Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom, & the Challenges of Bad Hair

by C. C. Payne

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush

  I am the swift uplifting rush

  of quiet birds in circled flight.

  I am the soft starlight at night.

  Do not stand at my grave and cry,

  I am not there; I did not die.”

  I gave Alan an exasperated sigh. “So you think it’s possible,” I said, just to be clear.

  “Anything’s possible, Lula Bell. It’s possible that we’ll see an albino hummingbird today, when no one knows if they even exist.”

  “You’re my best friend, Alan,” I said—quick—before before I lost my courage.

  Alan smiled a huge smile then, like he’d just snapped the picture that would prove the existence of the albino hummingbird for his permanent record.

  “You’re my best friend, too, Lula Bell.”

  I’m beginning to think that maybe there’s no such thing as freaks and geeks. Maybe we’re all just people looking for our people, our friends, our place of belonging. Now that I’ve found mine, I don’t feel freaky or geeky at all, even though I’m still the same freak/geek girl I was to begin with. So…hmmm. I’ll have to think on that some more.

  Anyway, after Alan went home, I went inside and found Mama pouring herself some sweet tea. She took a sip, then set the glass down on the counter and said, “You know, that Alan, he’s going to be a real heartbreaker one day.”

  “You’re just saying that because of his hair,” I said.

  Mama had cut Alan’s hair, and I have to admit it looked great—nowhere near disastrous. In fact, Alan West was almost cute.

  “It’s a good haircut. The trick is a dry cut, not too long and not too short,” Mama said. “But he’s a good lookin’ boy…and just wait ’til the girls find out he reads poetry!”

  “Were you spying on us?” I shrieked. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be like this when you decided to stay home and watch me grow!”

  Mama laughed. “What’s the matter with you? Why are you so mad all of a sudden?”

  I didn’t know why. So I said, “I’m not mad; I’m just tired is all.”

  “Well, you better rest up. The Purdys’ Fourth of July picnic is tomorrow.”

  Fainting goats! I could hardly wait!

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I thank God, who’s brought me this far—which couldn’t have been easy, since I tend to get lost—a lot. Fortunately, there were many bright, guiding lights posted along the way, and I am grateful for each and every one of them:

  Thanks to my entire family, many of whom are gifted storytellers, but all of whom have enriched my life beyond measure.

  Special thanks to my mother, Ann, my father, David, and my stepmother, Janet, who still save all their best stories and favorite books to share with me, as they have for the past thirty years.

  Unending gratitude to my husband, Mark, who was there for every rejection letter, administering the necessary dosages of junk food, after which he dusted the crumbs off me, wiped my tears, and somehow talked me into giving more when I felt like giving up. I truly have no idea who I might be without Mark; I only know that I would be someone lesser than I am.

  Thanks to my girls, Laurel Grace and Erin Christine, whose love and light shine as bright as the sun. Without them, I wouldn’t know which direction to reach and bend and grow.

  Thanks to my sister, Sarah Clark, who read and reread this manuscript (she’s a writer’s writer), who’s always there to help, and who generally makes me feel less crazy—this is no small thing!

  Thanks to my sister, Leslie R. Smith, who flatout tells me when I’m being crazy. Her wise counsel has altered my life’s course many times, and I am a better, stronger, happier person for it.

  Thanks to my friend, Richard Smith Mize, who also altered my life’s course in the best possible way: by believing in me.

  Thanks to the public school system of Kentucky, through which I encountered several more bright lights in the form of teachers: Lisa Saylor, Betty Larson, Martha Browning, and Marian Sims.

  For inspiration, I must thank:

  the real Grandma Bernice Payne, who loved ’mater sandwiches, welcomed one and all to her table, fed us well, and made us laugh;

  Joseph E. Stopher, who loved lobster soup and never missed Sunday school—or anything else that was important to him;

  Marie E. Stopher, who made everything possible for Joe, and who also happens to have the most beautiful head of wavy white hair I’ve ever seen;

  Roy Lanphear, a WWII veteran with a wonderfully wicked sense of humor, who always sang as he went about his work and loved to talk politics……until Ruth Lanphear determined that politics were bad for Roy’s heart. Ruth was a superb storyteller, doughnut maker, and quilter—and I still miss her.

  As always, a million thanks to my cold readers: Sydney Hurt and Joyce Payne. They kept me going.

  Even so, this particular book would’ve never been published without additional help from a number of people:

  My father, David—the best, most brilliant writer I know—thought this manuscript was salvageable when I did not. More important, he told me how to salvage it. I took his advice and exploited his ideas shamelessly. He saw me—and this book—through many long, dark nights.

  When morning came, author/editor Kara LaReau was there to lend a hand.

  It is thanks to Kara’s unwavering belief in Lula Bell that literary agent Emily van Beek soon joined Team Lula Bell. Emily and I took turns sitting with Lula Bell, holding her hand, encouraging her, and loving her all the while. Then, when she finally seemed strong enough, Emily placed Lula Bell in just the right hands.

  The most capable hands I can imagine for a novel are those of my editor, Melanie Kroupa. It is thanks to her editorial guidance, in addition to the help and hard work of all the other tremendously talented folks at Marshall Cavendish, that this book—finally!—found its way home to you. I will always be grateful.

  Finally, I wish to thank two very special readers, Alaine Carpenter and Jennifer Owen, both merry, marvelous librarians—and now friends—who stepped right up to claim me as their own. Their libraries will always feel like home.