-Sadie Hawkins Day

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Twelve

 

"Jaimie! Pull your head out!" I start. "Get on with it. We're all waiting." Jan is beside herself.

I blink, reach for the ring in the ministers's hand. It is lovely, shiny, a light sparkle off Blake's diamond. It is hard to the touch, so hard, so final. I hold it between thumb and forefinger, take Blake's left hand in mine.

"Blake, I give thee this ring as a sign of my love, and so doing thereby endow thee with all that I possess, my life, my honor, and all my worldly goods."

It was finally the big day, graduation, out into the cold cruel world, the end of paternal support and the start of everyday life. The best years of our lives were supposed to be behind us, but first we had one last hurdle to clear: our folks.

We hadn't exactly been forthcoming about our new status. I had told Mom and Dad Blake and I were thinking about getting married, just not right away so Mom didn't swoop down in a flurry of feathers. And Jodi had told her folks she and Shelby were engaged, but they were waiting until Shelby finished law school. It's just the little matter of dress and hair hadn't come up. And now they were coming down and it couldn't be avoided any longer.

NSU has three graduations a year, but May is the biggest. The semester has been over a couple of weeks, so we had plenty of time to pack, and plan, and get very uptight. We scripted and rehearsed and rewrote speeches until we couldn't remember what was what. It didn't help that the ESU law school exams were in between the end of the semester and graduation, so we had been banned from ESU as a distraction. All but Jean who had to go down for a final interview for her job with the bank. Even then, all she got was a short celebratory dinner and a long roll in the hay before being gently but firmly put back on the road north next morning.

We were horny, and lonesome, and stressed to the max. It didn't help that with our different majors it would take two days for all of us to get handed our alum dun cards.

Jan sublimated the whole thing by planning to throw the perfect party for our women, our families, and a few of our friends. It may have helped her mental state, but it left us wanting to kill her. Our only break from cleaning, packing and arranging was to drive down to College Switch Wednesday to have our hair done. Mortar boards meant hairpieces had to be behind or out. We took our stylists' advice and settled for twists to avoid giving our folks instant heart attacks.

My graduation was Friday evening, so the folks drove up that morning. It got me out of the townhouse we shared to meet them for lunch, although I had to run the gauntlet of all my friends making sure I looked perfect. Nipped waist, flared skirt, sweater thrown over my shoulders, heels, and of course gloves and a clutch purse. I was so Junior League, it hurt.

Mom, Dad, and sister Gwen were ensconced in the College Inn. They had only had reservations for a year. I called from the lobby and said I would be waiting for them in the lounge. I figured public was best. In private, they could try to hide the body and claim I never got there. Somehow I forgot to mention I would be the one in the floral spring dress.

You must have been able to hear my heart thump all the way to St. Louis as I waited for them. My life flashed before my eyes: Dad proud of me in Little League, standing beside me at the Boy Scout courts of honor; Mom encouraging me to learn to dance, arranging my first big prom date with Shirley Jackson from down the street; Gwen, being her usual bratty self when I tried to sneak a girl over, looking so assured and grown up, barely my little sister at all, when she graduated from high school three years ago. And now, here I was, about to graduate out into the world, engaged to be married sometime or another, but dressed and done like a Miss Coed wannabe. I was going to make them so ashamed.

They must have wandered the lounge a bit before I opened my eyes, because Dad had a puzzled look on his face. Mom, as usual was being reassuring. "I'm sure he just stepped into the rest room for a moment, Frank. Why don't we just sit and relax while we wait for him?"

I stood, swallowed hard, walked forward. I plastered a big smile on my face I didn't feel.

"Hi, Mom. Dad. Gwen. You're looking well. Shall we go in to eat?"

Small birds could have made it through the tunnels of their open mouths.

Dad was the first to recover, sort of. "How? What? Why? When?" The only thing he left out was "Who?"

"Perhaps we should have a drink first? I hear the bar makes an excellent julep." Mom liked juleps.

The mouths were closed but the eyes were grim by the time we sat down.

"Son. You are still my son aren't you? You'd better tell us what's going on. And for once in your life, make it short."

The waiter taking our order saved me temporarily. All I could see was Gwen's look of astonishment. I assumed it meant she planned to chuck accounting and join the Peace Corps for an assignment in deepest, darkest Africa, anyplace where she was almost certain never to hear my name come up, and if it did, she could say with that sweetly sincere face of hers, "Who? Never heard of him."

"Uh, Mom? Dad? Gwen? I'm getting married, you know. Next year sometime."

"You mentioned that, Dear. But we assumed Blake was a woman."

"She is. You'll meet her tonight. At the ceremony. And at the party afterwards."

"I'm not sure a party's a good idea, Son."

"But you have to come. Blake and her fiends will be there, and all my roommates, and their families. You have to come, or people will talk."

"I think that's a given, older brother. Or is that sister now?"

"I can still spot you ten and beat you to twenty-one, Squirt."

"Not in those heels you couldn't."

"Son, focus!" Dad snapped his fingers. "What in blazes is going on?"

The waiter brought our drinks so there was a brief interlude of politesse. Too brief. Dad slugged down half a double bourbon and branch in one gulp.

"Getting married to Blake is at the heart of it. See, she asked me, sort of as a joke, and then it got, and we went to, and now we all. See!?" I smiled now all was explained.

"Dear, if you spoke complete sentences, maybe we would." Mom frowned. "But it's hard to see how."

"Try it again, Twerp. What have you been studying in the library? Fashion Design?"

I gulped down part of a Tequila Sunrise. At least my lipstick wouldn't show on the glass. "Well, it's like this . . ." Five minutes later I was done. Their mouths weren't open, Dad wasn't headed for the door, Mom in tow, and they didn't look as though the world had come to an end. They didn't look happy, but it's a lot to take in. I suggested we move to the dining room as I was really hungry. I wasn't, but anything that would keep them occupied while they digested the news had to be a blessing.

The maitre'd was in a tux, very formal, very proper as befitted a white table cloth restaurant. "Table for four, Miss? Non-smoking? Of course, right this way." I think his identifying me by "Miss" helped ease the tension.

The waiter helped each of the ladies into our chairs. That included me. Mom noticed that I had learned to stand and wait rather than pulling out the chair myself.

Gwen leaned over as she arranged the napkin over her lap. "Tell me, Sis, couldn't you get your hair any higher?"

I smiled. "Loretta said I should keep it down for the mortar board."

"Who's Loretta, Dear?" Mom was all ears.

"My stylist at College Switch."

"You have a stylist?"

"Remember Dad, Blake has had me practicing since the middle of January. Yes, I have a stylist, just like Mom goes every week to Mrs. Jenkins."

"That's different. She's a woman."

"But Frank, if Jaimie is going to dress this way, he'll have to have someone who does his hair regularly. It's so much trouble breaking in a new hairdresser."

Good old Mom, focusing on the details already.

"What do you mean if? What are we going to do, support him from now on?" Count on Dad to focus on the finances.

"No, Dear, that will be Blake's problem. You are going to be able to support yourself until the wedding, aren't you, Dear?"

"I have a job at the Main Library at ESU starting the first of July."

"They didn't see you dressed like that, I'd bet." Gwen was always a big help.

"Yes, they did. Dr. Moreno-Crane and I have similar tastes in appearance. That's one reason she hired me."

"You sure she isn't a guy too? The libraries are getting a little funny these days." Dad was not happy.

"I haven't checked, and I doubt that it's a subordinate's place to ask. But she had a very nice photo of three children on the credenza behind her."

"Probably camouflage."

"Hush, Frank. He has a job, and a future, and we can't run the rest of his life." Mom glanced at me. "But you really should use a less brilliant shade of lipstick in the daytime, Jaimie."

The waiter took our orders. I stuck to soup and salad, knowing Jan would stuff us to the gills tonight.

"Jaimie?"

"Yes, Squirt."

"It's Jen now. Let's both try to act like we've grown up." She looked me over. "And not taken leave of our senses. You aren't planning to come to Nashville anytime soon are you?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

Jen covered my hand. "Could you make it, like never? I really don't think I can explain you to my friends. Not that I ever really could."

"Right. Blood is so much thicker than water."

"Not that we wouldn't ever see each other. After I'm out, and know new people, then, well, the less I have to explain, the better for you. You'll just be . . . What will your name be now, anyway?"

"It's still Jaimie."

"Don't be cruel, Dear. We did so hope our children would get along."

The rest of lunch was quiet. Mom chattered away, apparently adjusting under a running commentary on the weather, flowers, the prospects for attendance at the summer musical she ran. You would think she was alright with this, but I knew the more she chattered, the more she was thinking. Dad and Gwen, uh, Jen, were getting used to it in their own ways. Dad glowered a lot, looking for an out as lawyers are wont to do. Jen just looked bemused, torn between exposing me to the world and trying to concoct a story of plausible deniablity that we were never, ever related. Perhaps I was adopted, or kidnaped by aliens and redeposited a changeling.

I paid with one of my new credit cards. That made Dad a bit less unhappy, the prospect of an eternal drag on the family fortune receding ever so slightly. And then we walked. And walked, and walked. They had seen the campus before, I had been an undergraduate there as well, but walking was better than talking. Besides it was a nice day, still, and if we held it down, passing strangers might not understand the gist of our fragments of conversation.

What helped Mom was when we passed a pair of graduating girls I knew, their families in tow, and they stopped to say "Hi." Our conversation was easy and natural, and when they introduced me to their families, it was "she's been in several of my classes."

I spotted the ring on Dallas's finger and had to ask, "Did you and Clay finally set a date?"

She just beamed and held her hand up. "Not exactly. Dad insists it has to be after Jan 1 so he gets one last tax deduction. You are going to be there, won't you? And have you and Blake gotten down to brass tacks yet?"

We parted laughing gayly. "Do you get along so easily with all the girls? What happened to my shy boy I practically had to shove down the street?"

"That was long ago, Mom. Not all. But the engagement sorority gets along pretty well."

Mom raised an eyebrow at Dad, as if to say, "See, he won't be on our doorstep."

Eventually I pled fatigue and the need to get ready for the ceremony. Not only was I in the highest heels, but I had the least practice.

 

§§

 

The townhouse was almost deserted. Jodi and Jean were out breaking the news to their folks. Jan was in tears from the strain. Her folks were coming to pick her up for dinner since her ceremony was the next day. She couldn't not face it any longer. The place was immaculate; she was a mess.

I held her, and rocked her, and told her it would be alright.

"Is Drew going to be with you at dinner? For moral support."

"I asked her not to be there. It's a lot just seeing me. And Drew hasn't asked me to marry her yet. So how could she?" Niagra had nothing on Jan when she finally broke down.

I got some water in her, dragged her into the bathroom and set about repairing her face. I told her about my day, so it was the optimists's version, and told her to get Drew on her cell phone. The least she could do was be there to support her Honey-Bear with her folks when they saw what she had turned their darling boy into.

The women showed up just before three, just in time for Jean's ceremony at five. They were a strange combination of formal hair and casual traveling clothes, rolling luggage and dress bags trailing behind them. I pulled Drew aside and pushed her into the bedroom with Jan. "Get in there and do your duty. And I don't mean the one you're so eager for."

Blake was all hugs and kisses. Finals were over and she was ready to make the colored lights spin. "Not now, Blake. You go get settled in your motel and get ready for the ceremonies."

"I thought we were staying here. After all we are engaged."

"Not until after you meet my folks. For that matter, when do I meet yours? They might be a little surprised at your choice of a mate."

"You're not getting nervous, are you? Trying to back out?"

"You aren't getting out of the mess you've gotten me in that easily, Lady. And you better ring my chimes good and hard tonight. But there's going to be a nod to the proprieties this weekend, at least until the stress levels drop below the boiling point. It won't kill you to wait a day or two. You've been putting us off for almost a month."

"Uhm. But it'll be that time of month again soon."

"We've worked around that before. Now be good." The trouble with kissing Blake is that resolutions of good intentions tend to melt like ice in the noon day sun. But I did manage to shoo them all out, all but Drew who was providing aid and comfort to Jan. Not too much, I checked. She was sitting up, looking better, their clothes for the evening laid out on the bed.

Jean came in, being brave. To say the least, her parents weren't thrilled. She was afraid that tonight was make it or break it with them. Even having gotten a job with a bank lined up didn't help; she should have been able to do better. She only hoped Jan's party, and our being there dressed, and everyone else being nice and having a good time would convince them she hadn't made a terminal mistake.

I shooed her into her bedroom to change and took a deep breath. I needed to have a nervous breakdown, but I didn't have time. I knocked on our bedroom door.

"Jan, Drew? You decent? I need to change."

When it was just us four guys in two bedrooms, the place seemed plenty big. Add one fiancee and it felt like a shoe box. Somehow we managed to get it done. Jan and Drew looked more than presentable when her parents knocked on the door. Maybe it was just my presence, but Jan's parents didn't seem all that upset to find their son in a black shirtwaist halter neck dress, wearing pearls and heels, his hair in a striking twist and chignon combination do. They had aplomb, al right, acting as if there were absolutely nothing unusual when Jan asked that Drew accompany them to supper. Jan's mom even looked pleased when Drew put her arm around Jan's waist and kissed her lightly behind the ear. Jan smiled so deeply, gratefully into Drew's eyes everyone but Drew knew Jan was helplessly in love with her.

Jodi made it just in the nick of time, typical for her. But we made it off, three girls, their women and two sets of parents. Everybody was getting to sit through everyone this time. We picked up my crew with just enough time to kiss Jean's cheeks and hustle into the gym.

Colleges have a music department for two reasons: they need a pep band for athletic events, and somebody has to play endless rounds of Verdi's March from Aida, and Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance. The impending donors get to file in slowly so their families can get the most expensive photo they will ever take. After a virtually certain uninspiring inspirational speech and acknowledgment of the brilliant and the sycophant, the dead march starts up again, calling the alums to their rightful places on the college dun list. Business schools are the worst. The parents are hoping for a stock tip that will make back the cost of the past few years, the speaker seizes the opportunity to explain the economic facts of life to a captive audience, and the administrators require emergency surgery to unscrew their faces after an over long session of rapt pretense.

Jean was happy, her parents less unhappy. After all their little girl was all grown up. So she hadn't started out a girl, they were off the hook. Magna cum laude didn't hurt either.

But then the whole event was made, whatever else happened. We were gathered outside, taking a break before I had to slip off to take my place in the next line, swapping admissions tickets around so the support group could reenter. Nikki asked everyone to gather round, took Jean's hand and looked her father straight in the eye.

"Mr. and Mrs. Camp, I want you to know I love Jean very much. She's smart, and funny, and loving, and lovely." She actually dropped to one knee and produced a ring box. "Jean, will you be my wife? To have and to hold, until death do us part?"

It wasn't very proper and ladylike, or the picture of a collected executive, sobbing and shrieking that way and throwing herself on Nikki, practically swallowing her right in front of everybody. Still, a lot of other girls were getting betrothed at the same time, so it might not have stood out as much as I thought it did. Except her engulfee wasn't a guy.

Her parents were caught between pleased and stunned. We, on the other hand, experienced unrestrained glee. Of our set, that left only Jan and Drew officially unpledged, although my finger felt awfully bare. We hugged, we cried, our mascara ran, and suddenly mothers were pressed into service they had never expected to perform, fixing their sons' makeup.

I was on at seven-thirty, so I had to scurry off rather than celebrate. But Jean was crying happy tears, trying to hold Nikki and acknowledge everyone's congratulations, screw up her face and squeeze her mom's hand all at the same time. I knew exactly how she felt. No matter how much you expect it, being asked is one of the few things in life where reality exceeds the expectation. Protocol or no, Jean was going to make Nikki one very happy camper that night.

The evening program was short, a collection of miscellaneous majors that almost no one, other than the recipients, cared about. Nursing and Education and Business had had their turns. Engineering and Liberal Arts would have theirs tomorrow. With the custodial crew standing by, we felt a little like the tail end of the parade in Peabody's Improbable Histories. But our folks and friends were there and no one would ask what time of day you got yours. Aida started up and we were on our way, mortarboard pinned to my hair.

You try to act dignified and blase, but it is a big event. You can't resist sneaking a peak into the bleachers and returning a little hand wave when your friends stand up and the flash goes off. You're just a little proud, and you hope you made those people who loved and supported you just a little proud as well. Actually you hope their buttons would pop off if they still wore vests.

When your name is called, you can barely see to walk across the stage, drop your head for your honors cord and major stole, accept your diploma and hand shake and pass on. Your moment came and went, and it wasn't even fifteen minutes of fame, but it acknowledged years of work including hours of boredom hoping there was something useful in an utterly boring lecture that seemed to be repeating the book. When everyone has gotten theirs, including Zwink in Zoology, we stand one last time for the alma mater, then exit to Pomp played up tempo so the band can get to the feed.

You emerge into the lights, rentals to the right, purchases straight on, heading out to kiss and cry, to say goodbye to friends you may not see again until your tenth reunion, if then. It's dark, even close to the solstice, so there's not the big yard party. The school does provide punch and sandwiches, but they know everyone will hurry off from this one, off to real celebrations because it's too late to hit the road with the pre-packed car.

Jen runs up ahead of everybody and throws her arms around my neck. "I"m sorry, Jaimie, for what I said earlier. I'm so proud of you, and I hope you and Blake will be very happy."

That alone was almost worth the pain of the last two years.

"I love you, too, Jen. You've become a beautiful woman and I hope you find someone who makes you as happy as Blake makes me."

I got all weepy, and my mascara ran again, but it was good tears. Mom hugged me, Dad looked proud in spite of the hem of my dress peeking out from under by robe, And Blake, my beautiful, loving Blake, enfolded me in her arms, and kissed me long and ardently, as if she had every right to do so. "Congratulations, my love. I'm sorry I can't ask you all over again."

"Oh, Blake, thank you for being here for me. And thank you for loving me." Arms around her neck, my face inches from hers, I was about as happy as a girl can be without being totally out of her mind.

 

§§

 

Other than a few waves and cheek pecks, nothing held us there, so we headed back to the townhouse and Jan's party. I rode with the folks, Blake and the women rode back in her car. I was in back, safe in my parent's world one last time, happy, emotionally drained. Mom peeked back around her seat. "You really love her, don't you? It's not just sex?"

"No, Mom, it's not just sex. I love her and she loves me. I'd do anything, be anything to make her happy. And she'd do the same for me."

"Would she let you quit wearing dresses?"

"Mom, it makes us happy. We didn't start out to be here, but here we are. If it ever becomes too big a burden, we'll stop."

"We?"

"We. We are a couple, as much as you and Dad. We haven't said the words, but wherever fate takes her, I will go."

"Sounds like she's gonna wear the pants, Son."

"She's going to have the bigger paycheck. She who has the gold, makes the rules." I thought a minute. "That wasn't fair to Blake. She's got opinions, and plans, but she's not a tyrant. We talk, usually, and she listens, and we value each other. But for family finances, it makes sense that we go where her opportunities take us."

"Are you going to be alright with that, Son? No ego problems?"

"You have to ask? Dressed like this, you have to ask if I would have ego problems?"

"I guess not."

The visitors parking overflowed when we got to the townhouse. The party was off to a nice start, a full spread, shining glassware, wine and setups, and enough little teevee tray tables to set your plates and glasses down when you were done. We were just a little short on places to sit but that meant when the time came we sat in our women's laps.

Jan was the perfect hostess, beaming with happiness when each of us told her it was perfect. Her black shirtwaist over layers of crinolines had little epaulette sleeves. She was decked out in faux pearls wherever you could put them. She had on three inch pointy heels and seamed stockings, and she actually had on a white ruffled hostess apron. She was in her element, and even her mother complimented her on her presentation.

We were the last to arrive, so after we tanked up, it was time for toasts. To the graduates, collectively, then individually. Then to the happy couple. Either Nikki hadn't told Drew, or Drew was better at keeping a secret from Jan than I think she is, but the only flaw in Jan's party was the lack of champagne, at least enough to do a toast around. We made do with ginger ale and no one really cared, except Jan for about two minutes. Since we hadn't done announcements before, there was a round for Jodi and Shelby, and Drew and me. Jan was brave about it, being the only one not officially pledged.

The party rolled on, the platters were cleaned, and even our parents were dancing to the music. Jen was pleasantly surprised to find that not all our friends had adopted skirts, so she managed to hold court and switch partners several times.

Once I helped Jan resack the trash can and stack dishes in the dishwasher. She and me and Drew made for a tight squeeze, so her mother stepped out to the powder room.

"How did it go?"

"Okay, I guess. You were right about Drew. Mom gave me fashion hints and Dad said at least I put out enough food for a party."

"On a scale of one to ten, at least you're above the Plimsoll mark."

"I just want them to be pleased with me."

"Jan, Sweetie, Drew's the one you're going to want to please from now on. And they'll come around. It just takes time. Mine aren't jumping for joy either. And just in case you didn't hear it, it is a nice party."

"Thanks."

We shut down the bar at eleven thirty to give the drivers time to steady up. Somebody dialed the lights down, and put the crooners on again. Mom was actually clinging to Dad. That must be a good sign. If Dad got really lucky, and Mom seemed to be in the mood, maybe being in a dress again tomorrow wouldn't seem so bad. The only problem for Blake and me was an absence of free seats. Jen was doing very nicely on the love seat with a fellah on each side of her, going back and forth. And the little scamp used to bug me about bringing over Becky Hayworth!

About one, the party seriously began breaking up. We needed some rest since Jan and Jodi were up that morning. The parents began peeling off, Jen was collecting names and e-mails, and we got down to serious negotiating. Proprieties or no, there was no way we were sleeping alone that night. Jean got her room in honor of the proposal, so Jodi was headed to the motel. Jan looked distraught, and she was eyeing the dishes which meant she would work off her stress by cleaning. I told her there was no way Jean was going to listen to the dishwasher run while she and Nikki were pledging their troth. She could grab a nightie and be back at nine to get dressed.

That left Blake and me shoving beds together. By the time our makeup was off, our dresses were hung, and we were in something suitably scanty, we were too pooped to pucker. It was like Vicksburg all over again, two horny people too much in love to say goodnight.

The last thing was me saying to her back, "I love you, Blakey-Bear."

She barely reached back to pat my hip. "I love you too, Sugar-Bear."

Like I say, take your "I love you's" any way you can get 'em.

 

§§

 

Damn doves. That up with the chickens business is highly overrated. Some doves had nested in a vine on the carport behind the townhouse and they went off that morning with the rising sun. Ordinarily I could just throw the pillow over my head and snooze 'til the buzzer. But ordinarily I don't have a head throbbing to beat the band and a black head hogging the pillow.

All I wanted was for my head to stop throbbing. I should be stiff as a board, wanting to pester Blake for all she was worth. If this was anything what the cramps felt like, only higher, I would never complain about Blake's periodic, "I have a headache," again. All I could do was wash down a couple pills and struggle back to the sheets, snuggling close, hoping her warmth would make the tom-toms stop beating.

"Blake?

"Hhmp?"

"I'm sick"

"You're not sick. What did we drink last night?"

"Everything."

"Oh-h. I'm never going to mix wine and liquor again."

I felt the mattress sway as she rolled over, heard the springs creak as she pushed off. Thank goodness it was two beds. If it had started to sway beneath me, I would have lost it. Bad idea. Just the thought was enough to make the room start spinning. I squeezed my eyes tight, arched my brows trying to make it stop. All I could do was hold tight to the edges of the raft from the wreck of the Hespersus.

"Blake! Help me!"

"Wha'? You look alright."

"The room's spinning. Make it stop."

"How?"

I clung to the sides harder, as if I could make it stop by sheer will. As if I had any left. I felt coolness on my shoulder, move up my throat. I opened my eyes slightly. Mistake. The light hurt. Blake brushed my brow with one cool towel while pressing the other to her forehead. The spinning slowed, but the coolness didn't last long.

"Have you seen my Midahl?"

"Wha'?"

"I put two on the vanity last night in case I needed them. They're the last ones I had. I think it's hung over rather than cramps, but I'd kill for one right now."

"Oh, Blakey, I'm sorry! I think I took them when I couldn't find any aspirin."

"You took something without knowing what it was?"

"I hurt."

"If you took those, in a little bit you're going to be in a fog. You're worse than a child." She lay down beside me, moaning.

"If I die . . ."

"You can't die and leave me alone with this."

"If I die, I want you to know I love you. If I live, we can't have liquor at our wedding."

"Agreed. But we'll have to get better to die."

Midahl is wonderful stuff. In a little while the throbbing began to ease. Then it began to fade, still there, but remote. I felt strong enough to crawl out and stagger to the bathroom. I wet a couple of towels, found the aspirin and returned to minister to Blake. As long as I kept my eyes mostly closed, and didn't move my head more than two inches at a time, I could make progress. I applied the cool compresses, held her head while she sipped. Then I lay back down beside her. Very slowly. Gingerly. As if my head were a china egg, liable to break at the slightest touch.

It was strange, lying there, my head throbbing off in the distance while I was in a fuzzy pink cloud. Now if the sun just wouldn't shine in my eyes and those damn doves wouldn't coo.

I heard sounds outside the door, feet padding on the carpet. There was a soft thudding, the fridge door, followed by the tin rattle of a pan. Each noise rocketed through my head like I was at the focus of a bell. I would have killed them if I had had the strength.

Worse, there was the smell of bacon. Tom-toms or no, fuzzy cotton or not, I had to get to the toilet. It's amazing what you can do when you are sufficiently motivated.

I clung to the cool porcelain as though it were the Holy Grail. Heaving is awful. The dry heaves are worse. Worst of all is trying to heave up that little strand of allergy mucus that your stomach is convinced will kill you if it stays down there one more minute. You heave, and heave some more, and bile burns your throat, and you heave some more to try to put it out. Dying would have been a relief.

I sensed rather than heard the bedroom door open. "Would you two like breakfast?"

"Go 'way." Blake was much too polite.

"Are you alright? Where's Jaimie?" There was a faint sound of a sheet. "In there?"

I heard the bathroom door swing back against the wall.

"Jaimie? Can I get you something?"

A knife to cut my throat? I shook my head. I think.

"Nikki, Sweetheart, can you get me some ice in these towels?" There was the sound of a light kiss. "Thank you, Sweetheart." I would have killed them if I could have just gotten up.

There was a rattling from the vanity. A hand touched my shoulder. "Poor baby. I'll make you feel better in a minute. Take these."

Even in my condition, I knew more pain killers were the last thing I needed. I shook my head. That meant another round of retching.

"Nikki, Sweetheart, can you look after Blake? I'll see if I can get Jaimie back to bed."

A cool towel rubbed my shoulders, blotted my back, stoked my neck. It helped, the pink haze receded a little. Some more, then a hand was on my back.

"Can you stand up? Do you want me to help you? Can you make it back to bed?"

I tried to indicate yes.

The coolness wiped me down again, then hands lifted my shoulders, wrapped under my arms and lifted. Somehow I was up, rubbery but standing. Jean kept wiping my face and arms even as she helped me past the sink, through the door, to the bed. She peeled off my gown before she lay me down, wiped down my body and my face before resting the coolness against my throat.

"I've never seen Blake this wiped out."

"It was a big day yesterday. They must not have eaten enough."

"Not as big as it was for us, Sweetheart."

"I know. Thank you, Sweetheart, for loving me."

How about the dying down here?

"I'll make up something. Granny's old recipe. If we can get it down 'em, they'll at least rejoin the living."

"You do that, Sweetheart."

Blake groaned. She had to be nauseated too.

"Now you two just relax, close your eyes, and let Nurse Jean take care of you."

Coolness down the sternum felt awfully good, but my neck was tighter than a drum.

"Jaimie's an awfully lucky girl, Blake. I hadn't really realized how well built you are until now. Were you two good to one another last night? Hhm, I don't think so. I'll have to ask Nikki if she has some tampons."

"I cut off the bacon. I imagine the smell of grease isn't doing them any good. Here, Sweetheart, help Jaimie drink this."

Smart lass, that Nikki. Jaimie lifted my head. I couldn't open my eyes to see it, which was just as well, because it tasted awful, sticky, and thick and hot.

I lay back and Jean wiped my face, slowly, caressingly. Then that concoction hit bottom and I was motivated all over again.

There's one problem with dosing two people at once. There's only one receptacle. But I got there first, so Blake had to use the sink.

They got us back to bed, half lifted, half dragged, but back into bed, weak, and without a stitch. The fog was clearing and for a moment I wished for it to come back. I felt Blake's hand roll against mine. It was reassuring to know that if we were to die, we'd die together.

Somehow they got us back together. Nikki got a tampon for Blake, Jean got some dry toast into us, and generally they sprinkled and rubbed us down with cool towels to clean us up. Gradually we returned to the living, enough to notice the hair on their heads stood at odd angles. Apparently not everyone had over indulged.

When they were convinced we would not choke on our own vomit, they left us alone for awhile. All we could do was doze, but that was all we wanted to do, all day. No such luck. They returned, determined to get us up and looking presentable for Jan and Jodi's ceremonies.

We sat in straight chairs, totally wrung out and ashen. Corpses would have looked better. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but there was no beauty there to behold that morning. Rarely has naked looked so utterly unappealing.

They were nothing if not determined so we at least looked like part of the living by the time Jan and Jodi hit the door. We didn't feel like it, we wouldn't all day, but at least we only felt like death warmed over.

Jan and Jodi were excited, of course, both feeling more hopeful that their parents would accept their new mode of dress. Jan's mom had actually told her on the way out it had been a very nice party. Approval from her mom apparently was a rare and precious thing. Jodi hoped her parents had been impressed last night. Her lack of a job worried her.

We met the folks at the south gym entrance before sending our honorees to take their places. Since both were in liberal arts, we were killing two birds with one stone that morning.

"Jaimie? Do you two feel alright?"

Moms are altogether too perceptive. I nodded, slightly, behind the darkest sunglasses we could find.

"You look a little ashen. Did you use the same makeup as yesterday?"

"I went a little paler since you said it was too bright."

"I think I was wrong, Dear. You really looked much better yesterday.

When a mother gives her son makeup advice, she must be over worrying about his wearing a dress and having his hair done.

At least the liberal arts speaker mined the literary works from Homer to Louis L'Amour to make her commencement address sound erudite. She had a flair for wry puns and spared us from a limerick or a quote from Yogi. As these thing go it was top twenty with a bullet, but hardly the payoff for over sixty thousand dollars if you were an undergrad and on in-state tuition.

The whole graduation show is trite. It's trite because it works, so they keep doing it the same way. Why mess with success? The grads are happy to be done. The financial support is happy they're done. Any significant others are happy because now sex can work around work schedules instead of class schedules. At least they'll sleep in the same town. The school is happy because another potential set of donors has gone forth to harass the coach of their choice and right nasty letters to the alumni magazine about the current crop of students even as they send in another annual donation. The administrators know a ceremony is an important rite, and they call it "commencement" for it truly does mark a beginning, even as a wedding marks the beginning of a marriage. Without either we feel a little deprived.

In two hours the deeds were done. Jan and Jodi were happy, Drew and Shelby were happy for them, we were happy for them, their parents were pleased. It was daylight, so we got to take photos in every conceivable combination. That included especially Nikki proposing to Jean. Jean and I had to bring our academics so we could be properly shot. The only problem for Blake and me was that every advance whirr sounded like a whiz bang running directly through our ears. Thank the Lord most people used digitals.

After that we retired to the College Inn for brunch. We and about a thousand other people. We had about an hour's wait for a table, so Dad suggested we retire to the bar. Mom must have stroked him right the night before, because he was in "Mr. Successful, I'll Pay" mode. I didn't care whether he or Mr. Camp won that argument. I wasn't paying and I sure wasn't drinking anything stronger than coffee. Blake and I wound up drinking Red Zinger tea, touted as good for whatever ails you. So long as it was warm, soothing, non-alcoholic and didn't result in an instant rush to the rest room where the lines were interminable, we didn't care.

Brunch for eighteen, Jodi's seventeen year old sister Shelly had come with the Slater's, makes quite a table. The good part is we could sit quietly not saying much and there were plenty of people to talk. However not being able to remove our sunglasses, even inside, did generate a few Breakfast at Tiffany's remarks. We didn't care. We were barely alive enough to notice.

All things come to an end and we couldn't wait for this one to be over. So long as Jean and Nikki didn't dose us with another of her grandmother's "magic potions," we might even pull through. With rest and TLC, I might even have a chance to show Blake how much I loved her and make her forget, for a little while, that her time of the month was starting.

When brunch was over, the plan was for the folks to pack and get back on the road, so we were doing our good-byes before heading back to recuperate. Mom would not let us go before she nailed down a date for us to come over so she could "get to know her daughter-in-law." We settled for an extended weekend two weeks later, long enough for us to return from the dead. After Mom secured every contact address known to mankind from Blake, we were excused.

Just as we turned to leave, Mom got in one more piece of advice. "Don't take aspirin for a hangover, my dears. It just dilates the blood vessels which is why your heads are pounding anyway. Cold works best. Cold and time, and a little soup and toast just to settle the stomach."

Mothers know too much if you ask me.

 

 

 

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