All About B.A.D. (3 page)

In Lone Grove, “splits” referred to hair ends, ice cream concoctions involving bananas, and the legs of cheerleaders. It was not meant for describing nice couples of the Christ Fully Divine Church. Other than prayer, coping devices for a certain marital situation hadn’t been created by the good folks, so it was met with a shifting of feet, lowering of eyes and a muttering of condolences for “the dissolution”—actions which only inflicted more of the pain they were intended to relieve.

By the time Lilly was in high school, Papa was often away, traveling county roads, hawking feed and filling orders of farmers and ranchers. It was a good job he had managed to make ho-hum. When he was home, his was a vague presence of neither acceptance nor rejection. He moved ghostlike in his surroundings, expecting little and giving less. He didn’t understand emotions. His rarely leaked out into life.

“The war, Lilly. It was the war that changed him. He wasn’t the same when he came home. Then I got pregnant with you and we just didn’t talk about it.” This vague explanation from Lilly’s mama, Bertha, left Lilly wondering if she had been the reason they stopped talking altogether. She tried to make up for a situation she didn’t understand by being quiet, obedient and careful. Hers was an unnoticed presence.

BAD and Lilly rode the bus to the crossroads. Rehashing another high school day, they walked toward the Donahues’ lane. Bernadette turned into its coolness and Lilly crossed the cattle guard onto the dirt road. She usually tried counting the number of steps from her fence to the edge of what passed as the lawn, but it was a long distance and invariably her mind traveled to other places. 

It was the same the day her papa left. His truck was in the front yard and the sight of it hurried Lilly up the steps, across the porch and through the rusting screen door. The house was unnaturally quiet. When Papa was home, she never called out. But today there was a stillness saturating the air, swallowing the slightest of sounds. In the kitchen sat her puffy-eyed, haggard-looking mama. Bertha glanced at Lilly’s face without speaking.

Papa came through the door with a suitcase in his left hand. He strolled over to Lilly and patted her twice on the head before walking stiffly and swiftly out to his truck. Lilly heard the engine sputter before the truck lurched forward.

“Where’s he going? Where’s Papa going this time?” It was a question she didn’t want ignored or answered.

“He won’t be back, Lilly. He won’t be coming home.”

Lilly ran out into little dust swirls kicked up by wheels in dry earth. If he saw her arms waving or heard her calling, he gave no indication.

“Wait, Papa, wait!” These were the only sounds left once he turned the bend.

Lilly returned and waited on the steps until the only light was from bugs winking from one point to another. She waited for someone to come and give an explanation. Months would pass before it came.

After school the next day, Lilly dragged herself up the four bus steps behind BAD for the long, tedious ride home. After a drier, warmer than usual winter, all the back roads in the county had been layered over with a fine powder, making them appear like ghostly indentations crisscrossed with tires and animal tracks. This ground soil was spun into the air by the ancient bus’s tires. It filled their nasal passages, eyes and any other available openings. Its fake leather seats collected these particles in tiny pools of sweat from the passengers, making the atmosphere uncomfortably gritty. BAD, making the decision she would rather choke than swelter, pinched together the side latches holding the small framed glass in place and jerked down hard, creating a crack large enough for a slight breeze over their heads. Mixed with tears, the dust made small pasty islands on Lilly’s face.

“I can’t believe it, Bernadette. I can’t make it feel real or make sense of it. Just to go without a word. No goodbye, nothing. I’m both sad and angry.”

“Hold onto anger for now, Lilly. It’ll make it easier. I always wondered how such a tight-lipped grump could make a living as a salesman. Any words he had he must have used up on the farmers and ranchers just like himself. He was stingy with his words and his feelings. How did you and your mama stand it all this time? I don’t want to be mean, Lilly, but I always thought you deserved more.”

While not comforting or particularly sympathetic, Lilly flinched from hearing the truth in her friend’s words. BAD gave voice to thoughts Lilly had been afraid to say aloud or mention to Bertha. The memories of times shared with her papa could be counted on one hand. One Christmas, one birthday and, oddly, a time when he had taken her fishing. Lilly searched for more but came up blank.

She wondered about her folks. She hadn’t heard them talk about shared dreams or goals; conversation had been limited to the necessities of daily living. There hadn’t been any hand-holding, long hugs or affectionate pats. She couldn’t remember seeing them kiss. Had either wanted more from the other? Had they fallen into a comfortable rut of acceptance and decided to stay there for the sake of convenience? Lilly wasn’t equipped to squeeze out answers from her limited living, but she also wasn’t willing to assign blame.

“Goodbye. Good riddance.” Bernadette’s harsh words were tempered by the arm she placed around her friend. “I’m not going to pretend to be unhappy about the absence of someone who never had time for you or your mama. I’m sorry you’re hurting, though. After you get over the sadness you feel now, I bet you’ll feel differently. Maybe you’ll be able to see it as a door opening to something totally new, and better.”

“You may be right, Bernadette. I sincerely hope so. But
now
is what I worry about. What are Mama and I to do NOW?”

The answer to her question would come sooner more than later.

With Papa’s leaving, life went from difficult to hardscrabble. The margin between the two was so narrow that Bertha and Lilly crossed over without misstep. A garden patch provided vegetables, and a cow in the barn supplied their dairy. Except for the occasional fried chicken on Sundays, they could have been full-fledged vegetarians before it was in vogue. A basket of teacakes or jars of mayhaw jelly often found their way into the kitchen, parcels of kindness returned to the faithful friend Bertha had been to many for years. Neighbors periodically appeared with equipment to clear farm rows, mow patches of unwieldy grass and complete a myriad of unattended chores. Occasionally laughter breezed through their home, pushing broken pieces into some semblance of wholeness. Their place began looking better than when Papa had been in residence. They were blessed with everything except hard currency.

News sped from house to house with amazing alacrity in their little hamlet. Rumors traveled even faster and sometimes held a grain of truth. The first wave of gossip about a large government project coming to Lone Grove lightning-flashed from neighbor to neighbor. When Bertha learned an office was to open within walking distance, she decided she needed a salary—and they needed her assistance. She didn’t have experience in clerical work but she had determination, a beautiful smile, knew everyone within miles or was kin to them, and had proof of financial need. She was hired before the scope of the project was officially defined to the community.

Another handy skill she owned and honed was the art of bartering. Bertha became the school bus monitor on days that were too raw for walking. Of course all the riders knew her and, more importantly, knew she knew their parents and would see them on Sundays. It was a more peaceful ride when she was onboard. Because of this, the bus drivers often stopped and asked Miss Bertha to take a seat on clear weather days. Lilly vacillated between embarrassment and being proud of her mother’s resiliency. Bertha’s nod to understanding this was to leave BAD and Lilly alone at the back of the bus.

The two girls used the time for bulking up the lifeline that stretched between them. It was an especially important anchor in a world of upheaval—a world filled with more responsibilities and less certainty, and the realizations of need.

BAD worked part-time at the drugstore. There were more male customers to boost sales when she was behind the counter, so she was constantly asked to work longer hours. Lilly was hired at the local newspaper as a “gofer”. This was partly due to a school co-op program and mostly to the fact that her mama was a second cousin of the assistant editor. The rest of their little foursome was split between the Dairy Queen and the hardware store. 

They used precious leftovers of time wisely, skirting around arguments and tiptoeing over painful topics. Gossip was shared but never as truth, and they protected each other’s dignity. They were teenagers now, rattling around in hormonal bodies in a steadily encroaching adult world—a world that was about to make an abrupt turn.

After the last bell, Lilly and BAD received life-changing decisions in the form of small brown packets.

The Lone Grove Consolidated School fell short in the superfluous department. But what it lacked in facilities and courses, it supplied through agreements and travel. An arrangement with the community college resulted in a few creative classes offered to students with potential. For some, this meant enrichment as well as the opportunity to be surrounded by people whose complete genealogy they couldn’t recite.

BAD and Lilly both received one of these coveted envelopes. Lilly’s was for language arts, while BAD was invited to the “World of Art” program. Inside the packets, along with forms and class descriptions, was a check to cover the expense of needed supplies. It was the first financial aid for either of them.

Feelings of joy and gratitude brought them closer than they’d been in months, but it was short-lived. A comparison of schedules indicated Lilly would spend Mondays away from Lone Grove. BAD would be gone on Tuesdays. 

“Between working and going on different days, we’ll hardly see each other!” Splitting apart at the start of an adventure was too painful a thought for Lilly.

“This also means, Lilly, that we’re about to get a peek of what’s beyond here.”

“What’s wrong with here?”

“Lone Grove is all about nothing. Small, drab and boring. There must be more…
out there
. I, for one, am ready to see just what that is. We’ll talk on other days.”

“We’ve always known and shared what we’re doing. That won’t change for me and I suspect you’ll be curious, too.” Lilly’s reply was quick but unsure; BAD’s lack of response should have been a clue.

The rides to Community College were the beginnings of many things, including separation.

Works penned by authors of wide-ranging talents opened up intellectual expanses. New worlds brought an expanded vocabulary. Stories filled Lilly’s head while ideas landed on every scrap of paper within her vicinity. Prose, poetry, song. All swirled around and inside; she lived for Mondays, and it was all carefully chronicled in notes to be shared.

Art exploded Bernadette’s world. She devoured its limitless palette and studied anything remotely associated with it. She had an innate sense of form, space and shape, and could translate them with ease using any medium she tried. BAD’s fluid interpretations stirred both respect and envy from others. She felt challenged, more alive, and this new sense of awareness resulted in a firestorm of expression.

“Lilly, I’m sorry, but everything has just gotten swallowed up by my classes. I’ve been invited to enter an art show presented by the college. I know, Lilly, I know I can do well. I can win! I’ve got to give it my all right now. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Lilly relented. “It’s just that I was hoping to do some catching up, that’s all. Look, Mama is frying chicken on Sunday. Plan to come. Bring some of your sketches. I’ve told her how good you are and she’s been asking to see some of your work. How about it?”

“Sure, Lilly. See you on Sunday.”

It was the first of many weekends that BAD dropped promises. She didn’t consider consequences or think of offering excuses. She took for granted that she could bend and change all that was around her into whatever shapes she chose. A slow unraveling of what had been strong and rooted had begun.

Lilly felt the tug and loneliness of a fraying friendship. They were learning, stretching and questioning…while growing apart. They would rebuild, Lilly was convinced of it, but their rebuilding would be on a new foundation.

With the realization that Bernadette had outgrown Lone Grove, Lilly’s grief took on a new definition. From being sprinkled together in the Lone Grove Christ Fully Divine Church, to maneuvering the maze of puberty and stumbling over the bumps of adulthood, their lives had swirled together.

Lilly cried until drained of tears.

Three realizations had changed everything for BAD: she was poor, she was attractive and she had talent. She hated the first and maximized the others. Her appearance brought her attention, her art resulted in accolades, and her economic situation created restlessness and resolve. BAD was pushing eighteen, and she was ready to go. 

He came into town as part of a survey crew and met Bernadette Ann Donahue in Pop Walker’s Drugstore. Drop-dead good looks, he was used to girls falling over and under him. He carried around height on tight pants topped by a black leather jacket. He wore loafers instead of boots. Winking eyes peeked from his face, a showcase for perpetual conceit. Elvis lips promised kisses a girl would have to crawl out of. It was rumored he had a red convertible.

When BAD learned she could make him tremble, she tucked away her decision until he was ready to go. She bagged him in time to leave in a flash of red, her suitcase in one hand and the ink drying on her high school diploma in the other.

Mrs. Donahue turned and walked back into the house when Lilly told her Bernadette was gone. Not a tear; no tantrums; no harsh tirades. Her husband crossed the yard and headed for the barn from where mewling was heard.

BAD’s mama had carefully nurtured the good in her daughter while being aware of the girl’s iron will. Between herself and the congregation of the Lone Grove Christ Fully Devine Church, she was certain all the rules had been thoroughly laid out. She had been careful not to ask which ones were broken. BAD had a way of stretching them a bit, or making up her own. 

Walking up the steps, Lilly longed for words that could make them both feel better, but they weren’t there.

“Mrs. Donahue, you okay?”

“Lilly, did she look happy?”

“I didn’t exactly see her face. I didn’t exactly see her go, either.”

“I’m sorry for you in that, Lilly. No goodbyes. She’s a smart girl; a good girl; strong. She’s got the eye of an artist. There’s so much she wanted to know, always asking questions. She felt that something here was holding her back.”

Lilly looked around the living room of their home and saw only a lifetime of love: both a mama and a papa. It occurred to her that BAD and she had different measuring sticks.

She walked from the room and down the front steps as quietly as possible, respecting Mrs. Donahue’s sorrow. Crossing the yard and pasture, walking in a silent funeral procession of one, Lilly reached the secret place where BAD and she made their pacts and promises. A flattened bed of pine needles spoke of a recent visit, and Lilly wondered about invaders.

The Mason jar sat on a flat rock by the spring. A note scribbled on a page torn from a Big Chief tablet had been folded and placed inside. The lid was loose as if screwed on in a rush.

Lilly, if you’re reading this, you remembered our vow. So much I want, Lilly, and nothing much of it in LG—and you know I don’t like goodbyes. I will write and you can come visit. When you do, bring one of Mrs. Griffith’s teacakes.

Friends Forever,

BAD

A few words to encompass years.

“Goodbye, BAD.” It felt like a prayer covering the space between all they had known. 

“It’s your turn in the world.”