Page 13 of The Light Year (Stardust Beach #6)

barbie

. . .

As she pushes Huck on the swings at the park in early October, Barbie recalls a time when her mother had taken her out for an evening.

She’d been fourteen, and shy, in the midst of an awkward teenage girl phase that left her feeling like she didn’t belong in her own body, and her body didn’t belong or fit into any clothing or space she might inhabit.

“Put this on,” Marion Mackey had said, handing Barbie a dress on a hanger. The dress was a dark, midnight blue shantung silk, with a cinched waist and a netted petticoat under. To Barbie’s surprise and delight, it had fit—and looked quite lovely.

When she descended the stairs, Marion had been waiting with her gloves in hand, lips pursed as she assessed her daughter.

“Beautiful,” she said, handing Barbie a shrug to put over her shoulders. “Off we go.”

They were in the back of the car together, being driven by Etan, the man who had driven her family for as long as Barbie could remember, when her mother reached over and encircled Barbie’s wrist with her long, narrow fingers.

The sky was the same color as Barbie’s dress, and they cut through the night in their black Pontiac Streamliner.

“Darling,” Marion said in her deep, movie star voice. “We’re not actually going to a fancy dress occasion.”

The balloon of excitement in Barbie’s chest popped.

In 1942, her father had ordered an electric car called L’oeuf Electrique, which created a tidal wave of excitement for Barbie and Ted.

They waited on pins and needles for this futuristic car that was supposed to look like an egg.

But when it arrived, it was a tiny bubble of a car with a strange metal steering wheel, and though her father got behind the wheel joyfully, ready to show it off to his children, the excitement over an egg-shaped car had vanished.

This was nothing more than a strange toy for her father, Barbie had realized.

This moment felt much like that one, and she looked at her mother with dismay.

“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

As she waited for a response, a feeling came to her: there was a hint of subterfuge to this outing, and that brought its own sense of excitement.

Immediately, Barbie sensed she was expected to keep this from her father.

She caught Etan's eye in the rearview mirror, and for the briefest sliver of a second, she thought she caught him winking at her.

"My love," Marion said, still holding her daughter's wrist. "You and your brother are extremely blessed. You live lives of ease, and you've never wanted for a single damn thing. Not every child is so lucky."

Barbie swallowed, feeling guilty as she turned her head to look out the window. What was she supposed to say to that?

"Hey," her mother said, squeezing her wrist. "That's not a judgment on you children—that’s just how it is.

And I want you to get a full view of the world before you grow up and fully inhabit it.

You need to understand how people live—and not just people with money.

" Her mother tapped her knee and leaned forward, speaking to Etan.

"Can you please pull in behind the church? "

Etan nodded wordlessly and swung the Streamliner in behind the Catholic church on the corner. He cut the lights and turned off the car.

"Now," Marion said, turning back to her daughter. "We're going to change our clothes and spend the evening helping people who aren't as fortunate as we are. All I need you to do is smile and be willing to do what we're asked, okay?"

Barbie, who trusted her mother implicitly (despite the very real teenage urge to roll her eyes at ninety percent of what Marion said and did), nodded seriously. "Okay, Mama," she whispered.

Under the dark of night, and with the car parked beneath a thick tree, Marion and Barbie stood behind the Pontiac with the trunk opened wide, unzipping each other's dresses and slipping them off amidst clandestine giggles.

"Here, wear these," Marion said, thrusting a pair of cotton trousers at Barbie.

She put one leg into them and then the other, pulling them up to her waist and holding them there, as they were several sizes too big for her.

Marion leaned over the trunk and pulled out a long piece of grosgrain ribbon, which she threaded through the belt loops and then tied in a jaunty bow at the waist. Barbie took the men's shirt that her mother offered, buttoning it up and rolling the cuffs so they didn't hang down over her fingertips.

For their feet, they each put on canvas shoes with rubber soles and then looked at one another.

Barbie felt like they were in costume, and about to embark upon a fun, madcap caper of some sort.

But Marion's face turned deadly serious as she took both of her daughter's hands in her own and pulled her closer.

In a low voice, she whispered: "Sweetheart.

There are many things I haven't told you yet, and now is not the time for all of them.

" The car idled in the darkness as Marion pulled Barbie away from the exhaust, setting her on the curb and then sinking down next to her so that their knees were touching.

"But in life, sometimes a woman doesn't want to be pregnant, and furthermore, she can't afford to be—for a variety of reasons. "

Barbie's eyes were wide as saucers; it had never occurred to her that pregnancy was anything other than a blessing between a married couple, and, as she thought about it then, she realized she wasn't even entirely clear about how it all happened.

"I need you to listen to me," Marion said gently, putting her hands on either side of Barbie's knees and looking right into her eyes.

"It's a messy business for a lot of women, trying to remedy this particular situation, and there are doctors who can help, but it's very dangerous. Do you understand me?"

Barbie nodded, but inside her head, her mind was shouting: "No! No, I do not understand!"

"Okay, then I need you to just follow my lead.

We're volunteers. We help women when they arrive.

We comfort them, we listen, we don't ask questions, and we do not judge.

We offer water or juice, we hold their hands before and after they see the doctor, and if someone isn't feeling well, we find her a place to lie down, and we put a washcloth to her forehead and tell her she's going to be alright. That's all we do, okay?"

Barbie felt that these tasks didn't seem to warrant the level of seriousness in her mother's eyes and tone, but she nodded again anyway. "Okay, Mama."

"We do not have to agree with the decisions that any other woman makes in her life, Barbara, but we do need to support them. Women are the backbones of one another's lives, and we only survive by leaning on each other and keeping each other's secrets. Do you understand?"

Barbie nodded again, and her mother patted her legs and then stood up, holding out her hands to pull Barbie up off the curb.

Marion walked around to the driver's window and rapped on it with her knuckles. Barbie watched her, loving this vision of her mother in oversized slacks and an oxford shirt, looking to the world like an impish, adventurous woman rather than a wealthy, worldly wife and mother.

"Etan," Marion said as he rolled down the window.

"Ma'am?"

"We'll be back here in three hours. You'll be here?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, putting one jacket-clad elbow on the doorframe and putting his dark fingers to his forehead in a small salute. "I'll be here."

Marion tipped her head toward the street and beckoned for Barbie to follow, which she did.

That evening, Barbie learned more about being a woman than she had in the first fourteen years of her life.

She saw women of every color, every social strata, and of every age and size come through the doors of the makeshift clinic where she and her mother volunteered.

The first girl her own age who walked in, looking shy and scared and ashamed, had nearly thrown Barbie off course.

She’d stared openly, wanting to know how and why a girl, who was clearly too young to be married, had come to see a doctor about pregnancy.

Seeing Barbie's face, her mother had walked over and physically turned her away, pushing her towards a different room with a whispered admonishment: "We don't judge.

Now, go help to restock the clean towels. "

By the end of the night, Barbie had seen several women faint, three vomit, and had heard one wailing so loudly from behind a closed door that she'd turned to her mother in fear, only to receive a single shake of the head.

They left the clinic--which was really a makeshift space built behind a real doctor's office--looking and feeling exhausted.

Barbie's hair was damp and stuck to her forehead, and her shirt had come untucked at some point, and now hung down nearly to her knees.

In the parking lot of the church, Etan saw them coming and turned over the engine, idling with his headlights off as Barbie and Marion silently re-zipped one another into their dresses, then balled up the sweaty, blood-and-vomit stained clothing they'd worn all evening so they could shove it into the trunk.

Barbie’s mother slammed the trunk and smoothed down the front of her dress. “We’ll get home at the time I projected, and no one will be any the wiser about where we’ve been,” she said, lowering her chin and looking at Barbie to make sure she understood.

Barbie nodded and followed her mom into the backseat of the car.

Barbie slept all the way home, dreaming fitfully of crying women, of silent babies, of dead flowers, and of the girl her age who had disappeared behind the closed door of the doctor’s room and come out looking ashen.