Page 15 of Dreams of Falling
In her head, she’d done it to aggravate Margaret. Margaret, whose dreams and aspirations always had a chance of coming true, had wanted her to wish for something bigger. But Ceecee hadn’t. Her world was too small for someone like Margaret to understand, too limited and practical. Those were two words Ceecee was pretty sure weren’t even in Margaret’s vocabulary (in English or French; she spoke both fluently).
So instead of telling Margaret to turn the car around like she should have, Ceecee began unpinning the hideous hat. “I guess I’m never going to have another chance to be wild,” she said. “I might as well take it.”
Before she could think about repercussions, she tossed the hat onto the side of the road. Margaret squealed and clapped her hands. “And here, put on some color. I don’t understand how your mama could be so against your wearing a little bit of lipstick.”
Before Ceecee could protest, Margaret had steadied her chin with one hand and was aiming a gold tube of lipstick at Ceecee’s mouth. When she was done, she handed Ceecee a linen handkerchief and showed her how to blot her lips. “That’s Revlon’s Certainly Red—I saw it in Mama’s last issue ofVogueand asked her to buy it for me. It looks divine on you.” Margaret took the handkerchief and replaced it with a pocket mirror. “See?”
Ceecee held up the mirror, wondering who this stranger with the messed-up hair and red lips might be. It was her, but not.
“I think that color might look better on Ceecee than on you, Margaret,” Bitty said from the backseat.
“And I think you’re right.” Margaret placed the black lid on the tube and slid it into Ceecee’s pocketbook. “A little gift from me to you.”
“I can’t...”
“Sure you can. And I’ve got a tube of Stormy Pink so my lips won’t look naked.”
“Do you want my scarf?” Bitty asked, already untying the knot under her chin.
“No, thanks. I’d like to feel the wind in my hair.”
“Wonderful,” Margaret said magnanimously. “Glad we’re all happy now.” Not leaving any room for argument, she took the steering wheel and turned the car around.
Ceecee hated her then. She hated her for making her pretend to be someone she wasn’t. And Ceecee loved her, too, for the exact same reason.
It wasn’t until much later, when it was too late, that Ceecee remembered Margaret telling her that she’d written the same wish on her own ribbon that day they’d gone down to the river to tell the tree their dreams.
•••
?Margaret’s heavy foot on the pedal made the drive from Georgetown to Myrtle Beach shorter. Despite Ceecee’s death grip on the door, Margaret showed no interest in slowing down for either the sanity of her passengers or fear of getting pulled over. Ceecee had never seen her get a ticket; the police officer usually knew her family or was easily susceptible to Margaret’s charms.
Bitty sat up in the backseat, her chin resting on the front seatback so she could be heard over the wind rushing through the car and the radio playing Tony Bennett and Nat King Cole. Ceecee tried to relax, to enjoy the warm sun without worrying about freckling, to revel in a sense of freedom she’d never experienced. She’d never been anywhere without her parents or another responsible adult. It was like running into the ocean in February—the water hadn’t yet warmed from the sun, but it was too tempting to just stay on the sand. There was something alarming about how good it felt, but she couldn’t help feeling wicked just the same.
“Anybody want a Tootsie Roll?” Bitty thrust a brown paper sack forward. “I brought extras for the trip.”
“Bless your heart,” Margaret said, taking one and dumping it in her lap. “Mama won’t let me eat anything sweet. She says it will ruin my teeth and my figure. I should just have her look at you, Bitty. I don’t think there’s been a day since I’ve known you when I haven’t seen you eating Tootsie Rolls. I’d be as big as a house if I ate as many as you do.”
“It’s patriotic to eat them, you know. They saved our marines in the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir.” Bitty took a bite and swallowed.
“What are you talking about, Bitty?” Margaret asked, a pucker between her brows.
“Didn’t you hear the story? Our marines were stuck in a mountain reservoir between China and North Korea without food or supplies, and when they finally received an airdrop, it was just a bunch of Tootsie Rolls! It was so cold that the candy was frozen, but the men were still able to eat them, so they didn’t starve. Even better, when they’d made them into a soft putty by chewing on them, they were able to repair holes in their vehicles, hoses, and other equipment. So they were able to escape to the coast and get to their transports.”
“Not to be unpatriotic, but no thanks,” Ceecee said, worried about ruining her lipstick. As if reading her mind, Bitty rolled her eyes and slid back into her seat.
As they drove, Ceecee could hear Bitty and Margaret’s conversation, even offered the occasional nod of agreement, but she was focused mostly on figuring out who this new Ceecee was, this Ceecee who let her hair blow wild in a convertible and wore bright red lipstick.
They passed farm fields and ramshackle shacks and barns with the occasional bright white farmhouse and fencing that had recently seen a coat of whitewash. The wind rushing through the car smelled of summer, of freshly mown grass and hay heated by the sun. And always, always, the prevailing sent of the nearby rivers and marshes that crisscrossed most of Georgetown and Horry counties.
Lloyd had once joked that the veins on their mama’s legs looked awhole lot like a map of the Lowcountry, showing all the tiny creeks and waterways. Ceecee’s laughter had gotten her a switch to the bottom and a trip to her room without supper. But even now, she couldn’t look at a map without smiling.
As they approached Main Street in Myrtle Beach, Margaret slowed, remembering to use her signal before turning into an Esso station. “We’ve been practically on empty the last few miles, but I was sure we’d make it this far at least.”
Bitty and Ceecee shared a glance as Bitty mouthed,Of course.
Feeling flush with Margaret’s unexpected gift of the lipstick, Ceecee left the car as the gas station attendant approached. “I’ll go get us three Co-colas. Be right back.”
At the service station, under a deep overhang attached to the building, the icebox and the red Coca-Cola machine huddled together in the shade. Ceecee was digging in her pocketbook for three nickels when she nearly bumped into someone already there. He—it was definitely a man, a tall young man wearing creased khaki pants—was thumping the heel of his hand on the front of the machine, as if the inanimate object might be a cow he could coerce into stepping aside.
