Thursday, May 30, 2019

A Nudge of Nostalgia

The time capsule phenomenon of revisiting a childhood bedroom in adulthood is a fascinating concept, yet alien actuality in our household.

My husband’s childhood home burned down...on our anniversary...early in our marriage when we were still just kids ourselves.

And my parents moved shortly after my high school graduation, but I had had 8 different bedrooms (6 that I can clearly remember) up to that point anyway.

And so, the potential of being able to step across time through the threshold of my adolescence, perfectly preserved in an attempt to rediscover the core person that I was and so shall evermore be at my very heart, is oh, so elusive and I occasionally find myself filled with envy when it flickers across my screen as a storytelling device.

But they’re only stories. Myth manifested by imagination. Much like the memories sifted through rose colored, nostalgic filters, filling those nonexistent rooms of my far gone past.

This, this photo, of how my sister “shared” the bed. And that precariously protruding toe that always managed to find its target with missile-like precision is the reality. I didn’t share with her for very long before the bedrooms were again, rearranged.

This photo, procured on my 110 camera was the photographic evidence as to why an immediate reshuffling was required.

Note: The blazing camera flash through the pitch darkness didn’t even cause her to alter her course of attack!

Monday, April 22, 2019

The Promise

There is a promise of fulfillment found in the starkness of an elementary student’s smile.
Housed in the hollows between past and permanence.
The result of a reluctant relinquishing of that outgrown and the expectant searching for the slow but steady showing-through of the still oversized.
Both the baby and beyond beaming back at us on a face freckled with the familiar and the future as it transforms right before our very eyes into everything it was always meant to be.

Monday, March 11, 2019

The Holy Grail of Crystal Gayle: Chapter Three

“We’ll bring it back with a full tank!” Towanda promises as she lays a few taps on the pedal, gunnin’ it to keep the rusty Impala from dying’.

“Shhhhh! Quiet! Mama’s gonna hear!” Junior Junior  shushes, shruggin’ his shoulders clear up to his sideburns.  “You sure I cain’t just come with?” Junior Junior pleads. “She’s pretty temperamental and I know all the finessin’ she needs.”

Poor Junior Junior, he has somehow convinced himself that he knows “all the finessin’” any “she” needs. Not that I’m worldly by any means, but I know a bit more about the female body, havin’ been in one the whole of my life, than Junior Junior does, I’m sure. If he can’t get past assultin’ a woman’s ears with his whinin’, he ain’t never gonna get to finessin’ the parts that need the most finessin’. Like her heart.

“Nah, Junior Junior. We got this,” Towanda says, slappin’ down the lock on the ledge of the driver’s side door.

“We really do appreciate this Junior Junior,” I reassure, knowin’ full well my requestin’ is the reason he was willin’ to roll outta bed well before dawn. But I still ain’t convinced that when pedal goes to metal he won’t change his mind. But really, what’s he gonna do? It’ll be too late by then. Won’t it?

“Hey maybe, when you get back, you wanna go sit out at the Sonic or somethin’?”

“I’m tryin’ to cut down on my cholesterol,” Towanda tosses in, crankin’ the window up to a crack before Junior Junior’s fingers bring that to a halt.

“So what exactly am I gettin’ outta this whole deal? All I’m askin for is a burger.”
Towanda clenches her hand on the crank as she retreats her rotation a few tense twists.

“Junior Junior, you didn’t pick Whataburger, you picked a drive-in, where everybody stays in the car. We both know that you’re askin’ for way more than that.”

And for the first time, it dawns on Junior Junior that even though he’s outside, standin’ in the street, he might just be the one in the driver’s seat. Or at least the passenger one. Or at the very very least the trunk.

“When we get back, I might be willin’ to go get a burger, but we’re gettin’ outta the car.” I relent. The boy has always had mostly manners, so the Sonic selection may just be a misstep.

“Then how are you ever gonna make me a man?” And he winks. HE WINKS!

What on earth makes him think somethin’ like that is ever gonna work? Especially since it ain’t nowhere near the truth. Even I know bein’ a man goes way beyond your wiener. But beyond that, men are still pretty much a mystery to me. I mean what exactly is wanderin’ through their minds that makes them let loose with somethin’ like that?

Sometimes men appear to be perfectly fine and then outta nowhere just flip around to flat-out misguided! And I ain’t even got a clue as to why.

Especially men like my daddy. Now he ain’t never sexually asulted nobody at a Sonic that I’m aware of and he ain’t never been perfect, so don’t hear me sayin’ that neither, but before life changed for both of us after losin’ both my brother and my mama, he was halfway normal. Or at least I thought so.

And then, one day he sent me out to the garage to go grab a Philips cause he was fixin’ the light fixture. Yep. We used to live in a real house. With a real yard. And a real family. And what I had always assumed was a real boat. Not that we’d ever been out on the water in it. It just sat all covered in one corner of the garage under a big blue tarp, with the oft spoken commandment to just leave it be. We weren’t to touch it. We weren’t to look at it. And I’m pretty sure we weren’t to even think about it.

But this one time, out there seekin’ a screwdriver, fetchin’ for what he was fixin’, I just couldn’t keep my curiosity under control. So curiosity caught the cat. And that cat was definitely me.

In the past he had always sent my brother out for all of the bits beyond his reach, but this time he was busy holdn’ the ceilin’ fan blades back while Daddy dinked with the bulbs and glass. Finally, my turn to help.

I can still remember the sound of my elated hard-soled, sandled feet slappin’n against the cement floor of the garage as I made my way towards the tool chest, when that one corner of the tarp, that trapped the unseen boat in the back corner, caught my eye. It was undone.

Not that we’d ever been allowed out in the garage alone to linger near Daddy’s precious boat. Ever. So it wadn’t one of us. Daddy musta come out to sneak a peek at all of his past memories and forgot to fasten it back.

And deep inside, I knew that I knew that I shouldn’t, but…I just wanted to know. I wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. Just like Junior Junior’s “she” that he shuttled us around in. I wanted to see the “she” that had captivated not only Daddy’s desires for alone time, when he went out there just to sit with her and collect his mind, but one whole corner of our garage so we couldn’t even fit the car in there.

I crept over and lifted that loose edge. And I will never forget how my tiny tummy fell clear down to my toes. Under that tarp there was no boat. Nothin’ even like a boat. Just a boat shape. Built outta boxes. Boxes and boxes. Case after case of Crown Royal, evidently bought in bulk. Enough, well, to fill a boat. A boat that was nowhere to be found because it apparently never existed. But I had finally seen my daddy’s secret “she” that had the beginnin’s of goin’ way beyond baitin’ or beguilin’ to full on bondage, for the resta his life.

I had always inexplicably had plenty of those little purple and gold corded bags for puttin’ pencils in for school, bagin’ up bottle caps or makin’ Barbie sleepin’ bags and now I knew the mysterious source. The dark secret of the supposed boat, that would eventually sink us all.

“What did you just say to her?!” Towanda roars! “You kiss your mama with that mouth?” And Towanda has had enough. “I bet you do!”

“I’m sorry! Shhhh! I’m sorry!” Junior Junior looks back to the house for newly lit up lights.

“Nasty! What on earth makes you think Twyla Shane would ever show you her stuff at a Sonic?”

“Shhhhh! Okay! Okay!”

“Just nasty! I’ll take a strawberry shake and a big side of nasty!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Yes you are, you definitely are Junior Junior! And to think, we were gonna do you the favor of bringin’ the car back with a full tank.”

Wait a minute, idn’t he doin’ us a favor by loanin’ us the car?

“And then you have to haul off and go turnin’ a hamburger into somethin’ dirty.”

“Twyla Shane, I shouldnta done that. Like I said, I’m real sorry.”

“I don’t know, she looks purty upset from the propositionin’ to me.” Towanda looks me up and down and then back to Junior Junior. “I cannot believe the likes of you! Solicitin’ prostitution from a nice girl like that for the use of your car!”

“Prostitution?! Now hold on…”

“Lookin’ for a little tit for your tat! How dare you! How dare you sir!” Towanda revs the engine and puts it in gear. “I think we’re gonna need a coupla days just to calm down from all of this sexual tension and tauntin’ and insinuation’”

Oh, I get what she’s gettin’ at. Though she is kinda right about all that Sonic nastiness. But it ain’t the first time somebody just assumed since I live in a school bus I must live like complete trash with no morals and all. And they can just do whatever ’cause I’m a girl to boot. But I’m kinda disappointed in Junior Junior. I pegged him for far more mannered than that. But then again, he is quite a mamas boy. Maybe he’s just lookin’ to move strait from his mama’s tit to somebody else’s, skippin’ the whole man milestone in the middle. And I got a feelin’ Towanda’s about to teach this man boy another lesson.

I start fannin’ myself.

“Yep, Junior Junior. I’m gonna need at least three days to cool off before we can come back inta contact,” coincidentally the exact amount of time we’re thinkin’ it’s gonna take to get to Nashville, cut and fluff and hightail it right on back here.

“But what am I sposta to tell mama?”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud! Come on Junior Junior! You wanted Twyla Shane to help make you a man, well she just did! Figure it out and grow a pair!”

And with that Towanda floors it, whippin’ the Impala the rest of the way outta the driveway, scrapin’ the bumper on the curb and knockin’ down the mailbox. Then lays on the gas and gets us right into the glare of oncoming headlights before swervin’ us onto the opposite shoulder right before rightin’ us on the right side of the road.

In the rearview I can see a little yellow light flip on in an upstairs window and I start wonderin’ just how much of a man he’s gonna be once Lidia starts layin’ into him here shortly. And with Towanda’s drivin’ if we’ll even make it outta the Oklahoma City limits all in one piece.

Between the KOA and right here in Junior Junior’s front seat, I’ve suddenly started wonderin’ lotsa things. like why Towanda’s in such a hurry to get on outta here tonight? Like what will Daddy say when he wakes and finds I ain’t there no more? And in the faintest, back little corner of my mind, what exactly happened between Towanda and Delbert? And where exactly is he now?

Monday, March 4, 2019

The Holy Grail of Crystal Gayle: Chapter Two


I jolt as another June bug meets its electrifyin’ demise in Towanda’s bug zapper.

“I hate that thing! It’s so cruel,” Towanda shivers.

“Then why don’t you take it down for cryin’ out loud?”

“‘Cause Delbert wired it all up through the porch light somehow. I can’t take it down and I can’t shut it off neither.”

Towanda smacks a mosquito with her magazine.

“That thing’s cruel, but killin’ ’em with a magazine is humane?”

“The June bugs and moths didn’t do nothin’. These mosquitos on the other hand are suckin’ the life right outta me.”

Towanda’s a saint. More like a martyr. She’s sufferin’ through the suckin’ on my account. Well, really on Daddy’s account. We always sit outside her camper after Dallas. Just in case Daddy starts hollerin’ or stumblin’ around or what not. It’s closer to home without bein’ too close.

“It says here Dolly does all her own wigs.” Towanda tosses me an article with a giant chop outta Ms. Parton’s midsection. There musta been somethin’ “speakin’’” on the backside of her boobs.

I lick the last of the orange cheese puff dust off my fingers before pickin’ it up.

“I’m sure she does. I just love her. I really wanna see that 9 to 5. I seen pieces of it a while back, over the fence out by the drive-in, but I mean I wanna see it in a real theater with sound and all and red velvet curtains and fancy flip-down seats.”

“Ooh la la! And just what were you doin’ over by the Sky-Vu?” Towanda presses.

“Nothin’ interestin’ believe me. Just walkin’. Stretchin’ my legs.” And avoidin’ Daddy’s wrath. “Don’t worry, I’ll confess ya all my sins if ever I get a chance to have any worth confessin’.”

“Well, don’t have too much fun. Everything’s forgivable. But everything’s got consequences,” Towanda quips as she snips.

“Where’d you pick up that little nugget? Cosmo?”

“Nope. Life.”

“Well, that’s a miracle! A piece of wisdom that didn’t fly your way on F5 whirlwinds or on the backside of a Velveeta cheese coupon.”

She points her scissors in my direction for emphasis. “It was on the backside of a feature they were runnin’ about that new rocket space shuttle thing.”

“I shoulda known you meant the magazine and not the real thing. I spose you coulda meant the board game or the cereal box. Or don’t Milton Bradley and General Mills know the Lord?” I tease tippin’ my lawn chair and reachin’ for the radio.

“Oh you can laugh all you like, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“But yours are always in black and white, with color photo spreads.”

She smiles and smacks me with her magazine.

“Uh, oh. Does that make me a mosquito?”

“Nah, you’re more of a moth type, drawn to the flame. If I really wanted to squash ya, you’d be squished by now. You’re lucky I like ya.” She giggles smearin’ rubber cement over another page of her giant 1978 Sears Christmas Catalogue. It’s the literal glue that binds the bible of her whole quazi-consumer-Christain belief together. The pages contain her collection of prayer cards, pop culture, and pages from a Gideons motel Bible that survived a tornado. You see Towanda is convinced those pages are the only ones worth their words ’cause they’re the ones the Lord left her with. But over the years she found them a little light on personal revelation, so she started supplementin’. She figures if the Lord led her to those words, he must be leadin’ her to all of the other stuff that resonates. Sears just provides a convenient bindin’ for free.

“I’m just lucky regardless. You are the best friend there ever could be,” I strain as Lookin’ for Love reaches through the static clearer and clearer with each twist of the dial.

“What did you have to go and say that for?”

“‘Cause it’s true.”

Towanda puts her hand over her face, sniffles, and runs into her camper.

“Towanda? Are you cryin’?”

“Yes.” Sniff.

I ain’t never seen Towanda cryin’ before. This just ain’t her style. Typically she’s so light, you could put one of those 110 negative strips up to her and she’d just project the positive images.

“What on earth for?”

Towanda’s sniffley voice drizzles outa the camper.

“Cause I ain’t a good friend. I ain’t even a good person.”

I get up and go into the camper where Towanda’s face is buried in her arms on her little flip up table. I put my hands on her heavin’ shoulders.

“Towanda, that ain’t true. You’re always doin’ nice things for me, like the chicken, and the sweepin’, and lettin’ me keep all of the good perfume samples from your magazines for special occasions.”

Towanda dabs her eyes with a little embroidered handkerchief. Towanda has an endless supply of little embroidered handkerchiefs all with different flowers and figs and fanciness. Even though she lives in a camper, she’s always had all the little necessities of proper lady life.

“No, I ain’t!” Towanda throws up her hands. “ I wasn’t sposta be the one gettin’ promoted to the grandeur of Fine Jewelry. I was sposta get bumped up to register three, when Lynnette got promoted to the grandeur of Fine Jewelry.”

I move a stack of mangled magazines and sit in the booth beside her.

“Towanda, it is not your fault that they picked you for the job. They thought you’d be the right one on accounta you been such a good worker and so reliable at your duties.”

“No they didn’t.” Towanda sniffles again and starts flippin’ through a copy of Good Housekeeping.

“Sure they did.”

“Nope.” Towanda insists. “They picked me on accounta Lynette’s been swipin’ from the till. And I told.”

“But that was the right thing to do. That don’t make you a bad person, it makes you a good person.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell ’cause I wanted to do the right thing. I told ’cause I wanted the grandeur of Fine Jewelry. I’m a selfish, awful Judas.” She melts back into the temporary tabletop.

“I think you’ve got somethin’ mixed around here. Lynette was the one that took the money.”

“That’s true.” Towanda straightens her spine feelin’ better. Maybe even a little justified.

“She’s the thief that had no intention of makin’ reparations.”

“Oh no, she did. She gave it all back but twenty dollars.”

“Why didn’t she give it all back?’

“‘Cause she had consequences. She gave me twenty dollars not to tell but I told anyway ’cause, as you said, it was the right thing to do and I kept the twenty to teach her a lesson.”

“But Towanda, that was stolen money.”

“Where she got it ain’t my problem, it’s hers and the Lord made sure I came out $20 ahead for doin’ the right thing. I’m so glad we talked this through. I was beginin’ to wonder where he was in all of this and now I see he was there the whole time!”

I shake my head and smile. Her logic may be a little screwy, but her intentions are not.

“Besides, I used that twenty dollars for good works. Your daddy’s been pretty calm all night.”

And that, I thank the Lord for myself.

“Twyla Shane, honey, I know it ain’t my business, but why on earth do you stick around and let your daddy treat you like that? Why do you put up with it?”

I look down at the spotless wood laminate tablette in front of me searchin’ for any other answer than the truth. But I find none.

“‘Cause my mama ain’t alive to put up with it herself and somebody has to.”

Towanda stops her flippin’ and takes my face in her hands.

“Nobody has to do nothin’ of the sort. And you don’t have to be livin’ in a broke down school bus in a KOA. You’re better than that.”

“But you live here.”

“I do not live here. I’m just passin’ through. This is my temporary residence. An exit ramp from the wrong expressway. A place to get myself together and get on outa here. Just like everybody else. Honey, everybody’s gone and your daddy’s stayin’ is his choice, not yours.”

And I see that she has a point. In truth, Daddy and I are the only ones I know that have stayed. Sure sometimes people stay for a year or so, but everybody’s on wheels and they eventually drive on outa here, except us. Ours went flat long ago and Daddy never sought nobody out to fix ’em up.

“But Towanda, I don’t know the first thing about leavin’. I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know where I’d go.”

“Well, you just leave that to me sugar. I do it all the time.”

And it’s true. Towanda’s been everywhere. She’s even been to the Gulf of Mexico. I don’t know much about it, but every once in a while she’ll tell me about somewhere she went. She always mentions where, but she never mentions with who. I’m pretty sure it wadn’t Delbert, ’cause when they first arrived here, they were newlyweds. They had to get married on accounta Towanda was against sex outsida marriage, so she insisted they get married first. Then she was just kinda against sex with Delbert. He’d been married before which Towanda didn’t have a problem with, it was the not bein’ divorced that teed her off. They’d only been here two months when the truth came out and it’s been about two more since Delbert up and left, or got kicked out, or however exactly it occurred. One day he was here. And then one day, he just wudn’t.

“Well it’s all a nice idea, but I mean, I have a job workin’ for Tanya and I can’t just leave her like that after all she’d done for me. And I gotta finish beauty school, once I pay what I already owe so I can go back. And what’s gonna happen to Daddy if I go?”

“Consequences!” Towanda blurts, then buries her nose in a Lady’s Home Journal. Her signal that she’s reached her limit with my naysayin’ negativity. Part of why Towanda has such a positive outlook on life is ’cause she just refuses to hear anything that won’t reconcile with her reasoning’.

Towanda slams her magazine down on the table in a state of full revelation and drives her finger right into the glossy smile on the right hand page in the middle of an add for Personal Touch Razors.

“Now that woman’s got hair!”

I look over at Crystal Gayle’ blue eyes, that were once supposedly so brown, smilin’ up from the pressed down page.

“Twyla Shane, you are gonna do her hair. You have been called by God.” Towanda snaps her eyes shut searchin’ the insides of her eyelids for something’.

“Yep. It’s confirmed. You have definitely been called by the everlastin’ Lord, to give Loretta Lynn’s little sister a brand new do!” She throws the magazine in my direction and starts busyin’ herself around the kitchen, foldin’ down the table and clearin’ off counter tops.

“But why? Why on earth would God Almighty need me for somethin’ like that?”

“Twyla Shane, it is not our place to ask why. Only what.”

“But I didn’t ask what.”

“But I did. And the Lord heard my prayer. And he answered. He told me exactly what you needed to do.”

“But why didn’t he tell me? Why is he only always tellin’ you?”

Towanda stops her battenin’ down and burns her eyes right through me. “You’re jealous aren’t you?”


“Yep. Of my close relationship with the Lord.”

“Wait, am I supposed to be jealous of you? Or jealous of the Lord?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my problem. It’s yours. You figure it out!”

“Right now I don’t think jealousy is my problem. I think you are. I never heard God say one word about headin’ out to hack off Crystal Gayle’s hair. You did. It only came from you.”

“‘Cause you’re not listenin’.”

“Oh, I’m listenin’ to plenty. I’m listenin’ to what sounds like a really bad idea. One that’s half baked right outa your brain.”

“You just don’t know what you need Twyla Shane.”

“Oh, and you do?”


“Well right now I need a cigarette!”

I blow out the camper door with Towanda hot on my tail.

“I cannot believe we are havin’ our first fight over somethin’ so stupid!” I snap as I start flippin’ down my tri-fold banana lounger. There is no way I am leavin’ it here with this wing nut.

“It’s not a fight. It’s a misundertandin’.”

“What on earth is there to misunderstand? I am understandin’ when you find your way in Women’s Day. And that’s fine for you Towanda. If it brings you comfort. Do what you do. But now you’re bossin’ me. In my life. And I already got plenty uh that. I don’t need no more. Especially from my friend. Maybe the only real one I got.”

“Then listen! Twyla Shane, it is time to get outta here. For once in your life just listen!”

And suddenly, without explanation, through the cracklin’ static of the radio with the faintest of reception “You’ve been talkin’ in your sleep…” reverberates in the undeniable voice of Crystal Gayle. And I stop so still, mid click, right in mid foldin’ chair foldown, that you could push me over with a feather.

“This is no coincidence.” Towanda whispers, stunned by the sudden confirmation of her kooky convictions. She grabs my shoulders and stares straight through my skull. “Nothin’ ever is. We are leavin’ here now. Tonight.”

“Twila Shhhhhhane!” My daddy’s undeniable slur slithers through the night, across the campground and right down my spine. “You get your asssh home. Now!”

“It’s not comin’ in all the way. How can we even be sure?”

“Did you hear me?” He slams the bus doors open with a slap.

“We have to track down Crystal Gayle.” Towanda determines. “That’s the only way we can ever know.”

“I sssaid now!” He stumbles down the steps before fallin’ face first in the dirt at the end of our drive.

I’m about to do somethin’ that makes not one lick of sense. But aside from a drunk daddy in a broke down school bus with flat tires goin’ nowhere, at a KOA on the edge of Oklahoma City, what have I got to lose?

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

The Holy Grail of Crystal Gayle: Chapter One


"Twyla Shane, this is not what I asked for!"

I try not to smoke too much while I’m doin’ hair. But every week I go through three cigarettes just workin’ on Lidia. For cryin’ out loud, her hair’s so big it’s gainin’ on her massive ego. How in hell am I supposed to make it “poofier?”

“Well honey, I’m tryin,” I exhale in a cloud of smoke. Of course it’s not what she asked for. She asked to look like Krystle Carrington, but she ain’t never gonna look like Linda Evans. Even with all the Aqua Net in the world. But every woman deserves to look beautiful on the outside, no matter how ugly her insides.

“I should’ve gotten it done by somebody with at least half a brain. I don’t know why I keep coming back here.”

’Cause I’m the only one in all of Oklahoma that’ll put up with your S-H-I-T. That’s why. The last beauty operator dragged her out of the chair, half frosted, and threw her in the street, cape, cap and all.

“I think it looks nice.” Tanya offers. “Glamorous. And anyways, if you get it too big you’re just gonna smash it on the roof of your car drivin’ home.”

God bless Tanya for tryin’. God bless Tanya for lots of things. I wouldn’t even have a chair if it weren’t for her. I’d still just be scrubbin’ scalps. I’m not fully licensed. So I never cut, just fluff.

“Oh, like you know the first thing about glamor.” Lidia swipes, then contains herself. “You don’t think it makes me look fat in the face?”

Lidia what makes you look fat in the face, is all of that fat in your face.

I grab my cigarette from the ashtray and jam it back between my lips before anything hateful comes outta my mouth. I gotta plug it all up somehow before it slips out. ’Cause who knows what Lidia’s hateful self is goin’ through that none of us knows about. Who truly knows what any of us is goin’ through. Truthfully.

“No Lidia. You look the way you’re supposed to look… done. Now cover your face and let’s give you one last blast.” Before she can protest, I just start sprayin’. That always shuts her up.

“Oh, look at you, don’t you look like…somethin’.” Towanda with her perfect timin’ swings through the door all sunshine and bullcrap.

“Alright Miss Lidia, my carriage awaits, as does Tanya over there to ring you up.”

“Thank you Twyla Shane. I hope I wasn’t too much fuss.” She slides me a dingy quarter. My tip.

“Oh, thank you Lidia.”

Lidia takes one last look in the mirror.

“Well I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.” She mumbles as she smears Tangerine Sunset gloss over her ever-movin’ lips. “Lucky for you I’m pretty enough to pull this off.”

She snaps the cap back on and kisses my mirror.

“See you next week.”

Please Lord, let all of her hair fall out before then. Don’t get me wrong. I love doin’ hair. It drives me. But nothin’ drives me…all of the way up the wall quite like Lidia.

I slip the quarter into my pocket and hightail it towards the back to grab my purse. It may be just a quarter, but Lord knows I can use every cent. One of these days, I’m gonna have enough to finish beauty school, get a car of my own, and drive to work at a real salon that’s not just a fixed up corner of somebody’s basement.

Lordy my purse feels heavy today. That’s a lot of weight for an empty wallet, a Kotex, two sticks of Juicy Fruit, a dyin’ lighter and a half crushed pack of Slims.

I watch from behind the stitched up sheet that separates the front of the shop from the back. All it really does is separate the tiled part from the concrete floor around the sump-pump, but it gives us a place to stash all of our supplies and purses and what not. It also keeps the customers from seein’ the expiration dates on all the boxes of hair dye.

Towanda gets at it sweepin’ up hair even though she don’t even work here. But she’s like that. Always workin’ and scrubbin’ at somethin’. That cute little camper she lives in across from us at the KOA is neat as a pin. But no matter how much Pine-sol and Mop & Glo she spreads, it’s got this kinda rotten smell on account of her bathroom bein’ out of order. It won’t drain right. She should really take it somewhere to get a look, but if she could afford that, she wouldn’t be livin’ at a KOA would she?

Lidia is finally gone! Praise the Lord and pass the dustpan. Towanda sweeps the last of the fringe into neat little haystacks.

“I don’t know why you put up with her Twyla Shane.”

“Me neither. It’s not like I force you to do her hair,” Tanya says addin’ up receipts, her fingers flyin’ over the 10 key.

“‘Cause I wouldn’t wish her on anybody else.”

“Not that anybody would have her.” Tanya taps to the rhythm of her words.

“Well she may be a delusional dingbat, but nobody should have to go through life with bad hair,” I sigh, dumpin’ the whisps into the waste bin.

“Amen! But you’re preachin’ to the choir.”

“Well, somebody oughta give that Lidia some religion. I know I’d like to put the fear of God into her.” Towanda has a sweetness, but I think it’s there to cover that little dab of venom lyin’ underneath.

Tanya stops her tappin’.

“Towanda, Sweetheart, you’re about as threatenin’ as a Hallmark card. When you tell people off, they leave thinkin’ you’ve done them a favor.”

“Well, so long as everybody gets what they deserve and we’re all good with it in the end.”

She told Delbert off and we never have to look at his nasty little bigamist face again. Who knows? Maybe he’s stepped up to full on polygamy by now. Not for religious reasons, just sleazy ones. None of us have seen him and none of us cares to either. He got the freedom to move on and add to his harem of unsuspectin’ wives and Towanda got the camper.

Towanda has a way of gettin’ what she wants. Don’t get me wrong, Towanda is a giver. She will go out of her way to help everybody and anybody. But once she’s reached her limit, she becomes a receiver and a keeper too.

“Oh girl, we gotta go.” Towanda says washin’ her hands in the shampoo basin. “Dallas starts in an hour and I wanna pick up some of that broasted chicken on the way home.”

“I thought you were doin’ Slimfast.” And potato chips.

“I am. The chicken’s for you. My treat. I know how much you like it. I’ll even make a plate for your daddy.”

And there’s that sweetness. It’s Friday and we both know my daddy’s paycheck is washed halfway down his throat by now. And even though he’s on his way to wobbly and wasted, he’ll still demand his dinner. Oh, it might wind up on the wall or in my face, but he’ll still be expectin’ it. Fried chicken’s his favorite. Friday’s are always better when there’s fried chicken.

“Thank you Sweetie, but I’m at least gettin’ the cheese puffs. I gotta put that quarter Lidia gave me towards somethin’ worth while and they got the crushed no name ones in the back, four for a dollar.”

“Whatever you need Twyla Shane. But ya know I don’t expect ya to. You’re gettin’ the chicken regardless.” Towanda picks up her purse followin’ me toward the door, then stops suddenly, snagged by a glossy cover.

“Ooh, Tanya, can I have this old People Magazine? It’s really speakin’ to me.” Things are always “speakin’” to Towanda on behalf of the Lord. Mostly magazines and catalogues. Especially ones with Marie Osmond on the cover. But none of ’em ever spoke to her about marryin’ with Delbert, while he was still married to somebody else, even though Towanda had her suspicions. Convenient how that happened.

“You’re the only one that’s picked it up in weeks. Have at it.” Tanya and I both know Towanda’s gonna take it home and hack it to bits with scissors decodin’ whatever wondrous word from the way beyond lies within. And it is always a wondrous word filled with opportunity. Like how God wanted her to apply at the Walmart.

She saw this add for Nair, you know the one where they wear the short shorts? Well, they were also wearin’ those new black and neon sunglasses and it made her remember how she saw they sell’em out at the Walmart. She just knew God was tryin’ to tell her to get a job there. And she did, as a cart wrangler. But two days ago, she got promoted to fine jewelry and now she has a more glamorous life, all ’cause Redbookwas speakin’ to her. See, it’ really more screwy than sinister. People are always talkin’ about havin’ a personal relationship with Jesus. Well, all that “speakin’” is just to her and pretty personal, so there you go.

“Bye ladies. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

If I could even come close to the things Tanya does, I wouldn’t be rushin’ out of here to listen to Dallas. I don’t have a television and Towanda’s vertical hold is broken so we could only hear who shot J.R. It only gets one channel anyways cause Delbert busted off the tunin’ nob one night bangin’ on it tryin’ to get the verticle hold to hold. Every once in a while we catch a glimpse of Larry Hagman’s big hat rollin’ by, but that’s about it.

If I could do the things Tanya does. I’d set my Betamax and record Dallas like she does. I’d make popcorn in an air popper and sit on my very own sectional sleeper sofa in my own livin’ room drinkin’ RC Cola instead of Shopper’s Value. Can you imagine? I was upstairs in her house once and she has one of those glass dinette sets, just like on The Price is Right. And her whole livin’ room is all remodeled in this fancy southwesterny peach and teal. And it smelled like new carpet.

If I could do the things Tanya does I would pick Towanda up after she got off work instead of snaggin’ a ride from her boss Junior Junior in his rusty, green ’69 Impala.

RONK! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! I swing open the passenger door and slide across the cracked vinyl of the bench to the middle. All three of us sit in the front ’cause the floorboard on one side of the backseat is rusted out so bad you can see the ground rollin’ by underneath it. Junior Junior says he don’t want nobody to get hurt, so he makes me sit on the hump seat, smashed up against him. I’m okay with it for now, so long as he remembers it ain’t that kind of hump seat and this is all of the smashin’ up against we’ll be doing’.

“Twyla Shane, you’re lookin’ lovely as ever.”

“Thank you.” And that’s all the thanks he’s gonna receive.

You see, my keepin’ my distance ain’t about him bein’ nice or mannered or even sweet. Which he is. It’s about him bein’ only 19. It’s about him bein’ a mama’s boy. And it’s about his mama bein’ Lidia. I don’t worry so much that she wouldn’t like it, which she wouldn’t. I worry that I wouldn’t like it. I already have Lidia in my life once a week and that is more than enough. I don’t need her every holiday, weddin’, funeral, and tractor pull the rest of my life. And I have never been to a tractor pull. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a tractor pull. Only trashy people go to stuff like that and call their kids Junior Junior for cryin’ out loud. Even I know there’s a senior, there’s a junior, and then there’s a “the third.” But I guess it would be kind of weird callin’ him The Third, but no weirder than callin’ him Junior Junior.

Towanda climbs in and slams the door three times to make it stick.

I put the lap belt across my middle ’cause I refuse to leave this world in Junior Junior’s rusty Impala.

Vrr-rrr-rrr! Vrr-rrr-rrr!

“Junior Junior, you could have left the car runnin’,” Towanda scolds.

Vrrrrr –rrrr-room! Vrrrrooom! Vroom!

He starts the car and there it is, the smell of maple syrup. His defrost is stuck permanently on and that first puff of defrost in old cars always smells like maple syrup to me. It’s a warm smell. A happy smell. It reminds me of mamma heatin’ up the car in the winter. It reminds me of watchin’ my big brother jumpin’ through chilled exhaust clouds, playin’ air guitar to make me laugh. It doesn’t get super cold in Oklahoma, just enough for the rain to freeze up. Just enough for the roads to freeze over. Just enough to change everything.

“I’ll leave the car runnin’, when you start payin’ for gas.”

“You know, bless your heart, you’re right. I didn’t even think. How rude of me.” Towanda pulls a twenty outta her purse and passes it long arm style across my chest to Junior Junior! What the hell? Where on earth did Towanda get an extra twenty bucks?

“You been truckin’ my hiney back and forth to work all these weeks and I never thought to offer. I’m so sorry Junior Junior.”

His face reddens slightly with shock and embarrassment and probably dismay. ‘Cause if she starts payin’ for gas, he won’t have nothin’ left to guilt us about every single day. Or to hang over my head waitn’ for a payoff.

“Oh, it’s no problem. Really Towanda,” he says tuckin’ the twenty into his shirt pocket. It’s not a problem, but it’s not worth givin’ the twenty back neither.

“My pleasure Junior Junior. Hey would you mind stopin’ over here at the Shoptown? I’ll only be a minute. I’ll even pick ya up a six pack of Pabpts. 19 is not all that young. You could still drink all legal if they hadn’ta raised the age just a couple years back. And anyways, Jesus drank wine in the Bible,” Towanda offers, storin’ up favors for someday.

Junior Junior pulls into the Shoptown parkin’ lot. He even pulls right up to the door. He’s no fool. Findin’ somebody to buy beer for ya is normally a pain in the butt.

Towanda climbs outta the car and holds the door for me.

“Leave the car runnin’ this time, would ya?”

“Sure thing Towanda.”

Towanda rises, gives me a wink, then bends back down into the car, stickin’ out her hand. “I need cash for the beer.”

Junior Junior, reluctantly, reaches in his pocket, pulls out the 20 and hands it back to Towanda.

“But I want my chan…”

Towanda slams the car door.

“Junior Junior ain’t gettin’ no beer is he?”

Towanda stuffs the 20 in her pocket.

“What is that child gonna do? Tell his mama? That boy is terrified of her.”

She links her elbow with mine as we head towards the door.

“I am savin’ that boy a world of hurt and teachin’ him a lesson. Drinkin’ is not the Lord’s way.” And that is Towanda’s way. The one that always has her doin’ someone a favor and comin’ out ahead.