Dreamsleeves (16 page)

M
r. Hogan drives me and Maizey to the party. At the two cobblestone pillars with lanterns on top and the sign for Valleyview Country Club, Mr. Hogan turns the station wagon off the main street and we head up a long and windy road, bordered by trees — no willow trees, though — finally ending in front of matching stone buildings with navy-blue awnings, a large fountain with cherubs in the center outside.

So this is a country club.

As we get out of the car, two men drive by in a little white cart. One tips his checkered cap and nods to us. I look out over the golf course, acres and acres of lush green grass, dotted here and there with little flags.
Whaaaaack
… there's the sound of a club against a ball as a golfer tees off. Two other golfers cup their hands over their eyes to block the sun and afford a better view of where the ball lands.

“Hi, Maize. Hi, Aislinn,” Sue-Ellen says, walking toward us, looking gorgeous. “You're the first ones here. Welcome.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” I say.

“You look nice, Aislinn,” Sue-Ellen says, throwing me a doggy-bone.

“Thanks,” I say. “You, too.”

Sue-Ellen glows in the compliment, laughing in agreement. “It feels so good to be thirteen,” she says. “Just wait until you two see.”

The birthday girl takes our hands and pulls us into the Ladies Lounge. She checks to make sure “the coast is clear.”

I look at my reflection in the long mirror and smile. I can't wait to see Mike.

“Today's the day you do the other two dares,” Sue-Ellen says.

Kissing a boy and drinking a can of beer
, I remember from the park.

“I already did them, last week at my parents' garden party, now today's your turn.” She points to me and Maizey.

“Kissing a boy and drinking a can of beer,” Maizey says.

“There are lots of cute boys to choose from,” Sue-Ellen says. “Except keep away from Eddie Downes. I decided this morning that I'm going out with him next. He'll be captain of the football team and I'll be head cheerleader. Match made in heaven, huh? You can have Billy Hopewell now, Maizey, if you still like him. He was a decent boyfriend and he's a good kisser.”

Maizey likes Billy Hopewell? Where I have been? And I can't believe Snoop-Melon's bequeathing boyfriends like a queen tossing pennies to the paupers. How would Eddie and Billy feel if they heard her talking about them like that?

“Wait until you meet my cousin Abbey from Philadelphia,” Sue-Ellen says. “She's fifteen and soooo sophisticated. She promised she would put some beer cans into a little blue cooler over behind the country-club coolers where our sodas are. All you need to do is sneak a beer into your beach bag and drink it out in the woods or somewhere. Just don't let my parents see, of course.”

“Of course,” Maizey says.

I look at Maizey like “are you kidding me? You're going to drink beer?”

“I need a touch-up,” Sue-Ellen says, ruffling through her makeup bag.

Maizey turns so Sue-Ellen can't see. She winks at me and ever so imperceptibly shakes her head and mouths the words, “No way; I'm not drinking beer.”

I smile, liking our little secret.

“But you've got to show me the empty beer can for proof,” Sue-Ellen says, snapping her makeup bag shut.

She needs proof?

Maizey grabs my hand and squeezes it. I purse my lips so as not to giggle.

“I'll take your word for it, though, if you say you kissed a boy,” Sue-Ellen says. “I can always check by asking him, right?” She throws her head back laughing. She looks at her watch. “I'm so excited. I need a smoke.” She fishes in her beach bag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

The ladies' room door swings open and an attractive older woman in a monogrammed yellow sweater and pink plaid shorts enters. Sue-Ellen stuffs the cigarettes back in her bag. “Oh, hello, Aunt Delores,” she says. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”

 

Mike is late getting to the party. We've all already been swimming and Mrs. Dandridge just announced “luncheon is served.”

I watch as Mike stands there looking uncomfortable holding a towel and a small box with a bow on it. Sue-Ellen's present. He scans the faces around the pool. When he sees mine, he smiles. I wave and he walks toward me.

My heart's a birthday balloon ready to pop.

“And so we meet again,” he says in a sweet old-fashioned way.

I wish my mom could meet Mike. I know she would approve.

“It's been so long,” he says. “I almost forgot what you looked like.”

“Oh,” I say, nervous, remembering the ugly scene in the yard with my father.

“So pretty,” he says.

“What?” I say.

“You. You're so pretty. Are you sure I'm good enough for you?”

“I'm sure,” I say, and we laugh.

Mike puts the present on the gift table. “What did you get her?” I ask, faintly jealous.

“My mom got her earrings,” he said. “Thanks for telling me silver.”

Oh … so that's why he asked about silver or gold.

He reaches in his pocket. “Here's the car for your brother,” he says.

The little red Matchbox.

“That's so nice of you, Mike, thanks.”

“Make sure you let him think it was Santa, okay?”

“Or the tooth fairy,” I say, and we laugh.

I wish all the little ones could meet Mike. They would like him for sure.

We get in the luncheon line. Mike hands me a plate and we serve ourselves macaroni salad and baked beans. Mike uses silver tongs to put a roll on my plate and one on his and a man in a white jacket and chef's hat serves us each a hamburger.

Maizey waves us to come join her. Billy Hopewell is at the table, too. By the look on Maizey face, I can tell she's got a crush on him. It's amazing how you can know a boy for years and then one day it's like he just moved into town.

Billy and Mike start talking. They are good friends. They're going to football camp together. I look over and see that Sue-Ellen has Eddie Downes right by her side.

“Maize, come get some sodas with me,” I say. “Mike, what kind do you like?”

“Orange,” he says.

“Me, too,” I say. “That's my favorite.”

“What kind do you want, Billy?” Maizey asks.

“Cola, please,” he says.

“That's my favorite, too,” Maizey says in a gushy voice like this is a rare coincidence.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand.

By the soda cooler, I tell Maizey about my Dreamsleeves idea. How she should try it with Billy Hopewell. “But where would I get a sticker?” she says. “And besides, it would be embarrassing if he saw it.”

“Let me think,” I say. I look around. There's a stack of napkins that say
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
. I rip off the letter
B
. “
B
for Bill,” I say. “Here, put this in your pocket.”

Maizey laughs. “You're funny, A. You're different. You've changed somehow.” She looks in my eyes.

“I've grown up a lot this summer,” I say. “A lot happened.”

“I'm sorry I haven't called or come over,” Maizey says. “I just …”

“That's okay,” I say.

“No, it's not,” Maize says. “And I miss you. Sue-Ellen's fun to hang out with, but she can be stupid as a soap bubble sometimes, and I don't like some of the things she does, like smoking and stuff.”

“Come over for lunch tomorrow,” I say. “I'll make grilled cheese.”

“You and your grilled cheese,” Maize says, laughing. “K. Sounds good.”

After lunch Mrs. Dandridge processes out slowly, carrying a three-tiered, elaborately frosted birthday cake that I'm certain she did not bake herself, her face glowing in the reflection of the candles, and we all sing.

When Sue-Ellen sits down in what looks like a throne-chair to begin opening her towering tableful of presents, I say, “Uh-oh, this may take a while.”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Mike says.

“Sure.”

We head away from the pool area and along a paved pathway bordered by perfectly groomed flower beds, not a weed in sight. Nana would be impressed. The golf course is on one side of us, a lake on the other. The path veers up a hill. It is woodsier here, pine trees and oaks. Still not a willow, though. I was sure there would be a willow.

We walk farther. I stumble on an overgrown root. Mike grabs my arm so I won't fall. “Thanks,” I say.

“Sure,” he says. He takes my hand.

We're holding hands.

Oh my gosh,
we're holding hands
.

We come up on a clearing and there it is.

The giant willow tree.

A breeze blows and the swooping reeds dance, beckoning us over.

“Want to check out that tree?” I say.

“Sure,” he says.

Then it's all just like a dream come true. I part the willow's long green rustly braids and we enter, Mike by my side, still holding my hand. The curtains close around us, our own secret garden, and he doesn't waste a moment before he kisses me.

Just a second and then it's over.

I open my eyes and he smiles at me. I smile back.

“Want to get some cake?” he says, sounding a bit relieved.

“You bet,” I say, “I'll race you.”

Later, Maizey motions to me. We meet in the bathroom.

“I kissed Billy,” she whisper-shouts in my ear. “And it was fun! Your dream-thing worked, A!”

“And I kissed Mike,” I say. “What a day!”

We link arms and laugh. Maizey hugs me.

I look at the clock, wishing I could stop time, wishing this afternoon could go on forever.

“Two dares down, one to go,” Maizey says. She pulls two empty beer cans out of her beach bag.

“Where'd you get those?” I say.

“The garbage,” she says.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“We're going to make Sue-Ellen think we did the third dare.”

“I don't care what she thinks,” I say.

“But what if she says we can't be in her group?”

“Well, then we'll start our own group,” I say.

“What kind of group will that be?” Maizey says.

“The no smoking, no drinking, good kissers group.”

 

I manage to sneak back in the house without my father knowing.

“There's a letter for you,” Mom says.

Nana. Finally, a letter just for me. She says the baby is adorable, but cranky. She rode on a cable car! She hopes I'm taking care of her garden, weeding and watering. She'll be home a week early. Bitsy's “got the hang of it.” In the meantime, she says “buy a treat” with the ten dollars enclosed.

She doesn't say she misses me. Nana's never mushy like that, but she does sign it “Love, Nana.”

Ten dollars? Wow! I could buy a jelly donut every day for the whole rest of the year … or a peasant blouse … or a new Nancy Drew … or maybe go bowling with Mike … maybe we could even double date with Maizey and Billy!

I
wish I could write that my mom got my dad to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and he stopped drinking and losing his temper and being so strict and that he let me out of jail more and became nice as that father on
The Brady Bunch
and that my mother finished writing her GANE and got it published and it was such a hit that we became millionaires and finally bought our house with the stream and the apple trees.

But in the weeks that followed the pool party, Dad's drinking only got worse and worse until that hot August afternoon, the day we were supposed to leave for our vacation at Uncle Tommy and Aunt Flo's camp, our suitcases all packed and ready to go as soon as Mom got home from work, when I brought my class down from the school shed at lunchtime, I found my father collapsed on the bathroom floor, in a pool of blood.

“Call … an … ambulance,” he managed to say.

My father's stomach was so damaged from all the drinking and next-day vomiting that he had to have a mesh lining sewn inside him to keep his stomach together. I was in the hallway outside my dad's hospital bed when I heard the doctor tell my mother, “If he keeps drinking, he'll kill himself.”

I wish I could write that my father followed his doctor's orders for good, but even though my dad is going to AA meetings and this has been the longest rainbow-stretch in my home that I can ever remember, I've been too fooled by rainbows, however bright, to set my hopes too high. Mom and I are going to Al-Anon meetings and that is good.

We buried Frisky up behind the swing set.

Beck found him all shriveled up under the couch and brought him to me. “I'm sorry, A,” he said. Callie cried. We all cried.

I made a little coffin out of an empty matchsticks box, and we gave Frisky a proper funeral. We marched up the hill with a garden shovel, put him to rest, said three prayers, and sang “Let It Be.”

“You were a good and loyal pet, Frisky O'Neill,” I said. “May you rest in peace.”

 

Maria Carroll calls to see how I'm doing. I tell her things are looking promising. She tells me she can't stop thinking about my wearing that label in church that day so that Father Reilly would see. “That was such a good idea,” she says.

“I call it Dreamsleeves,” I say.

“Dreamsleeves?” she says. “How perfect. I tried it out with Leo for our anniversary last week and sure enough he just brought me home the sweetest little dog even though he said he didn't want a dog till we got a bigger lot. I've been wanting a dog as long as we've been married, but something about putting that dream on a label — with lots of hearts and
I love you, Leo
written on it — made it come true. Thanks so much for that idea, A. I think you're onto something there. Something really really big.”

“Thanks, Maria,” I say.

“No, thank
you
, A,” she says. “Dreamsleeves. I love it. You should teach people about it.”

Up in my Peely-Stick Shop, I lean back on the pine needles and close my eyes. I picture church. Me standing at the pulpit where Father Reilly usually stands. I am talking and the people are listening.

You should teach people about it,
Maria said.

Maybe we're all born with one important thing to teach.

Maybe Dreamsleeves is my one thing
.

I sit up, excited. I have an idea.

I run down the hill to my room and dig out the ten-dollar bill Nana sent. “May I take the bus up to Woolworth's?” I ask Mom.

She hestitates. I've never been allowed to take the bus uptown by myself before.

“Well, you'll be taking that bus every day to high school in a year, so sure, go ahead. You're old enough.”

I kiss my mom and hurry off to go shopping, my heart full of hope.

 

On Sunday morning I sit at my desk and make out a dream tag and put it in my pocket. I grab the bag from Woolworth's.

At church, I approach the altar, make the sign of the cross, and then walk into the sacristy. I have never been in here before. It smells like incense and starch.

Father Reilly and the altar boys are getting things ready.

“Excuse me, Father, but can I make an announcement at the end of Mass?”

The priest stares at me for a moment, considering my request.

I want to say “it's the least you can do after you ate all our cake and got me in trouble and didn't help matters out, not one bit,” but I just stare at him, squinting my eyes, chin up like my nana does when she means business.

“Okay, Aislinn,” he says, “but make it brief, please.”

“Sure, Father, no problem. I only have one thing.”

 

When the time is right, Father Reilly nods at me.

I stick my dream on my sleeve and go.

Crossing the white marble altar, I stand at the podium as tall as I can make myself and pull the microphone down closer to my mouth. My feet are cold. My hands are trembling. Seeing all those people staring up at me, I feel light-headed and woozy. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I gulp.

Father Reilly clears his throat like, “it's okay, go ahead.”

I search out my mother's face. Our eyes lock. I am okay. She believes in me.

“My name is Aislinn, old Irish for ‘dream.' I want to be a teacher someday. I think maybe every person comes born with one important thing to teach. This is mine.

“If you have a dream, you should wear it on your sleeve, right out where everyone can see it. I call this idea Dreamsleeves.

“I think it's wrong to keep our dreams hidden. We write them in diaries or on slips of paper in a box where no one else can see.

“We need other people to help make our dreams come true.

“But how can people help if they don't know what we want?

“Just think if maybe the person you shook hands with during the Sign of Peace, or the person you'll pass in the parking lot, or a friend you've known for years but haven't shared your secret with” — I search and find Maria Carroll's face — “who knows but maybe that person might be the exact perfect one who can help you make your wish come true.

“Imagine if your dream was right on your sleeve. It would be so easy then, right?”

The church is silent. You aren't supposed to talk.

“I will be at the back of church today with dream-tag labels for anyone who wants one. They are free, my gift to you. You can get more at Woolworth's.”

 

My body's rumbling like Niagara Falls. I wobbly-walk across the altar and down the steps, pausing to bow my head before returning to my seat.

B, C, and D clap for me.

Mom runs her finger across the words on my sleeve.
Teach How to Dream
.

“You do, A,” she says, “you do.”

Tears are rolling down my father's face.

He looks at me, really looks at me, and I smile, really smile at him.

The old man in the brown suit with the seagull feather in his hat is the first one in line for a label. Many others follow.

Maria Carroll swoops me up in a hug. “I'm so proud of you I could scream!”

When we get home from church, I stay back as my family heads up the side of the house. I kneel down, wipe the dirt from that one basement window, and look in.

There's the bar I sat propped on the night I was a princess.

I stand and turn and run.

I run down the front steps, down the street to the concrete wall by the bridge. I slip through the opening, I knew I could, down a pathway someone made through the weeds, I wonder who cleared this, across the asphalt pavement, traffic rumbling by on the bridge high above me, across the railroad tracks, more pavement, weeds, rushes, and rocks, and then I'm right by it.

The river.

I squat down, lean over, and stick my hand in the water.