Alone with Lana

Alone with Lana
by Eleazar Orozco

Katherine turned away from the crisp fall wind, shivering as her long skirt billowed wide and her hair slapped her face. She'd lost her prayer kapp again, and didn’t bother chasing. Mammaw would be real mad. Dry leaves were racing past, heading in the same direction. She wondered where all those leaves ended up, year after year. The crackly browns and soft golds made their journey together with such certainty, and she never saw them again. She wished she could go wherever they went. The dark orange leaves reminded her of Mammaw's pumpkin cookies and she stopped to look back toward home, but the leaves kept running, so confident and sure.

Katherine walked on slowly, fingering the package hidden in her apron and thinking about the Bishop, when he'd said she was too simple-minded to care for a baby. Mammaw had sat next to him nodding in silent agreement. Mammaw never missed a church meeting, and she kept the same prayer kapp for forty years. Still, as the Bishop spoke there was a hint of sadness in her nodding, and her eyes were far away.

Katherine shook against the wind … or was it the memory? Her remembering was like a photograph exposed to light too quickly. On that day, she had snuck into a movie -- Lana Turner and Sandra Dee in Imitation of Life. She had read the larger than life black letters on the downtown cinema marquis for weeks, and stared at the movie poster surrounded by white light bulbs, promising it to be the best movie of 1959. Katherine longed to see it the way a little girl longs to use her mother's makeup.

As she walked out of the theater, a boy smiled at her in a way that made her tingle all over. The heady sensation shocked her and she didn’t understand why. The boys in town had always made fun of her, with her dark, thick skirts that ended at her ankles, caped dresses, and black prayer kapp. But the boy with the smile told her she was pretty and offered a ride. She felt scared, but good scared, like when Pawpaw would make popcorn around a campfire and tell scary stories. The only vehicle she had ever been in was the Bishop’s beat up '45 Ford pickup. The smiling boy had a shiny car that looked like it belonged in an Elvis movie.

She felt like Sandra Dee when she slid into the front seat. Three of his friends piled into the back, whooping and hollering and it made her feel giddy. She giggled all the way to the old apple tree orchard at the edge of town. She wondered why they were going there when there were no apples on the trees.

They held her down, and the boy with the smile ripped her skirt as he lay on top of her. He forced her legs apart with his hands. She held her breath for a long time because it hurt and because he was heavy and sweaty, and it was hard to breathe. After he finished, one of his friends threw him aside and said, "My turn." As the second boy pushed inside her she closed her eyes and worried what the Bishop and Mammaw might say.

Katherine took a deep breath and shook her head hard as if the memory were a pebble stuck in her brain and could slip out through an ear. She began the steep walk up Chauncey's bluff. The leaves gathered at the bottom and swirled up and around the crest. She leaned forward grunting a little, and grabbing chunks of grass with her hands as she worked to conquer the hill. When she reached the top she could see the town stretching from old man Miller’s farm on the left to the apple orchard on the right. The meadow cemetery where her mother was buried was above the town to the north and her family’s farm was behind her. Her hand was in her apron again, touching the package because it made her feel safe.

Katherine ran down the hill and made it to town faster than she thought, walking up Third Street to Oak, avoiding the busy town square, just like the Bishop had said. The leaves had disappeared, probably to their secret place. She wished she could go with them.

She saw the bishop waiting for her in front of a blue Victorian style house. He stood, fists on hips, in front of a white picket fence that surrounded the house, his eyes darting nervously up and down the street.

“I was about to come looking for you,” he said.

“Yessir,” she said. She could never think of what to tell him, even though a million thoughts were swarming in her head. She was afraid that whatever she said would be wrong.

“Follow me,” he said as he turned toward the narrow alley that separated the house from the back of the downtown drug store.

He escorted her up a set of rickety stairs that were once pale blue, like the house. At the top of the stairs he knocked lightly on a door. An old man, hunched over, answered and led them down a hallway to a room with a small window that let in streams of light. In the center of the room was a white canopy bed and matching nightstand.

“Sit here and wait for us,” the Bishop said. He didn’t look at her.

Katherine nodded, but could feel her eyes getting moist.

Just before he closed the door she said, “Daddy.”

The Bishop turned to look at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Yes?" he said.

His body filled the room and the hardwood floor squeaked when he stepped towards her. She felt her bottom lip quiver.

Her thoughts turned to her mother and tears crawled down her face, tickling her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them because her hands were in her apron, white knuckles frozen to the package.

"I'm sorry, Katherine." He kept his hands behind his back. "I'm doing what I think is best for you. You may not understand right now ..." His voice trailed off and disappeared to some far off place. With the leaves, she thought.

She wanted to say, I’m sorry. She wanted to tell him that she should never have gotten into the car, but the words stuck in her throat.

"I’m sorry.” His face softened. “No one can find out about this, baby. Do you understand? No one.”

Katherine swallowed hard and didn't blink.

“Katherine … do you understand? The church … the parish … I would lose everything.”

Her body shivered under layers of wool, cotton and flannel.

“We would lose everything, baby. You have to be a big girl now, Katherine. Do you understand?”

“O.K., Daddy." Her voice was small.

She sat very still waiting for him to take one more step toward her.

If he takes one more step, she thought to herself. One more step and I’ll hug him. She closed her eyes tightly trying to imagine it into reality.

The Bishop stared at the floor. He cleared his throat. “O.K., then … I’ll be back.”

He stood frozen for a moment, and then walked awkwardly to the door as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t remember what. He stopped at the door and turned back towards Katherine.

When her eyes met his, she lowered her head and her chestnut hair fell around her face. A few auburn strands feathered her cheeks. It tickled and reminded her that she had lost her prayer kapp.

"Where's your prayer kapp?" he asked.

Her head snapped to attention and her eyes widened. A leftover tear shook loose and slid down one cheek.

He stared at her, and gave a tired sigh. She thought his face softened again as he shook his head and said, “Your mother was always losing hers too."

He opened the door. "Don't worry. I'll have Mammaw make you another one as soon as we get home. Wait here."

As soon as the door closed she threw herself on the bed and cried with small convulsions, trying to catch her breath between sobs. The bed felt soft and warm. She wanted to keep crying, but knew she didn’t have time. She stopped the tears, a skill she had perfected in the two years since her mother’s death. She wiped the salty residue from her eyes, and tip-toed to the door. She peered through the keyhole and saw the Bishop talking to a woman with white hair and the hunch-backed man. They seemed to be arguing with loud whispers that she couldn’t make out.

She walked back across the room and looked out the window. When she pressed her left cheek against one pane she could see the town square. The leaves were back, dancing around the statue of the founding fathers, as if to tease them. She watched, open mouthed, how they swirled and twirled, sometimes in unison, sometimes breaking free to join other colors and shades in a faster dance.

Her eyes followed one small funnel of leaves, holding hands and twirling in conical unison, as it slipped away from the pack and rushed past the vendors and the wrought iron fence. The little twister of leaves was headed for the meadow where her mother was buried, skipping across the landscape, and nothing, it seemed, could stop it. Katherine thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She pursed her lips as she walked back to the bed. No more crying, she told herself. Her fingers woke up and worked quickly slipping the package from her apron, a white laced handkerchief tied in a knot. She spread the handkerchief flat on the comforter to reveal its secret treasure. It was a half-used bottle of Woodhue perfume by Faberge and a necklace with a few of the blue rhinestones missing. These, along with the handkerchief, were the only things she had left from her mother.

She clasped the necklace in place and smoothed her hair back down. She gingerly lifted the Woodhue and sprayed a small mist on each side of her neck. This was the second time she’d used it; the first had been on the day of her baptism. She planned on using it again on her wedding day.

She carefully placed the perfume bottle in the center of the monogrammed handkerchief, and wrapping the handkerchief around the bottle, placed it on the nightstand next to the rubbing alcohol and wire hanger. She picked up the wire hanger and felt its cold steel and sharp hook. She hid it between the box spring and the mattress. No more crying, she reminded herself.

She hopped back onto the bed and sat facing the door. She tossed her head back like Lana Turner in Imitation of Life. She breathed in deep and exhaled slowly as she crossed her legs under her long flannel skirt. She leaned back on her hands and tilted her head back slightly as she waited for them to come through the door.