All That's True

by Jackie Lee Miles

  And then this idea just came to me; just knocked me right in my head plain as pie. And I say, “Why don’t we make it so these girls can have clothes like ours?” I tell her I’m thinking we could start a clothes-share just like the food-share. And Bridget goes, “Yeah! We can get everyone to donate really good clothes that they’re tired of, right?”

  We’re going to call it Sweet ’n’ Sassy Fashionique. We like the sound of it. My mother said the best way to get it off the ground is to get the daughters of all the Junior League women to help out. Plus those kids all have the best clothes and believe me they get tired of them really fast, so their hand-me-downs are first rate.

  Monday after school we’re meeting with Mrs. Blakely who heads up Table Grace Kitchen to tell her about our idea and then my mother is contacting the Junior League woman and Bridget and I are going to make a list of all their daughters that want to help out and we’re going to set up a boutique, hopefully in the room in back of the food room, that’s supposed to be full of food; it’s an overflow area, except we never have enough food to fill up the first room. No matter how many donations we get, the food just marches right out the door like it has feet.

  So now I’m feeling very happy with myself. There’s a warm spot in my heart that just gets warmer thinking about girls like the one that came to the food kitchen and seeing their eyes all shiny and bright as they pick out a complete outfit. That’s the idea, they get to come and for an hour shop the boutique and come away with maybe two complete outfits, belts and necklaces and everything. So we’re collecting those, too.

  Bridget is lying on her bed on her stomach making notes of all of the things we have to do to get it started. The sun is shining through her window and catches some strands of her hair and it looks sort of like a halo. I’m so excited my hands are shaking and my head is filled with twenty happy thoughts at once. When two friends get together, it’s amazing what can happen. You just never know.

  ***

  I’m telling my father all about the boutique. I’ve already told my mother, but the excitement is still bubbling inside me so I start telling my father as soon as he gets home. He’s walking forward and I’m walking backwards in front of him.

  “Guess what?” I say, but don’t wait for him to answer. I immediately explain what Bridget and I are doing and plop down on the sofa. He actually sits down next to me and listens and then pats my shoulder and says, “That’s a very good idea, Andi. I’m proud of you.” My father hardly takes time to talk to me at all and now he’s listening to me and talking back. Ever since I met Rodney my life has been filled with miracles. Everything just glows.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  We got the news this morning. Amy had the baby! The doctor was right. It’s a boy. He’s premature so he sort of looks like a little bird, but a really cute one. He’ll have to stay at the hospital until he weighs at least five pounds. Currently, he’s only four pounds and some ounces and he doesn’t have any hair. Jeffrey and Amy have decided to name him Joshua Alexander. But they’re not going to call him Alex for short, which is good. It would hurt too much to hear that name all the time. They’ll just call him Joshua, which I really like. Joshua Alexander Beauchamp. Sounds really nice. Maybe not the Beauchamp part, but the parents don’t get to choose their last name, so he’s stuck with it.

  We’re at the hospital now. Amy is sitting up in bed with the covers tucked around her waist. She still has on a hospital gown. Jeffrey is handing out blue bubble-gum cigars that say, It’s a boy! He unwraps one and sticks it in his mouth and does a Groucho Marx routine. He’s feeling really good, no doubt about that. But it is a big relief. When Amy started having the baby again, it was still a month too soon, and that’s never good. You don’t know what will happen. Then again, even when babies are born on time, sometimes things go wrong, so it’s just a big relief all around that he’s finally here and he’s fine. The hospital staff has Joshua in an incubator. He has these little plastic breathing tubes in his nose. Mrs. Beauchamp, Jeffrey’s mother insists he looks just like Jeffrey when he was born, which is a rather stupid thing to say. Jeffrey’s not really the father. Alex is. But Mrs. Beauchamp also says Jeffrey was premature, too. That part’s a relief. Not that they’re related by blood or anything, but Jeffrey is at least six feet tall. Being premature doesn’t seem to have hurt him. So, maybe Joshua will grow up big and strong and being premature and getting off to a rough start won’t matter. When I think about stuff like that it makes me want to see into the future, but mostly I never want to. It’s too scary. It’s bad enough when stuff hits you in the face. It’s better not to see it coming.

  Right now I just want to sit on the ceiling and take a picture of everyone laughing and being so happy. It’s like all the families gathered around—Amy’s mother is here, too—are related now, some more than others. I think about Joshua having our blood in his veins and it’s pretty thrilling. A part of Alex really is still with us.

  Amy’s mother says we should all be going and let Amy get some rest. “It’s been a long morning,” she says, and tucks some of Amy’s hair behind one ear. Amy doesn’t look tired at all. She’s positively beaming. But she had a caesarean which I understand is a major operation. It was necessary because when she went into labor the monitor said the baby’s heart was beating too fast. Probably from the drugs they put in her veins when she first went into labor. You never know when they’re using these powerful drugs what harm they can do in the future.

  I go back to the nursery one more time to see how Joshua is doing. They have him in a special nursery where the premature babies are kept. I can see him clearly through his little plastic bed. He’s moving his feet and his arms around like a regular baby. The nurse moves his bed over to the window so I can get a better look. It’s a very nice thing to do. I smile and wave at her. She probably thinks I’m the big sister and here I’m an aunt. When she turns the plastic bed around so I can see him better, Joshua opens his eyes. His little head turns toward me like he knows I’m there! He blinks twice. He looks so cute with the little tubes in his nose, but I hope they don’t hurt him. He’s so sweet. His eyes are staring right at me. It’s like he already knows I’m family. I lean closer to the window and he just stares away at me. This little guy is really smart. It’s like he’s thinking, I know you! You’re my Aunt Andi! It makes me want to pick him up and take him home, pronto.

  ***

  As soon as we get home I call Bridget. “You weren’t at school today,” she says. “Are you sick?”

  I plop down on my bed and wrap the phone cord around my arm and tell her all about the baby. “He’s so tiny, but all his parts work,” I assure her. I ask if she’d like to come up and see him. “We’re going back tonight.”

  “I have to finish my homework first,” she says. “What time are you leaving?”

  I tell her I’ll find out and call her back. My mother’s not in her bedroom, so I go downstairs. She’s in the Florida room arranging flowers in an oversized vase. She has a cup of tea on the table next to the vase. Now that she’s not drinking, she does regular things like arranging flowers and having tea. I’m still not used to it, so it’s always a surprise. I ask her about what time we’ll go back to the hospital.

  “As soon as I get back from my meeting,” she says. She wraps her hands gently around the bouquet she’s arranged and leans over and sniffs.

  “You know what I’m thinking, Andi?” she says.

  I don’t say anything. I just stand there because I’m afraid of what she could be thinking.

  “I’m thinking that I like life so much better now that I’m sober.”

  It’s the first time she’s used that word, at least while I’m around. I don’t know how to put into words what I’m feeling when she says it. It’s like someone just blew my heart up like a balloon and they blew in too much air and it’s about to burst. I wrap my arm around her waist and rest my head on her arm. I want to say something amazing and meaningful, but I know if I try to talk I’ll start
crying. I never counted on things turning out this way. I thought life would continue to suck—for the most part—on a regular basis. I still have my arm around my mother and she wraps one of hers around me. She kisses the top of my head softly.

  “Oh Andi,” she says. “I had no idea it was so bad for you, honey. And I’m so sorry.” She pats my back.

  That does it. I start blubbering. My father’s home, for once—he’s reading the paper in the next room. He hears me crying and gets up to joins us.

  “What’s up?” he says. “Andi?”

  My mother pulls a Kleenex out of her pocket and hands it too me.

  “It’s nothing,” my mother explains. “Too much excitement for one day is all.” And I’m thinking like too much excitement for one lifetime. First my brother dies, then my mother starts drinking, then my father starts up with Donna, then my mother stops drinking, and I meet Rodney and we have a new baby and Beth is getting married and we’re going on a cruise. It’s a lot of things filling me up—my cup is running over. I sniff loudly. My mother takes her hand and smoothes the hair on the back of my head and my father takes my chin and tips it gently toward him. And he just stands there holding it and looking into my eyes. I realize it isn’t earth-shattering for a father to take hold of one’s chin, but under the circumstances at our house, it is a lot. I start blubbering all over again.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Tonight is the night of the Sadie Hawkins dance. Mr. Finch, my English teacher is explaining to our class how this tradition got started. To begin with the event is supposed to be held in November, but our school principal says with our homecoming dance being in the fall that it would be better to hold this one in the spring. So much for tradition. Still, the story behind the dance is very interesting and for once Mr. Finch has my full attention.

  “It all began with Li’l Abner, Al Capp’s classic hillbilly comic strip,” he says and holds up a yellowed newspaper. “It was popular from 1934 to 1977.”

  Suddenly, this is starting to sound like a history lesson. Several of the students are shifting in their seats and the guy across from me, Warren Pritchard, is doodling in his English notebook. Mr. Finch drones on.

  “Sadie Hawkins was the daughter of one of Dogpatch’s earliest settlers. She was known as the ‘homeliest gal in all them thar hills’.” Mr. Finch is really getting into the story. He thinks his imitation of the cartoon is so funny he stops and snorts. He takes a deep breath before continuing with his monologue. “According to the legend, Sadie grew frantic waiting for suitors to come a-courtin’,” Mr. Finch says. Laugh, laugh. He’s getting a major kick out of telling this fable and goes on to explain that Sadie’s father was even more frantic than she was. In desperation he called together all the unmarried men of Dogpatch and had it declared “Sadie Hawkins Day.” A footrace was set up, with Sadie in pursuit of the town’s eligible bachelors.

  “Matrimony was the consequence,” Mr. Finch explains. He picks up the newspaper strip he has brought as a prop and starts to read from it.

  “‘When ah fires my gun, all o’ you kin start a-runnin’. When ah fires agin, Sadie starts a-runnin’. Th’one she ketches’ll be her husbin’.”

  Mr. Finch has done such a good job of reading, the class starts to clap and hoot and holler. Mr. Finch grins like he’s receiving an academy award. He lays the newspaper on his desk and leans over and takes a bow. There’s too much talking going on in the class for him to continue. He holds up his hands and calls for order.

  “There’s more,” he says. “Settle down.” He clears his throat. “Now the town spinsters decided that this was such a good idea, they made Sadie Hawkins Day a mandatory yearly event, much to the dismay of the Dogpatch bachelors. Many sequences of the comic strip centered around the dreaded Sadie Hawkins Day race. If a woman caught a bachelor and dragged him across the finish line before sundown, he had to marry her. It proved to be a cultural phenomenon and schools across the country started holding Sadie Hawkins Day dances. So there you have it, the history of this dance.”

  Warren Pritchard leans across the aisle and taps me on the shoulder. “So, you gonna ask me to the dance?” He snorts like Mr. Finch. Warren is fairly nice looking but he has more pimples on his face than a polka dot dress has spots. I ignore him and thankfully, the bell rings.

  “I’ll be waiting for you to call,” Warren says and files out the door with the rest of us. Even if I were going to ask him, which I’m not about to, how does he figure I’d ask him on the day of the dance? That’s another reason why I’m fortunate to be in love with an older man. Rodney would never ask such a stupid question at such an inappropriate time. Boys are so immature. The only reason I am even going to this dance is because Bridget wants to. Also, I’m thinking it may be important for a school memory when I’m fully grown. So I don’t feel like I missed out on things.

  The actual dance turns out alright until the last half-hour. I’m wearing this petticoat dress. They are all the latest rage, sort of soft and floaty. Somehow, the back of mine gets caught in my pantyhose, so I end up showing my butt to the entire school. Joey and David laugh all the way home. I know if this had happened with Rodney, he would be comforting me, not laughing at me.

  “It’s not even funny anymore, you guys,” Bridget says and crosses her arms firmly.

  She is sitting in the front seat with Joey and David’s father, Mr. Hanson, who is driving us home.

  “What’s not funny?” he says.

  “Andi mooned the school,” Joey says.

  “Yah, her dress got caught in her pants. What a show,” David adds and bursts out laughing again.

  Their father looks at me in the rear-view mirror. He can easily see that I am humiliated.

  “A joke isn’t funny if it’s at someone else’s expense,” he says and turns his head toward David and Joey who are sitting next to me. He gives them a stern look, then, quickly looks back at the road in front of us.

  We ride home in silence the rest of the way. All the while I want to reach out and hug Mr. Hanson. There is one thing I have learned tonight about humiliation. It keeps a person very humble. I think of all of the times my father berated my mother over her behavior. And she sat there, humiliation resting on her cheeks like face powder. And I realize whether people are laughing or scoffing, the results can be the same. And to think I never said a word to my father. I didn’t stand up for my mother. Now I’m so ashamed. I should have come to her rescue. Showed her how much I care. My mother has been very alone with her grief. No wonder it’s so hard for her to stay on her program. There’s been no helping hand in our household to hang on to. At least Joey and David’s dad did something. He was trying to hand me back my dignity and I am grateful to him. But it’s possible that I will never speak to David or Joey again.

  ***

  School’s out. I won’t have to face the kids at school anymore over the dance fiasco. Maybe by next year they’ll have forgotten all about it. I push it out of my mind and remind myself there will be no more homework or classes that I positively hate. Next year, however, I will have to get serious about studying. I’ll be in high school. It’s the beginning of when you’re supposed to figure out what you want to do with your life. For now all I want to do is sleep late.

  We have this tradition at Parker Junior High. On the last day of school they hand out your report card in homeroom. You then take it around to all of your classes that day and the teachers get to make comments in the space next to the grade you got in their class. It’s embarrassing. How is it any of their business what you got in your other classes? Thankfully, I got some nice comments. Ms. Schaeffer, my science teacher who’s always saying, “Listen up,” or “Make no mistake,” wrote, “Make no mistake, you’re a joy to have in class.” You tell me where that came from. I hardly spoke all year. Mr. Finch, my English teacher said, “You have great potential. Keep up the good writing.” That’s probably because I got an A on one of my short stories, but all the others were just Cs, so I don’t understand
his comment at all. Still, it was nice of him.

  All of the other comments on my report card were just ordinary comments, like “Best of luck to you” or “Enjoy your summer.” Except for my choir director who wrote, “You should see about voice lessons.” He must be totally deaf or have me confused with another student. The last time I checked I couldn’t even carry a tune—which makes me laugh as I realize that’s what he may have meant. I can’t carry a tune, I should get voice lessons.

  ***

  You may recall I told you about Allison Whitley, one of the Angels at Sunny Meadows? She’s the one that lives a totally ordinary life and seems very happy with it. On the last day of school she invites me to come over to her house again. This time I say, “Sure!” So that’s where I’m headed now. I’m trying to pick out something to wear that looks average and ordinary. Allison doesn’t have very pretty clothes. And that’s when I get the idea that she should come down to our boutique and pick out some outfits! I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to think of it.

  I toss on a pair of cut-off jeans and a white T-shirt. They’re pretty ordinary, except the T-shirt has Ralph Lauren splashed across the front. Maybe she won’t notice or even know who he is.

  Allison lives in a house that has three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a one-car attached garage. If you take the garage off, their house would fit into our family room. Regardless, this is a very happy family. When I get there her mother is shaping hamburger meat into patties and she’s humming. I’m pretty sure my mother has never touched raw meat before. If she had to shape hamburgers she’d probably be hysterical.