’t see you reading it.”
“You memorize it. I still remember the poetry I recited when I was a girl. ‘The Raven.’ ‘The Village Blacksmith.’ ‘Hiawatha.’”
Miss Odenia doubled over suddenly. I thought she might be having a spasm, but she was laughing.
“In fourth grade, I got up to recite ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ and my mind went blank as a slate! I could only remember the first line. ‘Under a spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands.’ And stands and stands and stands and stands, and stands and stands and stands.”
“So what poem do you want me to recite?” I asked, not much liking this talent.
She handed me a book called Complete American Poems. “Pick out something by Longfellow. Not ‘Hiawatha.’ Everybody knows that one.” Everybody but me. “Try ‘Evangeline’ or ‘Paul Revere’s Ride.’”
“I figured out what I want to do,” Lacey Jane announced, sliding off the sofa. “I want to dance.”
“An interpretive dance!” Miss Odenia exclaimed. “Good choice! Put a song on the record player and start moving the way the music makes you feel.”
Lacey Jane pulled out a record with a brown-haired woman on the cover. “This one,” she said, pointing to the list on the back.
“‘Sweet Dreams’ by Patsy Cline? Do you know this song?” Miss Odenia asked.
“No, but—I like her brown eyes,” Lacey Jane said. “I want to hear the song.”
Miss Odenia dropped the needle on the spinning record. Instantly, a chorus of swirly violins poured into the room and then a powerful voice filled every molecule of space.
“Sweeeeeeeeeet dreeeeams of yoooouuu.” The voice slipped into my body, slid down my arms and legs. It gave me the chills. I’d never heard anything like it.
If Lacey Jane could dance to Patsy Cline’s song, she would win the talent part of the pageant. I could recite the entire encyclopedia, but it would be a waste of time.
“How does the song make you feel?” Miss Odenia asked her. “Let the music flow through you and move.”
Lacey Jane swayed a little. She shuffled her feet to the left and then the right and did a little hop-thing. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides. Then she stopped.
She couldn’t dance. Not a single step. Probably had to do with that lurching walk of hers. My heart soared. I still had a chance!
Lacey Jane burst into tears.
“Oh, honey, it’s not that bad,” Miss Odenia said, patting her on the back. “We’ll find something else for you to do.”
“No! I’m gonna dance to that song!” Lacey Jane’s wet face was splotched and red. “I’ll practice night and day and it’ll be good! You wait!”
“All right,” Miss Odenia said. “We’ve worked enough this morning. Let’s have some refreshments. I have soft drinks and cookies left from yesterday.”
When we were sitting around the kitchen table, Miss Odenia tactfully kept the conversation away from the subject of pageant talents.
“I don’t think it’s going to be as hot today,” she said. “The paper called for only in the mid-nineties.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Ninety-five is so much cooler than ninety-eight. We’d better dig out our winter coats.”
Miss Odenia laughed. “I had the strangest dream last night.” She gazed out the window over the sink. “I was back home in Terrapin Thicket. And everything was just like it was when I was a girl. The bachelor buttons Mama grew along the fence. Our dog, Daisy, dozing under the chinaberry tree.”
Personally, I get bored listening to other people’s dreams because they sound so dumb. But Lacey Jane seemed to be hanging on every word.
“I walked up the porch steps,” Miss Odenia went on. “And my old shoe box of paper dolls was sitting by the porch swing, where I kept it. Mama’s old sewing scissors were lying there, like I’d been cutting up the Sears, Roebuck catalog and gone inside the house for a minute. I could hear Mama in the kitchen, humming as she dried dishes. In the garden, I saw a cloud of dust—Pap plowing under the cucumber patch. Oh, they both passed so many years ago, my heart squeezed to think they were alive again.”
Her long slim fingers sketched her dream in the air, like watching a flower blossoming.
“And then I saw, sitting on the arm of the porch swing, my bottle of Revlon nail polish.”
“Cherries in the Snow,” I said.
“Yes! And don’t you know I sat right down on the porch floor and pulled off my shoes and started painting my toenails. Except my feet were old and wrinkly like they are now. I was my regular old self, but inside I felt eleven or twelve again.”
“What happened?” Lacey Jane asked.
“I was painting the little pinky toenail—the one that’s so hard to reach—when somebody came up the walk. I could only see old work boots. I kept trying to raise my head up to see who it was, but everything above the shoes was dark, like somebody had taped my eyes partway shut. And then I woke up.”
“Do you think it was Ercel?” Lacey Jane said. “Bringing you the Marriage Turtle?”
“The Marriage Turtle,” I said scornfully. “Honestly, Lacey Jane, I bet you still believe in the Easter Bunny.”
“Job
? I don’t know,” Miss Odenia replied. “If it was Ercel, wouldn’t I have been able to see him? Oh!—today is Saturday.”
“Did you forget to set your trash out or something?” I asked.
“No, it’s about telling your night-before dream on a Saturday.” She thought a moment. “‘Friday night’s dream on the Saturday told is sure to come true, be it never so old.’ I haven’t remembered that in years! My granny taught me that saying.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” I said. “It’s not very scientific.”
“Not everything has to be scientific,” Lacey Jane said.
“There’s some stuff you can’t explain.”
Miss Odenia put our glasses on the counter. “Lands, I was supposed to be at Viola’s twenty minutes ago to pick up my Madame Queen order.” Leaning against the sink, she toyed with the dishrag. “I’m so tired of jewelry parties and playing cards.”
“Then quit,” I said. Honestly, grown-ups made things so complicated. “Thanks for the Cokes. And the lesson.”
Lacey Jane paused by the front door. “Did you see your mother in the dream?” she asked Miss Odenia.
She shook her head. “No, but I knew she was there.”
All the way back to our trailers, Lacey Jane was quiet. But that didn’t matter. I talked enough for both of us.
“Hand me that bobby pin and don’t open it with your teeth,” Lynette said to me. She twisted a hank of Rudy’s fine bangs into a flat snail and anchored it with two crisscrossed bobby pins. “There! Pin curls with ends outside the curl. And pin curls with the ends inside the curl.”
Rudy grinned at himself in Lynette’s makeup mirror. “Cool! Metal Head!”
I wondered what Mud Hog Chuck would say if he walked in and saw his only son sprouting pin curls. No worries there. Chuck only seemed to call Lynette after Rudy was in bed. Rudy always got upset when he found out he’d missed talking to his father.
“How come you have to do such old-fashioned hairstyles?” I asked, glancing at her cosmetology book. “Nobody wears their hair like that anymore.”
“Some old lady might and I have to be able to do it.” Lynette accidentally jabbed a bobby pin in Rudy’s scalp. “Oops. Sorry, dipsy doodle.”
Rebel McKenzie Page 9
