The Book of Bright Ideas (16 page)

“Maybe, Jewel. Just maybe your ma and your sisters were being critical of you for the same reasons. Because they didn't like who they were, and they didn't want you to be inadequate like them.” Ma mumbled that she doubted it, but Freeda kept on talking. “I make a lot of mistakes with Winnalee, I know, but I don't know how to make her mind without making her think that I don't love her just the way she is. I always told myself that I was doing okay as long as she knew that I loved her. Now I'm not so sure that's enough. Hell, I look at her sometimes and I think of how undisciplined she is, how rebellious sometimes, and I think, Christ, I hope she don't end up a mess like me.”

That's all I remember them saying, so I guess I must have fallen asleep. The next morning, while Ma was complaining about her stomach and Aunt Verdella was complaining about her head, me and Winnalee went up to her room and we wrote in our book,
Bright Idea #92: If you have a pajama party, don't drink too much booze or you won't feel good in the morning. And if you have a makeup party at your pajama party, wash your face before you go to bed, even if you danced naked
in the rain, or you're gonna look like sick raccoons when you wake up.
After Winnalee wrote that, I took the book from her and added,
And don't just go saying anything when a kid is around, because even if their eyes are closed, their big ears might not be.

15

After that pajama party, I started watching Ma more, and wondering who she was besides just my ma.

The day after our party, she was all squirrelly, like she half-expected the police to come and arrest her for showing her understuff, or Daddy to find out and have a hissy fit. She cleaned all day like she couldn't clean fast enough, or good enough, like she was trying to be extra good to make up for being extra bad. After a few days, though, she was like Uncle Rudy's cows when they got let out of the barn in the spring after a long winter of having their heads stuck in those metal stanchion things; when they got all happy and hopped around the field, running and kicking and making moos that I think meant, “I'm free! I'm free!” in cow-talk.

Ma started doing things she wouldn't have done before too. And doing them like a newborn calf who was trying to find her legs. Like one evening when she called me into the sewing room (which was really supposed to be the guest bedroom, except that it never had guests) and asked me if I wanted to see her new dress.

I stood just inside the door, sniffing, because I liked the metally smell that hung in the air when the sewing machine was turned on. “I'm making this dress here, with a few modifications,” she said, picking up the Spiegel catalog and pointing to a fancy blue and white dress. She read the description of the dress out loud to me:
“Sheer nylon ruffles 'n lace beneath a boned petal bodice and filmy nylon net stole. Taffeta cummerbund, rayon taffeta lining, nylon net crinoline.”
She set the catalog down on the little table to the side of her. “It's last year's catalog, but when we were looking at styles Freeda said it was the perfect style for me, if I cinch the waist a bit more. She says it will give me an hourglass figure. Of course, I have no idea where I'll wear it.”

Ma looked up. “You can come in, Evelyn,” she said, so I stepped inside the room. “I've got the skirt done. It's on the bed.”

I glanced over at the bed, where a wide skirt of ruffles and lace was spread out like a fancy fan. It was black! Ma flicked the little handle, and the part of her machine that looked like a tiny robot's foot let go of the top part of her dress. She pulled it out and swung her knees out from under the sewing machine so she could swivel and show me the half-made top held up against her. It was black too! “What do you think?” she asked.

“It's the color of sexy!” The minute those words came out, I clamped my hands over my mouth.

Ma looked at me, her eyes stretching wide, and she said, “Evelyn Mae Peters!” She looked down quickly then, the corner of her mouth lifting up a bit like it was smiling, but I told myself that that couldn't be right, because Ma didn't smile about “sexy.”

Just then Daddy's truck sounded in the driveway, and Ma got up. “Your poor dad,” she said. “They had a breakdown at the mill, and he's been there since eleven o'clock last night. Come help me get his dinner, Evelyn. He's probably starving.”

Daddy looked all crumbled, and his eyes were red. His face was picky-looking with stubby black whiskers. “Grab the bread out of the bread box, will you, Evelyn?”

Daddy fell into his chair and sighed. He lit a cigarette but left it in the ashtray, as though he was too tired to pick it up. He stuck out his arm and turned it this way and that and rubbed the side of his neck. “Damn, I'm beat,” he said.

Ma hurried to fix his plate while I grabbed the butter dish that was still sitting on the table, even though I wasn't told to. The dish was almost empty, so I grabbed a new stick from the refrigerator, while Ma flicked on the oven and spooned a mound of chicken, rice, and peas onto a glass pie plate, tucking it into the oven. Then she poured Daddy a glass of tomato juice and set it down before him. “Your dinner will be heated in no time,” she said.

I suppose Daddy was just as curious about what Ma was doing as I was, because he turned his head stiffly and glanced at her when she circled his chair to stand right behind him, and said, “Maybe this will help.”

Daddy's red eyes got round as rubber balls when Ma set her hands stiffly on his shoulders. It got so quiet suddenly that even the sound of the wrapper coming off the butter sounded loud.

Ma's mouth looked twitchy at first—just like it had looked after she showed me her dress and didn't know what else to say—then her hands started working good, like they were just kneading bread dough. Daddy's whole body seemed to melt then, like the old butter I'd just scraped out of the dish, and his head dropped down to the side. “Ahhh,” he said. I thought he'd fall asleep right where he was sitting, but when Ma stopped rubbing him to grab the plate out of the oven, he woke up enough to eat.

Just a couple days later, while we were punching out paper dolls, Winnalee said, “Your ma ain't so gray anymore.”

“Am I still so gray?” I asked. Winnalee tilted her head and looked at me. “No,” she said, and I smiled. “You're my best friend forever,” I said when the thought popped up from my heart at just that moment. Winnalee smiled then and said, “You're my best friend forever too.”

So I had a best friend forever, and I figured my ma did too. And that best friend for my ma was Freeda Malone.

On Saturdays now, while me and Winnalee went with Aunt Verdella to the community sale to sell a few pot holders and the stuff Aunt Verdella made or scrounged up around the house, Ma and Freeda went shopping over in Porter, where they had better stores. And once they even went to see a matinee,
Splendor in the Grass.
They were usually still gone when we got back from the sale, and when they came back, they'd bring back the yarn and sewing stuff Aunt Verdella asked them to pick up. I could tell that sometimes when Ma and Freeda giggled about something that happened while they were out, Aunt Verdella felt left out, but like she said to me, making good money at the community sale so we'd have enough money for Winnalee and Freeda's surprise was more important than anything else in the world right now, so she didn't mind working while Ma and Freeda were off having fun.

Aunt Verdella wasn't upset about Ma and Freeda becoming best friends, but Daddy was. He didn't like it the day he came home from that auction and saw Ma wearing makeup. “What in the hell do you have on your face?” he asked. He looked so shocked that all I could think about was how he probably would have keeled over dead if he'd seen her face right after Freeda had painted it. As it was, though, all Ma had on was a bit of eye shadow and mascara, and some pinky-red lipstick.

Ma cringed a little when Dad asked her about her face, then she straightened up tall and turned back to the stove. “You like makeup just fine on Freeda,” she said.

Daddy stared at her back for a bit, shook his head, then opened the fridge and took the orange juice out. “Freeda's not my wife,” Daddy said. “And she's getting quite a reputation around here. I'm not sure I like you running around with her.”

Ma gritted her teeth. She stopped stirring the pot of stew she was cooking and banged the spoon against the rim. She turned. “Owen's got quite a reputation. Everybody knows he chases anything in skirts. I don't see you leery of being seen with him.”

“That's different!” Daddy said.

The screen door opened just then, and Freeda flashed into the room. “Speak of the devil…” Daddy said.

“Hi, Jewel. Reece, Button.”

“Jesus, Freeda. Can't you knock?” Daddy said.

“Why? You afraid I'm gonna catch you butt-naked and find out that you're not quite as big of a man as you'd like me to believe?” Ma turned back to her pot, a grin on her face. I think she was trying hard not to laugh out loud. Freeda didn't stop herself though.

While she was still giggling, Freeda patted my head, then tugged gently at a few of my loosening knots. “I do believe your hair's growing, Button,” she said. “You massaging it every day, like I showed you?” I nodded. “Good girl.” She gave my head a final pat, then went over to Ma. “Your zipper got left in my bag, so I figured I'd drop it off here on my way out, in case you were planning to put it in tonight.”

Freeda peered at the baking stuff on the counter and the recipe card next to it. “Homemade German chocolate cake?” she said, her eyebrows lifting. She turned to Daddy, while Ma turned on the faucet. “What do you think of your new wife? You got a pretty hot babe on your hands now, don't ya?” Ma glanced at Daddy as she poured flour-and-water paste into her stew.

Daddy looked crabby. “Jewel was fine just how she was. She didn't need new hair, or clothes, or goddamn clown makeup.”

Freeda got up on her bare toes to reach Daddy's cheek with a quick kiss. “Oh, Reece. Don't go taking that rod Jewel just pulled out of her ass and shoving it up your own now.” She shook her head. “You men are all alike, you know that? You like it on other women, but not your wife. Hmm, I wonder why that is? Could it be that you don't want other men looking at your women? Too much competition for ya? Well, you keep the little wifey satisfied and you don't need to worry about her wandering off.” Daddy flinched when Freeda reached out and gave him one pat on the butt.

“I just don't know why Jewel would want other men looking at her,” Daddy grumbled.

“Here's a news flash for ya, Reece Peters. Maybe she didn't exactly do it for other men, or even for you, for that matter. Maybe she did it so that when
she
looks at herself, she likes what she sees. You ever think of that?” Freeda looked at Ma and rolled her eyes. “Men can be such a pain in the ass, can't they?” This time Ma did giggle.

 

Freeda sure was right about that. Especially fourteen-year-old ones with ugly mold-colored hair and vampire teeth.

Me and Winnalee were in our magic tree the next morning when Tommy came out of the house carrying a jug, spotted us, and came across the yard. “What you kiddies doin'?” he asked.

“None of your beeswax,” Winnalee said. She opened the grape Kool-Aid package she was holding a little wider, then dipped her purpled, pointy finger inside. She held the package out to me and I did the same. Our mouths puckered as we sucked the sour powder off our fingers, then dipped them again.

Tommy looked at the ground where Winnalee's ma was sitting, and he moved to stand in a different spot. “You go looking for fairies over on Fossard's property yet?”

“No! It takes a long time to plan an adventure like that, stupid.”

Tommy laughed. “You're just making excuses, you scaredy-cats.”

“Go away, Tommy,” I said. “Aunt Verdella said you were supposed to leave us alone.”

Tommy glanced over at the house, then shrugged. “What? I'm not doing nothin'. Rudy and I are haying and he sent me back to refill the water jug. Haying's hard work, you know, and you have to drink a lot of water. Not that you two kiddies would know anythin' about working hard. All you gotta do all day is play stupid baby games and think about dumb fairies.” Tommy reached down to pluck a weed. “What's this?” he asked as he stuck the root part of the weed between his ugly teeth. He took two quick steps with his skinny legs, then reached down, snatching up our bag.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing?” Winnalee yelled.

“What is it?”

“Put that down, you asshole!” Winnalee scrambled to get out of the tree.

“You kiddies joining the army?”

Winnalee dropped from the branch and landed on all fours, and I followed her down. She grabbed for the bag, but Tommy held it above his head. “Give it back, you son of a bitch!”

“You sure do cuss a lot for a little kid,” Tommy said.

Winnalee screamed, “Give us our bag back, you creep!”

“Oh, must be something good in here, if you want it back so bad.” Tommy opened the flap to dig inside, and turned his back to us. “Hmmm,” he said. “A flashlight, papers, a watch—”

“It's not a watch, stupid! It's a compass.” Winnalee rolled up her fist and slugged him in the back. “Now give it to me!” Winnalee punched him between the shoulder blades again, but Tommy didn't even seem to feel it.