#8: Bluegrass Adventure
#8: Bluegrass Adventure
“And I’ve never been to Kentucky before.”
(Last time, Charlie had a strange night.)
“So how about Kentucky?” I had said. Pat had clapped and hollered like he was back at the MTV Beach House. Danny pulled out his road atlases to show me the path that he—quite coincidentally—had laid out for getting there.
And here we were, travelling to a little dot on the map named Vauville, a place none of us had ever heard of. I had no clue what it would look like. I assumed it was small. Vauville appeared in my brain like some model township composed of stacked plastic boxes.
“I haven’t been to a wedding since I was a kid—like a toddler,” I said. It had been my mother’s youngest sister, Maryellen. Only a few flashes of memory rose through the mists. Most of all, I remembered leaning against the wooden pillars in the Fall River veterans club that had hosted the reception, as the men in her new husband’s family sang some song in Portuguese. The song had pounded the air with the feet of a marching army.
“I think Marnie’s wedding was the last one I went to,” Danny said. “I even got a blister from dancing. I hadn’t worn those shoes since high school. They were just too tight.”
Pat turned in mock surprise. “You actually danced, Danny?”
“A little.”
“Stunning. Absolutely stunning. You dancing.”
Danny replied, “I danced at my bar mitzvah. You were there. You saw that.” Her skin piling in wrinkles at the tightly buttoned collar of her white shirt, Great Aunt Hannah had pulled him in circles on the dance floor. As they danced, Danny’s thirteen-year-old head had bobbed like a balloon over the diminutive woman with the lilting Polish accent. Pat had found the sight very funny, so funny that Great Aunt Hannah then asked him to dance.
Pat rolled his eyes. “I thought you had grown out of that.”
“And at prom,” Danny added.
“You actually danced with Heather Quaid?”
“Yes. I think.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever, ah, crashed a wedding,” Ralph said from behind the wheel.
“I’ve crashed a few parties in my time,” Pat said. “And the key thing to remember is to act as though you belong. If you can fit in, if you’re confident, if you’re part of the crowd—you become almost de facto invited.”
“What if there’s a seating chart?” Danny asked.
“No big deal. You just have to show a little ingenuity.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I said.
“We’re just putting on a mask,” Pat said with a shrug. “And we’re always wearing one mask or another.”
We passed billboards featuring the Ten Commandments, the Louisville Cardinals, a giant bottle of bourbon, the Kentucky Wildcats, another giant bottle of bourbon, and the smiling face of an insurance agent. The greenery lining the highway seemed to quiver with the laughter of nymphs and the music of the wind.
We took the exit to Vauville, and stopped at a gas station near the highway. “It’s a left onto Hamilton, but he wasn’t sure if there was still a sign on it or not,” Pat said as he returned to the car. “It’s right past this big old red barn.”
The roads off the highway reminded me of the rural parts of Western Massachusetts: we drove past a staggered parade of rundown buildings and wide fields, with sprawling houses in the distance. Generations had worked across time to build those uneven structures.
“Look at that,” Ralph said, pointing to a yellow sign that read Militia Xing, the letters beneath a silhouette of a man holding a rifle across his chest. “That’s a joke, right?”
Pat replied, “For the record, I’d say that you should be cooperative if we hit a paramilitary checkpoint.”
Ralph blanched. “What?”
“If the militia gets rowdy, don’t worry—the black helicopters will come and save us.”
“What?”
“Dude, you gotta lay off the weed.”
And then we arrived at the old red barn—well, really by now a gray barn, with scraps of red clinging like dried blood to the rotted wood. A forest of weeds and brush had grown around it, so it looked almost like it had sunken into a marsh. The window at the top was broken, and one of the doors hung by its hinges.
“I think we found our road,” Pat said.
Time had jumbled the buildings along Hamilton. Old farmhouses stood between one-story ranches from the 1950s and larger colonial-style houses from the 80s and early 90s. A faded yellow sign welcomed us to Downtown Vauville.
A two-lane strip of road bordered on either side by trees and a cluster of buildings, Downtown Vauville had sidewalks. “Let’s get out here and explore,” Pat said as we passed a parking lot in front of a closed-down movie theater. “Maybe we can get directions to the church.”
An old man in a straw fedora waved at us as we passed the local bank, the Boyle Trust Company. “How you folks doing?”
Pat waved back. “We’re doing fine, thank you kindly. And yourself—you enjoying this fine day?”
“Oh yes.” He kept on walking.
One of Ralph’s eyebrows lifted like a haughty apostrophe. “Thank you kindly? Are we in the, um, Wild West now?”
“I don’t think Kentucky was really part of the Wild West,” Danny ventured.
“I’m trying to fit in here,” Pat said. “When in Rome. Or Vauville”
In addition to sidewalks, downtown had four churches, two restaurants, one historic hotel, and about a dozen storefronts, most of which were vacant or closed. The four of us felt like a crowd to me.
“Do you feel that people are looking at you, almost like they can tell we don’t belong?” I asked quietly.
“You’re starting to sound like PL here, Charlie. It’s called being friendly. And besides, how can they tell if we do or don’t fit in? Is there a badge or something? Don’t worry.”
The First Baptist Church of Vauville reached over us, and its white steeple pierced the sky like an alabaster spear. “Well, this is it,” I said. “At two o’clock tomorrow...” Icy fingers drummed up my sternum, and I fell silent.
Across the street, the New Light Methodist Church advertised that its “Thrift Mission” was open on Fridays from 1:00-4:30. Pat said, “Maybe we can find some duds in there that might fit in more at a wedding.”
We followed a gravel path around the brick facade of the church to a one-story outbuilding that looked like it once might have been a house. The faint hum of bluegrass swelled as we neared the screen door. Opening that door, I felt like a child entering a theater’s costume room for the first time. Metal clothing racks filled the room, with shirts and pants piled on tables. To the side, it looked like there was another small room stocked with old plates, discarded toys, and faded needlepoints. Despite the screen door, the air was thick with the musk of old clothes and history. An old woman with nearly translucent skin sat behind a sheet-covered table reading a book. To her side, near a closed window, the radio blasted.
She looked up at us. “Well, hello. How’re y’all today?” Before we could articulate a response, she was standing up and yelling, “Marilyn, we’ve got some handsome gentlemen here!”
With gray curly hair and a 50s-style housecoat, Marilyn walked through the doorway of the smaller room. “Well, well, well. We do indeed, Dorothy.”
While the blitzkrieg of solicitude dazzled Danny and me, it seemed to energize Pat.
Marilyn asked, “So what brings you folks here?”
“A wedding,” Pat said. He explained that we had come all this way from Massachusetts for a wedding at the First Baptist. He obviously preferred the thrill of making a scene to the benefits of discretion.
“The First Baptist,” Dorothy repeated. “So you’re going to the Nunn wedding, then?”
Pat held open his mouth just for a moment and then nodded. “Oh, yes, that’s it.”
“Sue and I are members of the garden club here. And she’s been so busy preparing for this wedding that she’s even pulled out of helping out with the county fair—not that I blame her.” She laughed and turned to Marilyn. “I declare, she looks like she’s lost ten pounds with all the stress.”
Dorothy said, “And she was a sapling to begin with.”
“Well, she’s a twig now.”
“Isn’t that nice,” Dorothy said to us, “to come all this way for their wedding.”
“What should I get?” I murmured to Pat as we began to dig through the assembled clothing.
“What do you want to get? Who do you want to be?”
I drew my fingers along the layers of fabric. What would I become? Or what would I pretend to be? I found a white shirt with a yellowed sweat ring burned into the collar. It was my size.
Pat posed in a seersucker jacket that pooled at his wrists. “Can you believe that Danny wants to pass this thing up?”
“It’s way too tight,” Danny said as he held up a dark blue shirt. “I looked like I had monkey-arms in it.”
One jacket flapped like a giant flag at my waist. Another one devoured my hands in a cascade of yellow-red plaid. I found one that had no size marked on it. Heavily-worn and soft, this jacket had seen many mothballed years.
“Maybe this will work,” I said. It slipped on, like an ash-colored fog.
“Now that fits you perfectly,” Marilyn exclaimed with an Archimedean fervor.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t used to wearing sport coats, but somehow I could tell that it fit. I smiled. It was a curious mask, being happy, and I marveled at how convincing it looked. It really did fit.
Pat ended up buying the seersucker jacket (“it’s only five dollars!”), and Danny bought a vest he couldn’t button and a stained striped shirt. And Ralph walked away with two different pairs of pants, a pink shirt, and a linen coat. “How could I decide?” he asked.
At Danny’s insistence (“We really should get them something.”), my friends went over to a local general store in order to find some gift for the couple. I crossed the street to look again at the First Baptist. Responsive to any twitch of the wind, my heart seemed to balance on the tip of its steeple.
The church’s wooden door opened.
She still wore the bandana, this time with a blue t-shirt and yellow shorts. I stood for a moment simply appreciating the everydayness of her walk down the stairs. Each step seemed like a little hop.
Then, she noticed me. “Charlie,” she said, sun in her voice. “Charlie!” The hops down the stairs quickened.
Like a bow, my smile stretched taut across my face. I didn’t know my muscles could stretch so far without snapping. My hand shot up in a wave, and I called back, “Bonnie!” Whether because of the sun or the heat or whatever, a slight flush washed her cheeks. “What are you doing here?” She pounced in a quick hug—sudden, instantaneous, head-spinning.
“I heard there’s a wedding going on,” I said, and then my lips bowed again. “And I’ve never been to Kentucky before.”
“I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come.”
I shrugged, trying to be casual. “Why not, we figured.”
“So how’s the road been?”
I tried to explain—with the mountains and the woods and MTV.
“Wait, you were on MTV?”
“In the background somewhere, lost in the crowd.”
“That must have been exciting.”
“It’s more exciting to be here,” I said.
She smiled. “It’s going to be so awesome. Jess—she’s our friend, the one getting married—is like on another planet right now.”
That makes two of us, I wanted to say but didn’t.
Bonnie continued, “It’s just going to be so much fun. I haven’t been to a wedding since I was a little kid.”
“Me, too.”
“Then we can be kids together—or we can be adults together for the first time.”
The quartet had stopped by the church to prepare for the wedding: to practice a little and to get a sense for the acoustics of the space. But they were still waiting for Kristy, the violaist. “She just had some quick shopping to do,” Bonnie said, “And that was two hours ago. Sarah had to lug her cello half a mile to the church here because the van wasn’t around.”
“It’ll be nice to hear you play tomorrow,” I said.
The minor flush again. “Thanks, but I’m nervous enough playing at this wedding.”
“You were so great at the fair.”
She dragged her hands down her face like it was melting. “Don’t even mention that—it was ridiculous. I think you were like the only person who was listening.”
“In that case, trust me: every single audience member loved it.” Was this flirting? I was never good at it—never adept at the weird, hieroglyphic balancing act of humor and seriousness, satire and honesty.
“Well at least that’s a relief.” Smiling. Then a finger popped up, “Oh, before I forget, can we exchange e-mail addresses or something? Tomorrow might be pretty crazy, and…”
“And,” I said, “it would be good if we could stay in touch.”
She pulled a small pencil out of her pocket and ripped a piece of paper out of a small notebook (titled Music Notes) in her back pocket.
The church door swung open again. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” a voice—Lana’s voice—cried. “Sarah, Sarah, you gotta see this!” With one leg stretched forward and her head angled to the side, Lana looked like she was inspecting some prey. Her frizzy brown hair in a ponytail, a girl of medium height stood next to her.
I tried to make my voice as nonchalant, average, and ordinary as possible as I said, “Oh, hi!”
Lana said, “Bonnie, I thought you were supposed to be watching for Kristy—not talking with some disreputable stranger.”
“That’s not as funny as you think it is, Lana,” Bonnie replied.
They came down the stairs, Lana like a general at the head of an army. “You actually made it,” she said softly to me.
“I’m Sarah, by the way,” the brown-haired girl said and shook my hand. Her eyes blinked behind her large round glasses. “And you must be Charlie.”
“I am. Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Where are your friends—Paul or whatever his name was and the others?” Lana asked.
I replied, “They’re across the street, trying to get a wedding gift. And it’s Pat.”
“Whatever.”
Sarah asked, “So you’re really going to the wedding?”
“Well, I thought so...”
As Sarah’s brow furrowed, Lana marshaled forth perfectly confident words. “Oh, we’ll fit you in.” She then outlined exactly how. We’d meet at the church a little before two. Then, they would lead us to the reception. “Just act like you belong. Besides, we’re entitled to dates.” Bonnie blushed.
The red minivan rounded the corner. At the wheel was a slight figure with tanned skin. Her cat-eyed glasses combined with her narrow chin and broad cheeks to give her an even more feline appearance. “Hello, ladies!” she called.
“So you found your way out of the mall?” Lana said with a smile.
“They had these lovely bags there—I need a clutch…” Kristy’s bubbly voice trailed off as she noticed me. “And who is this young man?”
“This,” Bonnie said, “is Charlie.” Her words felt like a hand on my shoulder.
Kristy had a way of stretching out her words like a cat arching its back. “I thought so. I’ve heard a lot about you, Charlie.”
“Well, we should probably get practicing,” Sarah said. “We’re behind schedule as it is.”
“Sarah loves schedules,” Kristy said.
Lana added, “But she’s right. And no audiences allowed for rehearsals.” She turned to me. “So we’ll synchronize our watches, and see you at the church before two. Try to stay out of trouble.”
“I’m already here, aren’t I?” I said. Bonnie laughed.
I crossed the street to join my friends, who had been observing the scene from the store’s striped awning.
“You were outnumbered there, Charlie,” Pat said with a smirk. “But you survived.”
“Of course he did,” Danny said.
“So did you guys settle on a present?”
Pat held up a bag. “I think so. Ralph and Danny duked it out, and we decided—”
But as Pat spoke, I saw Bonnie crossing the street to walk toward us.
“Hold on,” I said, and jogged forward to meet Bonnie. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to say that I’m glad you decided to come. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I replied.
The late afternoon sun coated those instants—her face, the street, the dry air, my face, my brain—in gold. And suddenly I realized that I had paddled past the buoys of my little prison and crossed into where my feet could no longer touch the bottom. I hadn’t been there in so long, but somehow I was swimming.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
And the gold did not fade as she left to rejoin her friends.
Travel Journal Entry #5
Wedding tomorrow! Jess looks so excited. She giggles whenever anyone even mentions Barney’s name.
I think that excitement is contagious. That’s one of the reasons why, even though it’s after one in the morning, I still can’t sleep, so I’m sitting here in the bathroom writing to you. I know I’m not the only one up. Jess’s aunt’s house is full of creaks.
Maybe it was the excitement that caused my fingers to keep shaking during rehearsal this afternoon. I’ve been playing Pachelbel since I was a teenager, but I felt like I was racing racing racing to try to keep up with the notes. Kristy (of course) found it wicked funny, but I think Sarah (of course!) got a little worried. It sounds great in the church, though, and it’s going to be so incredible to see Jess walk down the aisle.
It’s weird how, sometimes, when it gets late at night, it actually gets lighter. I look out the window and the moon’s dyed everything an otherworldly blue. It seems removed and more beautiful and totally bizarre.
I saw C today. It was the weirdest thing...I was coming out of the church, and there he was. I kind of couldn’t believe that he was there. But then I also kind of couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t be there. Not there at the church. But there—here in Kentucky—at all. When he saw me, he got the biggest smile on his face (he’s got a great smile, btw). I almost broke down in these silly (like, totally juvenile) giggles when those pearly whites broke out. I don’t know if he could tell that I had like a million springs inside me about to pop in every direction the whole time I was talking to him.
Even though she’s just met him, Kristy teased me about him all night. “I love the curly hair...the dark eyes...give me a sip of that iced coffee.” She’s totally ridiculous.
Somehow, I’m sitting in an old house in Kentucky, perched on a bathtub, thinking about some guy I only met a few days ago. And he’s so serious. And he’s so cute. And maybe he’s got some shadows there—at the corner of his eye. And maybe I’ll understand that someday.
OK, I’ve just gone a little RIDICULOUS there.
So—me in five years: what happened? Do you look back at this and even remember what C even stands for? Do you laugh reading this? Do you cry? Is he sitting right next to you, now, as you look through the journal chronicling the week when you first met?