Reckless, Glorious, Girl Read online

a good first kiss but only

  if I’m pomegranate puckered

  or cherry mint surprised.

  Sometimes even Mamaw wants me

  on a pedestal. She wants me eccentric

  but fitting in, unique but can blend.

  Work a cook station, bake cookies,

  clean the house top to bottom.

  She wants me to be the girl

  I’m supposed to be. The one

  everyone wants me to be.

  But what if I just want to be

  me?

  Weekend Away

  Mom is away

  & the house feels empty

  without her.

  Too quiet

  & calm

  for both Mamaw & me.

  We flip the TV on

  sappy love stories

  that Mom watches

  to fill the space

  without

  her.

  Dear Diary

  Look, I know I haven’t written in a long time. But now

  feels like the right moment. I’m kind of lost & feeling

  more alone than I’ve ever felt. My mom is on a week-

  end DATE with a guy who I will call HD (aka the wrong

  person for her). She just up & left us. Alone. So Mamaw

  & I have been walking around the house, lost. Trying

  to find our way without her. I know she wouldn’t leave

  us, but I’m scared. Scared of someone new coming into

  our lives. When we’ve lived so long alone. & been

  perfectly fine without a man. I want my mom happy,

  but I want Mamaw & me happy too. Is that possible?

  Also, worst of all—I have an intense crush on a boy

  who I know doesn’t know I’m alive. I mean—he knows,

  but I don’t think he cares. I mean, he might like me

  as a friend but nothing more. I have no idea. I’m failing

  in the love department. Mamaw would say, “Buck up,

  get back in there.” Mom would say, “Be the best you

  that you can be.” I like knowing they’re both with me,

  part of my life. I don’t want that to change. Not ever.

  Yours,

  Beatrice Miller

  In the Morning

  Mom walks in the front door

  to find Mamaw & me on the computer.

  Both of us hunched over

  our big ol’ desktop.

  We’ve spent the whole morning

  poring over Harrison Douglas

  & finding out his life story,

  searching his profile

  & gawking at photos.

  We feel guilty,

  but since Mamaw has never

  truly googled anything,

  it’s more a study

  in how to understand

  how computers work.

  She filled her coffee

  three times

  & is on a caffeine bender.

  She started looking at real estate

  & owning her own business

  & cake recipes

  & got on YouTube

  to learn about icing

  & cookies

  & corn bread

  & stuffing

  & holidays

  & life

  &&&.

  & now she is looking

  for a new place to live

  & a better job.

  We have hit rock bottom

  imagining Mom & me

  moving to Ohio

  with a man

  neither of us

  likes

  one

  bit.

  Hello

  “What are you two doing?” Mom asks,

  peering over our shoulders,

  looking right at the computer.

  “Bea, I have never seen you

  sitting there.” She moves

  to take off her coat.

  “Are you looking up apartments?

  Where in the world are you going?”

  “Well, if you all don’t want me,”

  Mamaw starts, standing up now,

  “then I’d like to find my own way

  and my own place to live.

  Thank you very much.”

  “Your own place to live? What?”

  My mom looks at me.

  “Beatrice, could you give us

  a moment?” I retreat to the stairs

  so I can still hear everything they say.

  “Bea, could you please stop

  being so damn dramatic?”

  “Well, look who’s talking. Ms. Weekend Away,

  Ms. Douglas. Ms. Harrison Douglas.

  Ms. Whisked Away. Forgot all about us.

  Left us here alone.”

  “Would you give me a break? Please.

  Could you let me just be, just figure out

  how I want to live the rest of my life?”

  “Of course, that’s why I’m leaving.

  I’ve thought about it long and hard,

  and my being here is dragging you

  and Beatrice down. I want you two

  to live your lives and be who you want

  to be. Without me.” I hear Mamaw’s

  voice choke, & it makes me hold back

  my own tears.

  “Oh, Bea, we would never leave you,”

  I hear Mom say,

  “you’re our home.”

  & then I hear what sounds like Mamaw crying,

  which is something I hardly ever hear

  & then Mom crying

  & then I end up sitting on the stairs crying

  so Mom and Mamaw hear me

  & come to cuddle up close in the stairway.

  We are one another’s homes,

  that is for certain.

  “Well, how was your weekend?

  I’m guessing we’ve got to give this

  Harrison Douglas

  another chance.”

  Mamaw looks right at me.

  I scowl. “I guess.”

  “I don’t think so,” my mom says.

  “We broke up. I, um … I broke up with him.

  It’s over.”

  “Oh no, no,” Mamaw says. “Well, I’m so sorry.”

  “You are not. You and Beatrice

  weren’t going to put up with him

  for even a second more.

  And to tell you the truth,

  neither was I.

  Especially when he started critiquing

  my parenting skills & how I was raising

  my child. Talk about smug.”

  We all stay silent for a moment,

  & then despite the fact that Mom still looks a little upset,

  Mamaw jumps up & high-fives me

  & starts to shake her hips.

  “Well, don’t get too excited,” Mom says.

  But we do, just the same.

  “Don’t worry,” Mamaw says,

  “I think I have someone I’d like to set you up with.

  I’ve been doing my own research for you

  & trying to find the perfect partner.”

  This makes me even more nervous

  than Harrison Douglas.

  “Oh noooo,” Mom says,

  & we all laugh harder than we have in a long while.

  Cover the Plants

  First rule of protection

  from incoming cold & frost.

  Make sure they’re comfortable.

  Speak to them softly & slowly.

  Touch them delicately.

  “I know, I know,” Mamaw says.

  “When people see me

  talk to my plants,

  tell ’em my life story,

  tell ’em how I really feel,

  I know what they’re thinking.

  I’m thinking they’re nosy neighbors

  but I know they roll their eyes,

  call me all kinds of names.

  No matter. I imagine

  they say it with lov
e

  & wish

  they could be

  as tender

  as me.”

  Inside of Me

  Is an everyday wish

  to be invited.

  Anywhere.

  Spend my time

  wishing in my bedroom,

  seeing myself

  somewhere else.

  Spend my time

  in our tree house

  while the weather holds,

  bring jackets & blankets.

  Places to find myself

  while I’m waiting

  for everyone else

  to find me.

  You’re Invited

  Whispers near my locker,

  a list with my name

  laced in circling, curling

  cursive. The kind

  Mamaw wants me

  to learn.

  Chloe & Brianna

  Invite YOU

  To a Super Fantastic

  Awesome Amazing

  Exciting Engaging

  Lively Out Loud

  Slumber Party!

  Place: Chloe’s House

  What to Bring:

  Yourself (ha!)

  Pajamas (of course)

  Snacks (Chloe & Brianna LOVE hot Takis & chocolate)

  Phone

  iPad

  Laptop

  The Cool-ification of Beatrice Miller

  It’s not easy, not in the least. First,

  selfie for real. Raid closet. Only

  the rad shirts will survive. Borrow

  Mom’s push-up bra, red lipstick,

  Mamaw’s dangly gold drop earrings.

  They’d call it stealing. Good thing

  they’re not home. Lend’s more like it.

  Purple scarf—check.

  Mascara—check,

  even though you smear it three times

  & have to wash your whole face twice

  to start over. Flash. Smile. Show teeth

  but not too much. Straighten hair. Hot

  iron, gel, de-frizzing spray called Elixir

  of Smooth. Says: get the goddess look.

  Time to sign up. Try for a ponytail.

  Try for a french braid. Try to look serious.

  Now bored, now shocked, now quiet

  & calm. Now like you just won the lottery.

  Because you did. You’re in. Invitations

  galore. Chloe + Brianna + you

  & you are just getting started.

  Click. Pose. Snap.

  Mamaw Loves Vintage

  Or that’s what she calls it. I call it plain

  old-fashioned Goodwill. Because that’s

  what it is. And every time we walk

  inside, it kind of smells like an attic

  in the house of someone who is dead.

  “Mamaw, I just don’t want to smell like …”

  She looks at me, always acts so confused

  when she doesn’t want to hear what I’m saying.

  “Death,” I whisper, trying to avoid the stares

  of the cashiers, who always smile too big,

  offer peppermints. “I am not eighty-five years old,

  I want to remind them.” But Mamaw loves it,

  revels in it even. She’s only sixty-three, but they give her

  the senior deal because her silver hair

  puts her over the sixty-five mark in their minds.

  “Not my problem if they think a little gray

  turns you over-the-hill. I don’t mind one bit,”

  she says, & I swear she brings her cane

  & puts on a little limp just to keep in their good

  graces. They cater to her too, bringing her

  blouses & slacks (her words) & me old

  concert T-shirts. I try & scowl, but Guns

  N’ Roses is suddenly cool again. So is Back

  to the Future & E.T. & when they bring me

  the same puffy green coat with fur collar

  I’ve been studying at the mall, I fold. “Yes,”

  I tell Mamaw, hugging it around my body.

  She eyes the tag. $75. Still pricey but way less

  than the $250 one we saw. She haggles down

  to $60, & even I’m impressed. “No one messes

  with Mamaw,” she says, pulling me & the coat close.

  “I can fix that zipper and button in a flash.” My first

  fancy coat. A real North Coast coat.

  Hand-me-down, sure. But mine just the same.

  Brown Station Wagon

  Circa the gilded age. Circa

  the American Revolution. Circa

  the age when dinosaurs

  roamed the earth. Circa the Ice

  Age. Circa forever ago.

  Reference: the past. Reference:

  history. Back a ways. Aged.

  “Come on,” I say to Mamaw.

  I plead, “Not Brownie,” the name

  given lovingly (by her) to her Ford

  wagon. “Would you rather me

  drop you off on the Pink Lady?”

  “Your bike?!” I nearly choke

  on the ham & cheese biscuit she made me.

  Don’t be ungrateful. Don’t be a jerk.

  Don’t forget she’s your mamaw.

  & she woke up early enough

  to make your favorite breakfast.

  & she loves you enough to give you

  a ride in the first place. She smiles.

  “I’ve got an extra helmet, you know.”

  “Brownie will be just fine,” I say.

  Cruising

  Mamaw & me.

  Bluegrass highway heaven.

  Rocking, rolling hills.

  Radio on blast.

  Willie Nelson, Aretha Franklin,

  the Pointer Sisters,

  Lionel Richie too.

  Mamaw’s eclectic playlists.

  Gotta love it.

  & I do.

  Windows way down.

  Her voice echoes,

  wraps around me.

  Freeway of love.

  All night long.

  Natural woman. Wind

  winds through us.

  “Turn it up!”

  Mamaw shouts, laughing.

  White picket fences,

  dot horse farms,

  & sleepy subdivisions.

  Sometimes Kentucky’s comforting.

  & familiar

  & warm

  & real

  & beautiful

  & home.

  Chloe’s House

  Is not a house. It’s a mansion, sprawling & tall

  as it is wide. She’s got a pool & its own house

  attached in the back. Three-car garage. Circular

  driveway that Mamaw meanders into. “Whewww,”

  she says, looking around. We’ve been past here

  lots of times on our neighborhood drive-arounds.

  I’ve wished this were mine before. StaceyAnn

  & Mariella are doing a sleepover together. Wished

  me luck & said they couldn’t wait for the stories.

  Neither of them cared. I wish I didn’t so much.

  Somehow, this invitation comes with status. Cool

  factor. My name on the list, on the score sheet.

  Climbing out from the hole of nonexistence. Rise

  up to be considered part of the in crowd. Mamaw

  hugs me close, says, “Don’t forget to brush your teeth

  & wash your face & thank Chloe’s family & eat

  what you’re served. Thank you, & yes ma’am, no

  sir, & all that. Don’t forget your manners, where

  you’re from.” Hands me a cloth bag of squash,* says

  never ever show up anywhere empty-handed.

  *What do I do with the squash?? Throw it away.

  Nice Car

  Chloe says when she opens the door

  & waves goodbye to Mamaw, who honks

  her horn too loud & hollers,
“Toodle-oo!”

  She’s joking, but it doesn’t feel that funny

  when I see the big SUVs in Chloe’s driveway

  & the way they take up space in her life.

  Breathe.

  She takes my coat, even though I want

  to keep it on all night. Proud I’m wearing

  a North Coast—ready to fit right in.

  Chloe squeals when she sees it, says,

  “O

  M

  G.

  This is my old coat—from last year!

  So awesome! See, it has my initials right here.

  Did you get it at Goodwill?!

  O

  M

  G.

  My mom takes everything to Goodwill.

  It looks so cute on you! I love it. I’m so glad

  someone else got some good use out of it.”

  She puts my coat on a hanger beside

  what seems like dozens of new, fluffy

  warm coats. She’s prepared for anything.

  She’s not trying to make me invisible.

  She’s really not. At least, I don’t think

  she is. But that’s exactly the way I feel.

  Craft Fair

  We spend our day at the Bardstown Craft Fair.

  Perfect fall, full of old-timey crafts & new-

  wave stands. All of them devoted to Kentucky.

  Quilts & homemade everything. Grills fired up

  & storefronts open. Downtown is alive,

  & wild with people from all over the county.

  It’s tradition for Mariella & StaceyAnn & me

  to go together, so when I see them without me,

  I try & avoid them altogether. Think about status

  & my place on the planet of middle school.

  When they wave, I barely get my hand in the air

  before I’m taken in the wave of new friends,