time a young man, someone not from Mooreland, walked out of the drugstore and headed for his car, a green Camaro with a spider painted on the hood. He looked a little seedy, Melinda would report later, or as if he were wearing
a seedy-person costume,
but was in fact as pure as a lamb.
“Hey, whoa!” Melinda said, running up to his car and opening the passenger door. “Where are you going?”
The boy froze. “To work.”
“Great,” Melinda said, climbing in the car. “I need a ride to Blue River right this very second and don’t try any funny stuff; I’ve got at least two inches and forty pounds on you.”
Rick, his name was. He just did as she told him, got in and drove her to band practice. Within a couple weeks he’d given up his nickname, Spider, and stopped hanging with borderline hoodlums, and the next thing I knew he was around our house all the time, quiet, hardworking, gum-chewing, as dependable as the sunrise. He didn’t call me names or tease me in any way, and the fact that I accompanied him and my sister on every date seemed just fine with him. He was willing to take me everywhere, anywhere Melinda said, whatever Melinda wanted. Rick only had one facial expression and I believe if there were a recipe for it you’d mix undying devotion with fortitude and shock. My sister had been the biggest surprise of his life. He was shocked every time he saw her. I was very fond of him, but I still wondered where Wayne had gone.
Suddenly there was to be a wedding. I took this news as if someone had reported that vegetable pods had overcome the whole of humanity and I was the only thinking person left standing. My sister was to be
married
? She was seventeen years old. She was just a senior in high school, still getting stung by a band director’s baton, still getting caught rolling a stolen wheely chair down one of Blue River’s long, waxed hallways. We had just accompanied her to St. Louis, where she
walloped
all the other speakers because she was that good, and she would get better. That was
her
room at the top of the stairs and to the right, painted light blue, and even though I coveted it I hadn’t meant to steal it. That was her corkboard, her long chain made of origami gum wrappers, her little statues of hugging naked people that declared “Love Is…” Those were her records, her bell-bottoms, her stuffed animals won at the Mooreland Fair by boys who could never get near her.
It all happened so fast: the creamy invitations with an embossed peace cross that read “Our Joy Will Be More Complete If” on the inside. Rose’s mother, Joyce, who was the most frightfully talented woman since…well, ever, had offered to make Melinda’s wedding dress and veil. Joyce was going to
make
them. She might as well have said she was going to make
gravity.
Melinda asked if I would stand up with her. Her friend Cindy would be her maid of honor and I would be her bridesmaid. I nodded, of course, of course, I had no idea what it meant, what I was being asked to do, but Mom was making my dress: pink satin with a wine-velvet sash around the waist. I’d never wanted to be a maidenhead but for Melinda I’d even wear something pink and scratchy.
There was an announcement of the engagement in the
Courier-Times.
There were fittings at Joyce’s house where we could see the lace and beads she’d sewn on by hand, the intricate cuffs of the sleeves. There were photographs taken in the dress ahead of the event by Jimmy Carnes, our local photography genius, and in all of them you can see Melinda’s sweet smile, tears in her eyes.
At night I lay in my bed, clutching my Suzy Sleepyhead doll and sobbing. I wouldn’t let Melinda know. I was terrified to let her know that if she left, if she really got married and moved out of the house, I would have nothing, I would have no one, I might as well be tossed in a river tied up in a sack, like a bag of kittens.
On the day of the wedding, June 23, Melinda just barely graduated
a seedy-person costume,
but was in fact as pure as a lamb.
“Hey, whoa!” Melinda said, running up to his car and opening the passenger door. “Where are you going?”
The boy froze. “To work.”
“Great,” Melinda said, climbing in the car. “I need a ride to Blue River right this very second and don’t try any funny stuff; I’ve got at least two inches and forty pounds on you.”
Rick, his name was. He just did as she told him, got in and drove her to band practice. Within a couple weeks he’d given up his nickname, Spider, and stopped hanging with borderline hoodlums, and the next thing I knew he was around our house all the time, quiet, hardworking, gum-chewing, as dependable as the sunrise. He didn’t call me names or tease me in any way, and the fact that I accompanied him and my sister on every date seemed just fine with him. He was willing to take me everywhere, anywhere Melinda said, whatever Melinda wanted. Rick only had one facial expression and I believe if there were a recipe for it you’d mix undying devotion with fortitude and shock. My sister had been the biggest surprise of his life. He was shocked every time he saw her. I was very fond of him, but I still wondered where Wayne had gone.
Suddenly there was to be a wedding. I took this news as if someone had reported that vegetable pods had overcome the whole of humanity and I was the only thinking person left standing. My sister was to be
married
? She was seventeen years old. She was just a senior in high school, still getting stung by a band director’s baton, still getting caught rolling a stolen wheely chair down one of Blue River’s long, waxed hallways. We had just accompanied her to St. Louis, where she
walloped
all the other speakers because she was that good, and she would get better. That was
her
room at the top of the stairs and to the right, painted light blue, and even though I coveted it I hadn’t meant to steal it. That was her corkboard, her long chain made of origami gum wrappers, her little statues of hugging naked people that declared “Love Is…” Those were her records, her bell-bottoms, her stuffed animals won at the Mooreland Fair by boys who could never get near her.
It all happened so fast: the creamy invitations with an embossed peace cross that read “Our Joy Will Be More Complete If” on the inside. Rose’s mother, Joyce, who was the most frightfully talented woman since…well, ever, had offered to make Melinda’s wedding dress and veil. Joyce was going to
make
them. She might as well have said she was going to make
gravity.
Melinda asked if I would stand up with her. Her friend Cindy would be her maid of honor and I would be her bridesmaid. I nodded, of course, of course, I had no idea what it meant, what I was being asked to do, but Mom was making my dress: pink satin with a wine-velvet sash around the waist. I’d never wanted to be a maidenhead but for Melinda I’d even wear something pink and scratchy.
There was an announcement of the engagement in the
Courier-Times.
There were fittings at Joyce’s house where we could see the lace and beads she’d sewn on by hand, the intricate cuffs of the sleeves. There were photographs taken in the dress ahead of the event by Jimmy Carnes, our local photography genius, and in all of them you can see Melinda’s sweet smile, tears in her eyes.
At night I lay in my bed, clutching my Suzy Sleepyhead doll and sobbing. I wouldn’t let Melinda know. I was terrified to let her know that if she left, if she really got married and moved out of the house, I would have nothing, I would have no one, I might as well be tossed in a river tied up in a sack, like a bag of kittens.
On the day of the wedding, June 23, Melinda just barely graduated
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