Chapter 4 #4
I had never seen myself at such a young age; the few childhood pictures I had were from eight or later, and always showed me sitting at the periphery of my aunt’s family, pale and sullen.
Phoebe opened the door next to the vanity, revealing a walk-in closet filled with frilly dresses and tiny patent-leather shoes and a wall affixed with hundreds of different-colored hair bows. She pulled a puff of pink tulle from a rack and held it up to me.
“You remember this? We designed this one together. We called it the cotton-candy dress.”
I brushed my fingers against the tulle as if to test its veracity. I couldn’t fathom such an enchanted childhood, much less one that had belonged to me.
I continued to browse the room and study the various pictures of me as a sunny, uninhibited child. Except for the one with Phoebe, all of them showed me alone.
“Why isn’t Belle in any of these?” I asked. I was still too shy to call her “Lou” like they did.
Hess frowned. “I think she was always taking the pictures. And when she wasn’t working, she didn’t like to be photographed.”
I could hear something false in the words, but perhaps it was my own disbelief. When I looked at the pictures, the yearning I felt to know my mother went even deeper, into that tender place where I ached to be close to her, to touch her, to be wrapped in her arms.
“What was she like?” I asked.
They all looked to Hess, and I knew then that she had been my mother’s best friend.
“Well.” She smiled. “She was very brave, and hardworking, and kind. And exceptionally talented, of course.”
There was a beat of silence in the room.
“She could also be rough, and selfish, and secretive,” Phoebe added good-naturedly. Hess frowned at her, and she said, “What? She should know that Lou wasn’t perfect. That was part of who she was.”
“She was voracious,” Tima added. “That girl could eat four double cheeseburgers and four fries in one sitting. I have never seen such a little thing put it away.” The women laughed, including Hess. “She was like that with a lot of things—the way she worked, and the way she loved.”
“She knew music like it was her first language,” Martha added from the corner. They all nodded, as if still in awe of their friend. “If you really want to know Lou, you should listen to her music. That’s where you’ll find her.” Martha gestured dismissively at the room. “Not here.”
Spirits were high as we made our way back to Hess’s house and out to her screened-in porch. Martha and Hess picked up guitars, and Phoebe pulled me onto a couch with her so we could play the audience.
“Let’s do some of the early stuff,” Tima suggested.
“How early?” Hess asked.
“I’m talking early early. Rhea, did you know your mama and Hess used to be in a singing group together?”
“For a very brief time,” Hess clarified.
“How about ‘Let Me Out’?” Martha suggested.
Hess hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, come on, let’s do it,” Tima cajoled.
Hess exhaled. “All right.”
In the moment before they began to play, I listened to the chirp of crickets out in the grass beyond the screens, and I remembered what Hess had said about peace. Here was a place you could explore whatever inspired you, and you didn’t have to be afraid.
Then they began to strum, and as the music formed in my mind, I could feel its tightness, like someone squeezing at my throat. I wondered if I was the only one feeling it, but I could see Phoebe grimacing slightly next to me.
Tima sang in a rich, deep twang,
She sat in the room, watchin’ the tree,
Waitin’ for someone to set her free
The lyrics wound around me like smoke, choking off my air. That strange, claustrophobic feeling came over me, and the music faded to the background as I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.
In and out.
In and out.
The music stopped, and I heard a thud, then Hess was hunched over me asking, “Are you okay?” Her face was drained of color.
I nodded and tried to look normal. “Of course. I’m fine.”
She handed me a glass of water, and I drank a few sips as if to appease her, though I couldn’t deny the relief of the cold washing through my insides.
Phoebe sighed. “It’s an interesting song, Hess, but it ain’t the easiest to listen to.” She and Tima chuckled, but Hess still studied me with concern. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Please,” I begged. “Don’t stop playing.”
After more back-and-forth, Hess finally conceded and picked up her guitar once again.
They moved on to old country songs I’d never heard of, and I was grateful they didn’t cajole me into singing.
The sounds of their voices were like rare bird calls, beautiful and tinged with nature.
How could I ever sing with people who could make music like that?
Instead, I lay down on the soft linen of the couch and closed my eyes, allowing the music to enter me without distraction.
I imagined I was a young child wrapped in gossamer and playing beneath a sun-dappled tree with a gleaming white dog. I watched Belle come toward me with her unadorned face—the one she showed only to those she trusted and loved.
She picked me up and held me to her warm chest, and the ache finally ceased.