A Life of Bright Ideas by Sandra Kring Page B

on made me want to be a bride. One Sunday a few months ago, when I ran to the shop for more needles, I slipped on a finished gown, veil and all, just to see if I’d make a pretty bride. Hazel came into the shop unexpectedly, and I tripped all over myself, explaining that I was suspicious that the darts didn’t line up evenly so I was checking them out, since the bride and I had the same bust size (which obviously wasn’t true, since my boobs were flattened and bulged almost to my neck, making me look more like a Victorian queen than a bride). And like I’d have needed to try on the veil if any of that was true anyway. God! How embarrassing!
    I glanced up at Winnalee and wondered if she could read my thoughts. Then I realized that about now, she was high enough that she probably couldn’t even read
her own
thoughts.
    Winnalee was hungry, so we made grape Kool-Aid and Jiffy Pop popcorn, and brought them upstairs.
    “Hey, remember when we usedta eat Kool-Aid powder straight from the package?” Winnalee asked, as she swirled her glass in front of the light and watched the Kool-Aid crawl up the side of the glass, smiling as if she was playing with a rainbow. “Mmmm, that was good.”
    When Winnalee was talking about drugs and sex, my stomach had felt tight and my heart felt a bit sorry. But right now, at this moment, with her giddy about the fun things we’d done, her giggles washed away those feelings of unease. Once, after the Malones left, and Dad made some snide remark about Freeda being so promiscuous, Ma said, “It’s none of our business, Reece. Freeda’s ways aren’t hurting you, they’re hurting her.” I decided I would remember Ma’s words, no matter what Winnalee told me. And I’d remember what Aunt Verdella always said when people gossiped about how others lived: that it wasn’t our place to judge others, only to love them.
    Winnalee imitated herself as a child, licking Kool-Aid from her finger, and I giggled. Then, in a burst of pure joy, I said, “I just can’t believe you’re back!”
    “I know it. It kicks ass, doesn’t it?” Her eyes were glazed, her laughter slow and happy.
    Winnalee popped a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, stood, and stripped naked as she chewed, not caring that her pubic hair and bare boobs were facing me (which I suppose made sense, considering that she’d let hundreds of thousands of strangers see them already). She still wore the faint memory of her girlhood potbelly below her navel, but otherwise she had the perfect body. Her armpits were fuzzy, though, and I wondered if that was because she’d been on the road for days or if it was some sort of hippie thing.
    Winnalee tugged a too-big T-shirt over her head andflopped back on the bed. She grabbed the foil popcorn pan and set it on her stomach. I grabbed my nightie, turned off Country Joe and the Fish, and went downstairs to brush and change. When I got back up, the popcorn tin was on the floor and Winnalee was almost asleep. “Button?” she said, her voice slow and drowsy. “Is Aunt Verdella raising Boohoo then?”
    My stomach tensed. “I guess you could say that.”
    “Nice,” she said slowly.
    “Not exactly. Aunt Verdella’s too old to be chasing after a kid. So as soon as I’m settled …”
    Winnalee came back to life with frazzled energy. “Button, don’t say that. Aunt Verdella’s not too old to raise a kid! She’ll
never
be too old to raise a kid!”
    Winnalee wore the same look she wore at the table, and I understood. Aunt Verdella’s ways made her seem forever young. But every now and then, like when she’d lift her arm and I’d see skin hanging like soggy crepe paper, or when she’d struggle to get out of her chair after crocheting for a couple of hours and move stiffly for a few steps, I’d get scared and wonder how many years she’d still be around, and how I could ever face life without her.
    I took Winnalee’s things off the bed and hung the peasant dress, then stuffed the rest