The Green Years (ARC)

by Karen Wolff

  THERE WAS NO getting around it. Carol Ann had heard the whole tale of my shenanigans from her friends, and I knew I would have to confess everything at home to explain why I wasn’t going to school in the morning. Ty listened to my story and seemed to think it was hilarious. Gram had a different take on it.

  “Harry Spencer, I’m ashamed of you. I knew you and Russ were up to no good on Halloween, but to rope those other boys into something so dangerous.” She shook her head. “You were foolish. That Mrs. Carmichael could’ve had you arrested. Taking the poor woman’s buggy right off her porch. What were you thinking of? This, on top of all the trouble we’ve had the last few days.”

  She turned around to glare at Ty who was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. I stood in embarrassment and misery, waiting for her to stop. I was worn out with the battering I had already taken, and now this. But I had made a plan for what I would say.

  “I’ll work at the store, Gram. You and Ty can have the whole day off.” I pleaded hoping to get away from her.

  “You better believe you will,” she said still angry. Yet, I got the feeling that she liked the thought of a day away from the store.

  When we went to bed that night, Ty made me tell him the whole thing over from beginning to end. About baby McDermott. How we got the buggy up the steeple, and all the rest. I imitated Mr. Lyman and punched up the story quite a bit. He loved it and had to smother his laughs in his pillow.

  “You have an exciting life, Harry. How do you do it? Mine is so dull.”

  I felt a little sorry for him because I knew it was true, but I said, “You seem to forget that we’ve all had about as much excitement as we can handle this past week.”

  WHEN I RETURNED to school on Wednesday. I was a hero. Everyone knew that I’d planned the baby buggy prank, and the kids admired me for it. They told me how clever I was, how they wished they’d thought of it, and how glad they were that we’d gotten even with Mrs. Carmichael. They’d heard about my trouble with the principal, and I got whispered questions from every direction.

  “What did Lyman do to you?” “How’d you get your hands on the buggy?” “How’d you get it up there?” “Were you scared?” All day long they pestered me. I was torn because I liked to have the boys look up to me and want to be pals, but I’d made a vow to myself I was not going to do another thing that would get me in trouble with Mr. Lyman. I gave the barest answers I could, but that only made them ask more questions. All the talk enlarged the whole thing in their minds and made it more mysterious than it was.

  Some of them had heard about the KKK attack on our store, and I got a lot of questions about it, too. I told them we’d found out that a KKK gang had been pestering the Catholics down by Jefferson, burning crosses and making threats. They got caught, and Sheriff Beaubien was trying to find out if it was the same bunch that attacked our store.

  By a week later, the questions had quieted down and I was glad. I wanted to talk to Carol Ann about the fall homecoming dance. Notices had been put up around the building, and I knew that a band called Two Hits and a Missus had been hired to provide the music. We would have cider and cookies, and Gram had even offered to do some of the baking for the refreshment table. It’d be my first dance, and I was both eager and a little nervous about it. My dancing instructions from Darlene and Russ made me confident that I would be all right, and I was pretty sure Carol Ann would be surprised at how skillful I had become.

  The girls had been chattering for days about what they planned to wear, new clothes, shoes, and all that. So, as Carol Ann and I sat in the foyer that afternoon waiting for our ride home, I asked her if she was ready for the big dance.

  “Um…uh, yes. I guess so,” she said without much enthusiasm.

  “Well, what are you going to wear? Did you get a new dress?”

  She turned away from me and said, “My mother’s making something for me.”

  Now this was peculiar. Usually she told me more than I wanted to hear about her clothing or someone else’s. What was the matter with her today? I went in a different direction.

  “What do you think I should wear? Do I need a necktie?”

  She stood up and moved to the door to look out the window.

  “I wonder what’s taking Dad so long?”

  Puzzled, I repeated my question. “Should I wear a tie, Carol Ann?”

  “Oh Harry, I don’t know what you should wear.” She sounded upset. Finally she turned around to face me, but she couldn’t lift her eyes to look at me directly. “I…I guess I’d better tell you, Harry.”

  “Tell me what?” She gave no answer, so I got up and took hold of her arm. “Tell me what?”

  “I…Harry, I’m sorry. I’m going to the dance with Billy Snyder.”

  “Billy Snyder!” I shouted. “What do you mean?”

  I was dumbstruck. How could she be going to the dance with Billy Snyder? It had never occurred to me that she’d go with anyone but me.

  “He invited me, Harry. A long time ago.”

  I stood there unbelieving. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why are you doing this?” My chest felt like a heavy brick was stuck inside.

  I saw tears start to well up in her eyes. “My folks think I spend too much time with you. This baby buggy thing didn’t sit well with them.”

  “It was just a joke. Nobody got hurt.” I tried to read her face. “I thought you cared about me.”

  “Oh, Harry. I…I…”

  Just then a horn honked and she ran out the door to her father’s truck. If ever there was a time when I didn’t want a ride home with Mr. Bellwood, today was it, but I had no choice. I followed reluctantly and climbed in.

  “You two are sure quiet today,” Mr. Bellwood said as we drove along. “More trouble, Harry?”

  “No sir. Just tired, I guess.” The rest of the ride home was silent.

  THAT NIGHT WAS the longest evening of my life. I didn’t understand why she would do this. Was it the Halloween trick? No, that couldn’t be the only reason. Billy had asked her a long time ago, she said. How did he dare? I seethed at the thought of him. He knew she was my girl. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. Then I felt like an idiot. Why didn’t I know you were supposed to ask a girl to a dance? Why hadn’t I asked her instead of just assuming we’d go together?

  I paced around the kitchen, trying to sort it out. Ty was at the store and Gram had gone to a church meeting, so I was alone except for Granddad. As I stood staring morosely out the darkened kitchen window, he interrupted me.

  “What’s the matter, Harry? You got more troubles?”

  Something about his sympathetic face got to me and I said, “Yeah, girl troubles.” I told him what had happened. “I guess I’ll just skip the whole darn dance.”

  “Oh, you poor boy.” He chuckled. “Happens to all of us, you know. Tell you what. Just remember this. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  I looked at him, puzzled.

  “Look, dummy. If she’s gonna go with somebody else, so can you.”

  Oh, man! I sure didn’t want to do that. I couldn’t imagine going with anyone but Carol Ann. But I didn’t want to stay away. I had to be there to see if she really went with Billy, to see how she acted with him, and I didn’t want to go stag and stand around staring at them. Maybe I should invite someone else after all. I thought about the other girls I knew. Norma Peterson, Dottie DePrato, Annette Garrett. I didn’t want to ask any of them. They were nice enough girls, but they were homely as all get out. I just couldn’t do it. I thought and thought. And finally I remembered Phyllis Porter.

  Phyllis had missed a whole year of high school because of rheumatic fever. She had just returned this fall and was a grade behind. She didn’t know her classmates very well yet, and she seemed alone a lot, maybe lonesome. She was pretty in a strange way, pale, with sad gray eyes. She seemed helpless, but I liked the slinky way she walked and her whispery voice. Tiny white teeth showed when she smiled. Yes, I would invite Phyllis. I’d show Carol
Ann and Billy, too.

  I FOUND PHYLLIS first thing in the morning and made my invitation. She smiled her pretty smile and said, “I’d just love that, Harry.” She reached out with her thin fingers and squeezed my hand. “I didn’t think I’d be going to the dance. Thank you.” She squeezed my hand again. “But what about Carol Ann? Doesn’t she want to go with you?”

  I jerked back. “Carol Ann doesn’t own me. I want to go with you.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this girl, but now I was committed.

  Gram gave me a haircut and insisted I shine my shoes. I’d bought a new necktie, and by the time I was ready to go to the dance, I thought I looked pretty good. I figured Phyllis was a lucky girl to be going with me. I was that cocky. Then I thought of Billy Snyder and what a big, blonde fellow he was. How he played football and had muscles to show for it. That took me down a bit.

  Bucky and Skinny Nelson were going stag to the dance, and I got a ride to Beaverton with them. They dropped me off at the high school, and I walked the two blocks to Phyllis’s home, arriving exactly at eight. A sign in the front yard read Marguerite’s Beauty Shop for Women and Children. Marguerite must be Phyllis’s mother. I knocked on the door, and a slim, faded woman answered and introduced herself as Mrs. Porter. I could see that Phyllis resembled her. They both had the same wispy way about them.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Harry. Phyllis has told me so much about you. You surely do look nice.” She invited me to sit down on a fancy, wine-colored velvet chair.

  “Thanks Mrs. Porter. I’ll just stand.”

  “It’ll be just a minute, Harry. I think she’s about ready.”

  I looked around at the room the likes of which I’d never seen. Everything was frilly, a couch covered with ruffly pillows, little tables with curving legs that held flowery knickknacks and ashtrays. Photographs of handsome people hung on the walls, all dressed up, like they were in a show. I was so busy gawking, that I didn’t hear Phyllis come in.

  “Hi, Harry. I’m finally ready.”

  I turned. My knees nearly failed me. She didn’t look the same. It took me a minute before I realized that it was her hair. She had bobbed her hair! It looked like a dark, fitted cap, combed smooth with shiny curves over her cheeks and a fringe over her forehead. None of the high school girls had bobbed hair. In fact I had seen only a few grown women in Beaverton with bobs.

  But that wasn’t all. She had put some red stuff—rouge, I think, on her cheeks, and bright red on her lips. Her dress was silvery blue, the color of her eyes, and a rope of about a million black shiny beads hung around her neck. Her high-heeled patent leather shoes made her seem taller. I was awestruck and stared at her. This was amazing! She was stunning, gorgeous, and she looked at least twenty years old.

  Her mother helped her into her coat while I stood there like a lump. She said, “Now don’t overdo it, Phyllis. We don’t want you to get too tired.” Phyllis rolled her eyes, and I knew her mother’s words would be ignored. We had started walking toward the school before I was finally able to speak.

  “You look beautiful, Phyllis.”

  She took my arm and pulled herself as close to me as she could get. “You can call me Phyll,” she said in her whispery voice. Every nerve in my body jangled. For some reason I thought of Lettie, and I was aroused. Wow! This was going to be some night! A great night.

  As soon as we walked into the gymnasium and shed our coats, I could feel everyone’s eyes on us. Conversation stopped as they took in Phyllis’s looks. She smiled shyly and never let go of my arm for one minute. Even the older boys stared, their mouths hanging open. Girls peeked at her and started patting their hair and straightening their dresses.

  We found a table and chairs and sat down for a moment. Fellows beat a path to get their names on her dance card. I wrote my own name first, last, and a couple times in the middle just like Russ had told me to do, and her card was soon filled up. The band started to play, and we went onto the dance floor and began a slow two-step. I had practiced so much and felt so ready for this, but I sure wasn’t ready for what she did. Instead of laying her hand on my shoulder, she put it on the back of my neck and pressed her body against mine. She clung to me, all soft and pliable like another skin. I could feel her beads and soft bosoms against my chest. We didn’t talk. I couldn’t. I was transported and couldn’t believe this was happening to me. The feeling was so intense that I shuddered in relief when the number ended. Johnny Harris, who had come stag, came to claim her for the next dance, and I was grateful. I needed to sit down and pull myself together.

  My friends came up one after another and said, “Where’d you find her, Harry?” “She’s really classy.” When I danced with the other girls, I couldn’t keep from looking around at Phyllis, I mean Phyll. I noticed she didn’t move quite so close to her partners as she did with me, and I was pleased. Frankie Halverson came up and said, “Wow, Spencer. I can see why you dumped Carol Ann for her. Question is, can you hang on to her?”

  Why did that guy always make me want to hit him? But Carol Ann. I hadn’t even thought about her until now. I looked around the crowded gym and spotted her dancing with Billy, and I smiled smugly. He couldn’t dance for sour apples, and Carol Ann wasn’t smiling. That was fine with me.

  At intermission Phyll sat down, and I made my way to the refreshment table. I managed to snag a few cookies and wrap them in a napkin, and I took two cups of cider. Just then Carol Ann came up to the table. She wore a green dress with puffy sleeves and a big tie in back that made her look like a little girl. But it was her face that startled me. She looked as though she had been crying. Bright red splotches had erupted on her cheeks, and her pupils were large and dark.

  “Harry. I…” she said, her voice hoarse.

  I said, “Oh, hi, Carol Ann,” as though I had just noticed her. I turned my back to her and headed for our table, but not before I heard Billy say, “C’mon, Carol Ann. I can’t wait all night.” That was odd, but I didn’t really want to know what was bothering her. The boys were hovering around Phyll, so I hurried over and pushed the cider cup toward her.

  “Thank you, Harry. I was so warm and thirsty.” The other boys began to fade away, and she said, “Do you know the Charleston, Harry? It’s fun to dance.”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, if the music is right, I’ll show you.”

  Apparently it was right the next time we danced, and she began doing the steps and kicks of the Charleston. I’d never seen it before, and I just stood moving a little to the music while she danced by herself. When it was finished, everyone clapped. She looked around with her shy smile and nodded. I was proud to be with her.

  “I’ll have to teach you the steps, Harry, so you can do it too.”

  “I don’t know about that. It looks hard.” I said, but I made up my mind that I’d learn that dance if it killed me.

  At the end of the evening we danced a last waltz, and I was sorry the night had to end. We moved slowly with the others to the cloakroom to find our coats, and I helped Phyll into hers.

  “Oh my, that was fun,” she said, “but I’m feeling a little tired.”

  Bob Hollister, a senior boy, was standing nearby and overheard her. He came over eagerly. “Phyllis,” he said, “I’d be glad to give you a ride home in my dad’s car if you’re tired.”

  She stood considering his offer. “Thanks, Bob.” I thought she was going to accept, but she said, “It’s just a short walk. Harry will take me home.”

  Bob looked at me, surprised she would choose to go with me rather than him.

  We walked slowly with Phyll hanging on to me as before. I was more relaxed now, and we were able to talk easily. I asked her how she learned to dance.

  “My dad loved to sing and dance. So did my mother. They taught me the steps when I was a little girl. My mother and I dance together sometimes because she misses it so much.”

  “Where’s your dad? Doesn’t he live with you?”

  “No, he doesn’t.” She offered no other inf
ormation.

  As we approached her house, I began to wonder if she would let me kiss her. I figured she might because of the way she had clung to me all night, so I planned to do it when we got to her porch. I would turn and look into her eyes. I’d give her a little kiss and hope it would heat up before we were done.

  It heated up all right. Before we’d even reached the front steps, she turned and wrapped both arms around me and raised her lips to mine. We had the biggest, wettest smooch I could imagine. What a night! I was just getting used to the kissing and liking it a lot when she broke away. She ran up the steps, opened the door and stepped half way inside. I could see her mother sitting in the living room.

  “Good night, Harry. Thank you. I had a great time.” She smiled her pearly smile and said. “I’m going to invite you over so we can practice the Charleston.” And then she was gone.

  I stared at the closed door, surprised and chagrined. She thrilled me. But in the back of my mind, I thought I should be the one in charge of things like kissing.

  BY THE TIME Gram left the ladies in the vestibule at church Sunday morning, she knew every last thing there was to know about the dance. What Phyllis wore, her bobbed hair, the way she hung on me, how the other boys went for her, and all the rest.

  She entered the house, put down her pocketbook, put her hands on her hips, and started right in.

  “Did that girl really bob her hair for the dance?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she was going to do it anyway.”

  “I hear she danced the Charleston.” Her black eyes pierced me, and I looked away.

  “So what if she did? She’s going to teach me how to do it too.”

  “Humph. I’m not sure I approve of a girl who does that dance,” she said.

  “The Charleston is fun, Gram. There’s nothing wrong with it. I bet you’ve never even seen it.”