22
I’d wrangled Mom’s ironing board up the stairs and to my room, unfolding it in the corner by my one electrical outlet. Plugging in the iron, I contemplated what Jocelyn wanted me to do.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, hoping she would tell me she wasn’t. “What if I burn all your hair off?”
“You won’t.” She smiled at me.
“How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t. But I trust you anyway.”
“You shouldn’t.” I set the iron on the board. “You don’t want to be bald, do you?”
“Of course I don’t.” She grabbed my pillow. “That’s why I’m not doing it myself. Just use a pillowcase. That should help, right?”
I raised my shoulders and took the case she’d pulled off my pillow.
She tilted her head so that her long, dark hair lay flat on the ironing board. I put the smooth fabric of the pillowcase on top of it before lowering the iron to it, moving it slowly the way she’d told me to.
Every summer, on the third Friday of August, Fort Colson held a beach bash on the shore of Old Chip. Someone would play records while the more daring kids danced. We’d grill hot dogs and roast marshmallows and sit around a bonfire telling stories.
It was our way of trying to hold on to a summer that was all too quickly dashing away from us.
“Tell me again why you want your hair done,” I said, still running the iron over the pillowcase.
“I don’t know. Just to see what it’s like.”
“Should I do my hair too?”
“If you want.”
“Let’s see how yours turns out first.”
“Have you gotten another letter from Walt?” she asked.
“No. It’s been a long time since I heard from him,” I answered, lifting the pillowcase to see perfectly flattened hair under it and glad that it was still attached to her head and not burned off. “Honestly, it wouldn’t break my heart if he didn’t write again.”
“Hm. That’s interesting.”
“What is?” I took up another handful of hair, smoothing it out on the ironing board.
“Oh,” she said. “I figured you knew already.”
“Knew about what?”
“Haven’t you heard?” She fingered the smooth section of hair I’d just finished. “Caroline sent him a ‘Dear John’ letter.”
“No.” A sinking feeling pulled at the space behind my sternum. If I’d had to assign a name to it, I would have called it pity. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever felt sorry for Walt, but it had been years. When I took in a breath, it was gone. Just like that.
“I’m sorry. I thought you would have heard by now.” She sat up, her half-smooth hair hanging against the side of her face. “It’s actually the talk of the town.”
“Do you know why she dumped him?”
“All I know is that her parents came to the paper last week to cancel the wedding announcement they’d already paid for.”
“Poor Walt. I’m sure he did something to deserve it, though,” I said. “Put your head down. Let me finish or you’ll look like Cousin Itt.”
Mom pulled Jocelyn and me aside before we left the house. She spoke in low tones with her arms crossed, her face as serious as it got. It was the same talk she’d given us a hundred times over. Still, she delivered it with the utmost intensity.
“There might be drinking at this party, girls,” she said. “There might even be drugging. If there is, you come right back here. Understand?”
We both nodded.
“If by chance you drink something you shouldn’t and you can’t get yourselves home, use the pay phone and call me.” She pursed her lips and handed each of us a dime. “I’ll come get you. No questions asked.”
We both nodded again.
“And if a boy tries to get you to go off with him alone, you’re to say ‘no.’” She put her fists on her hips. “There’s only one thing a boy wants, being by himself with a girl, and ladies, it isn’t to hold your hand.”
“What’s that?” I asked, smirking at her. “What do they want?”
“Oh, you know.” Mom swatted a hand at me. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“It’s just the Beach Bash, Mom,” I said. “The hardest drink there will be cream soda.”
“There probably won’t even be that many boys,” Jocelyn said. “And I think they all go to church.”
“You think that makes a difference?” Mom crossed her arms again. “Listen to me, girls. Boys who go to church are not immune to, well, desire.”
“I promise,” I said. “If a boy finds himself overwhelmed with desire for me and tries to get me drunk and drugged up so that he can kiss me, I will sock him in the nose.”
“You aren’t funny.” Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Sure I am.” I gave her an exaggerated wink. “See you in a few hours.”
Mom gave me the hairy eyeball, but I knew she was holding back a laugh. “Have fun. Just not too much.”
For all the fears Mom held that I’d give in to the dangers and temptations of my generation—free love, acid trips, and war protests—the riskiest activity in which I engaged was participating in a potato sack race in the sand.
The party hadn’t attracted too many people. But enough had come so that we had fun. It was the kind of gathering I much preferred. After the sun went down, a few of us bundled in blankets and beach towels and sat in old camp chairs, our sneakered feet propped up on the bricks of the fire pit.
Conversation turned, as I’d expected it would, to Walt and Caroline. Not much happened in Fort Colson, especially not the joining of the two most popular kids in town. But when that union was smashed, it was double the news.
“Oh, she sent that letter a month ago. I guess she told someone that she didn’t want to go to Michigan State having a boyfriend,” one girl in the circle said. “She wanted to keep her options open.”
“It seems pretty hard of her,” a boy piped in. “Letting him down while he’s at war.”
“I heard that he’s been writing to other girls,” someone else said. “I wouldn’t like that either.”
I peeked at Jocelyn, knowing she wouldn’t have told anyone. She’d kept all my secrets up until then; I knew she wouldn’t betray my trust over something small like that.
“Maybe they just weren’t a good match,” Jocelyn said. “Better to realize it now than after getting married.”
The girls in the round nodded their heads and the boys crossed their arms and we all looked into the fire for a while, not saying anything. Then, from the other side of the pit, a girl a year behind me in school sat up straight and cleared her throat.
“If I were her, I’d be afraid to have a boyfriend over there,” she said. “Can you imagine if he got killed? Wouldn’t that be awful for her?”
“How about we go for a walk?” Jocelyn whispered into my ear, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the bonfire.
As soon as we were away from the glow of the flames, I felt the chill of the evening. I pushed the buttons through the holes of my jacket, trying to trap at least a little warmth.
The sounds of the fireside gossip faded the closer we got to the public access dock. Jocelyn pointed out a couple who were kissing under a tree.
“You’d think they’d need to come up for air,” she said, giggling. “Or at least try to hide a little better.”
We walked to the end of the dock and sat. The wood slats were wide enough that we could sit cross-legged and face each other without fear of falling off the side.
“Do you think Caroline knew that Walt was writing to me?” I asked.
“Who knows,” she answered. “Either way, you can’t blame yourself for their breakup. I won’t allow it.”
“They were just friendly letters. Nothing else.”
“I believe you.”
The water of Old Chip was calm that night, as it was most of the time. Every minute or so, we’d hear a plip and plop of a fish surfacing or the sploosh of a duck landing on top of the lake. The loons were quiet, most likely shy because of the music and laughter from the shore.
“Annie?” Jocelyn said. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
She gathered her silky hair in her hands, pulling it over the front of one of her shoulders. She sighed and met my eyes.
“I decided that I should go to college after all,” she said. “It took her a while, but my mother finally agreed that it was a good opportunity.”
“It is,” I said, taking her hand. “You are too talented to write another article for the Chronicle.”
“Actually, I still have a few to write.” She rolled her eyes. “Next week is the tractor pull out at the fairgrounds.”
“You’ll miss the simple and quaint stories you write here, won’t you?”
“Maybe a little, if I’m completely honest.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I just wish you could come with me.”
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
“Of course I will,” I said.
We didn’t stay at the end of the dock much longer. Someone had turned up the radio, and the sound of horns blasted from the speakers along with Aretha Franklin’s no-nonsense voice. A bunch of girls left the fire, squealing and running to the makeshift dance floor in the sand to sing along, spelling out R-E-S-P-E-C-T at the top of their lungs.
Jocelyn and I jumped up, dashing down the dock to join them. None of us could dance to save our lives. And most of us couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But it was summer and we were young and for just a minute or two we could forget about all the madness in the world.
Dear Annie,
I haven’t written in a long time, I guess. We’ve had lots of missions to go on and we haven’t been back to base in so long I got lost going to the mess hall. War isn’t for sissies, I can tell you that.
You’ve probably heard by now—I’m sure the whole town knows—but Caroline called it off with me. I got her letter a while back, but it’s taken me a week or so to really understand what happened.
Are you sure you never see her? Does she come to the diner sometimes? Has she been with another guy? It would kill me if she has, but I’ve got to know.
Write back soon, please.
Walt
Walt,
I was sorry to hear about you and Caroline. But, if I were you, I’d focus on getting back home in one piece. You can’t let yourself be distracted right now, especially since you’ve only got a few months left to go.
Caroline hasn’t been around much this summer. Sorry. I don’t think she comes to my side of the lake very much, really. If she did, I doubt that she’d want to talk to me about something as personal as her decision to break up with you. I would try, though, for your sake.
I know this must be so hard for you. But it will be okay in time. I promise. You’ll have no trouble finding another girl. I’m sure there will be a dozen to choose from once you get home.
You just have to make sure you survive until then.
Take care, Walt.
Annie