Lilyanne Speaks

Angie and Ramona were already in the back. I looked at Angie. She managed to smile, so I knew everything was okay on her end. I was sitting shotgun, and I knew why.

         The other two can’t get the hang of smoking. Neither can I, but I’ve promised Shannon I won’t quit trying. We all cough and tear until our mascara runs, but Shannon says it will stop after we learn to inhale. I’m the only one Shannon will give her Tareyton’s to because it’s only a matter of time for someone with my determination.  

         I hopped in, gym bag under one arm and church books under the other, and dumped both on the floorboard. The first thing Shannon did was hand me a cigarette and push in the lighter. 

         “How much time do we have?” asked Angie.

         I glanced back, forgetting to light my cigarette, and Shannon said, “Damn. The heat is gone. Push it back in.”

         Her Mustang is wonder, but so far there have been two problems. Her dad had to replace the two back tires, and there’s a short in the lighter. It still works, but won’t glow red. Her dad said he wasn’t going to pay to fix it, because she didn’t smoke. I thought that was funny, but Shannon didn’t. 

         Right now, I’m thankful for Angie. I hate looking chicken front of Shannon, but Angie doesn’t care.

         “I figured the time both ways, plus fifteen minutes for the unexpected.” Shannon exhaled out the window. “God, I’m glad I don’t have religion. You Holy Rollers worry about everything.”

         Ramona giggled, but Angie snapped, “We’re Baptists and even if we weren’t, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

         I thought Shannon would flare up, but she shrugged. “You’re right about that.”

         Then, she narrowed her eyes and took a curve on a dime, cigarette clamped in her mouth. I fastened my seat belt.

         We zoomed ahead, surrounded by a cloud of dust, so fast that the bump up from the dirt road to the blacktop rattled the car.

         It didn’t take long to get to the flea market. Shannon took a short cut through Dairy Road that let to Route 60. Traffic slowed us down at the Callope County Line, and then there were cops. Shannon put out her cigarette, turned off the radio, and placed both hands on the wheel.

         We waited to turn off into a field and then Shannon said, “This isn’t going to be easy. I’ve got to find a spot where we won’t get blocked.”

         Shannon thinks of everything.

         The flea market was packed. An enormous man in bib overalls was standing on stacked cinderblocks directing traffic, wearing a psychedelic ball cap that was never on his head because he was constantly waving it around. He looked like he was swatting bees.

         Shannon, who doesn’t have a shy bone in her body, pulled right up beside him and told him our dilemma, even the part about Angie and I having to go to church. I wanted to crawl under the seat. The man stepped off the cinderblocks and bowed from the waist, until he was eye level with us, and I had the gut feeling he was memorizing our faces. I’m glad I don’t look like my dad; they probably know each other.

         “Ladies,” he said, cap in hand. “My name is Theodore Roosevelt Vance and I know what it’s like to leave in a hurry. Now, listen close.”

         He gave us directions that would lead us to a pieced together pick-up, mostly maroon. It was his and he knew the space next to it was clear because he’d hammered a NO PARKING sign in it. All we had to do was pull up the sign and stick it back in the ground before we left. He also told Shannon to be careful when she pulled in because his youngest daughter might be playing under the truck. Arabella Raine had a mind of her own and might dart.

         I’d been puffing away, but when he got to that part, I choked. A small child unattended under a truck? Who thinks like that?  It must have been the shock that did it because for the first time I inhaled. Slowly, I exhaled, feeling lightheaded after one puff. Shannon knew what had happened. She patted me on the back and said, “You’re some girl.”

         When the parking space came into sight, she got out like her shoes were on fire, and yanked up the sign, then pulled in next to the truck without even closing her car door.

         “Are we here?” asked Ramona. 

         Shannon and Angie just looked at her, but I took another draw, inhaling and exhaling until I’d smoked down to the filter.  My head was spinning and I forgot the little girl. I felt worried, dizzy wonderful, and nauseated all at the same time.

         I opened the door and after a few tries, managed to get out. The ground wasn’t where it should be and I’d have fallen, if it hadn’t been for Angie. She grabbed my arm, and said, “What’s the matter?” 

         “It’s the cigarette.” I took a deep breath of fresh air but that only made me dizzier. Angie put her arm around my shoulders. “I finally inhaled. She didn’t tell me the side effects.”       

“Shannon never bothers with details,” Angie hissed. “And where’s that little girl? I hope she didn’t get flattened.”

         I shook my head.

         “We would have felt something.” A wave of nausea hit me and my head spun again. “Wouldn’t we?” 

         “Great. So now we’ve escaped to the flea marked only to get arrested for vehicular homicide.” Angie let go of me and started looking for little arms or legs under the Mustang. Finally, she let out a relieved sigh. “Get through this afternoon, Lilyanne. I won’t tell my mom you inhaled.”

         Right then, I knew Angela Raider would be my friend for life.

         The huge man in the bib overalls came strolling over to see if we’d found the right spot. I thought he’d come to check about his daughter, but he started talking to Shannon. I don’t know why she always dances around men. She does it time and again, fixing her mouth in a pout, running her hands up and down her thighs like she has an itch she can’t scratch, and sticking out her boobs like she does during mixed gym. 

         She flipped her cigarette over her shoulder while it was still lit and when she pulled out another, Theodore Roosevelt Vance dug in his pocket, pulling out a pouch of chewing tobacco, a knife, and matches. He tried to light Shannon’s cigarette several times, pretending the wind had blown It out, but there was no wind. He was doing it, so he could look down her top. He got a good look, because Shannon loves being admired.    

         My nausea had passed, but Angie still held onto me, watching Shannon flirt with the huge man.

         Ramona stood apart from us, absorbing every word, every jiggle, every peep taking place. Ramona is a gossip like her mother, but I’ll give her credit – she hangs around with us and gets her gossip first hand.

         Angie interrupted my thoughts. “I can’t believe she’s flirting with that old man.” 

         “It’s for a purpose,” I replied, although I didn’t know what the purpose was, then I ask, “How do I look?”

         Angie let go of me, and stepped back.

         “You’ll do,” she said finally. 

         Shannon had managed to pull herself away from Roosevelt, who was now striding back to his cinderblocks. She was excited, loud, and the high pitch of her voice caused a little head to peer out from behind a truck wheel. Angie saw her first, then nudged me. Two blue eyes and a dirty face framed by stringy hair stared back. Her gaze settled on Shannon, in silent reproach. 

         No one spoke until Shannon screamed, “Let’s get out of here! Rosey told me the best places to go.”

         Lightheaded struck me again. “I’m still dizzy. I don’t think I can move.” 

         “Of course, you can,” Shannon shouted. “Put one foot in front of the other. I want to see everything.” 

         We weaved our way through the parked cars until we stood at the edge of the flea market. Countless tables were before us.

         “Now where?” asked Ramona.

        “There!” Shannon pointed to a table whose objects glittered in the sun.

         “You’re interested in glassware?” asked Angie. 

         “Jewelry,” Shannon replied. “Rosey told me that lady also sells jewelry, vintage stuff.  I want a pair of dangly earrings that will brush against my cheeks when I say no.”

         Say no to what? I wondered, but Shannon rolls her eyes when I ask a stupid question.

         Then, I blinked — and blinked again. Aunt Lyddie was standing at a table just beyond us, watching as a gap-toothed woman sold a well-dressed couple a quilt. Aunt Lyddie wouldn’t turn around until after the money had changed hands, so I scouted the area for Uncle Jim. 

To be con’t.

©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved.