A GOAL

GINGER SNAPS

 

Oh, how I envied Ginger and Pepper. They were almost teens, dancing, singing every Saturday morning on the Rialto stage's Kiddie Club show.
If I could manage to save twenty five cents, I could see them, the jugglers, acrobats and stay all day to see the movie, cartoons, serial over and over until supper time. If I didn't have the quarter, I would listen to our Majestic radio that ruled our household. The problem for me was Pepper danced on roller skates and all I could hear was rolling, banging and clapping. Ginger was so pretty. Her long blonde hair was curly and when she danced in a soft pretty dress she looked like an angel to me. She sang, too, better than Jeanette McDonald who sang opera while Ginger sang the songs I learned from the weekly five cent songs sheets Woolworth sold. Even when I saw Ginger on the stage, knew she sang better than I could, I sang with her. Whoever was sitting near me always told me to sing with my mouth shut.

 

One day when I still had most of my box of white chalk left, I drew a lopsided heart on the curb of my house, lettered in P.B. loves J.B. and added an arrow for good measure. Nobody would guess they were my initials and Peppers until somebody did and that somebody told somebody else and they all teased me. Mama filled an empty milk bottle with water, carried it downstairs for me and washed away my heart.

 

It seemed like forever before I finally was ten years old. Mama and Daddy gave me my very first birthday party. Most of my classmates came. Some brought me beautiful jewelry from Woolworth's that I wore on my wrist and fingers until they turned green and Mama made me throw them away. I hated her. Mama and Daddy had no present for me at my party. I hated both of them until everyone had left.

 

They would always clap when I sang along with the Roxford group on Friday evenings. I would curtsy, wave when  each song was over, back into the hall and come in again as they clapped louder each time. 'Jeanette,' mother said. 'How would you like to take singing lessons? Daddy and I know of a very good teacher who lives just a few blocks from us. She used to teach Ginger Swaboda until Ginger was good enough to sing on her own.' I screamed. I jumped up on the sofa and Mama told me to get right off of there. 'Yes, Yes. I want to learn to sing better than I do. I want to sing Like Ginger. When can I start?' 'Miss Crawford will have to listen to you sing first.' Miss Crawford listened, wrinkled her nose the moment I started to sing 'By the Waterfall', told me I have to stand erect, hold my head up and practice the scales.' She did not give me a time to come back. Mama felt bad but not as bad as I did. Instead of the singing lessons they took me on a long trip to see the Niagara Falls. I think I cried enough to make the falls fall louder.

 

Time went faster once I was ten and in a wink I was twelve. 'Ma, Ma, guess who I saw in the movie with Robert Taylor today.' Mama couldn't guess so I told her. 'I saw Ginger Swaboda, recognized her right away. She wasn't pretty like she used to be. Her long blonde curls are gone and her hair is short, dark, almost the color of yours and looked like a wig.  In her scene she was standing near an open window, singing a song I don't know, shut the window and I never saw her again for the rest of the movie.

 

Mama, maybe Miss Crawford wasn't such a good teacher after all. Now I'd like to really know is what happened to Pepper'