Growing up in the Deep South in 1963 was tumultuous. Three young girls embark on an adventure that will take them from Birmingham to Memphis. They begin to figure life out and they get through it, becoming adults along the way.

dreams

Some Assembly Required ... the beginningBy dale bridges

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Dale Bridges
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-7261-9

Chapter One

The main doors and windows of the bank lobby faced west. This allowed Brenda to tell the time of day without making an obvious turn to glance at the clock mounted over the row of cashiers behind her. When the inching shadow of the top of the window reached the top edge of her desk blotter, just to the right of the "Barnes and Dalton Hardware Desk Calendar"; Brenda Johnson calculated the hour to be twelve thirty in the afternoon. When the shadow crept into a perfect diagonal across the desk top, reaching the opposite corners at precisely the same moment; the time of day would be exactly two o'clock. On this summer day, she would be leaving her job early. There was a dream to be caught.

Brenda had managed to obtain a part day schedule. Her suitcase was packed and firmly nestled in the trunk of her newest treasure. The brightest red, the shiniest red, the purest candy-apple red Chevrolet Impala that General Motors made was waiting for her in the bank parking lot. The convertible top was a bonus.

Brenda opened the bottom drawer of her file cabinet for another peek at the latest edition of "Modern Screen". Just gazing at the cover picture gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Brenda never saw Tammy, her co-worker, peering over her shoulder.

Tammy's eyes were half-closed as she thought 'Oh Elvis. Oh, hold me. Kiss me. Treat me nice. Oh Elvis.'

When Brenda realized that the other girl was standing behind her, she instantly flushed. Surely, this intruder had read her thoughts; 'Elvis, Elvis. Oh, Elvis. Oh, hold me. Kiss me, Elvis. Oh, treat me nice.'

"A friend of mine saw him once. He's got the most beautiful eyes in the world. Do you think ya'll run into the pride of Memphis while you're there over the weekend?"

This question caused Brenda to giggle, becoming more excited and fluttery just thinking of it actually happening. A dream had been spun from fantasy, and then woven into the realm of possibility.

Brenda calculated the illumination of the pencil cup to be her cue for departure. Any moment the gold lettering of 1st Jefferson Savings & Loan would sparkle and shimmer, signaling her freedom. One Mississippi, and two Mississippi and three Mississippi and GO.

The warm breeze lifted the edge of the white kitchen curtains causing the white fluffy balls that had been stitched along the hem to wiggle and bounce.

A pretty girl in her seventeenth year sat at the table in front of the window. She was carefully applying white chalky liquid polish to a pair of canvas tennis shoes. The small square applicator pad was messy to handle so she worked very slowly. As she finished her job, she scratched her narrow upturned nose with a long manicured fingernail. She was an exquisite example of femininity. The small, delicate bones of her face were punctuated by large, dark green eyes with inner corners that turned up. She was also taller than average and very slender. She was a real head-turner. Her name was Marilee Ann Albright and she was a day-dreamer. She remained at the white Formica topped table even though her chore was finished. She didn't move a muscle. She was very deep in thought. Was it mentioned that Marilee Ann was a day-dreamer? 'Wishing your days away'; that's what her mother always complained. Marilee puffed a shudder of resolve, walked to the sink and began to wash the dried white polish from the backs of her fingers. The white phone on the wall rang. Marilee picked up the receiver. As she expected, it was her friend from college, Brenda.

"Hey. I'm leaving right now. I hope you're all ready. I need to change clothes at your house, if that's O.K."

"O.K. Sure, change here", agreed Marilee. "What're you wearing?"

Brenda described the shorts, blouse and sandals that would be her traveling outfit.

"Uh, huh. Uh, huh. That sounds really cute. I'm ready. Well, I'll be ready when you get here."

"I'm so excited. I just know this will be a trip that we will remember for all of our lives. Don't you think?"

"I guess it will. You want me to call Clara now or wait till just before we leave here?"

"Better wait. I'll see ya in a bit. Bye."

"All right. Bye, now." Marilee hung up the phone in the kitchen and dashed into her bedroom. Quickly she pulled off her grey slacks and shirt, redressing in shorts and a cotton shirt. As she hurried down the short, narrow hall to the bathroom; Mrs. Albright approached her with a small, wrapped package.

"Just a little something for Marion. A hostess gift. You give it when you get ready to leave."

"Yes, Mother."

"I thought you were going to wear your nice slacks."

"They're too hot, Mother. Besides, Brenda's wearing shorts."

"Well, I don't know ..."

"These'll be more comfortable to ride in. The grey slacks might get messed up", rationalized Marilee.

"... they're mighty short." Mrs. Albright clearly did not approve of this change.

"Can I borrow your make-up bag? This stuff won't fit in my tiny, little thing."

"Do you think you're going to need all of that guck?"

"I don't know, Mother. I should have it, just in case."

"You look nice. Just fine without it."

"Oh, Mother." Marilee was slightly exasperated.

"Well, I guess."

When she had finished assembling her baggage for the trip, Marilee counted her money again. She had saved seventy-eight dollars. She wished she had a hundred, but she didn't dare mention that to her mother. Mrs. Olive Albright was not at all convinced this venture was a good idea. Twice already, she had hinted that she would be glad to go along as a chaperone. Seventy-eight dollars would have to be enough. Marilee latched her suitcase and moved it to the living room. Taking a seat on a long oak bench, she opened her little note pad to double check the address and phone number of the Peabody Hotel, Rachel's room number, then cousin Marion's address and phone number. They were all there, ready when she needed them. She was very organized. Why were her hands trembling? She had prepared herself. Why was her stomach fluttering? She hadn't forgotten anything. Oh! ... her little sewing kit. She might need that. As she stood up to get it, Brenda pulled her car into the Albright driveway, honking the horn to signal her arrival.

"Marilee Ann, I think that might be your friend Brenda, now."

The announcement was unnecessary. It was almost time to go. She was sure that her dream was waiting out there, but Marilee was concerned that someone else would find it, pick it up, and then keep it for their own. It had happened to her before. Many times.

"Clara? Clara, leave them chores. Your girlfriends just called to say they're on the way", hollered Mrs. Jourdan as she stood on the back porch. She never dreamed that her daughter had any desire to go on a weekend adventure to a big-time city like Memphis, Tennessee. In spite of parental apprehensions, it was decided that exposure to the urbane would be good for a farm girl.

Clara came running from the back garden holding something in the pouch she had made out of her kitchen apron. As she stomped into the big country kitchen to deposit tomatoes on the worn kitchen table; she fussed, "My hair ain't dry yet. I need a scarf to cover these dang curlers."

"There's that real pretty net bonnet your sister got. She don't use it much. I'm sure she'd not be minding."

"Thanks, Ma."

"Now here's a paper your Pa made of some of his kin that he recollects as still living in Memphis. If you have the time, he'd sure appreciate your calling to say howdy."

"I'll sure try, Ma", agreed Clara from the bedroom as she sprayed Aqua Net over her curlers. She placed the can in the brown paper bag with her other toiletries; Vaseline, a tube of Ipana toothpaste and a frayed toothbrush, Lavoris, baby powder, a new bar of Ivory soap, and a large box of Kleenex. As she rolled the bag closed, her mother gently touched Clara's strong forearm.

From the bib of her apron, the gray-haired woman produced an envelope. "Here's a little extry left over from my egg money. I want ..."

"Ma, I got plenty."

"I want you to have it. It's not ..."

"I saved almost forty bucks from the road stand."

"Then you take what's here. I want you to feel O.K. about being in a big town like Memphis."

"It's your money that you been saving."

"Clara, don't argue with your Ma. You just might need extra."

"Aw, Ma. Just in case. Aw, Ma. I'll pay you back if I use any. I promise."

With that agreed upon, Mrs. Jourdan thrust the envelope into the opening of the cloth belt laying on the bed; instructing Clara to fasten it securely around her waist beneath her underwear. As she pulled her full skirt back down into place, Clara patted her now ample middle tenderly to make sure that her secret was noiseless. She didn't want to rustle and crinkle when she walked. Somebody might ask where all that racket was coming from. She would only use her Mama's money if there was trouble. Clara hadn't even opened the envelope to count the bills.

The barking of the old hunting dog signaled the approach of the red chariot. As Clara lumbered out onto the front porch; Mrs. Jourdan gasped, "It's one of those cornvertibles. I hear tell they ain't ..." She stopped the thought before it was spoken. Safe? Surely, the Lord in heaven would watch over her child. "Land sakes! Almost forgot them cookies you baked, Clara. Be right back."

When she returned with two round tins, the girls were already getting settled in the car; Clara taking the back seat. Mrs. Jourdan handed the old coffee canisters over the side of the car, saying "Make sure you give this'n to Marilee's folks first off. Won top prize at the Fair", she beamed to Brenda. She hugged Clara's broad shoulders then patted Marilee on the back. "I declare, child, you are skin and bones."

"Aw, Ma, we gotta go."

Mrs. Jourdan called, "Ya'll be careful. Drive safe. Ya'll have fun. Drive safe", as she waved from the dirt driveway. She continued to wave long after the last speck of red tail light and chrome bumper had vanished. She waved until the sound of the eight-cylinder motor accelerated onto the highway. 'Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy', she mouthed. It was an involuntary, unfinished prayer. She just couldn't dream of her Clara fitting in with two picture pretty city girls who probably didn't have to worry a bit about egg money.

Clara had no dream to catch, spin or encounter. Not yet.

Nonetheless, they were all on their way.

The candy-apple car zipped along the highway. Clara clutched her head with both hands. "Either ya'll have a real scarf? This thing's blowin' all over. My curlers'll fall out and all my hair with 'em."

"Too much breeze?" Brenda's question was innocently asked. "It's hot. Hot. Hot. Hot." She enjoyed the air forcing her short pixie-cut hair to ripple like a field of wheat stalks.

Marilee was struggling with the road map. The wind made it difficult to hold the paper. One end was always breaking free of her grip, engulfing her face, flapping along the high curve of one cheek bone or the other. Brenda giggled at the silliness of it all.

Regardless of the difficulties, the map was deciphered and all the highway connections were made. Cheers and applause greeted each successful transition. The roads between Birmingham and Memphis were easy to drive. Remnants of the Appalachian Mountains softly undulated toward the shores of the Mississippi River.

Brenda drove her car with a confident hand. This car was her reward. She had used the majority of her earnings from her temporary summer job at the bank. Golly, having money to spend was fun. Although she never lacked for much of anything; Brenda still wanted a husband that would open his wallet, saying; 'Here you are, darlin'. Get whatever your heart desires.' She wanted a rich man, a sexy, exciting man with an endless supply of good looking style, a man like ... ELVIS. That's what she had in mind. No country red-necks for her. A big house, big yard, big swimming pool by a big patio just the right size for BIG cookouts. She wondered if Elvis had a brick bar-be-que or one of those round metal things on wheels. Brick pit, of course. Only the best. "Does it show Elvis Presley's house on that map?"

Marilee looked. "I don't see it."

"Shoot!"

"Hey! Ya'll hungry?" The question came from the back seat.

"Almost forgot", remembered Marilee. "I brought some peaches." She dug down on the floor of the car for the sack.

"Can't we stop for a 'burger or something?'

"Didn't you eat lunch, Clara?" wondered Brenda.

"I ate something around eleven; but now my stomach's growlin'."

"Have a peach", offered Marilee. "We want to get into Memphis before it gets dark."

"Horse pooh", Clara swore. The peach was large and succulent. Juice ran down Clara's chin, trickling from her hand, down her arm to her elbow. When she had finished, she tossed the hard seed over her right shoulder onto the grass by the highway.

"That's five hundred dollars, litterbug, litterbug." The stern reprimand was from Brenda.

"Who's gonna see?" Marilee questioned the scolding. "We haven't seen another car for five miles."

"It ain't litter if it'll take root and grow. Years from now folks'll wonder where in Blue Blazes that little peach tree come from."

"Good grief, Clara", moaned Marilee, growing irritated by the country bumpkin ways that Clara seemed to enjoy displaying.

It had been Brenda's idea to include Clara in this weekend. She wanted to have someone to hang around with while Marilee was working. Clara was the only friend Brenda had that Marilee knew too. They shared the same floor of the dorm in Montevallo. So, that choice was logical. As she glanced back at Clara, Marilee saw a large-boned, ample bosomed, plain girl sprawled out on the entire back seat. Her billowing cotton print skirt was tucked between her legs. A narrow bandana was trying to cover her curler adorned hair. A forefinger was picking at the remnant of peach stubbornly nestled between two molars. It was an embarrassing display of bad manners, in Marilee's opinion. 'Didn't her mother ever tell her not to do that sort of thing in public?' wondered the girl in the front passenger seat. 'Goodness gracious; I hope she doesn't pick her nose. She really didn't seem this crude in the dorm. Boy, if Mother could see her now.'

Marilee's mother was a very proper woman with quite an aristocratic Southern Belle aura about her. She stressed the importance of etiquette and good breeding. Mrs. Albright was fond of saying 'All females are women, but not every woman is a lady. You can always tell a lady by the way she sits, by the gloves on her hands, and the light delicate fragrance that always surrounds her. She also always carries a handkerchief and I don't mean a tissue.' Her mother often became a fussy nag about lady-like behavior. She was frequently reminding Marilee and her younger sister to 'mind your P's and Q's.' She hounded both girls to the point of frustrating their self-confidence. The younger girl liked to blast forth with a loud burp; the main purpose being to make Mrs. Albright cringe and Marilee snicker. Marilee lacked the necessary technique for such a talent. Right at this moment, on the highway between Birmingham and Memphis, she was betting that Clara could out-belch even her sister. As if reading her thoughts, Clara demonstrated her considerable abilities. Two big burps right in a row. Brenda laughed and yelled into the wind – "Bring it up again and we'll vote on it" – while Marilee slunk down in the front car seat.

The car continued to speed past acres of land planted with row upon row of produce. Perfectly parallel lines of corn, beans, beets, and something else that nobody in the car could identify flashed by. Groves of pecan trees filed past in symmetrical patterns. An occasional group of field workers in the distance completed the tableau. Green rolling pastures with a single, large oak or elm tree sheltered a cluster of dairy cows. Only a few structures could be located; all quite some distance from the road. Weathered barns predominated. The neglected condition of these buildings attested to the poverty of the area. Perhaps it was more a case of lack-a-daisical attitude, for surely these large fenced-in pieces of land must bring a considerable amount of income to the owners.

Gradually, the stretches of pasture and vegetables gave way to houses. Barren, unlandscaped tracts of land on which had been built simple, one story houses swung into focus. Long gravel driveways shot directly from the highway thru overgrown, parched grass to a lean-to or a carport at the side of every dwelling. At most homes, there was a Ford pick-up truck; parked, not in the drive, but off to the side in the open, hot air. The atmosphere was one of struggling and making do. The harsh, calloused reality of making a living avoided the three giddy, innocent young women speeding past in the bright red convertible.

At last a road marker announced: TUPELO – 12 miles.

"Tupelo", shrieked Brenda. "Elvis was born in Tupelo! Maybe we should stop for gas. Maybe we could find his old house."

"We don't have time", reminded Marilee.

"I should stop for gas", insisted Brenda. "I also have to go to the bathroom."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from dreamsby dale bridges Copyright © 2012 by Dale Bridges. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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