Good Pretty Mothers: Excerpt #2

September 29th, 1965

Hattie Mae’s lanky legs angled awkwardly as she sat on the bed rail of her father’s rusted, blue pickup truck, her hands gripped tightly to the thin metal sidewalls where she sat. Daddy drove slowly, (per the instructions of Hattie Mae’s anxious mother,) and the radio was playing at full volume, serenading the trees lining the winding road, plump with rain-watered leaves and golden, warm sunlight. They seemed to sway to the music, their branches lifted in appreciation of the harmonies and the yearning of young love woven into the lyrics.

Suddenly the truck hit a pothole, sending Hattie Mae’s body a few inches into the air. She gave a small yelp and her backside hit the hard edge of the sidewall. Hattie Mae started to giggle uncontrollably, her knuckles turning white as her fingernails started to peel the blue paint off the truck with her vice grip. She couldn’t stop the laughter; it poured out of her in a great waterfall. Daddy turned in his seat at the wheel to look at Hattie Mae through the cab window, a mischievous grin plastered on his unshaven face. His eyes were bright and shining, his cheeks red. 

“You alright, bunny?” he yelled over the music.

“I’m fine, Daddy!” Hattie Mae shouted between giggles. She smiled at Daddy, her heart swelling. 

Daddy gave her a wink and turned back to the road. He took a swig of a drink from a clear, glass bottle. 

The roads through the backwoods were long, and if you know your way around them, you can travel for miles through the dense forest without seeing another dwelling or crossroad. Suddenly the air was filled with the chorus of frogs, and they trundled past the pond where Hattie Mae swam and where Daddy went fishing in the summer. The sky glowed pink and soft blue above the dark water, the sandy beach empty. Hattie Mae took a deep breath, smelling the cool air coming off the water, the scent of water plants and dying leaves filling her lungs. There were some days, especially in the winter when the snow was so high and the roads so icy that her school bus couldn’t reach their trailer, and she wouldn’t see another person for days, that Hattie Mae wished desperately that she could live somewhere else. Sometimes, in those dark, cold, lonely days, when she and Mommy and Daddy sat together on the couch, watching programs on the old television they got secondhand from Mommy’s friend, she wished she could crawl into that black and white world. Her favorite show, Gidget, was a blueprint for the future she wanted to build for herself: warm, sunny beaches where her friends would always be waiting for her. Dancing on ocean waves. An endless blue sky. 

Daddy turned again, his bright eyes finding Hattie Mae’s face. His smile always made her heart soar; he had perfectly straight teeth that were always white, and his dark eyes crinkled from the veritable force of his striking grin. Sometimes, when Hattie Mae and Daddy were in town together to run errands, Daddy would smile at a lady on the street and tip his hat, or say good morning. Hattie Mae loved to see the ladies blush and turn their heads away, dazzled by her Daddy’s handsome face and sparkling eyes. 

“Hey, bunny,” Daddy called over the music. “You know why the cow went to outer space?”Hattie Mae giggled, swaying a bit as the truck swerved gently across the road. “No?”

“To see the mooooooon!”

Daddy stretched out the word, his voice deep and cartoonish, and he crossed his eyes comically, his face twisting into a caricature. Hattie Mae tilted her head back and laughed, the ridiculousness of her father’s face and his sincere desire to bring her joy and the wild, bright freedom of the afternoon all mixing together deep inside her body and erupting from her jaws, carrying off into the woods around them. 

On days like today, when there was a surplus of Daddy’s charm and the late summer danced lazily with early fall, the sunlight filtering through golden green leaves, Hattie Mae looked at her homeland with glassy eyes. It was an endless cycle for folks native born to New England: falling in love with the land, its easy summers and enchanting Autumn, only to feel the cold sting of Winter as it slapped your cheek in November. The people would huddle in their drafty homes, cursing the land for its betrayal, planning their escapes to warmer, kinder places. Then Spring would coyly show her face, gently thawing the ground, whispering her promises and begging forgiveness of her cruel brother, Winter. The people would forget, sprint at full force into Summer’s waiting arms. The cycle began again, and again, and again.  

Now Hattie Mae was still dreamily swinging in Summer’s embrace, thoughts of the frigid months to come not even a cloud in the sky of her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed that the sun had finally begun its final descent below the trees, and the air had changed from a dewy caress to a chilly bite. Hattie Mae watched through the cab window as Daddy continued to drink from the glass bottle, singing loudly with the radio. The truck began to swerve lazily from one side of the road to the other. Goosebumps raised on Hattie Mae’s arms and legs—she hadn’t thought to bring a sweater with her. She'd assumed they’d be home by now, getting ready for dinner with Mommy. 

The song ended, the radio crackled. From the cab came a violin’s aching wail, drifting back to Hattie Mae over the rattling truck bed, chasing her down the darkening road.

Daddy growled in the cab. Hattie Mae heard the gear shift, the truck groaned and accelerated. The cold breeze stung her eyes. 

“Daddy?” Hattie Mae called. She was shaking now. 

Irene, goodnight

Irene, goodnight

Goodnight, Irene                                                

Goodnight, Irene

I'll see you in my dreams

The deep, guttural rumble rose from Daddy’s chest again, and Hattie Mae knew he could not hear her, no matter how loudly she yelled. He had receded to whatever strange land he went to when he escaped this world. Once again, she felt stranded and fatherless. She subconsciously listed all the ways she could be better for him, to keep him firmly planted in this world with her. She thought of Mommy and held back tears. 

The truck gained speed, the bends and curves coming quicker. Hattie Mae crawled into the corner of the truckbed, curling her knees into her chest and burying her head in her arms. The warm tears flowed freely now, and her stomach swayed anxiously as the truck made its erratic path down the dark roads. 

Sometimes I live in the country

Sometimes I live in town

Sometimes I take a great notion

To jump into the river and drown

Red and blue lights flashed. Daddy roared. The truck groaned, picking up speed. 

A siren wailed. 

Goodnight, Irene

Goodnight, Irene

I'll see you in my dreams