|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
| Hannah signs her books at Barnes & Noble in Warwick, RI. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
Monica Staaf
I stood next to the kitchen table and sorted my mail. I waited for my hot water to boil. A small pale blue envelope with the rounded penmanship of a schoolgirl appeared in the pile. I picked it up and examined it. The postmark said “Corinth, Ohio” but there was no return address.I wondered if Corinth had changed since I moved away so abruptly. Its neat brick buildings rose from a sea of cornfields. It was the kind of town where people knew their neighbors and every house flew a flag on the Fourth of July. A grain elevator stood at the far end of Main Street across from the John Deere outfit. Corinth had a five and dime, hardware store, and the bank that my father managed. Of course, there was Vi’s diner, where all the farmers gathered to compare corn prices and tease Vi over flapjacks and coffee. The whole town grew corn or catered to those who did.I eased open the envelope, careful not to rip it, and began to read.“Dear Laurie:”“I heard you got engaged. I always hoped Jimmy would get married and have kids.”I dropped the letter as though it had scalded me. My hands trembled. Oh my God. How had she found me after all these years?Murderer!” She had shrieked at me on the steps of the church as the town gathered to bury its favorite son. That was the last time I saw her.I poked the letter as gingerly as I would a slumbering snake. Should I keep reading? The crisp brown leaves swirled and rasped against my kitchen window. The leaves reminded me of my first and final autumn in Corinth so many years ago. I stared out the window and remembered.The mood in town was somber and affected everyone from kids to adults. The oil embargo hit farming country hard. Tractor fuel was expensive and out-of-control interest rates led to bankers calling loans. Auctions of repossessed tractors and family farms became common sights. Farmers still came to Vi’s after they finished the morning chores but they were quieter than usual. I watched a family pack up their belongings and leave rows.Now they speculated in low voices about whether the Andersons or the Halls would be able to stop my father from foreclosing on their farm and whether Earl Montague would see a dime of insurance money after his empty barn burned down one night. Grim-faced men in overalls filed in and out of First Farmers to plead with my father for more time or another loan. My father responded as sympathetically as he responded to my pleading not to leave Chicago.The town was desperate for a hero, and Jimmy Hall was it.Every Friday night, farmers and townspeople from all over Lucas County bundled up their families in their pick up trucks and drove to the football game to watch that strapping farm boy play. When Jimmy bounded onto the field wearing number 24, every eye was on him.It was the weekend before Homecoming and, the Corinth Panthers were down by three points with five seconds left on the clock. Jimmy sprang from nowhere to catch a “Hail Mary” pass that spiraled halfway down the field and scored a winning touchdown. The crowd cheered and stomped. Jimmy’s folks and the other farmers forgot their cares and ran onto the field to hoist Jimmy onto their broad shoulders.After the football game, townies and farm kids all gathered around a bonfire in Earl Montague’s field. Empty cans of Stroh’s and Bud were everywhere. Luanne talked me into going. I wore a new pair of navy Levy’s cords and a purple turtleneck, and Luanne helped me curl my hair with hot rollers at her house. One side came out a little flat but the layers feathered back. Sometimes I wished my mom was still around to ask about mascara and hair styles and clothes but it was just my father and me.I stood on the outskirts of the bonfire with the rest of the townies.Jimmy broke from the circle and ambled in my direction. He wore his purple and gold varsity jacket. His wavy hair shone as yellow as corn in the light of the bonfire. Every boy wanted to be him; every girl wanted to be with him.“Hey, hon. How’s it going?” His warm voice caressed my ear. I looked around. He couldn’t be talking to me.“Cat got your tongue?” I looked up to see him smiling patiently at me. .“You wanna go for a ride.” I didn’t care whether he knew my name. I was a lowly sophomore. Everyone stopped to stare at me. I could even feel some of the cheerleaders look at me. “Fresh meat”, someone sniggered.“Maybe Jimmy needs to borrow some money”.“More like his Dad”, someone muttered.Jimmy swung towards the voice. “What did you say?” he growled. No one answered. “Cut it”, he said.Jimmy smiled and held out his hand towards me. Luanne squealed, “Wow! Jimmy Paige!”Something flickered in her eyes but she squeezed my arm.The shrill whistle of the kettle startled me back to the present. I turned off the kettle and made my tea. Curiosity got the better of me, and I sat down to read more of the letter. “Everyone in Corinth still misses Jimmy. He was such a great guy.” I skimmed to the bottom of the page until my eyes rested on her final words. “It’s time for me to forgive you”, it said. Tears flooded my eyes. I picked up the phone to dial directory assistance but just as quickly dropped it back into the cradle. Forgiveness. I mused. How can you forgive someone who doesn’t need to be forgiven? I stared at the phone, and my thoughts returned to leaving the bonfire with Jimmy.Jimmy pealed out of the cornfield and onto the rural route. He took a long swig from a flask and thrust it at me. “Honey – you need to loosen up.” I took a sip and looked towards him for approval like a beagle waiting for a pat on the head. He stared at me and smiled. “Awllllllll. Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-g-t! Wooooooo!” The rowdy rock of “Sweet Home Alabama” blasted from his radio, and Jimmy bobbed his head to the music, pausing to bang on the dashboard.He sped down the inky black road and tore around the corner so fast it felt like we were balancing on two wheels. The lacy garter hanging from the rearview mirror of his red pick up truck swung crazily back and forth. He lurched around another turn, slammed on the brakes, shifted into park and cut the lights. He fiddled with the radio until he reached a slow song: “Stairway to Heaven”.He dropped a bear-like paw onto the back of my neck. “Come here”. This was the moment that I had fantasized about when I saw leaning against his locker or ambling down the hallway at school.I swooned towards him, aching for a kiss from a hero.“Good gi-i-i-i-i-i-r-l”, he crooned.I fantasized about Homecoming. Luanne told me that Jimmy had broken up with Mary Jo. Would he ask me to the dance next weekend? I imagined my head nestled in the crook of his arm, press closed to him as we circled to my favorite Led Zeppelin song under a mirrored silver ball and the purple and gold streamers in the gym. It was crazy and wonderful! I hugged myself with delight. Anything could happen. Jimmy had held out his hand to me not Mary Jo or any other girl at the bonfire.I closed my eyes and waited. His natural scent blended with the varnish smell of spilled whiskey. I imagine what his lips would feel like pressed against mine. My insides turned warm and moist. I wondered what my first kiss would be like. I wanted to feel his fingers stroke my hair. Instead, he shoved my head downwards towards his Levi-covered crotch just inches away. My eyes popped open to see the bulge. “Suck it”, he commanded. I struggled to lift my head. “C’mon. Suck it, baby.”I felt strangely excited. I had the power to make someone like Jimmy Page want me. He grabbed a tangle of my hair and yanked me down. In that instant, I knew: Jimmy wouldn’t ask me to the Homecoming Dance or take me to the movies. He didn’t care who I was or know anything about me. I was just a warm mouth to him. I was as anonymous as the water boy or a random football fan in the crowd. We were all there to make Jimmy happy.“You know you want it”, he purred like a hungry tiger. My groin responded but I couldn’t switch off my brain.“Jimmy – could we just talk? I hardly even know you.”He ignored me and unzipped his jeans with his free hand.“Touch it, baby”. He lunged at me and grabbed my hand. He panted in my ear like a thirsty Labrador.“No. I’m not ready for this.” I sounded shrill – not sexy – but I couldn’t help myself. I tried to twist away as we played tug-of-war with my hair that Luanne had helped me curl.“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled. “Most girls beg for it.”“No.” I shouted, and pushed him. His back jabbed into the steering wheel.“I don’t need this shit.” He slammed his truck violently into gear. In a fury, Jimmy sped down County Road 42 overcorrecting to navigate its twists and turns. “Prick tease”. He swigged more whiskey. “Why the hell did you ride with me anyway?” He turned to glare at me through glazed blue eyes.“Jimmy!” I screamed, as we plunged into nothingness. I remembered how the pick up truck flew through the guard rail and spiraled towards the drainage ditch. We crashed through the windshield and flew through the darkness in slow motion. I imagined the how the shards of glass and slivers of metal would land in a pattern as beautiful as a snowflake.When I opened my eyes, I saw dancing blue and white lights, and heard voices interrupting and overlapping.“Miss? Are you all right?”“Shit! That looks like Jimmy Hall.”“Who was driving?”In that instant, I made my decision. Corinth needed Jimmy Hall more than a quiet sophomore whose father continued to spread misery around the county.“Me”. I whispered. “I was driving.”The next few weeks were a blur. My father took me to speak with the judge in his chambers that crackled with brown leather. The judge and my father struck a deal over two shots of Scotch. I was so numb, I remembered only scraps of their conversation: “sealed record”, “suspended driver’s license”, “forgive the loan”.My father packed me off to boarding school back east just as easily as he had boxed up the photos and mementos of my mom. He left town the next year just as abruptly as we’d blown into town. The Halls kept their farm. My father was like a storm chaser careening after the next recession, the next real estate crash.In the middle of the cornfields in a town that time forgot, Jimmy Hall will be always be eighteen years old. Number 24 will always belong to him. He’ll trot onto the field and catch that spiraling pass forever. Jimmy will be the hero, and I’ll be the villain. To save their hero, the price for me was exile. How would anyone gain if I tried to swap roles with him now – so many years, so many miles away?I scooped up the letter from Jimmy’s mother and carried it into the living room. I crumpled the letter into a ball and flung it into the fireplace. Let sleeping dogs lie, I thought. Flames licked the edges of the pale blue stationery. I walked towards the kitchen to retrieve the envelope.<< Previous Page |
|
 |
|
Paperback
Size : 6 x 9
Pages: 118
ISBN: 0-595-31265-9
Published: Mar-2004 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Hannah Goodman has written a wonderfully witty, engrossing and hilarious novel about sisters and their relationships. Her prose is dead on and her scenes flow effortlessly from one to the other. I can't remember the last time I stayed up to finish a book, but I had to finish My Sister’s Wedding!"
Rosemary O’Brien, Author of First Saturday
|
|
In the 2005 fall issue of East Bay Living, syndicated columnist cited several famous authors like Grisham and Patricia Cornwell as her favorite authors. She also added, "I also like local authors. There's a young adult book (My Sister's Wedding) by Hannah Goodman, a teacher who lives in Bristol (RI). It has great dialogue."
|
|
|
|
|
Paperback
Size : 6 x 9
Pages: 144
ISBN: 0-595-39430-2
Published: May-2004 6 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
