All About B.A.D. (2 page)

Even back then, they knew they had a treasure. Gold, silver, emeralds…nothing compared to the vast wealth that lay at the back edge of the Donahues’ property. It was both priceless and within walking distance.

She was the antecedent of all oaks, the protector of secrets. BAD and Lilly once tried to count the steps it took to encircle her girth but lost count halfway around. They knew this scion wouldn’t easily give up her age. According to local legend, one of the apostles had buried her birth acorn, and angels attended her needs. No one questioned the miracles this would have entailed; it made a good story and her beauty and breadth quieted any doubts. The girls vowed that all rites of passage would wander no further than this grand lady’s shadow. It was here where promises would be shared and stowed.

A perfect swing made from scavenged rope and boards dangled like a bracelet from one of her gigantic arms. In it, the girls rode across ages. The trick was to climb out onto the limb where the rope was tethered—without breaking their necks. 

An artesian spring flowed near the widow’s feet. When Lilly’s mama packed honey and jam sandwiches in the bottoms of otherwise empty flour sacks, they made certain they took along empty Mason jars, too. They filled their crystal goblets and drank deliciously of the best water in the entire county, sharing it with visiting kings and queens and an amphibian named George. 

BAD once tried to get Lilly to kiss him after hearing Miss Bellows read a tale of toads and Prince Charmings in the Lone Grove Elementary School. But Lilly’s mama had told her about warts. Lilly got grit, stood her ground and refused. 

“Listen, BAD, I have no intention of getting warts on my face.”

“Well, little Miss Know-Nothing, for one thing it’s a frog, not a toad. For another, you’ll miss your once-in-a-lifetime chance of being royalty!”

Seven years later BAD would kiss her first “prince”. His name wasn’t George, and Bernadette didn’t become a princess.

Bubba Henderson was the James Dean of the Lone Grove Junior-Senior High School. With slicked-back hair, Bubba was taller than BAD by a breath. A lot of swagger with little sustenance. He rode the bus with the girls to the cattle guard that marked the beginning of the road to Lilly’s folks’ place. One day he got off the bus with them and started saying all the silly things that made girls giggle. Except for BAD. She didn’t give ground until she said so.

“Bubba, you are
so
full of stupidness! Your brain must get tired of holding it all.” 

While most guys would shudder and run, a canyon-sized grin broke out across his face. He had gotten a response all right—something in short supply from beautiful BAD. 

Bubba kept pace with the girls until they reached the fence line to Lilly’s folks’ property. When BAD turned, so did Bubba. 

“See you tomorrow, BAD.” Lilly threw the words behind her, not wanting to confirm the truth that was budding in her mind: BAD had a boyfriend, an older man.

“Okay, see ya. Be early for the bus so we can grab a window.”

This was their code for “sharing stuff”. BAD had something in mind.

The next day Bernadette would tell Lilly how she and Bubba had walked down the lane to her house without a word between them. 

“Bubba couldn’t think of one dumb thing to say! Can you imagine? After we got to the house and he made polite talk with Mama, I told him about George and convinced him that he was trained. Boy, he’d better figure on getting by with his looks! Anyway, we walked into the hideaway and before you know it, I had my first kiss.”

“So, what’s it like? How does it feel?” Lilly was eager for every detail. “Were you worried about putting your lips the right way?”

BAD shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t all that great, really. There was a lot of puckering around and head tilting and thoughts about eyes closed or not. The next four or five times got better.”

“Four or five times? You kissed him four or five times?!”

“Okay, maybe more. But nothing else. I just wanted to try it out and, you know, get the hang of it.”

Over the years it was rumored that BAD did indeed get the hang of it. A few years after her first kiss—under their oak with its swing, frog and cold water—she made a man tremble at the edge of something exciting, and tasted her first rite of passage. 

Mrs. Griffith’s teacakes were so delicious that they served as currency in the girls’ money-starved world.

“I’ll rake the front yard for one more, Mrs. Griffith.” 

“We’ll see, Lilly, we’ll see.” It was always the same reply.

The only times they weren’t given any of the treats was when they didn’t meet her expectations. These occasions came closer together when Bernadette and Lilly paired up. It took work to get back into Mrs. Griffith’s good graces and warm kitchen.

Tall trees marked the edge of the older woman’s yard. For many years they stood guard, shooting upwards to rule over her property, their roots reaching downward to search for water in the loamy soil. The summer the county decided to improve the road, their ancient lifelines were exposed by a large grader. The naked, humpy roots made great wall-like structures poking out in many directions—perfect for fortresses, thrones and palaces with canvas-covered entrances. With such endless possibilities to fuel their imaginations, it never occurred to either BAD or Lilly that they were poor.

The days when Lilly’s mama and Mrs. Donahue volunteered at the Lone Grove Women’s Auxiliary, the school bus deposited the girls at Mrs. Griffith’s house, where curtainless windows in every room insured light-flooded spaces, and ancient floors made it impossible to enter quietly and explore its corners. The creaking of the doors was almost rhythmic. But the house, though it was as unassuming as its owner, held the gem of Parker Road.

A square within a frame, only slightly smaller than the entire room, stayed hugged to the ceiling by ropes and pulleys. It was raised and lowered on special days which were announced by extra imprints in the raked dirt leading up to the front steps. Bernadette and Lilly kept a sharp lookout for these, speeding up on the Tuesdays when they saw impressions from penny loafers, Oxfords, a cane and a walker.

The door revealed their presence and for a moment a dozen eyes looked up to welcome them. Smiles and greetings were exchanged; teacakes and fresh milk were offered. Then, as quickly as it had ended, activity resumed. A breeze from the open windows occasionally moved bits of gossip, dashes of news and scraps of material from one space to another. Rapid hand motions matched fast-paced dialogue. Remnants of bright colors were cut, placed and stitched. A clattering of tongues, scissors, cups and needles filled the space with energy and creativity, and squares—reminiscent of dresses worn in the many Lone Grove churches—evolved into new life forms that would fill a bridal basket or a baby’s bassinet. 

The girls stood by the doorway without moving, afraid that everything before them would dissolve if they blinked. Art produced by a team, perfectly in sync. Lilly longed to conjure words that could describe the flurry of fingers, the mixture of faces and the intimacy of the quilters. Beside her, she could sense BAD aching to put to paper the blending of colors being poured out in the stitches before them.

Years later, the recollection of this unique canvas would provoke their imaginations and give beauty to their lives.

Wooden splinters jabbed into their arms, causing the girls to wince but not waver from their front-row view of the life that was pushing, straining into being: a gangly unfurling of flesh willing itself into a new existence. 

Minnie lay patiently, breathing, sighing, her eyes glazed over. The emerging life had little resemblance to the miracle touted in sex education films shown in the Lone Grove Elementary School auditorium. There was no swaddled infant in an antiseptic sphere cradled by a white-clad nurse. Here was a pathetic little bundle wrapped in a natural coat of mucous and blood. The Donahues’ cow heaved deeply and turned to acknowledge her new offspring.

“Well, that was pretty gross!” BAD’s whisper floated in Lilly’s direction. She didn’t want her parents to hear her thoughts about the revered spring ritual they had been allowed to witness. “Allowed” was the operative word. For a couple of years, BAD had secretly observed “the birthing” between the cracks of rough-hewn planks in the Donahues’ barn. But this year was different; the girls had come of age.

Their signed permission slips joined those of other sixth-graders and gained their admittance to the event of the year—boys on one side of the room, girls on the other. They were eager to see if there were any similarities between what was presented on screen and what had been whispered in the halls. Except for BAD, the revelations awed and embarrassed their small clutch of girls. Due to her previous barn-peeking, she was left disappointed.  

The movie’s “stars” had been of the animated variety. They explained the happenings of the young girls’ unwieldy bodies, how it was all a natural part of life and that it could result in the miracle of birth. The activities between these two stages had been left in murky waters. All of this, of course, inspired great gossip.

“Ask Bubba Henderson.” It was the first suggestion from inside their circle. “He thinks he knows everything!” 

A tittering went around the group. By then everyone knew about BAD and Bubba’s kissing session.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Clara, his sister, quickly jumped in. “He can’t even put a full sentence together!” 

“Preacher says it’s about marriage and wedded bliss, whatever that is,” came another remark.

“Well, it has to do with body parts ‘beautifully fitting together’ somehow. And things have to be just so for it all to work, that much I know. I overheard Daddy talking to Danny.” Susan’s twin had obviously gotten extra input after the viewing. 

So they made a pact: any gathered facts would be duly written down and distributed to all. From the spring of the birthing video and through summer, the girls went on a fact-finding frenzy with limited resources. This amounted to a lot of fantasy and no contact with the opposite sex. Parents were not willing to share their secrets, siblings delighted in teasing and dispensing wrong information, and none of them could afford magazines from the local Five and Dime. It was a time of conjecture, confusion and wonder, especially as they began the journey into “the passage”. Their little circle changed shapes and attitudes. Weight gain and mood swings for some; pimples and heating pads for others. For BAD, her stringy form gave way to soft curves and breasts twice the size of all the others put together.   

They gathered their forces, exchanged what they had gleaned from minimal investigations and prepared for the next level of education. In September, their clique entered the Greater Lone Grove Area Consolidated School System—a new territory full of uncertainties.

Naïveté and needs had ill-prepared their female klatch for the next phase of education. They had floundered through squabbles and pouted through misunderstandings produced by roiling hormones and unanswered questions. None of this had managed to unravel the layers of caring and nurturing which continued to sustain them. In a world of hand-me-downs and precious few “extras”, respect for each other permeated the shallow pools of poverty where they were equals. 

When the doors of Lone Grove Consolidated School opened, everything changed. The girls were swallowed by a culture of labels in a society undergirded by mean-spiritedness born of insecurities. Names were generously and carelessly applied using constantly fluid standards, resulting in harsh comparisons and biting criticisms. New definitions of “needy” included hints of inferiority, harsh judgments, sexual innuendo, and worst of all, pity.

They struggled to survive in an unforgiving climate, inventing adaptations for the creatures they were becoming. Clara evolved into a giggler who could toss out shrills at the slightest provocation. Comments bounced from her at the same velocity given. She was an average student who limited her ambitions.

Susan was a clown, keeping them between stitches and embarrassment, and rarely seeing herself as the butt of jokes. She studied only when it was convenient, frustrating the efforts of well-meaning teachers who urged her beyond mediocrity. 

Lilly retreated into a world of attentive silence and endless words trapped in works of fiction. It had everything to do with shyness and the availability of floor-to-ceiling library books. BAD raised her chin, and her attitude exuded defiance. Nothing touched her. She knew how to toss her hair and flutter her lashes and flaunt her newly grown breasts. A quick learner, she absorbed her surroundings and constructed her own definitions of self. She was their buffer, and they gladly hid themselves behind the fortress she had adroitly erected.

Slowly, BAD’s imperviousness landed them on a self-sustaining island surrounded by curious teenage boys. For these suitors, BAD was a magnet where wishes and fantasies clung without fruition. They danced around her, pleading to be noticed. They teased and prodded. Their competiveness resulted in increasingly sillier stunts and ever higher desires. The rest of the girls were content to watch the show or catch the rebounds and envious looks of jilted girlfriends.

It was a time of anxieties and pretenses, as they sought to tear down walls while building others.