Lilyanne Speaks.

                                                            

       My Aunt Lyddie is smart and cool. Smart because she’s the sole owner of Hair’s the Place,the best beauty shop in Harshbarger Mills and has a verve for life, unlike my mom who does nothing but clean and flip through magazines. Cool because she’d talked Mom into going to the flea market even before I left the kitchen, and ultra-cool because she can stand up to my dad. Only she can leave him speechless, breathing dust. 

         I’ve left him speechless, too, but not because I win. The two of us shout so loudly we lose the combat rhythm and forget the point. When that happens, Dad bangs out the back door to spray the kennels and I run to my room, lock the door, and grab a book from beneath the bed. Nothing between us is ever finished.

         Aunt Lyddie nearly saw me at the flea market last Sunday except, I saw her first.  She was standing with her back to me, watching a gap-toothed woman sell a quilt. I pulled my two nearest girlfriends on either side, then Ramona hissed at Shannon, who’d plunged ahead, to come back and get in front of me. I’d never regretted having white blonde hair until then.

         There were four of us: Shannon, who owns a red Mustang and joined our school last spring, Angie, Ramona and me. We only had a little time, at least Angie and I did. Shannon could have stayed out until midnight and Ramona would have done whatever Shannon wanted because Shannon leads us around by the nose. We’re always together. The freshmen scatter like leaves when we walk the halls of Panther High.

         Angie and I have to go to Young Overcomers Bible Study at Kill Creek Baptist Church (Angie and I call it the Overcoming Offenders Study) because that’s where our moms attend. Youth group starts at 5:30, and we wanted to leave for the flea market at three. It took a lot of planning to have a couple of hours free. Here’s how we did it.

         I told my mom that I was going to Angie’s house so we could memorize a passage in James to impress the new youth pastor, and that Mrs. Raider said she’d pick me up at the end of our secondary road, take me to their house, then drive us to church. Angie told her mom she’d finished with bible study, but needed help with an essay, and that my dad said he’d pick her up at the convenience store, because I’d asked her to bring snacks. My dad would take us to the church in one of his trucks. Neither of our mothers phoned, and it worked. 

         Shannon was going to pick up Angie first, then meet me at the end of our lane. This was the only place where I could imagine there might be a hitch. I didn’t know how I was going to explain to either of my parents if they caught a glimpse of her red Mustang through the trees. 

         But last Sunday, I was luck’s shining child. 

         During dinner, Dad caught on that Mom had been feeding his Fila table scraps instead of feed, and they got into a huge argument. Mom stood her ground, and I actually considered staying home to watch because she never stood up to him. But I figured once it’s happened, it will happen again, and the next time would be even better. I had business. 

         I went upstairs until the screen door slammed. When I came down, Mom was alone in the kitchen.  Dad was spraying out the kennels. I could hear the yelps. Mom was rinsing plates, but there was a big bowl on the counter with our Sunday dinner in it. I can’t believe this, I thought, Mom saves everything.  

         “Mom?” She was plopping in the rest of the deviled eggs. “Mom!” 

         She looked up. 

“I’ve got everything ready for youth group,” I said. 

         “That’s good.” She picked up the last deviled egg. 

         “Listen,” I said, before she could throw it. Mom’s clothes were a mess. Usually she wears an apron in the kitchen, but today it was gone. Plus, she hadn’t changed from her church clothes. She was using her hands to throw our meal into the scrap bowl, then she’d wipe her hands down the front of her dress. “I want to go to Angie’s before youth group because I’m memorizing a chapter in James.” She threw in the egg. “Mrs. Raider said she’d pick me up under the big elm at the end of the road. I told her I’d meet her there because I didn’t want her to waste gas.”

         Mom stared at the chuck roast left on the platter, then pulled open the silverware drawer and began cutting off every bit of fat with a paring knife. She turned to me. “That’s a good idea and very considerate of you, daughter. You’re growing up to think of others.”

         Mom’s eyes are hazel, but when she’s touched, they change color.  I’d made her happy, and I swear they were aquamarine. I felt guilt rising, but found it easy to suppress. Well, not that easy. Mom’s trust made me uncomfortable, itchy.  I wanted to move, but I had to play it cool. 

         “Do you think I should ask Dad?” 

         “Up to you,” she replied, which I interpreted as a “no”, especially when she returned to slicing. 

         I clutched my King’s James Bible and Young Overcomer’s study guide and walked toward the door, when I heard the silverware drawer open again. She’d taken out the electric knife, the one we use to cut the ham at Christmas and was slicing through the shoulder bone. 

         “I’ve very proud of you, Lilyanne,” she said, without taking her eyes off the roast. 

         I fled. 

         I ran down our road so fast that I dropped my study guide and had to wipe it off on the underside of my blouse. I was wearing a blue blouse, a long tan skirt, and a pair socks and shoes that covered my toes. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this stuff at school, but for Bible study, it mattered. Women aren’t allowed to wear pants inside Kill Creek Baptist, and the worse I looked, the more I’d fit in.

         Of course, I was going to change.

         I’d sneaked out last night, so quietly that even the dogs weren’t roused, and placed my gym bag behind the elm tree, and covered it with leaves. Inside were a pair of low-rise jeans, sandals, and a crop top. Shannon had loaned the top to me. It was white, trimmed in navy with a wide collar and a V at the bottom. Between the jeans and the top, my navel was showing, and I loved it. I didn’t look like a hick at all. 

Shannon’s family doesn’t go to church and her mom doesn’t care what she wears. I wish my mom was that way. I also love Shannon’s name. Lilyanne is so old-fashioned and there’s no way to shorten it. Lil sounds like an old gossip, Anne is too plain, and Lily reminds me of funeral flowers. I will always be fully Lilyanne.

But back to Shannon. Her family is from Clovington, a real city only a county away, and Shannon used to go to Clovington East, which is a big high school. She’s never had a curfew and knows everything. She smokes cigarettes, pot when she can get it, has fake I D’s for the college bars, and once spray painted the windows of a furniture store just to be doing something. 

         I’ve never met anyone like her mother, either. Shannon is allowed to call her mother by her first name, Melanie, and so am I.

         Melanie divorced Shannon’s dad because she wasn’t happy and married her step-father as soon as the ink was dry because, as Melanie explained it to me on my first visit, you don’t have anything if you don’t have love.

         There were complications afterwards but Melanie said that was to be expected because people, even in Clovington, have closed minds. Mr. Andrews, Scott, lost his job as driver’s ed. instructor months after he started seeing Melanie, but it wasn’t her fault or his because their meeting wasn’t planned, which meant it was fate, and there’s no escape when two people are destined to be together. 

         Melanie had gone to pick up Shannon early from her last class (which happened to be driver’s ed.) because she wanted to go shopping in Columbus. Shannon had been driving in zig-zags around the parking lot. Melanie stepped out of her car, waved and waited on the yellow line. Scott waved back and when their eyes met, it was love at first sight.

         Melanie thought that was so romantic but a lot of other people didn’t, and one thing led to another and Scott got fired despite his tenure. He did request a hearing and got three decent recommendations from people who didn’t care he’d left his students unattended while he drove the county’s car to meet Melanie at the Marriot.

         Scott finally found a position out here in the sticks, where he is not only a driver’s ed. instructor but a coach. Melanie left her big brownstone on the South Side and followed him, giving up everything for love. I know what that means because I read Sonnets from the Portuguese.       

         Shannon hates it out here, and she’s happy when she sees her real dad. He bought her the red Mustang so she could drive to Clovington and see him whenever things got too much. Shannon said her Dad — I don’t know his first name because she always calls him Dad – is really smart and got the Mustang for a steal.

         If my mom knew I was going anywhere with Shannon, she would faint, and this is one-time Dad would lift her from the floor. My parents don’t get along well, but both disapprove of Shannon and her family, though for different reasons. Mom doesn’t believe in divorce, particularly in Melanie’s case. Mom said any woman who would run off with a man for the thrill of it and never consider the effect on three impressionable children, needed to have her head examined. She doesn’t call her Melanie or Mrs. Andrews, but that awful woman. Dad doesn’t like Scott because, since he started coaching the football team, they haven’t won a single game, and Dad knows they can do better. They’re fast as the wind and tough as pine knots.

         After I dusted off my study guide, I ran behind the tree and dug out my gym bag. Then I went deeper into the growth and changed. I placed my shoes on the bottom, soles down, and folded my skirt and blouse neatly. Dowdy is one thing at Kill Creek Baptist but wrinkled is another.

         Shannon was early. I’d barely sat down on a stump, when her mustang came roaring down the road. The windows were down and the radio was blaring. I motioned for Shannon to turn down the volume, but there was nothing I could do about the smoke.

         The car was filled with it, and as soon as Shannon braked, a huge cloud billowed out the window. For one awful moment, I envisioned it heading straight to our kitchen, arranging itself into letters three feet high in front of Mom saying: YOUR DAUGHTER IS ON HER WAY TO THE FLEA MARKET AND HER NAVEL IS SHOWING.

         My vision vanished when Shannon poked her head out the window and snapped, “What are you waiting on? The Second Coming?”  

to be con’t.

©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved by the author.