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This part of the story is dedicated to "Sir P.", who has been more of a friend than I can ever hope to deserve.
Expo Summer
by Kim EM
© 2002, All rights reserved
Part 07 - Independence Days
Previously:
She danced excitedly around the little person, happy to have her back, and finally ready and able to protect her. It was a job she knew would be needed, had been needed from the way the girl was limping, and the next time would be done in full, if only she could convince the bigger humans.
Pepper was a gentle dog, but she knew that if someone tried to hurt her human again, she could kill.
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Chapter Twenty-Seven: BACK HOME AGAIN
I was home, in my own bed, thinking about the things I'd learned while in the hospital. Doctor Wayne believed that someday I might have a problem, maybe even the possibility of violence, because of my emotional condition. Yeah, he'd told me nice things about my intelligence and my level of maturity, but there had been that warning. I just couldn't get it out of my mind.
The hell of it was, to me, that knowing about it and resolving to not let it happen wasn't enough. I even had a pretty fair idea of the cause, the things that had left me in such a repressed state. In first grade, and even before, things were pretty normal with the other kids, even though inside they were far from 'normal'. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
I don't remember a whole lot about my earliest years. Most of what I do remember comes from events that were captured on film, and had that reinforcement. The day, for example, when I decided to help my mom pick tomatoes from her garden. At that age, nobody bothered to tell me the difference between green and red ones, so I just started at one end of the line and worked my way down, picking them all for her.
Actually, my dad got in a lot more trouble than I did over that. When he found me picking tomatoes he quietly went and got his camera, and then snapped a whole lot of film, laughing his butt off the whole time. My mom, on the other hand, wasn't so happy about it, and got on his case about letting me pick her tomatoes, regardless of how cute I was. We had lots of documentation of that day, and it was a favorite joke for years.
There are early memories I have without the reinforcement of pictures.
There was the day Mom was working in the back yard, and Dad was going to paint the steps. "What?", I hear you ask. Okay, back in that time, it was fashionable to have the concrete steps painted. Our house was a light pink, and the steps were painted to match, but a bit faded, so it was time to freshen it up. So Dad sent me to the back yard to 'help' Mom. I hung around there for a bit, but got bored, so I though I'd go back around the side and watch Dad do his painting. He wasn't there, so I sat on the steps to wait for him to return, and then I'd watch him do his work.
He did eventually return, having just finished he front steps, and he was not at all pleased to see me sitting, waiting quietly for him. It seems he'd already done the side steps, and I, without noticing, had messed up his new paint job and managed to get myself kinda pink, all at the same time.
These were all early memories, though, quite early. We moved from that house in Michigan City into the one in which I would grow up (at least through sixth grade) when I was two-and-a-half. I can remember the building of our new house, from the stage when there was merely a hill with some trees and scrubby little blueberry bushes, on through the construction. After we moved in, though, well, Long Beach is immediately adjacent to Michigan City, and almost all of my relatives were local.
One who I especially liked to visit was my cousin Joyce. I mean, she was okay, and her brothers and older sister were fine, as was my aunt and uncle. What I especially liked about their house is that in the basement, there was a playroom. And Joyce had more dolls than any ten people I knew (admittedly a small population). She had big dolls, small dolls, china dolls, plastic dolls, rag dolls. And when we were visiting she and I would play for a while, then she'd get bored and wander off, and I'd be on my own to find something to play with. I'd make a beeline for her doll collection until either she returned or my mom would come looking for me.
Why the dolls? It's hard to say, really. It was fun, and I didn't have any of my own, and I wanted them, and I could pretend to be their mother. Yeah, okay, I was three years old, and I had no inkling of anything gender-related. At that age I knew nothing whatsoever of the difference between boys and girls, except that some people grew up boys and some grew up girls. How that came about I had no idea, and I never thought to question how I'd wound up in one category.
I never did figure out about the gender thing for years. As I grew, there were probably a few signs. For instance, when we went on vacation, at whatever hotel we stayed, there'd always be other little kids around the pool, and I invariably wound up playing and being with the girls. I suppose my parents thought I was going to grow up to be a real lady-killer. Little did they know.
Really, little did I know either. I didn't have any purpose in mind in hanging with the girls, I just found it easier to make friends, and liked the games we'd play a lot better than the stuff the boys were doing.
One friend of my mother's, probably her best friend, had a daughter who was several years older than me. She still played with dolls, though. It was probably around 1960, and she had a Barbie, Ken, and a slew of the stuff that comes with Barbie. Well, she was too old for me to play with, but she was usually not home when we visited (in school, I suppose, while I was still too young). They'd let me go to her room, though, and play records. Well, that I would do, and while I was lying on her bed listening, I'd be playing with the Barbie and assorted paraphernalia.
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Chapter Twenty-Eight: SUNDAY MORNING
I lay there, thinking about my early life, lost to the world for quite a while. After a while I realized that I wasn't alone in my room, and looked up. Dad was standing alongside the bed, looking down sadly as me.
He quietly sat at the edge on the bed and gently stroked my hair. "Are you okay, Honey?" I thought about it a little, looking up at him, then nodded.
"I think so. I’m – It still hurts a lot, but less than it did in the hospital, and from what the doctor says, I’ll be fine by the time we go on vacation."
Dad looked carefully at me and said, "That's not quite what I had in mind. I'm glad you're feeling better, but I’m concerned about how people are going to take all this. We really hadn't expected your change to be so public so fast. The attack, and the facts of your change were in the newspaper and on the radio. By now pretty much everyone in town knows what happened. Are you going to be able to handle that?"
"I'll be okay, Daddy, I think. I'm not happy that everyone knows. I'd really rather be accepted for who I am. But, if everyone knows, then I'll just have to make the best of it." I reached up and took his hand. "Are you and Mom going to be okay?"
"We’re worried about you. You’re eleven years old. This summer your whole life has changed. We just want to make sure you can handle all this. It’s -- "
He fell silent for a moment, looking pensive, and I spoke up. "I know you hate this, Daddy. You don't understand why I had to change and you don't really approve." I put my arms around him and held on for dear life. "It’s not anything I can explain, Daddy, but this is me. Not that little boy you thought I was."
He sighed, then spoke haltingly. "I don't like it. I admit it. It's not what I expected and it's certainly not what I ever wanted. But, you think it’s what you need and the doctor agrees. I don't -- I really don't -- like it, but if it’s really what you need, if this is the real you, I won’t stand in your way."
He stood and slowly headed for the door, then turned to ask me, "do you feel up to going to church this morning?"
"I think so."
"Okay. Your mother wants to go to the 10:30 mass. Can you be ready in time?"
"I'll be ready."
Dad headed back downstairs and I started getting my clothes out for church.
***
About 10:15 we pulled up at the church. Instead of going to Notre Dame like we usually did, we'd driven into town to St. Mary’s. St. Mary’s was (and still is) two blocks from my grandmother's house and is the church my mom went to when she grew up. At a guess, mom was still more than little upset with the people at Notre Dame.
I was dressed to the nines for my first trip to church since publicly becoming a girl. I figured almost everyone would know what happened and I wanted to create a good first impression.
We got out of the car, crossed the street, and started up to walk to the west side of the church. As we passed the corner of the convent, two nuns stepped out the back door on their way over to the church. They nodded politely to us, than the older one did a double take and pulled at the other sisters’ sleeve. She whispered urgently into the younger one’s ear, and with startled looks both nuns turned and almost ran into the rectory.
Mom and I stared after the rapidly departing nuns, then Mom turned to me and said, "I have a bad feeling. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
I wasn't sure at all, but I figured it was better to get whatever unpleasantness might come over with, rather than waiting for it later. "Let's go in. I might as well face this now."
We went into the church and took the pew we usually used when we attended St. Mary’s. The pew was near the front, and as we took our seats I could hear a hush followed by a babble of whispers. In front, I could see the priest’s head sticking out of the doorway at the side of the altar. I could tell this was going to be a long mass.
***
I was right.
***
Eventually we made it to my grandmother's house. I was a nervous wreck by that time. Ma was sitting in her favorite chair and when I saw her I ran to her and through my arms around her. She held me trembling in her arms as mom told her about the mass.
"The people were, well, curious about Kimberly. It wasn't unlike being in a fishbowl. We had everyone's eye on us from the moment we walked in. The priest paid our part of the church a lot of attention. When he got to the sermon he was on the theme of not trying to be something you aren't."
Ma snorted, derisively. "Let me take a guess, you had father Quinn?"
"In the flesh."
"That old... He wouldn't notice a new idea if bit him on the... never mind."
"We were the center of attention throughout the mass. When Kimberly got up to go to communion, you wouldn't believe the gasps from behind us."
I looked up from Ma’s arms and said, "I don't want to go back there again -- ever! Those people; they're supposed to be Catholics. If that's what it means I can do without it."
Mom looked dismayed. "I don't want you to stop going to church because of this."
"Mom, look at what happened. It was just like you said, just like being in a goldfish bowl. What did I get out of that? A message from the priest that I shouldn't be doing what I'm doing? A lesson in being the center of a freak show for the other parishioners? What? What am I getting out of it?" I freed myself from Ma’s arms and went to the front window. Looking through the blinds, I could see several passersby peering at the house. "Nothing. There is no message there except fear and intolerance."
Mom looked helplessly towards Ma.
Ma didn't look happy, but she appeared resigned to the situation. "As much as I hate to admit it, Kimberly is right. I've been going to church there for eighty years and I doubt I’ve gotten anything out of it for at least seventy."
Mom sank helplessly to the sofa. "Mother..."
"I’m sorry, dear, but it’s true. I think Kimberly just realized it a bit sooner than most of us."
Mom closed her eyes, lost in thought. Ma beckoned me back to her side and took me into her arms. "Kimberly, if you don’t want to go back there, you don’t have to."
Mom looked up at that, casting Ma a look that said, "We’ll talk about this later." Ma just smiled calmly and held me.
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Chapter Twenty-Nine: JOY
We were still embraced when a knock came from the door. I disentangled myself and went to open it, but before I could it opened and in stepped my Aunt Lee and my cousin Joyce. We hadn’t seen them since before school ended. I'm actually
not sure why; they hadn't come to visit at the hospital and they also didn't stop by once I was home. We were not really close to Aunt Lee, and my cousin Joyce absolutely hated me, mostly, I suspect because of my playing with her dolls as a small child.
I backed up to make room as they entered. Aunt Lee gave me a somewhat bewildered look, and Joyce’s expression was one of unremitting hostility. Aunt Lee smiled weakly, reached out to tentatively offer me a hand, then rapidly pulled it back. Joyce made a beeline for the kitchen at the back of the house.
Aunt Lee waited silently for a moment, then smiled again and said, "Good morning, Bil – Kimberly. You look, um, nice this morning."
I smiled politely and replied, "Thank you, Aunt Lee. It’s Sunday, and I wanted to make a good impression for church."
"Church. How – how did that go this morning?"
Ma interrupted. "Kim, why don’t you go in back and talk with Joyce for a bit?"
I took the hint and left the adults to talk privately. Joyce wasn’t in the kitchen when I got there. I guessed she was out in back, and headed out through the back porch. I went outside and found her sitting dejectedly on the steps to the upstairs porch. "Hi," I said.
"Hi," she mumbled in reply.
I started painfully up the stairs and quietly sat beside her in the sun. Joyce seemed lost in thought, so I just sat and enjoyed the outdoors. It was a nice warm July day, cloudless with an intensely blue sky. It was too early in the season for the grass to have browned, and the emerald green lawn and bright green of the leaves made a beautiful backdrop.
I was about to speak when Joyce spoke first. "Why?"
"Why?"
"Why are you doing this to us? The only thing my friends talk about is my freak cousin." She spat bitterly. "Why do you have to mess up everyone’s lives? Why don’t you just go off somewhere and die?"
"I almost did," I answered quietly. "Last month when I went to Chicago."
"So why didn’t you?"
"Is that what you want? You really want to see me dead?
"You’d be out of the way and my friends wouldn’t be always on me about my freak cousin."
"No, then they’d be on you about your freak cousin who killed herself.""
"Himself."
"No, it’s herself. Whether you like to or not, I’m a girl."
"You are not. You’re a boy, and nothing can change that."
I turned to look squarely at her. "You really think that? All this time, all these years, I’ve had the mind and spirit of a girl. That’s what caused all the trouble."
"You’re still a boy. Your body is a boys body."
"Really?" I cocked an eyebrow at her, a newly acquired skill. "If I pulled my panties down, I’d look just the same as you. Once it’s healed and the stitches are out, nobody will ever be able to tell that I haven’t always been built like this."
"It doesn’t matter," she said flatly. You were born a boy, you are still a boy, and you’ll die a boy."
"I guess there’s not a lot to say, then."
"No."
We sat silently for a while. Joyce sat with her head down, eyes closed and brow furrowed. I leaned back on the steps and enjoyed the perfect day. Inside, though, I was in turmoil. I knew that Joyce had never liked me, but even so, if my own cousin wouldn’t accept me, then who would? Was I destined to live my life away from other people?
Joyce sullenly got up and moved as if to go down the steps. In turning, though, she slipped and started to tumble. I grabbed her elbow and prevented her from heading down the steps face first.
After catching her breath, she sank back to the step she’d been sitting on and quietly thanked me. She looked pensive for a moment then burst out with, "How can you give it all away?"
"What? Give what all away?" I didn’t have a clue what she meant.
She got louder, gesturing wildly. "Everything! You were a boy, you had it all. You could do whatever you wanted, go wherever you wanted, and they didn’t care because you were a boy. Now you’ve got lo live like a girl. Why? Why did you give everything up to be a girl?"
I was starting to get a clue. Joyce was, had always been, jealous. And in her eyes, I’d betrayed her jealousy, given up gladly the very things she wanted.
"Joyce. It’s not like that, not at all. Despite what you saw and what you thought, I was NEVER a boy. And all that going out and doing stuff, do you really think my parents allowed that? I’m eleven years old, and I can hardly do anything without them watching or at least knowing about it. Even if they’d let me, how much could I have done without friends?"
She shifted uncomfortably without speaking.
I continued, "I didn’t have any friends! Do you know what that means, how lonely my life was? No friends, and you’re the only cousin close to my age in town, and even YOU didn’t want to have anything to do with me."
She said, in a low voice, "You were so weird. When we were little and you’d come over to my house, you’d wander off and I’d find you playing with my dolls. What kind of boy would do... Oh. THAT’s why. So you were, really were a girl, even back then. And you played with my dolls because you didn’t have any of your own."
I nodded. "That’s about right. And I’m sorry there’s boy stuff you want and can’t have. That’s between you, and Uncle Tim and Aunt Lee. As for me, I never wanted it and won’t miss it."
She grouched, "You’re being foolish."
"Maybe so, by your lights, but by mine I’m just doing what I need to."
"Why anyone would need to be a girl..."
"It’s not like I have a choice. I was born this way, and it’s either become on the outside what I have always been on the inside, or die."
"I guess I don’t want you to die," she admitted grudgingly. "But I still don’t like your becoming a girl."
"You don’t have to; I won’t ask that. But please, let me be me."
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Chapter Thirty: THE LAND DOWN UNDER
Nothing much else happened that day. We went home, I settled in with a book, and read with Pepper at my feet. In the evening, Gail and Tina had snuck away and stopped over to visit. We went down the basement to talk.
Our basement was fairly big, with bookshelves lining it’s edges, loaded down with hardcovers of all shapes and sizes. My dad was a real estate broker, and I was surprised to learn how many people moved and left their books behind. So, in the process of having the house cleaned up for showing, he’d bring the books home. I’d been fascinated with them since before I knew how to read, and from early on I’d devoured the library. There were a few books I hadn’t read, but far more than I had. I think I’m the only person I know who had read Churchill and Ayn Rand by second grade.
In one corner of the basement sat an old booth. It looked much like what you’d find in a corner booth of a restaurant, but it had actually been the kitchen table where we’d lived when I was a toddler. It made a good hidey-hole, and was where I spent much of my time reading and doing homework in the cold months. It had one other advantage, it was far from the basement door, so whatever we discussed could be private.
We settled into the booth and Gail looked around the basement. "Wow, you’ve got your own library down here. I never knew any of this was here."
"I spend a lot of time down here. This makes a perfect place to work, and over there," I gestured to the opposite wall, "Dad has an old short-wave set that I listen to at night. And of course, "I giggled, "there’s all the books."
I told them about the goings-on in church, and my decision to avoid it in the future. They were both aghast.
"You can do that?" Tina was astounded. Aren’t you afraid that the earth will swallow you or something?"
"Why? This doesn’t change what I believe. It just means I don’t have any use for The Church any more."
Gail looked cautiously at me. "Wow. I wish I could get out of going to church. You’re sure you’re not going to get in any trouble for this?"
"Why? What can they do to me? I’m never going back to their school, and... there’s nothing they can do. If I don’t go to their church, well, there’s lots of people who don’t go there."
"Yeah, but..." She fell silent.
Tina spoke up with, "I still can’t believe the priest actually did a sermon about what you’ve done. And it’s not even your regular church!"
"Yeah," said Gail, "why doesn’t he talk about those kids who cut you up so badly?"
"Because they’re boys? You know, ‘boys will be boys’?"
"But won’t they go to jail when they catch them?"
"IF they catch them. They’ll probably go to jail, but I’d bet they will get off easy because they attacked a ‘freak’."
Tina blazed up. "Don’t you dare call yourself a freak!"
"Why not? That seems to be what everyone else is calling me."
"They are not!"
"Aren’t they?" I told them what Joyce had said, and they both scowled.
"I think she’s building it up too big," Tina said.
"But isn’t that what they’re saying?"
Tina blushed. "Well, my mom and her friends are spreading that around, but I doubt anyone believes them."
"I’d like to believe that, but I think there’s a lot of it going around."
"So what can you do," Gail questioned.
"I don’t know," I sighed and slumped back into my seat. "I really don’t know."
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Chapter Thirty-One: NEVERLAND
Monday was another fairly uneventful day. Tuesday was the holiday, and there didn’t seem to be agreement on whether people got the Monday off or not. Again I spent much of the day on the porch, reading, with Pepper lying somewhere nearby. For some reason she’d been much more attentive lately, especially after this last return from the hospital. I guess she must have missed me.
That evening I had a visitor. After a bit of a delay, the police had finally sent their long-promised artist to interview me.
The artist carried a huge flat briefcase full of art supplies, following Mom to the porch where I was sitting, thinking. Mom nodded towards me and silently vanished back into the house. When I greeted her she breezed right through and took over the glass table.
Breezed in, I guess that was more in her attitude than her actual motion, because she walked slowly, with a bit of a limp. She seemed to carry her case to counter-balance the seemingly bad leg. She leaned the case against the leg of the table, and flashed another smile. "Hi, Kim. I'm Wendy, the artist you were promised."
"What? And it's not even my birthday yet. What a present!" I guess some of her attitude must have rubbed off.
She laughed and went to set up her tools. Pencils, charcoal, knife, and some other things I couldn't identify were soon spread across the table. She took what looked like a pink blob and started kneading it between her fingers. I wasn't sure what that was about... maybe she used it to relieve stress.
"I'm sorry you had to come so late," I said, watching her playing with the little rubbery blob.
"It's not late for me," Wendy replied. I do some of my best work around midnight."
"Midnight," I asked, a bit alarmed.
"Oh, don't worry. This won't take anywhere near that long."
"That's good. I told her, "There’s a parade in the morning, and I want to be awake for that."
"Well, I guess we might as well get the drawings out of the way." She set down the rubbery thing and picked up a small pad. As she asked me about the kids who'd attacked, she started marking the pad with swift sure strokes.
As I described the three boys, I started feeling more and more scared. These were the teenagers who’d grabbed and attacked me, cut me open in several places, and finally caused me to be flown to Chicago for surgery. I wanted nothing to do with them. But, on the other hand, if I did nothing they would be free to attack again, whenever they wanted, and worse, they might attack somebody else one day.
Soon the face of the ringleader took shape before my eyes. It wasn't all that long until she had serviceable sketches of all three kids. They weren't photographic, but they certainly carried the essence -- I think anyone seeing the pictures might be able to identify the punks. How long, I wondered, would it be before the drawings were publicly available? When I asked, Wendy said she’d have them ready by the day after tomorrow (tomorrow being the holiday), but then it would be up to the detectives in charge of the case when to release the sketches.
Soon enough she was done, and as she started packing up, she told me stories about the time she'd been a street cop. She told me about her first patrol, and how she’d managed somehow to spill scalding coffee all over her new partner’s lap. She regaled me with the story of the time she was called on an emergency run while eating and wouldn’t toss her ice cream – and then managed to get a face full after a sudden stop. I always had the image of policemen as dry, humorless, and unfriendly, but Wendy was a revelation. She was witty, warm, and seemed to have a child's enjoyment of the world. She sat there and talked until Mom came in to clear her out and get me to sleep.
Once she'd gone headed off to bed, and when Mom had finally been persuaded to stop fussing over me, I lay staring out the windows at the Libby house, just across the alley and up the block.
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Chapter Thirty-Two: EVERYBODY LOVES A PARADE
The next morning was Tuesday, the Fourth of July, Independence Day. I was up early, having fallen asleep still worrying about what would happen with Chris Libby and his two cohorts. I could see several cars lined up in the Libby’s driveway, and I wondered what might be bringing guests there so early, especially with the turbulent times in the household.
After throwing on a new robe, I padded my way downstairs, past the kitchen to the family room. Pepper was waiting at the door, and after a warm and slurpy greeting, I opened the door and she trotted outside to sniff out her favorite spot. While I waited for her to do what she needed, I wished Mom would let Pepper upstairs. No, the family room and basement were the only parts of the house where she was allowed. So, unless I could get Mom to relent, Pepper wasn’t going to be sleeping at the foot of my bed any time soon.
I let Pepper in and then went to the kitchen for breakfast. I poured a bowl of cereal and took it to the table. As I ate I thought again about everything that was going on. I still had trouble believing how much my life has changed over the past month. I mean, think about it. A month ago I been beaten on the last day of school and thought my life was over. In a month -- a month -- I told my parents, was beaten again by Chris Libby and friends, went to Chicago, wound up in the hospital, was finally able to become myself, was accepted by my grandmother, finally made friends, was attacked yet again and this time horribly injured, as part of fixing my injuries received the surgery I had so long desired, and was now well on the way to a full recovery.
There were scars, and always would be, but all in all in looked like my life was finally going in a direction I could deal with. The future was far from clear, there were so many things left to be resolved, but the big thing the only real thing had been decided -- I now was and always would be a girl.
What was to happen, in the long run would just have to play out. In the short run, I had a parade to attend.
***
Dad headed out for the golf course, as usual, to play with his regular foursome. Mom and I went downtown, parking about a block from Franklin Street, and walked across on Tenth to the parade route. At the corner, in front of Mayer’s Clothing, we met Tina and Gail, who’d been dropped off by Gail’s mother. Her mother, she said, had hurriedly run them down to the parade, dumped them off, and raced back to Tina’s house.
Mom hung back, under shelter of the store’s awning, while Gail, Tina, and I pushed forward to the curb. While we were finding the perfect spot to watch the parade, I realized that we were drawing a lot more attention than would be normal for three little girls. I didn't have to be a genius to figure out why people were paying attention to us, or, more correctly, to me.
I hadn't realized it, exactly, when they told me about all the publicity the attack upon me had drawn, but obviously just about everyone knew and all of them were intensely curious.
Gail turned to me and said, "is it just me, or..."
I answered, tightly, a forced smile on my face, "No, they are. I think we’re getting way too much attention."
Tina looked back towards Mom, who didn't seem to notice all the stares we were getting. "Do you think we'll be safe here?"
"We should be, yeah." I looked around at the people, who were more than returning my gaze. "Mom’s right over there, and I don't think anyone would try anything."
Tina continued looking fearfully around, while Gail's baleful stare at the overattentive crowd made a few step back. I tried to ignore the curious and questioning looks I was getting, watching the rapidly darkening skies.
The day had begun much like yesterday with beautiful skies and good warm temperatures, but shortly before a few clouds had moved in. The few clouds were rapidly multiplying themselves into a solid threatening gray sky. It wasn't the ideal weather for the Fourth of July, especially with the barbecue planned for this afternoon and the big fireworks tonight.
The head of the parade approached down the street and I could hear the bands playing, the clip-clop of the horses hooves way up Franklin Street. The lead performers came even with us as the first marching band passed. I had put the attention from the other people in the crowd completely out of my mind as I watched the wonderful bands and floats and horses and clowns and everything else pass.
The sky, however, headed continued to darken, and the wind was gusting, sending trash and debris scattering down the street, at times blowing right through the formations of marchers. About 20 minutes into the parade the first drops of rain started falling. At first just a few big fat raindrops fell across the street, but soon the downpour increased, some of the crowd left, and many of the remaining people sheltered under the storefront. We tried to stick it out until a sudden squall chased a squad of baton twirlers into the gas station across the street.
Mom gathered us up and herded us to the car. It seemed like the parade was going to end early, and even if it went on we’d had enough of the weather. Mom took the Beach Road back home, making a swing past dad's office. She dropped Tina and Gail off around the corner from Tina’s house. From the number of cars it seemed like something major was going on. As we pulled around on the back street, Mom even commented on the goings-on up at the Libby's, and how strange a party their would be considering Chris was still locked up as a danger.
I couldn't help thinking this had something to do with me. It sounds kind of paranoid, as though everything around was centering on me, but that seemed to be the way things were progressing. I suppose that at the time I was more than a bit sensitive to what was going on around me, but realistically, with all that had already gone on, far too many people knew what I'd done and what had happened to me.
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Chapter Thirty-Three: INDEPENDENCE DAY
After a quick change of clothes I settled down for a bit under the cover of the porch, reading, as the sun started peeking out again and the ground began to dry. Pepper was frolicking in the yard, Mom was inside doing something or other, which I could best describe as ‘mom things’, and dad, recently returned from the golf course and more than slightly wet, was upstairs showering and changing clothes.
Eventually, mom came out in told me to finish getting ready. I skipped inside, freshened myself up, and grabbed my purse, being sure to stick my current paperback inside, just in case. Pepper was locked in the rec room, as usual, and we piled into Dad’s car and left.
15 minutes brought us to Wildwood Park, where space had been reserved for a barbecue. Pretty much all of our relatives, at least the local ones, were there. Both my grandmothers were there, all my aunts and uncles, and a myriad of cousins.
Usually the way get-togethers like this worked, my parents would spend the day hanging around with the adults, eating and drinking and talking, while I'd be somewhere near of my cousins, trying to be part of things but usually just staying out of the way somewhere on the fringe.
This time things worked out a little different.
Mom and Dad and I first went over to the area where my grandmothers held court. Ma sat there with a full plate of barbecue and other wonderful-smelling things, talking and laughing and having a fine time. At the next table was Gram, who, as usual, wasn't doing so well. On the best of days she was somewhat fuzzy about who was who and what was going on. Today wasn't the best of days, far from it. Aunt Mar hovered over her charge, trying to keep people from seeing just how bad condition Gram was in, but it was obvious she really shouldn't have come.
That's difficult to say -- I am talking about my grandmother, but at this point she was pretty far gone. Dad had told me a lot of stories about what Gram was like years ago, but there was little left of the person she'd once been. Besides, in her present health she really wasn't up to attending any barbecues. Her attending had a lot to do with Aunt Mar’s desire to be there, rather than Gram’s wishes or best interests.
I greeted Gram, but as expected she didn't know me. Even in the old days she’d always confused me with an older cousin, and now she didn't have a clue who I was, even after meeting the new me several weeks previously. After a few snippy words from Aunt Mar, I gratefully stepped over to Ma’s table. I could tell that Ma had been watching my greeting to Gram, and its less than impressive aftermath. She pulled me into her arms for a quick kiss, then quietly told me, "it's not you, Honey, it's her health." She smiled ruefully and said, "I'd say it's her age if not for the fact I’m 6 years older than Tillie."
"I just wish -- I would have loved to have known her."
"I wish that were possible. She was a fine person and a good friend."
Gram glanced over in our direction and smiled vaguely, then returned to her conversation with a barbecued chicken breast. Ma smiled sadly and suggested I go say hi to my aunts and uncles and legion of cousins.
I wandered off but it seemed like everyone was already busy talking to someone or other, so I headed over towards the barbecue pit and food tables. In prior years the Fourth of July picnic had been a potluck but this year, for the first time, a local restaurant was catering the barbecue.
Behind the food table was Ruth Kaczynski, who, with her husband owned my dads favorite diner. She looked up, to see me, and smiled broadly. "Kimberly. How nice to see you again. It's been ages!"
"Um – hi! I didn't think you would recognize me."
"Recognize you? I've known you since right after your parents got you. How could I not know you?"
I flushed slightly and looked down at the table. "I’ve, um, changed a bit since the last time dad brought me by for breakfast."
She laughed, a real and amused laugh. "So I see. Did you think that would make any difference?"
"The way a lot of people have been acting lately it wouldn't have surprised me."
"Well, you’re still young. When you get older you'll find that the real friends aren't going to forget you or ignore you just because you do something they didn't expect. Oh, you'll discover a lot of ass- um, jerks who will try to make you fit their mold and then ignore you -- or worse -- make fun of you because you’re not like they want you to be."
"I’ve met some of them already."
"Don't let them get to you, Kimberly. They’ll always be around, but you can't let them run your life. The good people will be with you the others, well, forget them."
***
Soon, with a loaded plate, I headed out towards the picnic tables. It had already been a kind of long day and the place where I had surgery was getting pretty sore, and I was starting to wobble. I walked over towards the picnic tables containing most of my cousins and a few second cousins. As I approached I started looking for an open space. The tables were pretty full and I didn't see any obvious places to sit. There were plenty of people keeping an eye on me as I walked through, but no one made space and no one said anything.
I reached the end of the tables and kept going into a small grassy grove of trees. I settled on the grass and started eating. I ate slowly and thought. I didn't need anyone to draw me a blueprint. While I'd never been particularly popular at one of these things, I'd never been out-and-out snubbed before. It wasn't a nice feeling at all, believe me. Well, I wasn't about to push my way in if I wasn't wanted.
From my purse I pulled my current paperback, an old Nero Wolfe novel I'd read several times previously. Reading while I ate, I barely noticed when someone sat in the grass by my side. Finally I looked up to see Joyce digging in to a plate of ribs and other assorted goodies.
"Hi!"
"Hi."
I put my bookmark back in place, closed the book, and set it down. I turned in place as Joyce matched my motion and we faced each other.
"I just thought... Everyone was ignoring you and that's just not right."
We sat eating silently. My other various relatives cast us occasional sidelong glances, but no one approached.
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Chapter Thirty-Four: FIREWORKS
Once we got home, I went upstairs and took a nap. It had been a long, long day, and it wasn't over yet.
About eight o’clock, Mom shook me gently awake. She smiled and said "It's time to get up, Honey."
I sleepily sat up and asked her how we were getting to the fireworks this year. She said we were going to do the same as last year, taking the golf cart and parking on the 18th fairway. I was pretty comfortable with that, since most people at the fireworks would be parking at the Long Beach School grounds, and there usually weren’t very many people out on the fairway.
A few minutes later, out in the garage I wanted to help Dad take the clubs off the golf cart and load the cooler and lawn chairs, but he wouldn't let me, worrying about my recent surgery. I really wasn't feeling it all that much, unless I tried overdoing things, like I had that afternoon at the picnic. But I was rested and excited about the fireworks and wanted to get going.
I wandered around the backyard playing with Pepper while Dad pulled the cart out into the driveway and Mom was making her final preparations indoors. We had until 9 to get there and set out our picnic stuff, so there was no rush. The sun was getting low and a few kids were setting off their firecrackers early, and Pepper was starting to look nervous. She hated the Fourth of July, and the fireworks, and all the loud distressing noises it brought. Every year when we returned from the fireworks show we'd find her hiding under my dad's desk in the recreation room. One year we'd tried taking her with, thinking she might feel better if she was with us, but she been afraid of the fireworks in the sky and absolutely panicked at the sound of the aerial bombs.
When Mom came outside and tried to call Pepper in, though, she lay down by my feet and lowered her head to the ground. Mom called her again but she refused to budge. Mom told me to bring her in, and I led Pepper to the door, but she balked at going inside. I looked up and Mom and shrugged. "I don't know. She won't go in."
"She can't go with us. You know how she reacts to the fireworks."
"I know, Mom, but it looks like she wants to go."
"Honey," she said, gently, "You have to put her inside. I know you want to bring her, but it just wouldn't be fair to her."
"I know, Mom," I said, my face falling, "but she really wants to go."
"Kimberly..."
"Yes, Mom." I dragged the resisting Pepper inside, but as I tried pulling the door shut she wormed through the opening and raced to the golf cart, leaping into the back. I hobbled after her, and when I got to the cart I saw Mom with an exasperated look, petting the nervous-looking dog and talking with Dad.
"Mom..."
"I know. She can come with if you promise to keep her calm. Now go lock up and we’ll head over to the fireworks."
Once I’d locked the back door and returned to the cart, I stepped around to the back, to take my usual place on the back bumper, but Dad stopped me. "Sit up here tonight." I looked a question at him. "Kim, it’s going to be a bit bumpy, and I don’t want you hurt. I want you to sit here between your mother and me."
Mom got out and I slid in to the middle. It was more than cozy sandwiched between her and Dad, but the ride was a lot smoother than it would have been in back. We headed down the driveway, then up the hill past the Bandurski and Libby houses. There were still a lot of cars around the Libby’s, but nobody in sight. Maybe they had walked to the fireworks display area. I was just as happy to not run into them, and hoped my luck wouldn’t change.
We entered the golf course near the fifth tee and sailed down the fourth fairway towards the clubhouse. After we crossed from the third tee to the eighteenth tee, I could see a few golf carts and picnicking groups scattered down the length of the fairway. We drove to around the midway point and stopped at our usual viewing spot. I stayed in my seat as Mom and Dad got out and set up the folding chairs. Pepper hopped out the back and loped around our space, snuffling around and checking things out, then returning to the cart. I tapped the seat by my side and Pepper jumped up and sat, her tongue lolling.
The sky was rapidly darkening, and soon they’d be starting the fireworks. I stayed in the cart, on the comfortable padded seat, while my parents settled in on the lawn chairs. Dad had the cooler at his feet, and he reached in and pulled out a couple of beers for himself and Mom, and a bottle of Fresca for me. He opened the bottles, and Mom stepped over to the cart to hand me the soda. She leaned down and quietly asked, "Are you all right, Honey?"
"I’m okay, Mom. Maybe a little sore, but I’ll be fine." Pepper stuck her head up and gave Mom a wet slurp on the cheek. Mom jumped back, laughing, as Pepper settled down again at my side. Mom returned to her chair, laughing at some comment of Dad’s. It was really getting dark now, and I could see people lighting fusees at the launch area. A solitary figure came walking across the fairway, heading for the main viewing area by the school. As it approached, the figure resolved into the shape of a young woman – it was Rachel, from Sears! I called out, "Hi, Rachel!" My parents turned in surprise as Rachel changed course to come over to our golf cart.
"Hi, Kim! Hi," she said to my parents. They got up and Mom introduced her to Dad. We all talked for a moment, until the first aerial bomb went up to warn people of the impending start of the fireworks. Pepper heard the muffled "thwomp" of the launch and quivered, but she stayed at my side, huddling in when the sky lit with a thunderous flashboom. Mom invited Rachel to join us, but she said she was supposed to meet her boyfriend at the parking area and hurried across the grass.
The fireworks began, and it was at least as good as the previous year, but I was distracted by Pepper’s terrified reaction. She buried her head in my lap, whimpering and quivering, and I held her, stroking her head and murmuring words of comfort. I wasn’t sure why she’d insisted on coming with, but she was here, and I wanted to keep her from suffering from the light and sound.
By the time the finale had ended, she was a quivering mess. As Mom and Dad loaded up the cart, I had comforted her to the point where she shakily jumped from the cart and relieved herself on the grass. Dad helped her back onto the back of the golf cart and we started back for home. As we slowed for the turn onto the third fairway, a couple of other carts approached. On the carts were – Oh, no! – Mrs. Libby, Mrs. Bandurski, their husbands, and Gail and Tina.
I huddled down between Mom and Dad as a stream of invective came from Mrs. Libby.
To be continued...
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