vintage loves, II (expanded draft)

May 1998 and it is already in the 90s by mid morning, the humidity visible by 0730.  I've been packing for days, preparing to move back to my parents' for the summer before starting at a new university in the Autum.  My roommate at the time is an exquisitely damaged type; we had met in a Blues and Pop Culture graduate seminar that I had lobbied to be able to take the previous summer (I was still a freshman). She was painfully beautifully to look at, with huge doll eyes and auburn hair.  We called her 'the cow eyed wonder' because her eyes were so vast.  I think we were a a bit smitten up until she broke our friend Andy and he had to go to Whitfield for some reprogramming, after stopping to drink some gasoline at the local Chevron. It was my first experience watching two people actively allergic to one another engage despite all of the clear evidence it would end in tears.  I suppose back then I thought such heartbreak was the most romantic and lasting thing, obviously back before I realised that the Brontë sisters were writing warnings and not how-to manuals. 

The last time I heard from the Cow-Eyed wonder, was in mid-2009. She friended me on the Book of Faces and I literally jumped off the sofa. I was sitting next to Bifffington-Smythe rquietly expanding with James Robert. Josephine was curled up in her basket and I may have yelped. It was the second time in my life I put a clear boundary in place. I wish I could have been friends with her, but the undertow was too intense. Our crazies were not compatible. 

1998 was an odd year for everyone in my sphere, but most probably for the Wonder. Whilst I slid into a research-induced depression (Why wouldn't researching the development of the nationalist movements in countries that had had their identities eclipsed by Colonialism and the spiraling violence in such countries send an already addled 20-year-old down a mineshaft?), The Wonder was blowing up her life left and right. We crossed paths only to chain smoke, drink bourbon, listen to Billy Holiday and Edith Piaf, rewinding Cold Comfort Farm until the world felt almost right.  She would braid and twist my hair and dress me as though I were a doll, taking me out to grad student parties. She introduced me to Whit Stillman and Shawn Colwin before 'Sunny Came Home,' was on every radio station. 

I knew by February of 1998 that I needed to leave Oxford. Once made, I snapped to attention, making the Dean's list, finishing my writing portfolio. Somehow, I finagled late acceptance to the University of Cincinnati (they had an Austen scholar). I had broken up with the US Army the previous year, narrowly avoided a general discharge ('I will grant you an honourable discharge, Pvt. Howse, on the condition that you NEVER enlist in the military again.'  Was it ironic that 10 years later, I wanted to enlist in the Navy?  Not really; that had been my plan all along, derailed only by my mother's haste when the Army came knocking first, an ill-fated suitor if there ever was one.) Out-of-state tuition and being worn down by the constant loop in my brain...well, it took its toll. It was the late 90s and the science of chemical imbalance and depression was all a wild west. Prozac led to increased cutting, Paxil to my feeling pleasantly numb but itchy. Wellbutrin made the bitty pieces of that awkward date-rape thing in 1996 more vivid.  I took to sleeping during the day and staring out windows at night, wandering around downtown Oxford until dawn broke, sometimes sneaking out to Rowan Oak to watch the sunrise. 

My mom was due to arrive on a Friday afternoon. We met at the house on Buchanan where two enormous Hefty garbage bags full of clothes greeted us.  The Wonder had more clothing than anyone I had ever encountered, myself included, truly exquisite pieces.  The answering machine messages from her father, sounding terrified. I was listening to the messages when the phone rang.

Turns out, she'd taken an entire bottle of Tylenol PM and chased it with some Makers' Mark. 'Can you bring me a few things to the hospital?' My mom stood by behind me, her hand gently on my shoulder. 

What do you pack for a friend who's just tried to overdose? In this case, her journal, a fountain pen (of course she wrote with a fountain pen), her favourite robe, a few toiletries and Swan in Love.  She looked porcelain doll beautiful against the crisp hospital bedding. 

'I...I'm so sorry, A. I know you were hurting but I didn't realise...' We both teared up. 

'I was just so tired, Rachel. The bags on your bed, those are for you. I want you to have the clothes. I was having a huge clear out so A could move in.'

'I mean....'

'Take them! And I'll see you in August. For the wedding.'

'...'

'Oh, we're definitely still getting married.' She clenched A's arm.  'I've found my dress and Daddy's booked the Country Club.  And we're going to have the bridesmaids' dresses specially made.'

'I mean...you just tried to...' I can feel my bewilderment on my face, my hands are sweaty. 

My mom touched my arm. 'Honey, we really need to get on the road.'

I look back and forth between the lovebirds. This is nuts. This whole town is nuts.  

Mama and I head back to Buchanan Street. 'Sweetie...that girl...I'm just so glad you're coming home. This place...I'm just glad you're coming home.'

We finish loading the car and I carry out the large bags. 'What do you think is in here?'

'A has A LOT of clothes. I mean, even more than GG.' Mom has opened one of the bags, takes out a green linen dress with elaborate applique work in the same green.  Then, an art deco kimono in summer watercolours, a battenburg lace overcoat, several pairs of kid gloves.  'Where did she get all of this stuff?' She picks up a diaphanous silk negligee. 'And why is she giving it to you?'

'Because I love old clothes? Because Adrian's moving in? Because she just tried to...'. I stuff everything back into the bin liner. 'Mama, let's just go, please. I don't want to be here anymore.'

We leave town and I don't look back.  We back way up through Holly Springs. I think back to dancing at Junior Kimbrough's place, meeting students from Rust.College. I wonder if I would have done better, been happier there., I think as we drive past.  

The summer sped by, the wedding did indeed take place.  I spent my summer working as a dishwasher and hostess at a micro-brewery, the former the best summer job I ever had, the latter one of the worst. I don't know that I've ever had my ass pinched or slapped so much by obnoxious people.  My grandfather was still alive and we'd spend hours watching old movies together and debating the plot lines of 'Law and Order' episodes. 

The bridesmaids' dresses were indeed couture quality. How is it that I ever had a 19-inch waist, I wonder now. .I worked my way through the two bags of clothing, deciding what suits, what can be re-gifted.  24 years later, I still have 3 of the items she gifted me: a pair of delicately tatted gloves, a shawl, and the silk kimono.The times life has found me driving through Nashville, I do not reach out.  But I do sometimes miss those late-night chats. And I still love The Metroplitan trilogy.