Tiny Dancer (28 page)

I had to think about it.
“We have a custom in our Irish culture. We make an altar of stones at the end of our dancing and feasting.”

“A memorial.”

“Yes. We each lay a stone on an altar in memory of someone we’ve lost.”

“You like that?”

“I do.”

“Because?”

“When I leave, I feel better. That’s how I feel after I leave here.”

“What stone do you want to leave here today, Sister?”

We looked at each other for a moment, kind of like when Billy and I sat quietly without talking. “It’s a big stone. You won’t want me to leave it here. No one does.” I explained myself. “People like me best when I’m funny or entertaining, but my biggest stone, well, it can clear a room.”

“Don’t you listen to others
who say you can’t talk about it.”

I had to keep talking or I
would never get it out. “Our last day dancing, Siobhan did not want to be there,” I said.

“You’ve tol
d me that before,” he said.

“
I really felt for her. I thought it was time for Vesta to stop her dance lessons. Let her go swimming with her friends, do other things. If she wanted to dance, she would return to it. I think Vesta thought she had invested too much in her to let her go her own way. She thought Siobhan was too young to know what she wanted.”

“Parenting is often done with blinders on” he said.

“I told you that Siobhan broke down that day. Sure she had lost her sash, but she didn’t care for it anyway. As soon as Siobhan exited from center stage, Vesta followed her and took Siobhan’s arm. She smiled pleasantly for the sake of the stagehands. But I knew Vesta well enough to know she was putting on the best face she could manage in front of onlookers.”

“Vesta crossed be
hind the rear panel and met me at the stage exit. She told me to pick up the remaining bags she couldn’t carry and head for the van. I wanted to ride home with Claudia and Irene. I told her so, knowing full well that Vesta and Siobhan would fight all of the way home. I had invited the Johnsons and knew they were still milling around the festival. I was too hot and tired for the battle ahead.”

Then my father showed up. “
Daddy put his arm around me and told me what a good job I did. ‘Ride home with Vesta, sis. Maybe you can bring peace to the feud,’ he said. That was the way of things between us.

It occurred to me h
e had said that to me when I was four, although not in those exact words. “He had told me to go and give Alice a kiss, that it would help her stop crying. While walking out of the bedroom he said, ‘If you ask her to stay, maybe she’ll stay.’”

Reverend Theo said, “That was when your mama left you and your daddy.”

“Yes.”

“What did your mama say to you?”

“She said, ‘I have to leave here, Flannery. I’ve got to get on with my life. I know you’re too young to understand.’”

Theo had a rather distant look when he said, “Alice Curry.”

I continued. “My mother left after that so it seemed to me I was a lousy peacemaker.

The most beautiful thing about Daddy was the softness of his voice. In the same kind of surrender
he had passed on to me, I told him, ‘I’ll go with them,’ not wanting to disappoint him.

When I got to the parking lot, Vesta was tossing our
things in through the open van door. Daddy was nowhere around. His brother, my Uncle Shawn, had come to see us dance. Uncle Shawn’s truck passed us and Daddy waved at me from the cab of his brother’s truck.

Siobhan’s
face shimmered in the parking lot heat. “Vesta whispered to Siobhan, but I could hear all of it. ‘You did that on purpose. You’re a selfish girl.’”

I continued. “
Siobhan was old enough to care what others milling around us thought, so her words slid out quietly, but through bared teeth. ‘I was perfect.’

Vesta
reached for the zipper on her dress in an angry obligatory gesture. Siobhan pulled away, not in the mood to give in to her mother’s tirade.

That was when I
noticed how Billy hung back, nearly lost in the dispersing crowd, not escorting us back to the parking lot like usual. In spite of what he thought, I saw him. I knew he witnessed our worst last hour with my sister. He sipped iced tea from a safe distance, watching Siobhan goaded back to the van. “When I saw Billy watching, I turned away, ashamed of us.”

Our Ford
Galaxie was cooking as if we had parked it over red coals. Siobhan stood outside it refusing to climb in. “Run the air. It’s too hot,” she said, bitterly pulling hairpins from her wig.

Vesta argued with her.
“Get in. Let’s go,” she said, still so angry. “She wasn’t always like that with Siobhan,” I said to Reverend Theo.

“Everybody has something they wish they could take back,” he said.

“Vesta could be kind too. The day of the regional competition, the day we took first place, she walked with her arm around Siobhan as we escaped into a nearby five and dime. She bought her a headband with glittering antennas. Siobhan twirled on the store’s linoleum floor, the antennae bobbing. She looked like a bee. They were closer on that day. Daddy even treated us to burgers against Vesta’s wishes.

“You speak of him tenderly,” said Theo.

“Daddy thought he had failed at giving me a happy family the first go around. It was like him to pour sugar over our disputes. But I was lucky to have come into the equation with the parent borne of grace. At times, I grew resentful at Vesta for not recognizing the gift she had been handed in Flynn Curry.”

“A tender nature has its thorn, though?”

“He cowers. That’s too harsh a word,” I said.  Truth was, I couldn’t think of a good word for what Daddy did when the heat was on. Alice would call him a runner. “I think he thought that others were made to fight the battles and he was there to tie pretty balloons to everything.”

“Did your stepmother
finally calm herself, out in the parking lot?”

“Not really. Vesta
was mad, thinking our chances at making a name for ourselves was ruined, you know, like everything hinged on that one performance,” I said.

Reverend Theo kept still, listening
. By now the sun was setting on Bitterwood Park.

“I thought if Vesta knew
Billy was watching, it would change things.  “Look, Billy’s coming,” I told her.

But he
stood on the periphery of pavement, his face disappearing in the hot sunlight.

“
What with the doors all standing open, I tossed my tote bag into the front seat. I stepped away to grab the last remaining bag. But before I could position my gear and claim my place facing the front air conditioning vent, Siobhan climbed into the passenger seat, tossing my bag into the pile of gear in the backseat. She tore off her wig and flung it onto the front seat. ‘I’m sitting here. It’s my turn for the front seat.’”

I told her,
“My stuff was already up front. Park it in the back,” determined Siobhan would not get her way.

“Just get i
n the back, Flannery,” said Vesta. “Shut the doors, both of you. You’re letting out the air conditioning.”

Siobhan pulled her do
or closed, victorious. I climbed into the backseat in a huff. Vesta turned on the ignition and popped the car into drive before I had pulled the passenger door shut.

The
breeze of that open door hit me square in the eyes. I slammed the door shut and then had to climb over the stack of bags and the gearbox behind Siobhan, fighting to keep my balance in a moving car. I had to squeeze into the seat behind Vesta.

Irene and Claudia drove past us. They honked and waved. They were fast to get to the front of the line out of the parking lot.
“How I wanted to be with them. They were probably going to the pool or water skiing.”

“Siobhan
peeled off her stocking cap. Her scalp was damp. She toweled her thin straight blonde hair with a terry towel she pulled out of my bag.

‘
Use your own things,’ I said. ‘Please, someone aim the air vents back here” I felt as if my brain might explode from the heat. ;I’m about to pass out.’”

Vesta
turned the air up to the highest power.

Siobhan’s hair blew back, several wet strands undulating in the air
stream.“I’m never dancing again,” she said.

I don’t kn
ow what Vesta muttered next, but in a softer voice, matter-of-factly she said something like, “You live to torment me.”

The parking lot swarmed with cars, some pulling into the festival for the first time, some leaving like
us. The Johnsons drove away and were gone.

Vesta wasn’t paying attention, so I said
, “Watch out!”

She
slammed down on the brake. “I saw that car pulling in front of us, for crying out loud. Stop driving for me.”

“I’m riding with Uncle Shawn
,” said Siobhan, spotting them several cars ahead of us. She reached to unclasp her seatbelt.

“Good! I want the front seat,”
I said. I peeled off my wig. My soggy red hair hung in ringlets.

“Let me out,” said Siobhan.

“Everyone calm down. This is crazy. We’re just hot and mad,” said Vesta, as if she was getting ahold of herself.

Siobhan’s arms opened wide, letting the air vents dry her sticky arms.
It was the first time I noticed how tiny her hands were. She was wearing a pink ring, her birthstone. She was an October child and a Friday child, born before Halloween. Vesta had once told her a black cat had delivered her to the front porch and dropped her off.  Siobhan was born the same day Dr. Albert Schweitzer and George C. Marshall won the Nobel Peace Prize. President Dwight D. Eisenhower formally approved the top secret document that started the beginning of the Cold War. Then squeezed into the ticking minutes of that momentous day in the small town of Bitterwood Park, Siobhan Curry was born to a family of dancers.

Out of our family
, she was the shortest in stature for her age. She was not heavy, but small. She was thicker around the waist than me and therefore my pencil thin hand-me-down dress did not suit her. “It was no wonder she lost the red sash,” I said to Theo.

My
stomach was growling, but I was always starving after a dance event. “Let’s drive through the burger place for drinks,” I said.

To my surprise, Vesta agreed. “
We will,” she said. “It’s right across the road.”

“I’m hungry,” said Siobhan.

Siobhan’s request hung in the air between them. She turned away, her eyes looking out her window glass. She did not reciprocate with any degree of gratitude. She would have liked to push either of us into humiliating displays of contrition. The stalemate could not be broken, although going for take-out burgers was a big concession.

Vesta
finally found an opening and drove into the line going out of the festival.

“I may have
some money. If so, I’ll pay for your burger,” I said, promising her anything that would lighten the tension in the van.

“And fries,” she said.
She slid her ring off her sweaty finger, holding it up to the light.

“Yes.”

Siobhan was relaxing. She unfastened her seatbelt and came over the seat, digging through my bag. She pulled out my small compact of cuticle cream and then rubbed the ointment into her brittle cuticles. She closed her eyes and sighed.

A
rock-and-roll song was playing on the radio. Vesta changed the channel twice. A preacher sermonized. He was telling the story of how dead Lazarus came back to life. Vesta was restless, never patient sitting in traffic. The cars were piling up behind us. One of the drivers came down on the horn. Vesta threw up her hands. Then an elderly lady driving a compact car that idled in the center lane flagged her out. She smiled at Vesta and waved, inviting her to cross in front of her. The woman’s forehead was barely above the steering wheel.

“Final
ly, a good Samaritan,” said Vesta. She pulled out, fast.

I was fishing around in my purse for the three dollars
to buy Siobhan a burger and fries. It was my lucky day. I pulled out a five. “Siobhan,” I said, “I’ve got plenty for both of us.”

But
Siobhan had turned away from me. She was looking out the glass, screaming, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

The big station wagon seemed to be coming through the
car windows swallowing all of us up.  I was reaching for my youngest sister, but it was as if a door had closed and I was sucked out into one world and Siobhan another. There was glass in the air dancing in front of us. The round tin of cuticle cream was spinning amidst glass shards. Her birthstone ring spiraled toward me. Then everything was very white and then all light was gone.

I
waited but Reverend Theo said nothing. “Now you know why I couldn’t tell you everything. I told you I was supposed to die that day.”

“No, dearest, you’re supposed to be here with me tonight for you are my most precious comfort.”
He reached across the table that had fed so many, and held onto both of my arms. Then  his body shook from sobbing. I wept long and hard with Theo, such a beautiful cry. Out of everything Reverend Theo had shared with me, I cherished those tears the most. Maybe because they cost us both so much.