Taking Turns

Theresa had three strikes against her when she moved into the neighborhood. She wore dresses. Even if they were cooler in the summer heat, how was she ever to compete in tree climbing? She also held herself at an awkward, and equal distance from all of us, and most importantly, if she spoke, she didn't look you in the eye. In fact Theresa had been hanging around for quite some time before I  realized that her eyes were blue. Usually she kept them downcast. Still, I probably came to accept her before the others. After all, was tree climbing really a prerequisite for friendship? Gradually she spoke more, glanced up more frequently, and began to to be included in even our rare indoor activities, Rummy, and Old Maid. That's when the real trouble began. Friends started asking if Theresa would be joining us. Some would phone, and stay away if they heard she was there. It was Brenda who finally pulled me aside and told me that the others were complaining.

"She isn't like us." Brenda explained. Four years my junior, she had to spell it out to me. " Haven't you noticed her clothes? Everyone talks about it."
"Well, she wears dresses," I admitted tentatively."but there's no reason she can't play cards."
"No, Debbie," Brenda responded sternly. "They don't even fit. Haven't you noticed?" I hadn't.
"What difference does it make?" I asked indignantly. "What if my clothes didn't fit? Would they stop being my friends? Would you?"
Brenda solemnly tried again. "It's really more than that, Debbie. She's dirty."
Exasperated, I shook my head. "You have got to be kidding! That's the problem??"
"Not like we get dirty, Debbie. She smells! The rest of them aren't coming over anymore if Theresa is going to be here. I told them I'd talk to you. Just don't invite her anymore. If she asks if she can come, just tell her you are busy."
"You agree with them." It wasn't a question. Brenda sat down  next to me on the porch, and nodded miserably.
I stood up. "I have some thinking to do. I'm going to the woods. I'll call you later."

I spent the afternoon dangling my feet in the creek, just upstream from where the tree fell across the embankments.  I also walked from one side to the other and back several times, arms out stretched and teetering. It seemed symbolic somehow, of the dilemma. I'd known Brenda and the others far longer than I'd known Theresa.Was I willing to lose their friendships? Was I wrong to feel those things weren't so important? Could I really be right in this and everyone else wrong? Was that likely? Whether I was right or wrong, if everyone else felt as my friends did, what was it going  to be like for Theresa once school started? My friends weren't mean people. Weren't they entitled to feel however they felt about Theresa? Wasn't it their right to spend time or not with her? I pulled my canvas tennis shoes back on. They stank of creek water, dried many times over in the summer sun. Their laces were gray and dotted with flecks of moss and bristle. Both  shoes were worn where my great toes rubbed, and sometimes, my heel slid up and out as I trudged home.

I phoned Theresa. "Can you come over tomorrow and spend the day? We are doing something special. Great! Can you bring an extra dress? Great!  It will be fun."
I phoned Brenda. "Doesn't your mom go to the beauty shop every week? And you go with her sometimes?
Great! Tomorrow will you come early? I have an idea. Theresa will be here, and if this doesn't work, you don't have to come again. Will you help me? Great, see you then! Oh and bring a dress!"

By the time Brenda arrived that next morning, my mother and grandmother had both left for work, and I had already located the hair curlers and the hair dryer they kept under the bathroom sink. For as long as I could remember they had washed each others hair on Sunday afternoons, and rolled and styled for each other. How was it then that I had not the slightest idea how to use the things. To make matters worse, there seemed to be two different types and a bunch of sizes. I had tried to figure out how the bristly ones worked and had one of them hopelessly tangled in my hair. Brenda helped me get it out just in time. Theresa arrived with an extra dress thrown over her arm.

"We are having a beauty shop day." I announced nervously. "I'll go first. We'll start with a bubble bath. I'll run the tub, add the bubbles and part way close the curtain. Then you two can come in and we will visit  like they do in beauty shops. Right, Brenda? One of you can wash my hair, and we will take turns."
And so it was that while all our clothes were in their rinse cycle, I discovered that Theresa's hair wasn't brown at all. It was a rich auburn red. Thick and luxurious. Brenda rolled Theresa's hair and mine. Theresa rolled Brenda's. We took turns wearing the shower-cap like hair dryer, and when they were dry, we donned our dresses. I was pretty sure that I'd never live it down. We pretended we were trying on different clothes in a dress shop. Brenda and I carefully safety pinned, until Theresa's dress actually fit her.

When the day ended everyone was smiling. I changed into shorts and fell asleep on the floor in front of the television.

"DEBRA, COME HERE  RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!"
I woke with a start and stumbled toward my mother's voice.
"What in heaven's name happened here today?"
I peeked beyond her into the disheveled bathroom, and a bathtub ringed with grime.
"Mom, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

What am I doing here? Why am I chasing this flashing cursor into a place called a blog? I suppose that every one who blogs asks themselves that question. My answer, boiled down to it's simplest form is that it needs doing. I need not to do what I have always done with what I write, stuff it in a drawer or cardboard box, and ultimately discard it. I see things a bit differently now. I want to honor the hyacinths  I have found along the way and sharing their fragrance, is the only way that I know.
The blog's title is a nod to a well loved poem by Saadi., but the hyacinths I will share here aren't those you can buy even with the last of your own life's bread. These hyacinths are always gifts, and I have ever been the astonished recipient. I hope I can do them some justice.

Often, the fragrance that breathed life into me, hasn't been a friend of the homo sapien variety. Theresa was however. Since by all appearances she seemed an unlikely hyacinth. I will start with her next time.

More later,
Deb