11. Just As I Am

Dancing at The Orange Peel - Episode 11

Welcome to Episode 11 of Dancing at The Orange Peel, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra fun content in THE MAILBAG

Previously: Episode 10, Half Mast. Sunday, April 7, 1968. As Libby and her mother prepare for church, Libby notices a second yellow rose has appeared in the vase since the night before. Her questions about Nate’s visit get shushed as she and Mama get in the car with family. On their ride to Kent Creek First Baptist, Libby’s cousin Pammy questions the reason for the flags flying half-mast.

Episode 11: JUST AS I AM

Uncle Nelson pulls up to the church’s side door so Grandmamma won’t have to climb steps. After dropping the back door of the station wagon open for us, Granddaddy points to Grandmamma’s walker. “Push that here, Half Pint,” he tells Pammy. He carry-drags it ’round the car to Grandmamma. At fifty-nine, she needs a lot of help, but Mama says old age isn’t her biggest problem. It’s the diabetes.

Connie slides out of the car and Granddaddy turns to her. “Well, now Puddin’, ain’t that a pretty dress you’re a’wearin’?” Like Pammy, her nickname came from Granddaddy. Me not being as small as Pammy—Half Pint—he called me Little Pint one time. It didn’t stick. No ring to it, he said. He hasn’t give me another and even though I want one, nobody picks a nickname for themself.

Me and Pammy get out and follow Connie, the hem of her yellow dress fluttering against the backs of her knees with each step she takes. That ole dress will be mine before the summer is out the way her ninnies are growing. Mama says I’m too young to think about such things, but I see how the boys notice Connie. They lean forward in their seats when she walks by. Sometimes I practice walking like her in front of my mirror at home, but then feel stupid for trying. Pammy claims her sister stuffs her bra with tissues, anyhow. Either way, I’ll have that dress soon and get Granddaddy’s attention in the bargain. Yellow is his favorite color, after all. I could wear it to the Father-Daughter Dance . . . if he’ll take me.

Hurrying to our Sunday School room, Pammy stretches on tippy toes to see ahead of us down the hall. “Looking for him already?” I tease her about her crush on Al Jackson, the boy from our school bus who thinks he’s Elvis. She shushes me, cheeks pink. The only reason that boy knows she’s alive is because she’s Connie Campbell’s little sister. Pammy knows that, but since Connie claims to hate him, Pammy still swoons over him.

“Hey, Libby. Hey, Pammy.” Our boy cousin greets us from behind.

“Hey, Ron-ron,” we both say as he slips past us into the Sunday School room. He plops into an empty chair next to Al. Pammy has the kinda lips that are naturally turned up like she’s smiling even when she’s not, so I’m the only one who can tell she’s peeved he got there first. Staring at the floor, she finally gives in to the chair next to Ron-ron.

When Connie and her best friend Krista Sharp walk in, chattering, Al straightens to get their attention. He winks at Connie. She turns away. Pammy notices, even though she’s pretending to ignore everybody. I’m torn between being a good cousin by comforting her and being glad I’m not the one going gaga over a boy. Then I remember how I practiced Connie’s walk in the mirror and my face gets hot.

After Mrs. Hartmon’s lesson about Judas’s kiss, we file into the sanctuary for Preacher Dodd’s Last Supper sermon. Mama calls him a hell-fire and brimstone preacher. He’s new at our church and last Sunday, two of the church ladies were tittering about whether he was the right choice.

Me and Pammy sit in our usual pew between Granddaddy and Grandmamma with Mama and Aunt June beyond her. Connie motions to Aunt June that she’ll be two rows up with Krista and her parents. That just happens to be right in front of Al and his best friend, Brian. As Connie and Krista slide onto the bench, the boys elbow each other, jut out their chins, and mutter “Hey.”

Pammy whispers to me, “They think they’re sooo cool.” Grandmamma shushes her. Pammy digs into Grandmamma’s pocketbook for her special pen, but then I get a tap on my shoulder. Mama has stretched her arm behind Grandmamma to reach me, and her warning look stops our hangman game before we even start. I nod, Pammy groans, and Grandmamma shushes her again.

The heels of Al’s and Brian’s shoes swing below the bench in front of us. Their heads are bowed like they’re praying. I know better. Me and Pam stretch our necks to see over their shoulders. Al slowly tears a bulletin, hands Brian a piece, and they roll up paper wads. Brian drops his over Krista’s shoulder, Al over Connie’s. The girls giggle. The boys do it again. Unable to do a thing about the mischief from where she sits, Aunt June stares a hole in the back of Connie’s head. She’ll surely give that girl a talking-to after church, but then, Connie never seems to worry about getting into trouble. Must be nice, being that carefree. Then I remember how Uncle Nelson's face crumpled last Sunday when Aunt June told him Connie got caught smoking at school. I'd rather die than make Mama look sad that way over something I’ve done.

Preacher motions us to our feet, and Mrs. Jasper plays “Just As I Am” while he invites anyone needing to be saved to come kneel at the front. I could never do that. I’m not brave enough to stand in front of everybody to testify. I hope God won’t punish me for that.

When the time comes, deacons pass the offering plates. Granddaddy pulls coins out of his pocket, dropping a penny and a jellybean on the floor as he hands me a dime. Pammy scrambles for what he dropped, but still reaches for more. It’s not fair that he gives her a whole quarter. When a plate gets to our row, I’m glad she has to give it up.

Finally, Preacher Dodd finishes with a reminder to check the board on the way out and pray for the names listed, including Mrs. Jones. “She’s still dealing with the gout. Pray for everybody dealing with unfortunate circumstances, that they get through their trials.” His face goes from a scowl to a smile and he says matter-of-fact, “And we’ll see y’all again tonight at six o’clock.”

Slowly, folks move into the aisles, shaking hands and blessing each other. Al Jackson’s daddy turns around to pat Granddaddy on the back. “Bless you, brother.”

Mrs. Jackson leans over the pew to shake hands with Grandmamma. “Bless you, sister.”

I begin to step out in the aisle after Granddaddy, but Pammy pulls on my wrist. “Wait,” she whispers, side-eying Al, who’s turning out of the pew in front of us. When he passes, Pammy slips in behind him. I stay with Grandmamma, waiting for the rows to clear. Connie and Krista have already disappeared, no doubt to escape scolding. Aunt June and Mama have gone out the other end of our pew and doubled back into the row behind us. Mama asks, “Are you going to help your Grandmamma out?”

“Yes’m,” I answer.

“Thank you.” Mama smiles and follows Aunt June into the aisle.

Granddaddy grunts as he leans to pick up Grandmamma’s dress shoes from under the pew. Before Sunday School she took them off, her feet and ankles already swollen, and put on the rubber-bottomed terrycloth slippers she carries in her pocketbook. No way she could get her fancy shoes back on now. Handing them to me, Granddaddy says, “Hang on to these.”

I step around her knees to get out of the way so he can turn the walker around that he’d parked against the end of the pew. She slides closer to him. Reaching his thin arm over the walker, he slips a hand under her armpit. I take ahold on the other side. Her arm is baby soft, and I can tell she skipped her bath before church because she smells like talcum powder mixed with sweat. The three of us move together to get her on her feet. The skin hanging on her arms swings with us. Finally, she leans with both hands on the walker, and the two of them head slow, down the aisle. Granddaddy is skinny, but he’s strong. He can catch her if she starts to fall.

I follow behind and when we’re near the door, Grandmamma whispers something to Granddaddy. They nod a few hellos to some of the other old people standing round. “Fine sermon today. Fine sermon,” they say. Then the two of them go down the hall toward the bathrooms.

I stand inside a minute, deciding whether to wait on my grandparents or go find Pammy. She’s probably shadowing Al on the porch. The front door swings open and then closed as people leave the sanctuary. Right outside, Aunt June is fussing up a storm at Connie, exactly what I knew was coming. It won’t make a smidge of difference. though. Never does.

Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.

Jump to: Episode 12 | Episode Guide | THE MAILBAG

DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL is one story in evolving collection called “The Kent Creek Chronicles.” To follow along and receive extra related tidbits from THE MAILBAG…