Pretty things

Eleanor Yarbrough

Mama always liked pretty things. Clothes with florals and embroidery, jewelry with  shining jewels, paintings with bright colors, items and trinkets flaked with gold and silver. 

I think that’s why she never cared for me or my plainness. My wide eyes and large nose,  thin lips full of crooked teeth and mousy hair, full cheeks with a pointed chin and freckles  splattered across my face rather than dusted. 

She loved me fine. She was ok at that at least. I was never hungry, I had what I needed,  new clothes when my old ones had holes and new shoes when my others were too small. Barbies from Goodwill and comic books held together with tape and with already yellowed pages.  

I don’t think she knew how to like me. When I would talk, she would crane her neck and  drop her head, scrunching her eyes real close together as if she could hear what I was saying  better if she was only seeing my face blurred. 

She liked my friend Mark, though. He had a girlish face. He was real pretty. He had long  eyelashes, full lips, soft eyes. I told him his name was too boyish for him and he grew angry at  me for it. I started calling him Molly, and that made him angrier. I think Mama thought that if we  got married, our babies would be pretty from his girlish face and my boyish one. Then she would  be able to talk to her grandkids. She would be able to like them. 

I didn’t want to have babies with him, I decided. I even told him that. He wrinkled his  nose at it. He then said he didn’t want to have babies with anyone. Molly’s dad hit him, so I think  that’s why. It made him strange in some ways. I still liked him though, even strange.  

When Molly was 8 or 9, he got hit by a car at a crosswalk. I think ever since that he has  been afraid of a lot of things, including me. I think he likes me because I’m scary. He can use my  scary as a shield. I like that he is afraid of me. It means that he takes me seriously.

“I’m going to run away,” I told him one day. We were sitting on a bench in a park near  my house. I was cross-legged, taking up most of the room. He sat squished against the end, the  cool metal poking into his stomach. Mama hadn’t come home the night before and had yelled at  me for leaving the lights on. 

I couldn’t complain, really, because Molly had a swollen lip and bruised cheek for the last couple days. I hadn’t pointed out the blossoming purple to him because he liked to pretend that  no one could see it. But I also hadn’t had him over, because I didn’t want Mama to see it. 

Mama liked her pretty things pretty. She didn’t like them breaking or losing their shine. “Why?” Molly asked.  

“How am I going to be famous if I am here?” I asked. He knew I wanted to be famous, it  was really all I talked about with him. 

He tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. It had grown too long, I wondered if  he’d let me cut it again. Well, the first time I had cut it he had been asleep, and when he woke up,  he started crying when he saw the dark clumps that were scattered on the floor beneath him. His  hands had started to tug at the shortened ends. 

I had told him it had been covering his face, and he had told me that was the point. “Where are you going?” He asked finally. 

“Tallahassee,” I said. I had it all planned out already. 

“Are there famous people there?” 

“Sure, lots.” I said through my teeth. I didn’t know any of the top of my head, but I knew  they were there.

“I didn’t know there were any famous people in the south,” he said. I couldn’t see his  eyes at all now, the way he was slumped over. With my eyes, I traced where I’d take his hair into  my hands and cut it later.  

“Harper Lee.” I suggested. We had read her last year in school, I couldn’t remember the  book she wrote, but I remembered liking the sound of her name. I remembered trying to decide  what my name would be when I was famous. 

“Are you going to be a writer?” I hadn’t considered that. 

“Maybe I’ll write something after I’m famous,” I said, “about my life.” 

Molly pressed his bruise cheek into his knees which he had curled up in front of himself now. He looked awfully small like this. I wanted to pick him up and play with him, like a doll. 

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, but I was partially annoyed he hadn’t  suggested it already. He sighed looking down. 

“Yeah, ok.” he said. 

I made a scrunched face at his lack of excitement. I pulled my knees from their crossed  position to close to myself, just as he had. 

My knees were a much deeper tan than his. I could see the red underneath his pale skin, it  reminded me of a peach. I pinched the skin of my arm, so it would pale under my fingers. When  I released, it reddened. My skin was more yellow then his. I think it was from Mama’s cigarettes,  they were always staining the walls and the car yellow. I think they were staining my skin as  well.

My knees were covered in knicks and scars, lines of white and toughened skin from  where I had scrapped them over and over. Molly’s knees were empty and soft. They were smooth  like Mama’s porcelain. 

Molly’s daddy was cruel, but he was a lot richer than Mama. Molly didn’t need to run  away like I did. 

Mama had told me I was selfish before, but I had never really cared. I wondered if I was  being selfish then, that I should tell Molly to stay. But more so, I didn’t want to go to Tallahassee  alone. 

I wanted to take one of Mama’s pretty things with me. 

I opened my mouth and closed it and then opened it again. I probably looked like a  spluttering fish.  

“When are we going?” Molly asked, as he watched my mouth open again. He finally  gave me something to do with it. 

“Next Tuesday,” I said, “Because nothing exciting ever happens on Tuesdays.” 

It was also Mama’s birthday on Monday, and I was hoping she’d bring home some cake  from work. 

That Saturday morning, I asked Mama if we could go to Church the next morning. 

“Why the hell do you want to go to Church, we’ve never gone to church,” she asked confused. She then lit herself a cigarette. I hated when she smoked while talking to me, so I  started to cough loudly.

“I wanna see everyone and say goodbye.” I told her. I pushed the food on my plate  around, the canned green beans were only partially heated up. I shoved a forkful of them into my  mouth, hoping to chew fast enough that I wouldn’t taste them. 

“Goodbye?” 

“I’m moving to Tallahassee next Tuesday.” I said, my mouth full now, hoping the food  helped consume so of the words. 

“Tallahassee.” She repeated, and she was squinting at my face again. I brushed the hair  away that was sticking to my lip. “What’s in Tallahassee.” 

“I’m gonna be famous.” I told her.  

She started to laugh at me. It was a childish sound, clear and loud. I flushed at it. “What?” I said, but it came out meeker than I wanted it to 

“Who would make you famous? You are a 13-year-old girl with an accent so thick I don’t understand half of what you are saying.” 

“I’m going to be an actress!” I told her. “Or a singer, or… I’ll do ads for Little Debbie.” 

She gave me a flat look, bringing her cigarette to her lips and inhaling it slowly. The  smell made my nostrils flare. 

Then she leaned into me, tilting my face so she could examine it more in the light. Her  eyes were narrowed on me again, but not in the way they usually were. The moved from feature  to feature as if it was the first time she was looking at them, as if she was surprised that they  were made from her own flesh and bone.

“You are not pretty enough for any of that.” She concluded finally. I was a silent for a  moment as I stared up at her, but her focus wasn’t on me anymore. 

“Well,” I started then paused. “I’m going to be rich. And once you are rich you become  pretty.” She laughed again, smoke curling out the sides of her lip as she did. 

“And how will you be rich?” 

“I’ll get a job,” I said. “At first, for a month or so and save all the money.” She raised a brow and shook her head. 

“Good luck then,” she said. “I won’t stop you.” 

She turned from me, still shaking her head. I ate the rest of dinner silently, as I looked  around our house. You could see most of it from the kitchen. 

I imagined returning here one day, fur coat wrapped around me and in a gorgeous gown. I  imagined the flash of cameras following me inside, and Mama on her knees in front of me. 

She would dab a tissue to her eyes and let out a wail. She would beg me to forgive her,  beg me to come home. I don’t know how I would respond to her pleading. 

With Molly’s allowance we bought groceries for the trip. I insisted that we buy that  really good mac and cheese you just have to add water too. Mama never bought that for me. He  tried to buy fruit, but I reminded him we could just go and pick it. 

“How are we going to get there?” Molly asked. His hair was shorter now, but not my  doing which made me angry. “Are we going to walk?”

“Of course not,” I said. We were in my backyard. I was shoving all the food we had  bought into my backpack. “We are taking the train.” 

“There’s not a train that comes here.” He said, “we don’t have enough people.” “There’s the tracks behind your house,” I said. “We just have to jump on.” “We can do that?” 

“Sure, I saw it on TV.” 

“And it’ll go to Tallahassee?” 

“Of course it will,” I said. “It’s out capital, where else would it go.” 

Tuesday morning comes quickly. I sneak out before Mama wakes up, even though that’s  not very early.  

Molly is waiting in my front yard like I told him too, and we start walking back to his  house. He’s jittery, walking more on his toes, like he always does when he’s nervous. I tell him to  stop it. I think walking like that makes him look stupid. 

When we get to tracks, Molly is shaking, and his skin is ridden with goosebumps. 

“Get ready to jump.” I tell him. I tried to remember that movie I had seen and crouched  down. Molly nodded his head and crouched with me. I weaved my thumbs under the strap of my  backpack and clutched it tightly. 

No train is coming. I look down the tracks, both ways, but they are empty. The ground is  still, and I hear no horn.

I shrugged, sitting down in the grass by the tracks. It was uncomfortable and tickled the  skin of my thighs and calves. Molly sat down with me, though he lowered himself more carefully than I did. 

“What’s happening?” he asked. 

“Train’s running late,” I lied. “We’ll have to wait.” 

“Oh, ok.” 

I laid backwards, turning my gaze to the sky. It was still dark from the morning. I closed  my eyes for a moment and then another. 

The horn of the train woke me up before the ground shaking. I bolted upwards, craning  my neck in both directions again. There was a train coming. I nudged Molly with my foot. 

“Get up!” I said, “It’s here.” 

He stood and caught up with me as I started jogging closer to the tracks. The train horn  blared again, louder. The ground was shaking with the train’s weight, but I at first thought at first  it was from my speeding heart. 

“Um..” Molly looked at the train the back to me. His face was pale, brows scrunched. “Its  going really fast, are you sure we can jump?” I nodded my head fervently up and down.  

“You just have to jump,” I said. “As soon as it comes by, just close your eyes and jump.” 

Molly scrunched his eyes close as soon as I said. I shook my head at him, but he didn’t  see it.

The train was closer, then it was there. Molly was right, it was going by fast. It was going  so fast I couldn’t focus on it. It was like how my mother saw my face, just a blur. 

I took a step back. I turned to Molly; he hadn’t jumped either. Instead, he still had his  eyes closed and remained in a crouched position. I realized he was still shaking. Only when the  train was almost out of sight did he open his eyes. He stared at me with a pale face and wide  eyes. He kind of looked like a bug. 

“We missed it,” he said.  

“I know, idiot,” I said. “You didn’t jump.” 

“Oh,” Molly said, “I’m sorry.” 

For a few moments, we sat there staring at the tracks as if the train was going to come  back. It didn’t. 

“Mama’s car!” I said. “She’s asleep right now, and I know where the keys are…” 

Mama loved this pretty red car she had. It was one of her prettiest things. It was so glossy  I could see my reflection in the red paint. My simple face reflected with a glow, and I would  make faces looking at myself in it. It had these tan leather seats up front that mama didn’t let me  sit in. She said it was because I was too sticky, but I think she was scared my simpleness would  rub onto the seat like chocolate.  

Because Mama bought the car, I was going to have to wait until next year to get braces. We couldn’t afford both. 

“Can you drive?” Molly asked. His eyes were still blown wide. 

“Sure,” I said shrugging. It seemed simple enough. If Mama could do it, so could I.

“Do you know how to get to Tallahassee?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “Mama’s driven me there before.” I remembered seeing those big green  signs that told you where to go.  

“Ok.” 

On the way back to my house, the sun was heavy upon our backs. I wonder if it would  burn Molly’s pale skin. 

Mama was still asleep when I came in the house. Her hair, which had been teased the  night before, was a mess framing her head. I stared at her, and the makeup that gathered under  her eyes, the way her mouth that hung slightly open revealing her teeth that had been stained  from smoking. 

Mama and I looked a like, I had been told this before, but I had never believed it before.  Not until I saw her like this. 

I took the keys from their place on the kitchen counter and left her. 

It took a while for Molly and me to figure out how to start the car, but then the engine  started with a growl. I liked the way it seemed to vibrate beneath me. I shifted the gear into  reverse, just as I had seen Mama do and it jolted backward. I tapped the brake quickly and Molly  jolted forward. 

“The brakes are touchy,” I said. Molly was still pale, even as the sun was directly on his  face.

As I drove, the wheel was heavy in my hands. My arms started to hurt not even a minute in, but I think it was from how hard I was clutching the wheel. My knuckles were as white as  Molly’s face. 

I started to think about Mama, her long nails taped against the wheel impatiently. Or  when she would apply lipstick in the rearview mirror while using her knees to steer. 

I caught my face in the mirror. I curled by lips to reveal my crooked teeth. I imagined  them with some nice red braces. 

When I looked back onto the road, there was a truck coming right at us. I squinted at it. He was getting closer. Molly started to scream at me, but I couldn’t make myself move. 

The truck’s horn was loud. I flinched at it, jerking the wheel with it.  

The car fell off the road and pushed into the tree with a jolt. Molly and I were pushed  forward. The glass of the windshield splintered, catching the sun as it felt. Then, the airbags  pushed me in the chest, I lost my breath. 

I looked over to Molly, the glass had caught his face. There was blooming red of gashes  sprinkled over his face, just like my freckles. The streaks of red continued down his arms and  legs. It dripped down. He bled right on Mama’s tan leather seats. 

I touched my face and arms, looking down. I wasn’t bleeding somehow. Not the way  Molly was.  

I wondered how Mama would react to seeing her ruined pretty car, when she saw Molly’s  ruined pretty face.

I wondered if when she saw these hideous things, she might see me and finally think I  was a pretty one.