In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis

by Josephine Rascoe Keenan

  Carmen, the offspring resulting from that infidelity, had barged into my life bringing her deficit—Mama’s word—of manners and correct grammar, all things I had been taught to eschew—again Mama’s word—just as I was finally being accepted by the popular crowd. The thought flashed through my mind that I was a horrible hypocrite. When the popular kids weren’t around, I was perfectly willing to turn to her with my problems. And how two-faced I was to condemn her bad grammar while excusing the same fault in Farrel.

  “The whole situation is difficult sometimes,” I said, my voice tight with tension, “but that’s how the cow ate the cabbage.”

  She leaned down, cheek to cheek, and looked at our reflections in the mirror.

  “I’m sorry if talking about it makes you uncomfortable.”

  It made me want to claw her eyes out. That’s what it made me. But I put on a fake smile and watched as the stain on my family’s reputation manifested itself on my face as a ruddy blush.

  At the same time, I knew Darcy meant well and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She was the kindest member of the in-crowd.

  “And what about your father?” she went on. “I hear on the grapevine you saw him at Christmas. What was it like?”

  I could only stare at her. Where in the world did she drum up the nerve to ask me such a question? Next she’ll be asking me how my pregnancy is progressing. That’s when I’d drop over dead.

  “You know, my folks are separated,” she said, looking away. Her lower lip curled, and for an instant I thought she was going to cry.

  “Darcy, I . . . I didn’t know.”

  Her smiling mask flashed back onto her face, incongruous with the tears pooling in her eyes.

  “Yes, Mother left a few months ago.”

  I turned flabbergasted eyes on her. “Your mother? I never heard of anyone’s mother leaving.”

  “We keep real quiet about it, but I think Daddy’s going to file for divorce.”

  I patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Darcy. It must be awful not to have your mother.”

  “It is. She rode off on a motorcycle, hanging onto a tattooed guy with a bandana tied round his head. I haven’t heard from her since. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s not say another word about it. Ever.”

  That’s how most Southerners were: more than willing to never talk about anything truly significant in their lives.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, we have to blacken one of your front teeth.”

  “No way, José!”

  Her face reflected defeat for only a moment before her eyes lit with her typical bouncy enthusiasm. I watched her in the mirror, beaming with delight as she beheld the fruits of having labored over me from head to toe.

  “Perfect! That is, almost perfect. Will you let me tie up your hair in pigtails, one on each side of your head?”

  “No. Daisy Mae wears her hair down. I at least know that much.”

  She smiled. “Okay. Gotta run. I’m late picking up Larson.” She waved fluttering fingers. “See you all at the Y.”

  Guilt crept over me for always cringing at her enthusiastic behavior, sometimes so over-the-top it embarrassed those around her. She was good at heart and probably the best friend I had.

  “Darcy,” I said, stopping her in mid-bound.

  She turned back with large, expectant eyes.

  “Thanks. This was sweet of you. And I’m glad you felt you could confide in me.”

  Another slushy smile, and she was gone.

  —||—

  It was so weird going to the door to pick up a boy, then escorting him to the car and opening the door for him, like nice boys always did for girls. I even took Justin a corsage, which he actually pinned on his overalls.

  His parents, an elderly couple at least in their forties, met me at the door and looked on with big smiles as I struggled with the corsage pin. I giggled all through the procedure, and solemn Justin even managed a half-smile.

  “And there’s the boutonniere,” his mother said, a tender look touching her face. “I remember—”

  “Mother, we need to get going,” Justin said.

  “Oh, this’ll only take a minute, and someday you’ll look back and wish you’d listened to more of what it was like in the good ole days.”

  Justin groaned.

  She gestured to Justin’s father. “This one had the florist deliver the corsage, and along with it in the box was another little flower. My mother and I worried all afternoon that it had come unattached from the corsage, or maybe I was supposed to wear it. But where? Didn’t have a clue, as you kids say. We were country folks.” She nodded toward Mr. Moore. “I’m surprised this one took a shine to a farm girl.”

  “Most beautiful farm girl I ever laid eyes on,” Mr. Moore said. “Still is.”

  “Aw, go on.” Mrs. Moore gave him a gentle poke. “Mother and I finally decided the little flower was for my hair. When this one picked me up, I thought he looked a little surprised, but he never said a word. At the dance, a nice lady chaperone took one look at me and whisked me off to the restroom. Turned out the little flower was a boutonniere for the boy’s lapel. Thought I’d die!”

  “Put a lid on it, Mother! We’ve got to hit the road.”

  Justin steered me to the door.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” I called back as the screen door banged behind us. “I’m wearing this one in my hair tonight in honor of you.”

  —||—

  I could tell the minute we stepped into the large room at the Y that tonight would go down in my memories as a symbol of all that was good about school days and friends in our wonderful little town. The room glowed with colored lanterns. Crepe paper streamers dangled from the lights. Balloons and posters of Dogpatch characters decorated the walls. Our classmates, bedecked in Daisy Mae and Li’l Abner costumes, circulated among themselves, electrifying the room with their chatter and laughter.

  For fear I would throw up again, Mama had tried to talk me out of going to the dance. But after my storm of tears and entreaties, she relented—against her better judgment. She had already sent letters to the homes for unwed mothers in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, hoping one would be affordable and have space for me. That made this night even more important. Though I vowed I wouldn’t go to a home voluntarily, she might succeed in forcing me.

  From across the room, I picked out Laura, a snaggletooth grin made with eyebrow pencil taking over her face as she clung to the arm of Bubba John Younger. Lynn beamed from her perch on the edge of the shallow stage beside her date, Billy Jack Griffith, a football player who moved here last August in time for the start of practice. Carmen stood next to the food table with Della, Rhonda, Faye, and Eugene Hoffmeyer. She saw Justin and me from across the room and came straight over.

  Her greeting, “Hi, sis,” made me cringe with fear of what the in-crowd would think. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by snubbing her, so I plastered on a smile. Standing opposite each other in the same costume, we looked absolutely identical.

  Justin blinked at the sight of us. “Which one of you is my date? I can’t tell you apart.”

  “Are you with Eugene?” I asked Carmen.

  “Not on your tintype, even though he did offer to pay for his own coke and drive his car if I’d ask him.”

  Our partners for the first two dances were our dates, but the third dance partner hinged on a race.

  “As you know,” the Y Director said, “in the Li’l Abner comic strip, the town spinsters chased the bachelors on Sadie Hawkins Day. Any fellow who got caught and dragged across the finish line before sundown had to marry the girl. Our race will be for a dance, not a wedding, so girls, get ready to chase the boy of your dreams. And to be fair,” she continued, “we’re going to give you boys a head start.”

  “We don’t need a head start,” rang out through the room.

  On the count of three, the boys took off, the girls hotfooting it behind them. Bedlam took over as boys turned over chairs and leaped across tables to escape u
ndaunted girls, determined to catch them.

  Justin and I joined the hilarity, scurrying in and out among other Abners and Sadies.

  On my third trip across the hall, I lost control and skidded, crashing into Farrel, who was just arriving. He caught me by both arms, or I’d have fallen flat.

  “You’re the one who is supposed to catch me,” he said, smiling into my startled face.

  All evening I’d scanned the large room to see if anyone had TWIRPed him. He must be up to his usual habit of stopping by our dances without a date so he would have no obligation to any one girl.

  I yearned to prolong my grip on his arms, but I forced myself to let go.

  “Like it or not, you caught me,” he said. “I’m your partner for the next dance.”

  “I’m not dragging you back to the finish line,” I said, turning away.

  “No,” he said behind me. “I’m dragging you.”

  He grabbed me around the waist and picked me up, like he was carrying me across the threshold, and proceeded straight to the finish line.

  “She caught me. The next dance is mine,” he told the director.

  “This is a switch,” the director said, “but since there’s no rule against it, you get your dance.”

  The jukebox fired up, and Farrel pulled me close. Elvis’s latest song, “Tell Me Why,” filled the room. Farrel’s lips touched my hair.

  “Tell me why,” he said.

  “Shuussh.”

  A collage of couples on the floor revolved around us as we danced. Justin stood on the sidelines, his face torn between understanding and hurt.

  This was what I had longed for—to be once again in Farrel’s arms. At this moment, all three of us are together, maybe for the one and only time, I thought, remembering my poor baby, who would likely never know his father. Farrel might be proud of a son or a daughter someday, but now the baby and I would only be in his way of fulfilling his dreams.

  “Thanks for the dance,” he said when the music stopped.

  Thoughts of our child stirred emotions inside me that trumped reason. Seeing the passionate look in his eyes, the grip on my resolve loosened, and I opened my mouth to speak the forbidden words. The truth would have been spilled—and Farrel’s dreams of the future shattered—had it not been for Eugene Hoffmeyer’s boisterous intrusion into the time capsule of isolation Farrel and I stood in, clinging to each other’s hands, alone together in the tumult of the crowded dance floor.

  “I’m claiming the next dance, Julie,” Eugene said, “even if it is girls’ choice. You didn’t ask me for a TWIRP date all week, and I want my turn.”

  Farrel dropped my hands and walked away.

  “Eugene, you’re such a ding-a-ling!” I said as an ear-piercing fast song rocked the dance hall.

  “Come on, let’s dance,” and he jerked me out onto the floor where he stomped my toe and yanked me under his arm.

  Nausea tickled the back of my throat.

  “Isn’t this the greatest?” he yelled over the music.

  On the sidelines, Justin looked like a wall flower. A moment later, Laura snagged him for a dance while Eugene threw me back and forth, under his arms, and across his body, around and under, in time with the ear-splitting music.

  The floor swayed, spots flitted before my eyes, and the room went black.

  Chapter 7

  TIME AND TIDE

  I came to with a jerk, my throat and nose burning from the pungent fumes of the vial of smelling salts the Y director held up to my nose. A crowd of curious and anxious faces floated above me. Someone pressed a cold cloth to my forehead. Farrel and Justin stood watching like two scared boys, pale fright pasted on their faces.

  “I’m sorry,” Eugene repeated over and over. “I didn’t mean to make her fall out.”

  Justin took him by the shoulders and steered him away. Farrel kept his eyes fastened on mine until the director and someone’s dad helped me to my feet and led me toward the office. Carmen trailed close behind with Justin and Farrel. The three crowded with us into the small area, and they hovered around me.

  When I was seated in the director’s comfortable chair, she asked, “How are you feeling? Still faint? Does anything hurt?”

  “Just my finger.”

  She gingerly took my hand and frowned over the finger.

  “We’ll call an ambulance and get you to the hospital,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  “She doesn’t need to go to the hospital,” Carmen said, meeting my eyes.

  “Not for just a hurt finger,” I added, panicked at the thought of my condition being discovered.

  The director persisted. “But it might be broken.”

  “It’s probably just a sprain. I’m fine, really.”

  I struggled up from the chair to prove it. Thankfully, the dizziness was gone.

  “You’re still none too steady on your feet. You need to call your mother to come pick you up,” the director said.

  “She can’t,” I said and cleared my throat. “I have the car. TWIRP week.”

  The director frowned. “Oh dear.”

  Carmen moved to my side. “It’s okay. Justin’s her date. He can take her home and call his dad to pick him up there.”

  Justin nodded his agreement, and the director audibly breathed her relief.

  “Problem solved. It takes a woman.” Abruptly, she turned back to me, then back to eyeball Carmen. “I know you’re not twins.”

  “Half-sisters,” I said.

  The director tilted her head. “I knew that. This is the first time I’ve ever been around you two together. Amazing. I’ve never seen such a resemblance in non-twins. Just amazing.”

  —||—

  “Broken,” the doctor pronounced in the treatment room on Monday morning.

  I wasn’t surprised. It had throbbed all night after the dance, and I’d had such pain brushing my teeth Sunday morning that I had to tape it.

  “But the fracture is stable,” he added with a smile. “You’re going to live. We’ll splint it to the finger beside it for four weeks. After that you’ll have limited use for two more weeks. Then, tip-top shape again. No excessive use of the hand. You’re in the band at school, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “The clarinet.”

  “You’ll have to give that up for a while. I’ll write you an excuse, not that you’ll need one when they see your splint. Take a couple of aspirin when you need it for pain.”

  “Let’s go, honey,” Mama said.

  She moved to help me get off the table. I’d noticed her leg jumping the whole time we were in the examining room. I knew that signaled her nerves were frayed.

  My own anxiety leapfrogged when the doctor said, “I know you’re eager to get her to school, but I’m concerned about a sixteen-year-old fainting. We’d better run some tests. Make sure nothing else is wrong.”

  Mama’s eyes glazed over with panic. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor.” Her lips strained into a fake smile. “Julie’s never fainted before. I’m sure it was the heat and the excitement of the dance. Besides, you had just started your period, hadn’t you?” Her wide eyes commanded my confirmation.

  “Right,” I said, sliding off the examining table.

  “That’s no cause for a healthy girl to faint. I’d feel better about it if I checked her out,” the doctor said.

  “If it happens again, absolutely,” Mama said. With a hand under my elbow, she swiftly piloted me into the outer office. “Put this on my bill, Betty Sue,” she said to the clerk. “I’m in a hurry to get her to school before she misses any more classes.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Morgan, but we’re not extending any more credit,” the girl replied.

  Mama snorted. “Dear Gussie, what is the world coming to? Well, you’ll have to wait until I can get home, get my checkbook, and come all the way back.”

  The girl held her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. But bring it by today.”

  —||—

  “Whew, that was a close call,” Mama said in t
he car on the way home. “Thank God I was able to stop him from examining you. That does it. We’re under the gun. You’re going into a home for unwed mothers if I have to open one up out in Texas myself. It’s the only way to keep your life from being ruined. And mine. I just can’t bear any more shame.”

  We rode a few blocks in silence. When we turned onto our street, Mama said, “Some years it seems like spring will never come.”

  I studied her profile. The determined chin looked out of place with her defeated posture.

  “We’ll tell people you’re sick,” she said.

  “People aren’t stupid. They’ll figure out the truth when I suddenly disappear.”

  “No. That fainting spell couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.”

  “They won’t be fooled by that.”

  “They damn well better be!”

  Wheeling into the driveway, she gunned the car up the concrete strips and slammed on the brakes. She held the steering wheel with both hands and looked down into her lap.

  “I’m sorry. I’m at the end of my rope. You’re right. The whole town will figure it out,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that, if you disappear.”

  “Shouldn’t I go to school today?”

  Mama opened the car door.

  “No, we can’t take a chance on any more fainting or vomiting in public. We have to do something, quick. But what? ‘Time and tide wait for no man.’”

  —||—

  We hadn’t been inside two minutes when the phone rang. It was Carmen.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Broken finger. Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I’m playing hooky. Listen, I have an idea that might save you.”

  I sank down on Mama’s bed. “What?”

  “I don’t dare mention it on the phone. You never know when the operator is listening in. We need to come over.”

  “We who?”