Pretty in Punxsutawney

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  One man wearing suspenders in a non-ironic manner grumbles, “You’re not cheerleaders.”

  “See that?” Anna says. “They’re not even going to show up. Those girls are terrible.”

  I point to an oversized clock on the wall. “It’s not even six o’clock.”

  Just then I hear synchronized clapping coming from the hallway haunted by old movie stars behind us. The sound builds as it draws closer.

  I turn just in time to see Tammy fling the door wide open. She marches into the room with her hands in the air and calls out, “Who’s ready to get this party started?”

  The whole room springs to life. Wrinkled faces draw up into smiles and bald and fluffy white heads begin to nod more deliberately. The old man in suspenders who waved us off raises his arms partway above his head and gives a loud, “Woo!”

  Anna says, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Is this really happening?” Petra asks.

  “This is happening.” I smile. “And they all look so happy.”

  The cheerleaders have already moved out onto the floor, and I picture the first few moves of their routine as the whole room waits for them to start.

  I had no idea this was where they headed after our long, grueling practice each day. I’m curious what motivates them to take time out to perform here.

  I suppose this room is indeed bigger than the cafeteria crowded with folded tables, so maybe this is just so they can test their routines in a space as big as the gym. Plus, they get the added benefit of seeming like good people for spending time with the elderly.

  Everyone loves a teen doing charity work, and these girls are earning some high-quality good-job gold stars right now.

  Except that when I think about it, back when I was friends with them, they never mentioned Maya’s House to anyone outside their group. And according to what Dawn said, and the old folks’ reactions, they’ve been at this for a while, but not even Anna and Petra knew it was happening. And they seem to be aware of all student body happenings.

  Anna and Petra stand beside me, wide-eyed, as the music starts. The cheerleaders give a surprised look when they notice us, but Tammy just gives an acknowledging nod.

  They assume their positions on the dance floor like they’re ready to perform, and I catch Anna rolling her eyes at Petra. But the Maya’s House residents seem to be confused. They’re taking hesitant strides, shuffling their orthopedic shoes along the smooth wooden floor like a group of elderly fans rushing their favorite band. In slow motion.

  I’m expecting the cheerleaders to guide them back to their seats, and Anna must anticipate the same thing, because she says, “Here we go,” and holds up the camera like she’s getting ready to take a shot of the Punxsutawney cheerleaders bullying the elderly.

  Instead, the only thing she sees through her camera lens is the group of girls smiling while they greet the slowly approaching old people with outstretched arms. Anna peers over the top of the camera she’s still holding in front of her face.

  The music shifts to an upbeat tune straight from the dance party scene in Grease, and Tammy and her crew each start doing a modified swing dance with the residents.

  And when I say “modified,” what I really mean is super embarrassing. It’s a bit like watching a movie mashup between a zombie flick and Grease. But when I see the faces of the residents, I recognize such deep joy, it turns their clumsy dancing beautiful.

  I can’t help but grin. Anna drops the camera to her waist, and she and Petra look at each other with their eyebrows raised and their mouths slack.

  “This is amazing,” I whisper, and ease the camera out of Anna’s hand.

  Petra points to Jacynda holding hands with an elderly gentleman as the two of them hop and kick together. “Get that shot,” she tells me. “Look how happy he looks.”

  A few of the men are coupled with the cheerleaders, but it’s the ladies who dominate the dance floor. All shapes and sizes, they’re laughing as they twist and skip about with varying degrees of spryness. One woman even climbs on the front pedals of her friend’s mobility scooter, waving her arms in the air. I look to Dawn to see if she’s going to put a stop to the shenanigans, but she’s busy clapping along with the music.

  I look at the smiling faces and realize that this dance party is about the least-selfish act of charity I’ve ever seen a cheerleader perform. And to think I’d assumed they were all heading to some party.

  Anna says, “Someone’s going to break a hip.”

  “Well, they’ll have fun doing it.” I look at her. “You know, I’m sure these people have suffered plenty of pain over their lives, but look at them now,” I say. “Moving forward. Chasing joy.”

  One of the residents lets out a whoop, and Anna swings her attention to the wild scene on the dance floor. The music shifts to a more modern song that’s been all over lately, and Petra grabs Anna’s arm.

  “Come on,” she says, “this is your jam.”

  Anna shakes her head no and tries to pull away. Petra hangs on to her with both hands, trying to force her onto the floor, but Anna wants no part of what she is witnessing.

  Once the song’s chorus hits, Petra can’t resist bursting into song. With her arms held wide, she twirls onto the dance floor and the cheerleaders make room, giving a shout of approval. Petra looks so happy as she joins hands with a tiny woman who’s clapping with even worse rhythm than I used to have.

  Jacynda leads a rowdy conga line past us, and I can’t help but jump onboard. As the line curls back around itself, I pass a laughing Petra, and she calls out to me, “Everyone is so happy! This is unbelievable!”

  I smile back, but don’t think she can hear me when I say, “Yeah, this was a really good day.”

  Reaching back to grasp the textured hands on my waist, I guide them so they’re holding the gentleman’s hips in front of me. Once the gap is closed, I step out of the conga line and smile as I watch it move past. I’m ready to head home.

  As I pass Anna, she uncrosses her arms. “I can’t believe I had those girls all wrong,” she says, half to herself.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I did too at first.”

  “Maybe they didn’t prank me at Gobbler’s Knob after all,” she says. “This changes everything.”

  I beam at her, but of course for me, it doesn’t change anything—tomorrow morning I’ll be waking up on my living room couch and nothing will be different at all.

  I look at Petra now doing a hand jive with a woman sporting a thick white pompadour. “I’m really tired, but Petra’s having too much fun right now,” I tell Anna. “Can you let her know I’ll get a ride home from my mom?”

  “You sure you don’t mind getting your mom to pick you up?” Anna seems distracted as she watches the spectacle playing out on the dance floor.

  “Of course not,” I say. “Do you want my mom to drive you home now too?”

  She doesn’t answer right away, and I think she’s suffering from some form of pretentious social shock over all of this.

  Then without warning, the beat drops and Anna takes a hop step into the center of the dance floor and starts doing an unselfconscious robot impression, one that seems completely out of character. A group of residents form a circle around her and goad her on with offbeat clapping.

  It’s a really beautiful moment.

  Everyone is having such a great time, it’s almost okay that nobody will remember this in the morning. Almost.

  I text my mom for a ride, and she texts me back that she’s nearly finished watching the end of Pretty in Pink from last night, and do I mind hanging tight for a little while. Even though last night is now many months ago, that movie is still finding new and creative ways of interrupting my life.

  As I wait for Mom to come and pick me up, I wander down the opposite hallway, checking out the movie star pictures on those walls. I recognize most of the actors even though I don’t know all their movies. The ladies look so glamorous and the men are overly groomed, with their hair slic
ked back and their mustaches trimmed. Eternally young.

  I wonder for a moment which stars will be framed on the wall when I’m old. And will they use posed portraits like this, or will they just frame the most scandalous tabloid shots for each celebrity? I’m stung by a slap of sadness. I don’t know if I’ll ever get old and find out.

  Outside of a picture frame, eternally young is no way to really live.

  chapter 17

  Hello, Andie. Are you lost?”

  I’m standing in the lobby of Maya’s House, waiting for my mom to pick me up, and I startle at hearing my name. Turning, I see Tom haltingly walk down the yellow carpet toward me. On his arm is an old woman with her hair in two long braids. She’s fairly tall despite her evident age.

  I try to remember if I’ve spoken to him yet in today’s loop, and snap my fingers when I remember: “The mall.” He looks surprised, and I add, “Er, how was it?”

  “Pretty much the same as every other mall across America, thanks for asking.” He laughs. “How was the mall for you?”

  “Great.” I need to dial back my enthusiasm. He doesn’t know how close the two of us have gotten. I ask, “So, who’s this?”

  Tom smiles as he holds the woman’s delicate hand toward me. “This is my grandma. You can call her Meemaw. Everyone does.”

  We shake hands, and she surprises me with a firm grip. “You two are missing quite the show over in the rec room,” I say. “The cheerleaders are teaching the other residents how to dance.”

  “I’m good,” Meemaw says. “Ready for my Rampage!” She aggressively claws at the air.

  I give Tom a confused look and whisper, “Is she okay?”

  “Nope.” He laughs. “Not one bit. Follow us.”

  Tom’s grandmother holds out her free arm, I take it, and the three of us shuffle forward together.

  At the end of the hallway we walk through two doors similar to the ones that led to the rec room. I’m greeted by a row of video arcade games standing side by side, all lit up and waiting to be played.

  The colorful marques above the screens advertise each game: Ms. Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Space Invaders, Centipede, Asteroids. Tom says, “All of the old classics are here.”

  Meemaw has broken free from us, and she’s making her way along the row of games. At the end, she stops at a game unit that has a screen filled with skyscrapers. The lit-up name across the top reads ramPage, with a bodybuilder wolf and a strong ape each punching a lizard man’s face from either side.

  I reach into my bag and ask, “Do you need some quarters?” I carry extras around now since there’s a soda machine at the mall, and I do love a refreshing beverage from time to time.

  “No worries, the games are all free.” Tom turns the key that’s sticking out of the front panel and opens the small door. Reaching inside, he jimmies the coin switch wire repeatedly, and his meemaw claps her hands as the machine beeps to indicate a plethora of player credits adding up.

  Finally, she can’t hold in her excitement anymore and shoves her grandson out of the way. “Let me at it,” she says, grabbing the set of game controls on the right-hand side of the console. She gestures to the center controls. “You can be the wolf.”

  He moves into position and tells me, “It’s three players, if you want to get in on this.”

  I laugh, but cut off when Meemaw gives me a sharp glare. “You can be the lizard, but stay out of my ape’s way.”

  The profile images of our three characters come up, and I must say, the graphics are rather archaic. My lizard’s name is Lizzie, and every one of the monster’s pixels is clearly defined. It’s hard to believe this was ever cutting-edge technology.

  But once the game starts, the primitiveness is forgotten as we all jump and climb up the skyscrapers, punching out windows and eating the screaming people that appear. I accidentally punch Tom’s wolf, and the wolf reacts by covering his eyes with his hand.

  “Sorry,” I say. “He doesn’t have much of a defense, does he?”

  “Nope.” Tom’s wolf punches me back and my lizard man covers his eyes.

  “Hey,” I say. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  We both laugh, and Meemaw snaps, “You two stop messing around and help me take down this building.”

  Tom dips his head toward me. “Be careful not to hit her ape. Meemaw has been known to retaliate by punching back in person.”

  I laugh, and he looks at me.

  “She’s freakishly strong,” he says. “One time I kept messing around, and my arm was completely numb by the time we were done playing.”

  “I’ll steer clear of the ape.” Tom looks at me, and I call across to Meemaw, “I mean ape in the game. I wasn’t calling you an ape.”

  Meemaw mumbles under her breath, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Tom laughs, and he and I focus on punching buildings and eating cars.

  When I look over, Meemaw has her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth as she smacks her punch button with her open palm. Tom’s tongue is sticking out the same way, and the look of focus as the two of them call out instructions to each other is adorable. Meanwhile, my lizard man forgets to jump off one of the buildings before it collapses and I lose a life.

  “So, what did you think of Pretty in Pink?” Tom asks as we both tap our buttons like mad. It takes me a minute to remember I’d mentioned going home to watch it when I was at the movie theater, just before the whole world went wonky on me.

  “It was . . . okay,” I say while my lizard reaches into an apartment window and eats another guy. The man must go down the wrong pipe, because my lizard closes his eyes and breathes out fire as if he’s choking.

  “You didn’t love it? I thought with your name and red hair, that movie was supposed to be some sort of next-level, life-changing experience.”

  “I guess you could say it made an impact.” Enormous understatement. I groan as my character reaches into a broken wall and gets electrocuted. “Wrecking buildings is a lot of work.”

  Meemaw says, “Less talking, more smashing.”

  Tom laughs and bumps his hip against mine. “Tell me. Did you think Duckie should’ve gotten the girl?”

  I let go of my lever, stop punching my buttons, and look at Tom. “Absolutely. How did you know?”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that was the original intent of the movie. Didn’t you watch the special features?”

  “I . . . didn’t have time.” I almost laugh out loud at my lie. I have more time than I have anything else. Why didn’t I think to watch the Pretty in Pink special features?

  As Meemaw yells out instructions for destroying the buildings, Tom explains that John Hughes’ original screenplay had Andie and Duckie ending up at the prom together. Then test audiences all wanted to see her get Blane, the handsome rich guy, and apparently test audience reactions are majorly important to film studios.

  “Didn’t you notice how horrible Andrew McCarthy’s hair looks at the prom in the end?”

  “Focus up!” Meemaw says, “You two can discuss the prom some other time.”

  Tom and I laugh and keep playing, and by the time I get the text from my mom saying that she’s out front, we’ve helped Meemaw take down at least a dozen buildings.

  “I’m just going to walk Andie out,” Tom tells her. “Keep the rampage rolling, Meemaw.”

  “Fine, Tommy, but you owe me another life when you get back.”

  He leans over and kisses her forehead. Tom lowers his voice, but I can hear him say, “I owe you all my lives, Meemaw.”

  She playfully swats him away, and he pretends to hold his arm in pain. I tell her good-bye and it was nice meeting her, and she just nods without taking her eyes off her ape rampaging alone onscreen.

  As Tom walks me down the hallway toward the entrance, I say, “Your meemaw seems like a trip.”

  “Yeah, she used to live with us, but her care needs were getting to be too much once my mom went back to work. She can get a
little sassy when she eats too much sugar.”

  “It’s so nice you come and visit her,” I say.

  “I usually try to stop by and play a few rounds with her before my shift at the theater. I’m working tonight.” He looks at his watch. “In fact, I’d better get back there to finish destroying the city before I have to take Meemaw back to her room.”

  We move within earshot of the music flowing from the rec room. “It’s nice they have so much cool stuff for the seniors to do.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty nice here.” Tom looks back toward the arcade room. “Sad though too. The residents are often lonely, and each time Meemaw makes a new friend, they seem to die on her.”

  “That is sad.”

  “Yeah, outliving everyone can be an isolating thing. The folks here really love it when their families come to visit, but, you know, most people have busy lives.”

  “I imagine your visits really mean a lot.”

  “Yeah. And the cheerleaders help a lot too. Being around young people is like a shot of vitality to the residents. It gives them hope.”

  We stand looking at each other for a moment. I long to give him a hug, but know that clinging to these feelings will just make it hurt even more when today is erased. There’s no way for me to rewrite this thing between us.

  “Well, I’m going home to catch those Pretty in Pink special features,” I say. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Tom looks almost wistful, then checks his watch again. “You got it. I’m off to finish rampaging the city.” He brushes a hand against my arm as he turns and strides back in the direction we came.

  I will him to look back the whole time and am rewarded when he finally gets to the doors. As he shoves the door open, he glances back over his shoulder, almost by accident, and smiles when I give him a final wave good-bye.

  It’s the closest I’ve come to making progress in our relationship, and tomorrow it will all be undone again. And that especially sucks tonight, because I’m pretty sure that seeing Tom playing video games with his meemaw just made me fall the rest of the way in love with him.