Second grade had let out for the summer, and Harley had been staying at her grandfather’s and Uncle Tater’s house during one of her mother’s deployments overseas. It was a Saturday morning, and she had invited Savannah Swanson over to play.
Savannah had loved the farm, Harley remembered, and when she hopped out of her mother’s red convertible that morning, she gazed at the rolling fields with wide-eyed wonder, not even saying goodbye to her mother before racing across the barnyard toward Harley.
The two little girls spent the entire day playing, chasing after one another across the endless fields, pausing intermittently to blow on dandelions, to chase after butterflies, or to cool their tired feet in the creek. Then after their baths, they fell among tall strands of grass, waving their arms and legs as if making snow angels, staring up at the endless blue skies and dreaming of their futures.
“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Savannah asked Harley.
“A writer. I want to write books. Tell stories.”
“I wanna tell stories too,” Savannah said, “but I wanna tell other people’s stories. I wanna be an archaeologist.”
Harley grinned with enthusiasm. “Wow, an archaeologist! Can I come to one of your exhibits?”
Savannah giggled. “Of course, you can. You’ll be the very first one.”
Then Savannah’s expression turned to sadness, and Harley looked at her with concern. “What’s wrong?”
A tear formed in Savannah’s big blue eyes. “I don’t wanna be in the pageants, Harley. I just don’t want to.”
“Then don’t do it then. Not if you don’t want to.”
“But I’ve got to,” she said. “Mommy says so. Says I have to be pretty.”
“Oh, nobody really cares about that stuff. It just seems so silly.”
“Mommy and Daddy care about it. And Mommy says that if I’m not pretty, Daddy won’t love me anymore. That nobody’ll love me.”
“But people don’t love what you look like. They love who you are. Your soul.”
“No, Mommy says Daddy loves her because she’s pretty, and I have to be pretty, too.”
Savannah Swanson jumped up from her bed in the grass and raced across the fields, not stopping until she found the biggest mud puddle on the farm. Then she jumped into the puddle, full body, rolling around in the mud like a pig, smearing brown goo all over her face, her long blond hair, ruining her beautiful white dress.
Harley ran over and stood over where Savannah lay, expecting her friend’s cherubic face to burst into tears. Instead, Savannah looked up at her with a face full of joy, her smile so big Harley could see the baby tooth she had lost recently. Then, Savannah started laughing, a big belly laugh, throwing mud on Harley in the process.
Harley jumped in the puddle after Savannah, and the two girls slopped around in the mud for the next few minutes, only stopping when Savannah grew suddenly still beside her.
Reality had dawned once again.
Harley searched Savannah’s face, trying to figure out what was wrong. And that was when the tears came, washing away the mud from her cheeks in tiny trickles that ran down her cheeks.
“I wanna go to summer camp, Harley,” she said. “I wanna play soccer. I don’t wanna be in those stupid pageants.”
Harley wrapped her friend in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you think if I go home with this mud all over me, I won’t have to be pretty anymore, that Mommy won’t make me be in the pageants?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I really do.”
Before she could comfort her any further, Mrs. Swanson’s red convertible pulled into the barnyard, and the horn honked. Harley helped Savannah up from the mud and the two girls walked slowly up the hill, hand-in-hand.
“You’re so lucky, Harley,” Savannah said, squeezing her hand as they walked.
Harley turned to her in surprise. “I am?”
“Yeah, because your granddaddy loves you no matter what and you’re not even pretty.”
At the time, Savannah’s words hurt Harley’s feelings. She already knew she wasn’t pretty, of course, but those words hurt coming from someone she considered a friend. But even at the age of seven, Harley knew Savannah had meant it as a compliment, that she truly was envious of the unconditional love she received.
“Are you going to come back and play sometime?” Harley asked.
Savannah smiled. “Oh, yes, just as soon as I can. I promise I will.”
But Savannah never did come and play again. Her mother took one look at her dress, her hair, her face, all covered in mud, and said her daughter would never be allowed to play with Harley Henrickson again.
The following week, Savannah went on the pageant circuit, and the little girl underwent both physical and internal metamorphoses, coloring her hair and wearing makeup, miniskirts, and heels. And though she was beautiful, she rarely smiled, as if she were already disillusioned with her life, with the world as it had been determined for her. Savannah never played soccer, never went to summer camp, and never became an archaeologist.
Over the years, Savannah grew increasingly popular at school, while Harley grew increasingly less so. And Savannah seemed to forget the two had ever been friends, even making fun of Harley on occasion to fit in with the other kids. By the time they had graduated from high school, it seemed Savannah Swanson ridiculed Harley more than anyone else in school. And yet, even after all these years, Harley still hoped things might change between them.