It’s not easy being shunned and looked down upon.
Roy became a close friend of Red’s for life. Later on he’d become a minister and preside over Red’s wedding. He’d take her aside and say, “As long as I can remember you watched out for me. You believed in me and gave me reason to believe in myself. I never would have become a minister if it wasn’t for you. I’d have grown up bitter and sullen and angry. I’ve said a special prayer for you today, and asked God to watch over you and your new family in the same way you watched over me.”
The last thing that happened as the dust settled from Tommy’s beating was that Debbie got a new nickname.
No, it wasn’t Red.
It was The Avenger.
“Why is everyone calling me that?” Debbie asked.
Her friend Samantha answered, “Isn’t it cool? I came up with it. It’s your street name. Now that you have street cred, you need a cool sounding name to go with it. In the ‘hood, nobody calls anybody by their real name. They all have really cool street names.
“In other words, we can’t call you ‘Little Debbie’ anymore. It would make you sound like a snack cake.”
Snack cake or not, little Debbie’s head was spinning. This was getting out of hand.
She went home that night feeling that she’d missed something. Why was everyone praising her, and awarding her with things like street cred and cool names?
All she did was come to the aid of a friend who was being bullied.
And after all, wasn’t that what everybody should have done had they been in her shoes?
She decided that the street cred was okay. But the name would have to go. She thought The Avenger sounded like a comic book character.
But she couldn’t come up with a better option, and after a few days she got used to the name.
She still didn’t like it.
Debbie’s mother was fading fast. Her mind had started to shut down, and more days than not she was confused and forgetful. Even to the point she was sometimes forgetting Debbie’s name.
That part broke Debbie’s heart, but she wouldn’t let on. She had to appear strong enough for both of them now, or she’d fall apart. And that would make her mother feel even worse at a time when she was hurting so much already.
“Dad, can I go through yours and Mom’s old photo albums and pull out some photos to show her?”
“Well sure, honey. That’s a great idea. Maybe it’ll jar some old memories and make her feel better.”
Debbie poured herself into the project. She was able to find wedding photos, honeymoon photos, even an old photo of her mom dressed as a dinosaur for a Halloween party.
Then she found one she’d never seen before. Her parents were obviously young, and dressed to the nines. Butch had on a blue tuxedo, and Rita was dressed in a dazzling gown.
The smiles both wore, though, put their attire to shame.
Debbie turned the photo over to get an idea how old it was.
There was no date. Just a few cryptic words in a handwriting Debbie had never seen before; Rita and Red, Senior Prom.
“Red?”
She savored the name.
Was her father called “Red” in high school?
Her dad happened to be walking down the hall.
“Hey Dad!”
“Hey what?”
“C’mere.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Dad, just come here. I want to show you something.”
He stepped into his bedroom, where Debbie had several shoe boxes of old photographs scattered all over his bed.
“I found this one. Do you remember it?”
Butch took the photo from her and his eyes instantly brightened.
“That was our prom photo. I had the prettiest girl in the ballroom. Can you believe how beautiful she was?”
“She still is, Dad. You still have the most beautiful woman in any room, anywhere. Do you think this might jar some pleasant memories?”
“I’ll bet it will. We were almost voted king and queen of the prom. The quarterback and head cheerleader beat us by just five votes.”
“Really, Dad? You used to be popular? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I wasn’t. Your mom was. She was loved by everybody. I just got the votes by default, because I was her date. You can’t elect the queen unless you let her drag along her dopey king.
“It was a great night. We danced for hours, and then afterwards we went out to a big corn field behind her dad’s barn and…”
He caught himself.
“And what, Dad?”
“Never mind. It’s a great pic. I’m glad you found it.”
“Me, too, I can’t wait to show mom.”
Then she remembered the words on the back.
“Hey Dad, the back says, ‘Rita and Red.’ Is that what they called you in high school?”
“Yeah. I finally lost the name when I joined the Air Force. Then they started calling me, ‘sir’ instead. Or dummy, depending on how bad I screwed up.”
That night before she went to bed, Debbie brushed her long red hair and studied her face in the mirror.
“Red…” she said to Beethoven, her cat.
“I like it.”
Beethoven wasn’t impressed. He yawned and went to sleep.
Chapter 4
Red was melancholy, but she didn’t know why.
She should have been in a great mood. She’d picked out a great dress for the prom, she’d landed the sweetest guy in town to take her, and she was invited to a great after-prom party.
So why was she so glum?
Why did she want to just stay in bed and cry the world away?
Beethoven II purred as he rubbed against her face. She reached up and scratched him behind his ears.
He responded by turning toward her touch, which put his butt right in Red’s face.
“Ewww!”
It was just the motivation she needed to get moving. She put her feet on the floor and Beethoven II immediately jumped down, ran to the bedroom door and then turned to look at her.
As if to say, “Since you’re up, how about feeding me?”
She wondered for a moment if he’d stuck his butt in her face on purpose because he was hungry.
And then she dismissed it, deciding he wasn’t that smart.
Red put a housecoat on over the long gown she’d inherited from her mother. She noticed the sleeves were wearing thin at the elbows now, and the cuffs were frayed.
She didn’t care. It was still the most comfortable thing she’d ever found to wear to bed.
Eventually, she knew, it would become too tattered to wear. She doubted if she’d be able to part with it even then.
She looked in the mirror, her mind quickly racing as she thought of the thousand and one things she had to do before the limo came to pick her up at 6:30.
Beethoven II rubbed against her leg and meowed. He couldn’t afford to let her get sidetracked.
“Okay, you big chow hound, let’s go get you some Cat Chow before you starve to death. Or at least convince yourself that you’re going to.”
As though he understood English, the tabby made a second bee-line to the door, and waited rather impatiently for Red to follow.
Red opened the door and he was off like a shot down the stairs and toward the kitchen.
Red took a deep breath and caught the glorious scent of bacon. She smiled. Her dad was way too good to her.
But wait. This was Saturday. He was at work.
Only he wasn’t.
She walked into the kitchen to find Butch standing over the stove, flipping buttermilk pancakes.
She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
“Good morning, Dad. Shouldn’t you be somewhere, like, I don’t know. Working, or something?”
“I asked Pete to open the store so I could spend some time with my wonderful daughter on this very auspicious day.”
She repeated the word.
“Auspicious. I think I’ve
heard that word before. I think it was one of those hard words old Mrs. Bailey tried to teach me in English class, right after she walked to the back of the room and kicked my chair to wake me up. It means a rusty carburetor, right?”
Butch laughed.
“Almost. It means that today is a promising time in the future of Debbie Poston. You’re almost out of high school and you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”
“You realize that you’re the only one I let call me ‘Debbie,’ right? And only because you’re my crusty old father.”
“Oh, now I’m not just old, now I’m crusty, huh?”
“It’s better than ‘grumpy.’”
“Why do I have to be either?”
“Well, because you’re getting older. Way older. Practically ancient. After all, you have a daughter… a very lovely daughter, I might add, who’s getting ready to graduate from high school. And that must mean you’re older than Methuselah. And when someone gets to be a certain age, the word ‘old’ doesn’t cut it anymore. It must be accompanied by a suitable descriptive word. I think it’s called a verb, or something…”
“Nice try, sweetie, but I know for a fact you’re smarter than that.”
“You’re missing my point, Dad. I can’t just call you my old man anymore. You’ve lived long enough to earn a title of distinction. So you make the choice. You can have crusty old man, or grouchy old man, or grumpy old man. Which would you prefer?”
“If I get to choose, I think I’d prefer ‘seasoned.’”
“Nah. That just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
“That’s my point. I don’t like any of the things that are ringing in your ears. Do you want cheese on your omelet?”
“Yes. And thanks for breakfast. It was sweet of you to stay home and cook for me, but you didn’t have to.”
“I know, honey. But I have to do it while I still can. Now that you’re all grown up you’ll be moving away soon, and I won’t have anybody to cook for except Duke. Or anybody else to talk to for that matter.”
“Oh, Dad… Duke is the best conversationalist ever. He never interrupts, he hangs on your every word, and he never falls asleep until the conversation is over. He’s got nothing in common with you at all.”
“He’d fall asleep in a heartbeat if he knew how boring my conversations with him were sometimes. I think he only stays alert because he’s hoping that one of the nonsensical words coming out of my mouth will be ‘bacon.’”
The napping black lab laying on the pillow in the corner of the dining room stirred. His ears reached into the air and caught the word ‘bacon’ as it drifted by. As if by magic.
He was at his master’s side in seconds.
Butch couldn’t disappoint the old dog, so he tried to sneak Duke a piece of bacon without Red seeing him.
He failed.
“Dad, you’re going to give that dog a heart attack.”
“Not true. The vet says he’s healthier than I am. He’ll probably outlive me.”
“He’d better not.”
Beethoven II rubbed against Red’s leg, to remind her he still hadn’t been fed.
She got his food out of the cupboard and poured some into his bowl.
And she grew quiet again.
Butch was finely tuned to his daughter’s moods, and asked, “What’s the matter, sweetie?”
She didn’t want to say.
But that wasn’t acceptable to Butch.
“I’m gonna eat your breakfast too if you don’t tell me.”
“Wait. You stay home from work to make me breakfast on prom day, and then you’re gonna eat it all yourself? How mean is that?”
“Maybe you misunderstood what I said. Maybe I said I stayed home on prom day to make me two breakfasts, and so you could watch me eat them. Maybe that’s what I said.”
He turned to look at her, and noticed for the first time her eyes were moist.
He turned down the burner on the old gas stove and put down his spatula.
Then he walked over to where she was standing and held her.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“When I woke up this morning, I had the most terrible feeling of depression. I didn’t want to get up. I just wanted to put a pillow over my head and tell the world to go away.
“And I didn’t know why I felt that way today, of all days. I just now figured it out.”
“What, honey? Tell me.”
She broke free long enough to point to the calendar, hanging on the wall above Beethoven II’s cat dish.
“I just now realized that today is something else besides the prom. Today is the tenth anniversary of the day Mom died.”
Chapter 5
Butch didn’t cry very often. In his day, a man was raised to think that if he cried, he was somehow less of a man. As though some emotions were meant for the fairer sex exclusively.
So he’d always bit his lower lip when he started to well up, to remind himself not to let the tears fall. And if he was losing the battle, he’d learned to turn his head, or to bury his face in his sleeve.
But despite his efforts, this was one occasion he couldn’t help himself.
So he let himself go, and let the tears stream down his cheeks.
And he wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed.
After all, it wasn’t every day his only child walked across the stage to accept her high school diploma.
So tradition be damned. He was entitled, and on this day he would show any emotion he pleased.
So there.
Butch never kidded himself about his daughter’s academic future, and neither did Red.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t a smart girl. She was indeed.
And it wasn’t that she didn’t know how to apply herself.
She applied herself very well.
But only on things that interested her.
In her sophomore year, Butch was concerned with the mediocre grades she was making.
“Honey, I’m not sure I can afford to pay your way through college. I mean, my pension might cover a good chunk of it. But you know I don’t make a lot of money at the hardware store. There are too many of my old customers who are driving into Austin and shopping at the big box stores now.”
“Oh, Dad, you sound like my guidance counselor. With her, it’s all about ‘make good grades, get the scholarships, and go to a good college.’ What if I don’t want to go to college? Not everybody does, you know.”
“I know that, sweetheart. But it gives you so many more opportunities.”
“Yeah. Opportunities I don’t want or need. I don’t need a lot, Dad. You know that. I’m a minimalist. That’s what my counselor called me. Do you know what that is?”
Butch shook his head. He’d never heard the term before.
“Don’t feel bad. I never heard of it either. She said a minimalist is someone who prefers to live a basic life, with basic things, without accumulating any vast amounts of wealth or property.
“So I asked her, ‘What’s wrong with that?’
“And she said there’s nothing wrong with it. A lot of people do that now, and it doesn’t make them flawed or weird. It just makes them not materialistic.
“And she said if that was my goal in life I was taking the right path. Because it would be a lot harder to accumulate wealth and possessions without a college degree.”
“Well, I definitely agree with her there.”
“She also said that the only problem was, maybe later on I would decide I didn’t want to be a minimalist anymore. That maybe I’d decide I wanted a nice house and nice cars and nice things. She said I would have to work harder then because I wouldn’t have a college degree.”
“Well, I agree with that part too.”
“I told her my mother didn’t have a college degree, and she did quite well without one. Before she met you, she had her own house and a nice car.
“And she didn’t need a college degree to meet the most amazing man in the world, and to have the best daughter ever.
”
“Well, I agree with that more than anything else. Especially the first part.”
“I also told her that if that happened, if I decided later on in my life to be more materialistic, then I could always go to school later.”
Butch was a bit disappointed.
But he couldn’t argue too strongly.
After all, it was his fault.
He’d raised his daughter to be independent and to make her own decisions.
And at this moment, with tears streaming down his face, he was as proud of his B and C student as was the father of the class valedictorian standing next to him.
“That’s my baby,” he blubbered without an ounce of shame. “That’s my Red.”
Chapter 6
Flash forward two years, and Butch was blubbering again.
This time he’d just answered Reverend Roy Reed’s question, “Who gives this woman to this man in holy matrimony?”
All eyes had turned to Butch, as he hesitated for a full ten seconds.
Several of those seated in the chapel tittered, thinking that maybe old Butch had decided no, he wasn’t going to let Red get married. Because that would mean he’d have to let her go.
But that wasn’t it at all. He’d grown to love his future son-in-law, Russell, almost as much as Red did.
But in a different way, of course.
No, the truth was that Butch paused simply because he was overcome with emotion.
And it was with those few words, “Her mother and I do,” that he finally blurted out, that every woman in the audience who wasn’t already crying started to.
What those seated were witnessing wasn’t just the joining of a man and woman in holy matrimony. They were also seeing a father’s heart breaking. For at that very moment, the good reverend was pointing out to Butch and to the rest of the world that his baby was not a baby any more.
She was all grown up now, and her heart belonged to another man.
Red stopped the event just long enough to turn to her father.
She whispered something in his ear.
He couldn’t respond to her, so he merely nodded his head to let her know he understood.
Then he smiled, tears still streaming unashamedly down his face.
Red: The Adventure Begins Page 2