You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.”
”You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.”
”And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.”
I went on for another few minutes after the last few verses of Seuss before ending with this: “Class of 1995, this life is yours for the taking. May you choose the paths less traveled and wherever you end up may you always find yourself in the company of good friends.” Smiling at CeCe, I thanked the crowd once again as cheers rose up from my classmates and audience, before taking my seat.
As I sat back down, CeCe squeezed my hand and nodded her head “you did great lady.”
After the ceremony was over and we posed for an endless array of photographs with our parents and friends, CeCe and I hugged my family goodbye and walked towards her car to get ready for her graduation party. Jersey, watching us from the corner of the gym, waited for the right time to come over and catch us before we left.
Without stopping to hear Jersey’s pathetic excuse of an apology I jumped into CeCe’s car. I just enjoyed an end to an important chapter in my life and did not want to screw it up listening to Jersey’s excuses. As we began to drive off I could hear Jersey calling my name.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up at your parents.”
“That’s okay, I’ll have Harley welcome him in,” CeCe said laughing. “That might liven things up a bit—you know a little entertainment to break up the stuffiness from all the people my mom invited.”
I laughed as I imagined Harley, CeCe’s Doberman Pincher, chasing Jersey down the block.
“Thanks Ce, but I will probably have to talk with him sooner or later anyway. Besides, it should be interesting to see who all your mom invited.” I said, wanting to change the subject.
We pulled up to CeCe’s house a few minutes later. Her house was beautifully lit with white Christmas lights adorning the weeping willows situated on either side of her long driveway. CeCe’s house, a beautiful old plantation home, complete with a grand front porch and four white pillars divided by oversized hanging fern baskets, was one of the most beautiful homes in the south. A server with drinks and hors d’oeuvres immediately greeted us followed by CeCe’s mother asking what took us so long. She then began to straighten CeCe’s hair as CeCe tried to weave around the hands poking at her. Looking around, everything appeared perfect. The house looked like it belonged in a magazine and everywhere you looked there was a server standing with a platter ready to present the finest finger foods one could find at a grand ball. There were large bouquets of tastefully designed floral arrangements overflowing throughout the 1830’s era home. There was live music coming from a small orchestra on the back lawn. I spied CeCe’s dad talking with several gentlemen, drinks in hand and deep in conversation. Even at family events, CeCe’s parents were always working out deals to be on retainer for fortune 500 companies although they were best known for their victories with high-profile divorces. They knew the value that networking for their law firm gave and CeCe’s graduation party was another venue to schmooze potential clientele. CeCe had complained on the way home about all the people her mother had invited to her graduation party, half of whom she had never met before. It was a gorgeous summer night in the south, despite my boyfriend being stupid or CeCe’s parents capitalizing on her successes.
“Mom, stop pulling my dress down. It was made this way.” CeCe snapped at her mom while Bev tried her best to make CeCe fit into her image of a perfect family and not embarrass her in front of all the associates and clients they’d invited.
“CeCe, why don’t you go put on the dress I bought you? I laid it on your bed. Wear it tonight please. And then hurry back downstairs; you need to stand here with me, greeting all the guests as they arrive.”
CeCe was happy to get away from her mother’s poking and prodding at her, even though eventually she knew that her mother would come find her if she didn’t hurry back quickly. I followed CeCe up the white, winding marbled stairway. A large crystal chandelier hung from the 20-foot ceiling right above the entryway. I never tired of seeing the aged elegance sprawling throughout the Crawford’s grand estate. To CeCe though, I think it’s always been a reminder of her parent’s imposed expectation for her future. I believe that’s partly why CeCe has preferred being at my home to hers. Our families and homes are vastly different. While my mother did a wonderful job at decorating and keeping our house cozy, it was definitely not as impressive as CeCe’s. Our farmhouse was a two-story 3,000 square foot home where several generations of Buchanan’s lived and raised their family. It echoed character all throughout and donned a wrap-around porch with plenty of seating and comfort for our entire family after a long, summer’s day of work in the orchard. My mother too made it her job to ensure that everyone who visited felt welcomed and special. Aside from all the splendor of her home, CeCe would often come over and melt into one of the well-worn sofas in the living room or the porch swing and blend right into our family’s philosophic conversations about God, love, and politics.
Laid out on her bed was a long navy blue dress with quarter-size white polka dots and a scalloped neckline, accompanied by a three-inch belt covered in the same fabric.
“CeCe, that’s a beautiful dress. It looks like the one in Pretty Woman,” I said awing it.
“I know she drives you nuts but it’s a pretty dress and it’ll be gorgeous on you!”
Shaking her head, CeCe picked it up and unzipped the back of the dress. Quickly shedding her clothes, CeCe stepped into the dress.
“Can you zip me up Char, please?”
“Sure.”
CeCe fastened the belt so that it perfectly hugged her waistline, giving her a flawless hourglass shape. Turning side-to-side to see herself in the standing mirror, she broke into a reserved smile.
“You look stunning Cecelia Kathryn Crawford!” I said happily reaffirming her with words she needed but rarely heard.
Still quiet and taking herself in, I added, “you must admit she has really good taste.”
“No, I just make this dress look good.” She laughed as she whirled around beaming.
“Okay, let’s go make mommie dearest happy.”
In addition to calling the maid ‘mom’ CeCe also enjoyed calling her mother ‘mommie dearest’ to quickly grab her attention. When CeCe was young and left alone with the maid, nanny, or butler, she watched all kinds of movies, documentaries, and biographies including the one that portrayed the famous Joan Crawford as a mentally unstable and wicked mother in her personal life. CeCe was amused that not only were both women highly egotistical but also shared their last name, Crawford. One of Joan’s adopted children, Christina, wrote a biography about her mother deeming her film career as the most important thing in life. She alleged that ‘the children’ were just a publicity stunt to gain more popularity amongst the public eye and boost box-office ticket sales. Christina claimed that her mother was less than nurturing and that she never felt wanted by her mother—but was more of a prop to appeal to the nuclear family.
I knew CeCe’s mom loved her and that she wasn’t mentally unstable or wicked despite her less than adequate affirmations of love towards her daughter. Beverly Crawford, put frankly, was a workaholic and a perfectionist who got so wrapped up in her work that she lost sight of the important things in life other than fancy handbags. She too was driven by the need to conquer and succeed all obstacles in her path. Everything she did fed a need that protected her from an extra helping of self-doubt and the fear of being vulnerable to scrutiny of any kind. Projecting the image of flawlessness was something she and CeCe had in common. CeCe, though, kep
t the idea of being a prop shoved neatly in a small file at the back of her head, right where she could easily access it, with little reminders from her mom like the one time her mother forgot her eleventh Birthday. It was a good thing that CeCe’s dad paid attention to the important details. When her mother finally got home that night, both CeCe and her father were already asleep, leaving three-quarters of a cake reading ‘appy rthday CeCe’ on the kitchen island. She had left early for work that morning before CeCe woke and didn’t get home until ten o’clock after everyone was asleep. She had been so immersed in a settlement she’d been working on for weeks and was nearing an agreement for a very important client. She had forgotten but not CeCe. She filed that one right along with the others. The next morning when she awoke she found a beautifully wrapped rectangular box with a bright pink bow. Inside it CeCe found her first American Girl doll. About a foot and half tall with curly, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and wearing a pretty sundress the doll was something CeCe had wanted for quite some time. Next to the box was a pink envelope. Opening the card carefully to not rip it, it read only six words, ‘Happy 11th Birthday Cecilia, Love Mom’. No I love you or I’m sorry, just Happy Birthday. CeCe was deeply hurt for her lack of an apology or at least an acknowledgement that she had missed her daughter’s Birthday. CeCe felt abandoned by her mother’s work often. That night when her mother got home she did her usual routine and treated this day like any other. When she went to CeCe’s room to check in on her, she asked her if she liked her new doll. CeCe was writing in her journal and without looking up she replied, “You can’t buy my forgiveness.” Not sure what to say, Bev walked out and neither said a word to each other for the next few days. Secretly, CeCe had hoped that her mother would have stuck around that night to attempt an apology or at least ask her about her day so she could have felt like it was only by mistake that she missed her Birthday. Later that year when CeCe started her period, she came to our house and confided in my mother to find out what to do. My mother hugged her, smiled, and told her that she had officially become a young lady before taking her to the store to buy some pads. And so it went like this during all of CeCe’s teen years that she preferred our simple but cozy farmhouse than her marbled mansion.
As we glided down the grand staircase, I saw Jersey standing beside Bev, waiting for our company. Smugly talking to Mrs. Crawford, he smiled and winked at me as I came closer. Most adults, unless they knew Jersey, were impressed with him because of his ability to schmooze, in addition to his talents on the football field that won many a trophies and banners for our school. At the moment, I was very unimpressed and annoyed by his consistency in being an inconsiderate prick of a boyfriend.
“Girls, what took you so long? CeCe, I told you that dress would look good on you.” Bev said straightening out an invisible wrinkle in CeCe’s dress.
“You didn’t say anything about it looking good. Besides, you barked at me to go put it on mother dearest.”
“Cecilia Kathryn, do not call me that,” Bev said, sipping her champagne. “And I don’t bark. Now, go stand by the doorway so you can greet your arriving guests.” She snipped back.
Pleading with her eyes not to leave her too long with her mother, I promised CeCe that I would come back in a little while after I gave Jersey a talking to. CeCe walked off with her mother towards the front porch. Still turned towards CeCe with my back facing Jersey, I felt a sudden pinch on my butt, springing me quickly back around. Appalled, I slapped Jersey in the chest. He laughed and pulled me close to him.
“Baby, you can’t be mad at me,” he said in a soft playful tone. “I invited you to come with me.”
“No, you didn’t. You pawned me off on CeCe because I was an inconvenience to your plans to get wasted before graduation.” I said firmly as I pulled out from his embrace.
“Baby, I wanted to get wasted with you but since you’re a bit of a prude, I hung with the guys.” He said placing his hands on my upper arms.
“You’re still drunk Jersey. I can smell it on your breath.”
“I haven’t drank since before graduation started and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I wanted to be there for you but the guys wouldn’t let me drive back because they worried I’d get pulled over. They were trying to be helpful.” He said, trying to win back my affections.
“Hmm.”
“Baby, I’m a jerk. Will you just let me show you how sorry I am?” He said leaning down to kiss my cheek and pull me in towards him.
“Jersey, there are a ton of people around here.”
He took my hand and led me outside to the back veranda. Underneath an old weeping cypress tree, he guided me to a garden bench for two.
“What do I need to do to tell you I screwed up?” He said as leaned in to kiss me.
As his lips touched mine, I’d almost forgotten that I’d been mad at him just minutes before. Jersey made me so mad sometimes. He’d do stupid things, apologize in a very convincingly sincere way and I’d forgive him every time. I was such a sucker. Sometimes, he made me so mad at myself for believing his antics. This time though he seemed more sorry than usual. As we continued to kiss, his hand slipped down my back and slowly up my right side. I quickly caught his hand and kept it still on my ribs before it moved any higher up.
“Jersey,” I said, pulling back from his kiss, “I need something to drink.”
“Right now? You need something to drink right now?”
“Yes, and you are still showing me how sorry you are for being a terrible boyfriend.”
I didn’t want him thinking he could just waltz right back in and take over my senses. Besides that, Jersey didn’t deserve any of my fruits.
“Okay, I’ll be back.”
“Lemonade,” I said loudly.
I sat quietly tucked behind the umbrella like branches of the weeping cypress tree. It was too nice of a night to stay mad for too long. I listened to the music of the orchestra on the veranda while I waited for Jersey to come back. I thought about poor CeCe standing like a pretty mannequin next to Bev greeting all the well-wishers as they strolled in. Grinning to myself, maybe it was good bonding time for those two while they waited for all their guests to arrive. Nearby were two girls giggling. As they came closer, I could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying. Something they must have not wanted others to hear as they shushed each other and walked away from the crowds of others on the great estate.
“Was he a good kisser?” I heard one say.
“Oh my goodness, he’s so romantic. He called me baby and then asked if he could kiss me. I was like, yeah, I guess.”
Trying my best to be quiet, I stood up and slowly backed up to the tree, trying not to make a noise. The girls must have been just on the other side of the tree as I could hear them more clearly now.
“I never would have thought you and Jersey together.” The one girl said to the one talking.
Now I was really listening. What did she mean ‘you and Jersey together’? Did she know I was on the other side of the tree? Was she talking to me?
“Yeah, I know, I always thought he was in love with Charlotte Buchanan. When I asked him about her, at the football field, he said she was a prude that broke his heart. He told me that they were done.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. My face was starting to get hot and my temples ached. Prude? Me? The guy who was just kissing me and trying to get a feel? Unbelievable!
“He told me that he wanted to see me later tonight.” She said to her friend.
“Are you going to meet him?
“Yeah. He said he’d sneak over and pick me up around one AM, when everyone is sleeping, so we could spend the night together at the beach.”
Seconds later Jersey snuck up behind me, with lemonade in his hands.
Whispering into my ear, he said, “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” I said yelling as I pulled us out from behind the tree.
Now visible to both of the girls standing there, gushing over him moments
earlier, I could see the shock on their faces. Jersey stood there surprised and eye brows raised. Speechless he was.
“I’m a prude? Is that because I wouldn’t get drunk on the football field and give you any? Yep, I’m a prude—if that means not wasting my time on a weasel, not worth wasting time on.”
I snatched my drink from Jersey and threw it in his face as I turned to storm off.
“Oh, and to you,” I said, stopping at the girl who was love struck just minutes ago, “he has taken me to the beach at one AM in the morning—you’re not the first and you won’t be the last!”
“We’re finished Jersey!” I said, yelling “Harley” repeatedly; as I started off in the direction I last saw CeCe.
Finding CeCe in the foyer, I interrupted her conversation. “CeCe, I’m leaving now. Jersey was drunk at the football field, playing tonsil hockey with some little sophomore. If I see him again, I will personally sick Harley on him.”
“Char I’m going with you. I’ll drive.”
“CeCe, you need to be here for your party.” Bev instilled.
“Mom, CeCe needs me and you’ll be fine, these are all your friends anyways. I’ll be back later.” She shouted, as she ran after me.
Within a few minutes we were at the beach.
“I’m so glad we’re out of there. Besides I love the beach, it’s my favorite place in the world.” I said, tasting the salty ocean air kiss my lips, with every spoken word.
“High school?” CeCe asked.
“Yeah, high school too, but the party and all the people.”
“Hey Char, thank you for rescuing me tonight. I would have clawed my eyes out if I had to stand next to Bev any longer. By the way you are really good at making impressions of my mom behind her back.”
“No problem Ce, that’s what best friends are for. They stick with you even when no one else does.” I said, looking at the full moon dancing above the tranquil sea.
In a low voice CeCe acknowledged, “I’m sorry about you and Jersey.”
“Thanks. It was only a matter of time. We wouldn’t have lasted long anyways once school started. He didn’t seem like the faithful type and besides, I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted anyhow. I might be naïve but I knew he didn’t deserve this peach.”
Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970) Page 3
