Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

after all these years: You like me…you really like me .

    She had endured Mary Ann in the Morning for one last program—“The Truth About Breast Implants.” Now she was home in her walk-in closet, dragging out a trunk, which had been there unopened for ages. It was crammed with things from Connie’s apartment in the Marina. Connie’s little brother, Wally, had brought it by Barbary Lane only days after he’d shown up with the newborn Shawna. “She might want this someday,” he’d told them somberly, bestowing a sort of heirloom status on stuff he’d simply been too softhearted to throw out.
    When Mary Ann pushed back the lid, Shawna all but dove into the musty interior.
    “Hey, Puppy. Take it easy.”
    “What’s this?”
    It was a filthy terry-cloth python with plastic eyes that rolled. She remembered it all too well. Connie had kept it on her bed, next to her giant Snoopy. “It’s a snake, see?” She made the eyes roll for Shawna.
    “Was that hers?”
    “Sure. All of this stuff was.”
    “Gah!” Obviously impressed, the kid lunged into the trunk again and pulled out a little cardboard crate that Mary Ann recognized immediately.
    “What’s this?”
    “Open it.”
    Shawna did so and frowned. “It’s just a dumb rock.”
    “No, it’s a Pet Rock.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Well…people used to have these.”
    “What does it do?”
    “It’s kind of hard to explain, Puppy. Look at this, though.” She removed a satin pillow, maroon faded to rose, and read the inscription: “School Spirit Day, Central High, 1967.”
    “What is it?”
    “Well, that’s where your…birth mommy and I went to high school in Cleveland. She was head majorette. You know what that is?”
    Shawna shook her head.
    “She marched in front of the band. With a baton and this really neat uniform. It was a big deal. Everybody saw her. You know, I think maybe…” She foraged through the trunk, hoping that Wally had rescued Connie’s Buccaneer .
    Sure enough, there it was, tucked behind an atrocious painting of a bullfighter on black velvet. The raised medallion on the front cover had been rendered medieval by mildew. “I’ll show you a picture,” she said.
    It was a full-page photo at the front of the sports section: Connie strutting her stuff, buttons gleaming, teeth and tits to the wind. At the time, Mary Ann had written it off as slutty looking, but she had probably just been envious. It seemed almost virginal now.
    Sitting Indian style on the floor, Shawna took the yearbook on her lap and studied the page. “She was pretty,” she said at last.
    “She was,” said Mary Ann. “Very. I think she looks a lot like you. Don’t you?”
    Shawna shrugged. “Did you move out here with her?”
    “No. She was here a long time before I was. But I stayed with her when I came out here from Cleveland.”
    “How long?”
    “Oh…a week.” It had been a long week too, what with Connie dragging home guys from Thomas Lord’s and Dance Your Ass Off. She had moved out with a sense of profound relief, putting all that tackiness behind her. Or so she thought at the time. Who would have dreamed she would end up as the custodian of Connie’s memory?
    “Didn’t you like her?” asked Shawna.
    This caught her off guard. “Of course, Puppy. Sure I liked her. Why would you say a thing like that?”
    The child shrugged. “You left her.”
    “I didn’t leave her.”
    “But you said…”
    “I found a place at Anna’s house. I wanted my own apartment. I was only at your birth mommy’s place for the time being. She knew that.”
    Shawna seemed to weigh this, her blue eyes narrowing. She looked down at the yearbook again. “Are you in this?” she asked.
    Mary Ann found her ridiculous class picture with the ironed hair and showed it to the child, wincing privately at the meager credits and the condescending epigram: “Still Waters Run Deep.”
    “Is that all?”
    “That’s it.” What could she say? She’d been a nerd.
    Shawna closed the book and laid it aside. “Can I play with this stuff?”
    “Sure. It’s yours, Puppy. That’s why…your mommy left it for you.” She had almost said “birth mommy” again, but it sounded a little stingy somehow.
    For a moment, remembering, she felt a rush of unfettered affection for Connie, something she’d never been able to manage while her old classmate was still alive. She flashed on Connie looking radiant in her BABY T-shirt—the one with the arrow pointing to her