SELF-MADE HURTS

I don’t cry in front of my mother usually, but this time I do. Sunday is going to be the neighborhood’s weekly straw ride to Jackson Swinging Bridge and nobody invited me and I have nobody to ask to take me. The big truck with high wooden slats on two sides waits in front of Ballard’s Delly and fills up fast. The floor oozes straw that smells like wet sunshine. My schoolmates, friends carry baskets of goodies. Their swim suits and towels are in paper shopping bags. When a friend asks me if I am going, I smile and make goofy excuses why I can’t go this week.

From the cellar I hear Mom call me. ‘ Hey, Reds, guess what. You’re going on the straw ride this week.’ My thirteen year old heart almost jumps out of my chest. ‘Mom, I can’t go. I don’t have a date, and you know I have never had one,’ I sobbed. ‘Oh, yes you do. Dad asked his cousin, Ira, if his son Jimmy would like to go and take you, free. He’d treat. Jimmy’s calling for you Sunday, 9:30. I’ll pack a delicious lunch for both of you and Saturday, you and I will go to the Mart and get you a new bathing suit with maybe a little boobs added in.’

‘Thanks, Mom, but I won’t go with Jimmy. Everybody knows he’s related to me. Martha once asked me to fix her up with him but I wouldn’t do it. I am not going. No way!’ I run upstairs to my bedroom and cry real tears. Mom leaves me alone but Dad doesn’t. He reasons with me at dinner, tells me this is a chance to get to be more friendly, maybe meet some boys. Of course he is right yet I sulk back to my room..

Bathing suit buying is a disaster. Mom forces me to accept a one piece woolen suit, mucky green on the bottom and tan on top. It has a belt with a silver buckle. I hate it and am not going to wear it Sunday or ever. With little enthusiasm Jimmy rings our doorbell. He stands in the vestibule holding tightly to his towel wrapped swim trunks, hands me the trunks and he takes the lunch basket from me. Fair exchange.

The truck is still locked when we walk up the street and maybe 50 kids are anxiously waited to get on. As soon as the gate is opened the rush is on. There are arguments as to who stands , who can lie down in the little shade from the driver’s compartment. Some kids roll in the straw that smells like wet sunshine. As we take off, Max and Mildred start singing, ‘Tow, tow, tow your truck, gently to the bridge’ and pretty soon there is laughter, hugging and secretive kissing. I pray Jimmy doesn’t get any ideas like that. The truck shakes badly. It bumps and sometimes chugs. Flying straw falls in my hair.

At last, there is a sign, ‘Swinging Bridge, turn right. Go slow.’ We are here and I am not excited about the stinkin’ little bridge. Orders from the driver: ‘We’ll take an orderly walk across, make an about face and come back to the truck. Then we’ll have a short ride to the lake.’ The lake is blue as crystal diamonds, icy cold diamonds. There are plenty of picnic ables and dressing rooms close by. Everybody goes to change, but I stay at our table #10. I sit there worrying what I can tell Jimmy, why I’m not going swimming. I tell him my mother packed my old suit and it is too small. Jimmy doesn’t believe me and asks, What’s wrong with you? You got the rag on?’ ‘What rag, Jimmy? My suit isn’t a rag it is just too small. I can do very nicely without the water. You go have fun.’ Actually I do have reasons, logical good reasons, I can’t admit. I hate that ugly bathing suit my mother forced on me and worse than that is I hate my ugly, skinny legs and flat chest. No, I can’t tell him or anybody else how up tight I am.

Sitting quietly at table #10, I hear the girlish squeals, see the boys flick wet towels at their dates backsides. Jimmy is amongst them. Dripping wet, chilled, the gang fills the tables. Fried chicken, still slightly warm, smells good, tastes wonderful. We pass around pickles, chips, olives, tomatoes, saurkraut. I fill up a paper plate and take it to the driver. Jimmy brings him a Coke.

Dottie brought along a windup record player so crazy dancing begins. I try the limbo, make it thru the first notch and fall on the 2nd one. Jimmy and I get in the Bunny Hop and follow the leader without losing the rhythm. The ride home seems to take longer than getting there. Darkness covers us which doesn’t hide the sounds of kissing and ‘Don’ts.’ We make it safely. Jimmy walks me home, says ‘thanks’ and leaves me holding his wet towel.

‘Hi, Mom. I’m home.’ ‘Did you have a great time?’ Mom asks. ‘Swell Mom. Jimmy was nice, My bathing suit looked pretty he said. I’m going to take a bath to get the straw and lake sand off. I’ll be down for supper soon.’ My day was awful, an expected disappointment. I am a wallflower, a dud. I’ll never be like the other girls. Mom calls to me while I am still in the tub, ‘Hey, Reds, how come your bathing suit is dry and the sale tag is still on it?’

I turn the faucet on harder and make out I don’t hear her.