Page 54 of And Still Her Voice
“That’s okay.” I didn’t want to put him on the spot. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Tell you what,” he said, slipping the card into his back pocket. “Tomorrow, let’s do something. You know today every restaurant in town has gotta be booked, besides this ain’t thesort of town where two little bears like you and me should be seen together.”
Back at the hotel later that night, I stepped out for a smoke and when I saw River drift out of John’s room, I was crushed. He saw me, too, and took a seat next to me.
“Are you okay?”
The chilly night air made it hard to tell the difference between smoke or my breath. “I don’t want to talk right now.” I hugged myself, staring into the distance where a three-quarter moon lit up the snowcapped Sandia Mountains. It would be nice to find a little cave up there and then morph into a bear and go into hibernation. “I’ve been lied to my whole life, kept in the dark. I hate secrets.” I felt betrayed. Why had he kept this from me? The real question was: Why had I refused to open my eyes?
“I haven’t lied to you, Honey. I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“Tell me what? I don’t understand.” I remained stiff. “I don’t understand why you can’t trust me enough to be honest.”
His voice cracked. “No matter what, I will always love you.”
***
I was ready to glom onto just about anyone who smiled at me. I set a goal to lose my virginity sooner than later. I figured it might be the right of passage that would transform me into a girl more like Cheryl or Cindy; a girl people crushed on. I tried to pick-up or get picked up everywhere we landed, but I was so awkward and then by the time we traveled over the highway through red and green scrubbed mesas and reached the dry plains and tumbleweeds of El Paso, Texas, I was derailed by menstrual cramps and a migraine. I was in no condition for love.
By the time we got to San Marcos, I’d become a new girl with more determination. After the concert, I sat at the bar smoking a cigarette and acting all confident like Lana Turner inTheBad and theBeautiful. I was just about to order something to drink when a beefy boy in a cowboy hat, a tie-dye T-shirt, and Wranglers with a belt buckle the size of a barn, offered to buy me a beer.
“Remember, you’re not of age to drink,” Grandma scolded.
I dragged on my Marlboro, holding it as I turned my head to exhale; and then raised my arm across my mouth as if sneezing and talked into my shoulder. “I’m legal here in Texas, Grandma, and so are guns.” I turned back around to find myself staring into a pair of big brown eyes, like a rodeo calf about to be roped. I smiled at the strapping baby-faced cowboy and, feeling confident, I asked if he had anything stronger back at his place. I thought I was being smart (more of a smart ass), but as I followed his rawhide boot steps through the front entrance, a blast of cold air bucked me in the face, infusing me with enough oxygen to quickly sprout some new brain cells. I chickened out and ran back inside for shelter.
The next week, after a concert at a smaller venue on the outskirts of Des Moines, a cute, straw-haired hayseed zeroed his large Tony Curtis eyes on me the whole night. With a short nose, chubby cheeks and a few corn silky whiskers sprouting out of his recessed chin, he had the innocent face of a prepubescent boy, like someone you could trust, nothing like those entitled Baylor boys I’d met in Dallas. I took a seat at the bar to order a Coke and then noticed River walking off with some tall “drink of water.” Before when he’d tried to explain how we could never be that kind of a couple, I couldn’t understand. Wasn’t I good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, sexy enough? But watching him now with another man was a sobering sight. He looked happy and I tried not to look jealous.
The country mouse finally walked up and offered to buy me a drink. I figured I could practice on him the art of conversation and get to know him a little better first. I started the dialogue: “I’d dig a beer, please.” And then when Grandma reminded me once more that I wasn’t old enough to drink, I put my hand over my mouth. “As long as you’re my guardian, it’s okay. Besides it’s not like I’m doing drugs or smoking pot or having sex.” I then ordered a double rum and Coke, the drink of courage.
He told me his name, Mason, and after another drink, the conversation seemed to flow as if I were his tipsy barber or career counselor.
“So, what line of work are you in, Marcus?”
“It’s Mason and I’m a farmer.”
“Groovy.” Elbow on the bar, fist under my chin, I tried to come across as if I were interested. “So, what do you grow?”
“Right now, it’s corn. We also raise cows and pigs.”
“Far out. So where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Farming.” He peered at me.Duh.
“Hmm.” I nodded before taking another sip. “So, what’s fun to do in Dallas.”
He looked at me as if I were some sort of stupid scarecrow. “How would I know? I’ve lived in Iowa all my life.” He slammed down his beer.
“I’m sorry.” I gulped the rest of my drink and it didn’t take long before I was having fun making out with the corn husker at the bar. I’d passed the foreplay test. But when he took my hand to lead me out to his truck, Grandma landed on me like a Midwestern tornado.
“Young lady!”
“Grandma, not now. Blow away!” So much for keeping Grandma a secret.
“Anna, you’re drunk. I don’t want you ending up like your father.”
“Low blow, Grandma,” I yelled out loud. “Don’t forget you’re the one who fucked him up.” My crying didn’t deter Mason.
Under the blurry lights in the parking lot, I could see the big boy’s confused face as Grandma and I argued back and forth. The impatient cornjerker grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me onto the hood of his car, my face just missing the hood ornament, but my dress snagged it and I heard it rip.
