Vanity Insanity by Mary Kay Leatherman Page A

for whatever reason, that it was important to him that I serve Mass. My trivial suffering was soon interrupted by a loud and off-key song walking toward my house.
    “Grounds in my coffee, grounds in my coffee, and you’re so vain, I betcha think this song is about you, Ben!” Hope laughed loudly as she and her mother walked toward my porch. “That’s how Lovey sings that song. Everybody knows that it’s ‘Clouds in your coffee.’ Duh!”
    “Let’s not say ‘duh.’ Can we think of a different word to say, Hope?” Mrs. Webber was holding Hope’s hand.
    “Not really.”
    Hope’s reply was genuine. It was not in any sort of tone, typical of girls her age. I agreed with her, though. “Duh” was pretty much the only word to use there. Hope’s comment was regarding what in time came to be known as “Loveyisms.” Loveyisms were the strange spin that Lovey put on lyrics. Hope’s little sister, Lovey Webber, was notorious for belting out her own erroneous versions of the most popular songs at the time. What damage Lovey could do to a song could sometimes never be repaired.
    Hope smiled at me. “Hey, Ben. Guess where I’m going?”
    “Uh, crazy? Can I come along?”
    Hope’s head went back, and her authentic laugh made me smile. “Ben, this is serious,” Hope said. “I am going to a rewards assembly.”
    Mrs. Webber chimed in. “Ben, Hope is being honored today at a sports banquet. She’s receiving an award for success in track at the Special Olympics. Hope holds the state record for the mile run last year. Your mom is going to do something fun with her hair.” Mrs. Webber was always kind and quiet. The only time I saw her mad was when little Robert went streaking toward the pool yelling, “Ethel, don’t look!”
    “Congratulations on your award, Hope. You should feel really good about that.”
    As Hope and Mrs. Webber headed toward the path to the back door to the salon, Mrs. Webber asked me the question that every adult had asked me that summer. “Hey, Ben, have you decided where you’ll go to high school in the fall?”
    I dreaded the usual dialogue. I knew that we couldn’t afford for me to go to the Catholic all-boys Jesuit school, Creighton Prep. Mac had offered to help with that, but my mom knew she couldn’t pay him back. She’d said no to offers for my sisters to go to Marian High School. With our financial situation, my family would stay on the public-school track.
    “You know, I’m not sure yet…”
    Grandpa Mac honked from the curb and waved at Mrs. Webber. “Gotta go. Congrats, Hope.” I ran to the big silver boat of a Buick that Grandpa called Babe.
    “Heya, Benny,” Grandpa Mac yelled. Note: Grandpa Mac is the only person who got away with calling me Benny besides my mom.
    “Heya, Grandpa, heya, Babe,” I addressed his silver femme-auto that only slightly embarrassed me as we drove by the kids on the block. “It sure is hot.”
    The talk would remain on the surface during the ride to the church. Weather, ball games, and gas prices. Pretty much it. I think our great effort to sound nonchalant was an attempt to make this little ritual seem natural. And for sure, we never talked about my mom during those ten-minute drives. Mac always allowed me to turn the radio in his car to WOW. That evening, the Righteous Brothers were singing about heaven in the song “Rock and Roll Heaven.”
    As we pulled onto the blacktop parking lot at Saint Pius, I took a deep breath. Going to a church that I didn’t feel much a part of. Standing up in front of large crowds of people watching me try to remember every little cup I must give Father. Lighting candles twice as tall as me. Kneeling for what seemed like an eternity. Wearing a dress that I guess was supposed to make me look like a “minipriest” or maybe an angel. This was not easy.
    But Grandpa Mac would be sitting out in the pews. He would drop me off near the sacristy and then park out front. Mac would enter the church through the