It's Not Like I Knew Her

by Pat Spears

  Terrifying screams erupted from those slung into space by the centrifugal force of the Hurricane, splitting the brightly lit night like a warning. Sweat ran along her temples, and Jodie began to second-guess her will to defy. Still she stayed down.

  Perhaps satisfied there were no rope jumpers further down the line, the rover turned and walked back in the direction he’d come. Jodie exhaled but stayed put, watching his back until she felt sure his reversal wasn’t a trick to draw would-be gate crashers from hiding.

  Convinced, she crept beneath the rope and scurried onto the midway from the position of the last gaming stall. Its attendant was busy stealing dimes from a wad of giggling boys attempting to hook yellow rubber ducks to win big-bosomed Kewpie doll showgirls.

  The midway was a kaleidoscope of color, tinny music, and the aroma of fried foods. Jodie was hit with a strong whiff of the pitiful menagerie of caged animals: a pacing black bear, a pair of disgusting baboons picking at each other’s genitals, and an aging male lion. Jodie drew near the lion’s cage, and the animal raised its massive head, its matted mane tangled and grey. He seemed sad and compliant, bearing no resemblance to the mighty beast he was born to be, and Jodie felt a strong urge to comfort him.

  “Do that, and Brutus will make you supper.” The warning came from a boy only slightly older than her. He was dressed in a threadbare costume of red balloon britches and a black embroidered vest over a tattered shirt. He sat astride a hobbled camel, a needless whip in his hand.

  As she walked further along the midway, the clamoring of men and boys caught her ears and she slowed. A stooped man, his skin pitted, barked the marvels of nature’s most wondrous freaks: a genuine two-headed chicken, a sow with three rows of twelve teats each, and a six-hundred-pound woman in the raw. Rattled by the unbridled glee of those jostling to be among the first to witness nature’s handiwork gone mad, Jodie shivered at the thought of what these men and boys might pay to gawk at a queer girl.

  She rushed along the midway toward the soothing sounds of children riding brightly painted ponies. What Jodie needed was to find Clara Lee and be reassured that she waited for her. She rushed in the direction of the Ferris wheel.

  “Damn her,” Jodie muttered aloud and pulled up abruptly. What she saw was Clara Lee with Stuart Walker. Her anger flashed like a gasoline fire, and although she wanted to choke the smugness from Stuart Walker’s face, it wasn’t as though she had suitor’s rights, only Clara Lee’s broken promise.

  As she watched Clara Lee, Jodie couldn’t be sure he wasn’t forcing his attention. He was laughing, maybe bullying her toward the Tilt-A-Whirl. His two lackeys, Billy and Jake Timmins, snickered right on cue.

  “Hey, what are you doing here? Thought you weren’t coming.” The agitated voice at her elbow belonged to Silas.

  “No, I said I wasn’t coming with you.” Jodie continued to watch Clara Lee sidestepping Stuart Walker’s attention. Her frustration mounted and her muscles grew spastic from holding back.

  Silas followed her hot glare. “Damned if that rich boy don’t mean to pop that sweet cherry.” Silas hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and Jodie knew he’d given the same lust plenty of thought.

  “Damn your ass straight into hell, Silas.” She’d loved and hated him in the same breath for so long that her emotions kept them both off balance.

  “Whoa down, girl. You’re not her mama, now are you?”

  “No, but I figure to even things up a bit.” She decided Clara Lee wasn’t with Stuart, and had intended to wait for her. “That is, unless you’ve grown squeamish. Too afraid to spend a night in Daddy Walker’s jail.”

  Silas grinned, and for the moment she was back to loving him.

  “My lead or yours?” The skin beneath his eyes quivered a bit and she remembered old scores between Silas and Stuart Walker, and wondered how far settling up might push Silas.

  “All right, you take the lead.”

  He nodded, and they walked toward the sound of Stuart’s come-on and Clara Lee’s weak resistance.

  “Howdy, Stuart. You boys having fun?” Silas balanced on the balls of his feet before settling into the stupid hip hitch thing he did. With his bright yellow hair swept back in a ducktail, he looked more like a pale Woody Woodpecker than James Dean.

  “What’s it to you, Mister One-in-Three.”

  Ouch! Jodie frowned. Stuart had landed a gut punch. The football team’s start was nothing if not miserable, and Silas could get down on himself by shouldering too much of the blame.

  “Plenty, since it’s your candy ass collecting splinters on the bench.” Silas turned his hard stare on the brothers, and they stepped back. As quarterback of even a losing team, Silas had clout.

  Clara Lee looked to Jodie, her eyes weepy, and Jodie stepped forward, bumping her way between Clara Lee and Stuart.

  “Damned if it ain’t the Amazon freak.” Stuart looked Jodie over in the nasty way he had, but when she stared down at his crotch without flinching, he looked back at Silas. “She what you’ve got as backup?” He glanced at his boys, who gave him half-assed grins but stayed where they were.

  “Truth is, Stew Meat,” Silas lingered over the hated nickname like it was nine inches long, “you might say I’m tagging with her. She’s short on warning. Just comes on you like a pissed off cottonmouth.”

  “Screw you.” Stuart lowered his voice, likely not wanting to attract more attention from the carnival goers who had slowed, their interest pricked.

  A devilish grin spread over Silas’s sweaty face, and Jodie realized he was about to get really playful. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she tightened her fingers around the smoothness of her knife, the same knife that had once before delivered her from evil.

  “Damnit, Jodie, you promised to keep that pig sticker out of this. Give me a chance to reason with these boys before you set about castrating.”

  “Shit, what’s the point unless I get a little blood on my blade?” Jodie experienced a quick shot of adrenaline, momentarily finding the best of her Wonder Woman, her strength expanding in rhythm with her challenge, and it felt as good as any memory.

  Clara Lee moaned, “Oh, Jodie, please don’t make trouble.” She moved nearer to Silas.

  Stuart’s eyes stretched to the size of half dollars, his round cheeks flushed. The hollow-heads stepped further away, and Jake’s big hand flew to cover what Jodie imagined were his shriveled balls.

  “Now, Jodie, stop and think. Are you ready to live with these town folk pouring out of them titty shows to watch you carve up old Stew? Personally, I think he’s got it coming.” He turned to Stuart, his voice dropping. “It’s your call, Stew. God knows, I’ve tried.”

  “You damn crazy bastard. I don’t fight girls.” Stuart’s demeanor, stripped of its earlier bluster, carried the full weight of his defeat.

  “I’m hearing you say she’s back to being a regular girl? That’s quick thinking. Oh, but Cinderella boy, I want you on your knees.” Silas glanced about at those who’d stopped. “Begging apologies right here before the good citizens of Catawba.”

  Stuart stood motionless, as if rooted to the ground, and in that instant Jodie remembered the hobbled camel and the boy’s pointless whip. She was satisfied to have shown Clara Lee that she’d stand up to bullies, but Silas wanted more. He wanted to humiliate Stuart Walker. Not for what he’d done alone, but for who he was.

  Jodie placed a hand on Silas’s forearm. His skin was hot and his muscles tense. “That’ll do, Silas.”

  Silas looked at her and then at Stuart. “Get, boy, while the getting’s good.”

  Stuart turned away from Silas’s murderous glare, quickly disappearing among the sights and sounds of the crowded midway.

  Silas leaned, his hands resting on his knees, and moaned. “Jesus, I wanted to hurt him. And I wanted to hurt him bad.”

  Jodie nodded. “I know. But you didn’t.” His tension lessened, he straightened, and she studied his drawn face. What she believed she saw was confusion, but maybe shame as
well.

  “Oh, Silas, I’m so sorry to have been the cause of such trouble.” Clara Lee placed a lingering hand on Silas’s forearm and he blinked hard. His male sap rose, hastening his recovery.

  “Aw, forget it, Clara Lee.” He exhaled and squared his shoulders. “It’s not like you can help being the prettiest darn girl in the county. Maybe even the entire state of Florida.” Delivered with less than his normal bluster, his flattery still brought a cherry-red blush to Clara Lee’s cheeks. Jodie shot Silas a look to kill. But he was much too busy wooing Clara Lee to notice.

  “What do ya’ll say we give that bad boy there a test run?” Silas nodded toward the Tilt-A-Whirl and pulled three quarters from his pocket.

  Clara Lee looked to Jodie with new found excitement. “That would be great fun. Wouldn’t it, Jodie?”

  “If Mister Big Britches wants to throw his money away, then I’d be a fool to stop him.” She rammed her hands into her pockets and glared at Silas.

  He frowned. “What’s wrong? I thought .…”

  “Nothing, that’s what.” He was no better than Stuart.

  She followed Silas and Clara Lee onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. Silas squeezed in between her and Clara Lee, and just like that she was back to hating him.

  Catawba Florida - November 1955

  Thirteen

  Jodie stopped on the sidewalk outside the A&P and stared in disbelief at the poster taped to its door. Did she dare believe her own eyes? The so-called famous Texas Cowgirls basketball team, featuring ten of the tallest, most beautiful redheads Jodie had never imagined, was coming to Catawba. Did these women truly play full-court basketball against men and beat them eighty percent of the time?

  She’d played varsity basketball since ninth grade and piled up better numbers in points scored and rebounds than any player on the boys’ team. Since her play was against girls, her record was simply dismissed, while the county weekly touted Silas as a dribbling, passing, and scoring machine.

  Girls’ games were considered amusement for the fans arriving and settling in before the boys’ games. No one seemed troubled that the assigned male coach spent the second half of the girls’ games in the boys’ locker room to assist in readying the boys to play.

  Red had always arrived for the tipoff of her games and had not stayed for the boys’ games. He never spoke of finding fault with how things were, but she chose to believe his leaving was a form of silent protest. When Silas complained of Red’s slight, she’d shown him his picture in the local paper. Because he was the only one who said it was unfair that her picture never got in the paper, she worked at not ripping the paper to shreds.

  Jodie sighed and stomped away, deciding these women were not for real, but only pretended to play—were laughingstocks. She’d heard enough of that crudeness. She refused to pay good money to hear more.

  But wait, fool, she reasoned. What if the Cowgirls were for real? Did she dare risk missing her one chance to watch these women play? She’d buy a sucker’s ticket and take her chance. She could always walk out.

  She ran back to the store, glanced up and down the block, and noted that the store clerk was occupied slicing bacon while gossiping with a customer. Jodie eased the door open, reached a hand inside, and ripped down the poster. Her loot concealed under her shirt, she ran.

  The night of the game, Jodie walked into the packed gym, bursting with noisy excitement. She looked for Clara Lee among those crowded onto the top bleachers and glanced about for Stuart Walker, relieved to find him nowhere in sight. Clara Lee, wearing the pink sweater Jodie liked, stood and waved.

  The rumble at the fair had put an end to Stuart’s public bullying, but not his pursuit of Clara Lee. He’d gotten way smarter: he now bargained his family’s wealth and social position with Clara Lee’s status-conscious parents. They were now invited to social events at the plantation-style home of Judge and Mrs. Walker, Stuart’s grandparents. Pressure from her mother meant Clara Lee wore Stuart’s class ring on a gold chain around her neck. When Clara Lee was with Jodie, she slipped his ring into her purse, and they pretended she wore the ring Jodie hadn’t been able to afford.

  Out on the court, a team of Catawba’s best former high school stars horsed around, taking wild shots, playing to the crowd’s smug certainty of their victory. Yet the uniforms of the players were drenched in sweat and, in spite of their clowning, Jodie sensed they were nervous.

  “Hey, Jodie, what’s so funny?” Clara Lee looked around.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” She took the seat next to Clara Lee, their thighs intentionally touching.

  “Did you get the car?” Clara Lee blushed.

  “Said I would, didn’t I?” Jodie wished the anticipated pleasure of being with Clara Lee in the back seat of Red’s Dodge didn’t always make her feel lightheaded. Clara Lee had allowed their kisses, and tonight she’d promised more.

  “Mother thinks I’m going to the Dairy Queen afterwards with Stuart.”

  “If that’s what you want, I can’t stop you.” She hated the sound of his name in Clara Lee’s mouth. There was something troubling in the way Clara Lee bitched about having to see him while arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward the way she did just now.

  “No, Jodie. You know it isn’t. Why are you always so jealous? It isn’t as though I can tell Mother the truth about us. Please don’t be mad.”

  The heat of Clara Lee pressed against her was too much. “Okay, okay, but don’t talk to me about him. Not now or ever. I don’t want everything spoiled.”

  It was true that Clara Lee couldn’t tell her mother about what they did whenever they were alone. But why not stop pretending? Give that dickhead, Stuart, back his damn ring and tell him to his face that he should peddle his family’s money and reputation elsewhere.

  Clara Lee didn’t have the nerve to stand up to her mother, and that bothered Jodie. In her most judicious moments, she feared Clara Lee didn’t have what it took to be full-time queer. Unlike Clara Lee, Jodie accepted being queer. She was all in, and for her there was no taking it back.

  Jodie leaned forward in her seat, and what she heard and saw made her eyes sting with more than excitement. Male dominance in the game of basketball was about to be tested, and Jodie Taylor would be a witness to its demise.

  The loudspeaker blasted “Orange Blossom Special” in breakneck tempo as ten redheaded wonder women ran onto the court. In addition to their flaming hair, the women wore boleros, western hats, and holstered pistols over their skimpy uniforms. Jodie swelled with newfound pride, feeling as though she, too, took the floor to the jeers of the crowd.

  On the other end of the court, the men watched, jaws dropped, as the women shed an article of western fashion with each spectacular shot. The stunned crowd sucked the air from the gym and exhaled in unison, the place exploding in wild cheering. Jodie stood with the crowd, her eyes filling with tears. No doubt these women were physical marvels—but would they play?

  By the end of the third quarter, the men’s team was up fifteen points on the Cowgirls. Jodie’s earlier hopes had sunk with each uncontested layup, and when the taunting began, she thought about leaving. But she worked to push her doubts to the outer edge and wished for a miracle.

  At the start of the fourth quarter, Jodie saw the big center signal the team, and the Cowgirls picked up their defense to a mind-boggling level, getting turnovers and storming back on fast breaks, demonstrating incredible stamina and skill. The shocked men lagged, stopping to grab the cuffs of their shorts on each made Cowgirl shot. They could only watch as the women closed out the game, dribbling and passing the ball to open shooters who made shots Jodie had never imagined possible. They soundly whipped the exhausted and humiliated men by eighteen points.

  The dumbfounded crowd filed out of the gym, some shaking their heads in amazement while others claimed the Cowgirls were men dressed as women. Others mocked the women as freaks of nature, and Jodie swore she’d never again succumb to the false notion that strong women were not true
women but nature’s botched creation. Her proudest moments came from the bitterly angry, who mumbled damn queers. She prayed it was true.

  “Jodie, come on. We have to go. Stuart’s walking this way,” Clara Lee pleaded.

  “Yeah, okay, in a minute.” Jodie watched until the last woman ran off the court, ignoring Clara Lee’s urging, savoring the sweetest moment of her life.

  “Jodie, aren’t you coming?” Clara Lee’s impatience grew, but Jodie had made a decision.

  “You go ahead.” She didn’t know how to tell her, or even how to go about doing, what she was thinking, but she was sure it was her only shot.

  “Go without you?” Clara Lee’s mouth set in a hard pout.

  “Please, I’ve got to do this thing. Can’t you just wait in the car for me?”

  “But, do what? Where are you going?”

  Stuart Walker crossed the gym floor on forbidden street shoes, and he called to Clara Lee.

  “Jodie Taylor, you come with me now … or I swear I’ll go with him.” She reached into her purse, and maybe she searched for his ring.

  “I can’t, Clara Lee.” Jodie leaped down the bleachers and headed for the women’s locker room. She’d patch things up later.

  She stationed herself outside the locker room door, and within the hour, the door pushed open. The team’s center and best player emerged. She’d shed her uniform, and her face was wiped clean, her hair in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a red team tee. Jodie approached and opened her mouth, but none of the smart words she’d practiced came out.

  “Hey, sugar. You enjoy the game?” The big woman looked Jodie over, not in the way she was accustomed to, but in a way that made her proud.

  “Yes’m, I sure did. I’ve never seen anything like you ladies. Your playing, I mean. I’m going to learn that fade-away hook shot.” She wanted to speak the lingo, impress the star. One big woman to another.