Prom Night in Purgatory (Slow Dance in P)

~10~

A Time to Sow





The little girl’s eyes widened in horror, and her jaw dropped in preparation to scream bloody murder. Maggie sprang forward, wrapping her arms around the little girl and dragging her back into the room beyond. She slammed the door with her rear-end and sank to the floor, the little girl still clutched in her arms, her right hand clamped tightly against her mouth.

“Please don’t scream! I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t know how I got here, but I will leave just as soon as I can figure out how to get home...okay? Just please don’t scream! I don’t want them to call the police and throw me in jail. I promise I’m not a crazy woman. I’ve just misplaced my.....umm, my house, see. I’ve just lost my.....my sense of direction, yeah! That’s it. I’ve just gotten turned around. Maybe I was sleep walking and came into your house.....” Maggie stopped. The little girl wasn’t fighting anymore. Instead she was gazing at Maggie with extreme interest. Her eyes had resumed normal size and had lost their horrified glaze. Maggie hesitantly removed her hand. When the girl made no attempt to alarm the house, Maggie dropped her arms and released her altogether. The girl sat up and folded her legs beneath her. Her soft brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore a silky pair of pale green pajamas with cropped pants and short sleeves. They looked like something Doris Day would have worn....or maybe Carol Brady, although Maggie thought her decades may be a little off. Maggie wished she had a pair. The dress was really starting to chaff.

“I remember you...” the little girl whispered. “You’re Maggie. You called me Lizzie. You remember me too, right?”

Maggie almost moaned out loud. It was all too much. Instead, she nodded her head. “Yes. I remember you. How’s Jamie?”

Lizzie’s one eyebrow rose and her nostrils slightly flared. “My bear?” she said incredulously. Stupid question, apparently.

“Lizzie? Will you pinch me please? Really, really hard?”

The little girl looked pleased by Maggie’s request, the way little girls are when given a chance to get even. She reached forward and, grabbing a small section of skin, pinched Maggie’s arm enthusiastically.

“Ouch!” Maggie gasped, slapping her hand away. “Okay. Yep. Definitely not asleep.”

“Last time I could see through you!” Lizzie cried and pinched her again. When Maggie swiped at her she froze, listening.

“Irene’s coming!!” she hissed, her eyes widening like before. “Why in the world are you wearing her dress? She’s gonna go ape!”

Maggie scrambled off the floor, smoothing the dress and trying to come up with a plausible explanation. The truth was, Irene said she could wear it. Somehow, she didn’t think that would fly.

“Stay here. I will take care of this!” Lizzie poked her head out the door, waving Maggie out of the line of sight.

Maggie hugged the wall behind the door and watched through the crack that was created when Lizzie opened it a little wider.

“Hi, Shirley! Hi, Cathy!” Lizzie chirped in her best annoying-little-sister voice. “Are you guys gonna try on your dresses? Can I watch?”

“Hi Lizzie,” one of the girls replied cheerfully. The other reached out and smoothed her hair. “Are you feeling better? Irene said you’ve been sick.”

“I’m fine. Nana says I can’t miss any more school, though. I milked that sore throat for all it was worth.”

The two girls looked at each other and laughed at Lizzie’s blunt admission. Irene’s friends were both pretty, and though one was dark and the other a redhead, there was a resemblance in their smiles and in the tone of their laughter that had Maggie guessing they were sisters.

“Lizzie?” Irene came out of her room and into the hallway, a perturbed frown on her face. Maggie stared in amazement. Aunt Irene at seventeen was very lovely indeed. She was slim and stylish, and her eyes were a soft blue, her skin a pearly white, and her brown hair perfectly flipped and held back by a thick white headband. Irene’s tearful countenance filled her memory. “I am an old woman. But I don’t feel old inside...”

“Lizzie?” Irene had stopped in front of Lizzie’s door, her arms folded, her hip popped to one side. “When I left today, both of my dresses were laid out on my bed. Now the red one is gone, and it looks as if SOMEONE has been bouncing on my bed.” She tipped her chin to the side and raised her brows at her little sister.

Lizzie pursed her lips and thought for a moment. Maggie held her breath and hoped her grandmother knew how to tell a convincing story.

“Oh that. I think Nana said something about the red dress needing to be pressed or aired out. She said it smelled like armpit sweat...or something.”

The three teens gasped, and the girl named Shirley covered her mouth, trying hard not to laugh. Irene growled deep in her throat.

“Lizzie!”

“Oh come on, Irene!” Lizzie said, mimicking Irene’s stance. “You know you aren’t going to wear the red dress. You’ll feel silly in it. Cathy and Shirley are both wearing pastels, right?” Cathy bobbed her head in agreement and added that she was wearing “mint” and Shirley was wearing “blush.” Maggie almost snorted and pinched her nose to keep the giggle from escaping.

Lizzie continued her campaign. “You look marvelous in the peach dress, sissy! Did she show you, girls?” Lizzie looked at the sisters who shook their head in unison. “Irene! You have to show them! My sister is the most beautiful girl in the world.” Irene’s eyes softened, and her folded arms dropped to her sides. She smiled and dropped a kiss on Lizzie’s head. One minute flat, and Lizzie had Irene right where she wanted her.

“Come on! Let’s go!” Irene clapped her hands excitedly and spun toward her room, her friends following close behind. Lizzie closed the door and sighed gustily, making her bangs rise and fall on her forehead.

“Whew! I thought we were goners, for sure. Stay here! I have to make sure she doesn’t change her mind. Just in case, take off that dress! My robe is hanging on my closet door. It’s too long for me, so it should do until Irene leaves and we can find you something in her closet.” With that, Lizzie was gone, shutting her bedroom door firmly behind her.

Without wasting a second, Maggie struggled out of the red dress and dropped it to the floor with a sigh. She had on a pair of pink bikini panties and that was all. Somehow she had slipped through the layers of time and found herself with nothing more than a pair of undies and borrowed formal wear, and a lot of good that did her! The red shoes and the dress belonged to Irene, the young Irene! She shook the frightening thoughts from her head. Dwelling on her predicament would only cause her to close her eyes, curl up in the fetal position, and scream hysterically.

She found Lizzie’s robe and pulled it on, thankfully belting the soft flowered cotton around herself. It was too short, and the sleeves hung several inches above her wrists. But her pink panties and bare chest were covered, and for now that was enough. She wished she could sneak down the hall to the bathroom, but didn’t dare. She would just have to hope Lizzie made short work of Irene and her friends. She picked up the red formal she’d stepped out of and shook it briskly. Luckily, it didn’t seem all the worse for wear. The skirt was gauzy, and the creases weren’t very noticeable. She hung it in Lizzie’s brimming closet, hoping that Irene wouldn’t discover it there and accuse Lizzie of theft. She worked it into the back of the closet; these girls seemed to have plenty of pretty things. Irene’s declaration that her daddy had spoiled her seemed to be true of Lizzie as well.

Lizzie’s room was exactly as she remembered it from her coma “dream.” Maggie was now convinced it hadn’t been a dream at all. She had actually been here, at least in spirit. Lizzie remembered her, too. Maggie shuddered to think what would have happened if she hadn’t.

After a while, she heard voices in the hallway and dove behind the bed, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would help to disguise her. But the voices went past, and she heard the clippety cloppety sound of feet bounding down stairs. A moment later it was silent, and Maggie rose tentatively from the floor.

The door shot open, and Lizzie flew in, her eyes bright with victory. “Maggie?” Her eyes found Maggie immediately, and she launched into an explanation of all that had transpired since she left the room.

“....so the Russel twins invited Irene to sleep over, and they’re all going to help each other get ready for the prom at their house tomorrow. Daddy is out of town, so it’s just me, you, and Nana! Nana believes everything I say. I’ll just tell her you’re a cousin. You can sleep in Irene’s room if you want or the guest room upstairs...or Daddy’s room!” Lizzie laughed as if sleeping in her father’s room was the most outrageous thing she had ever heard. It would be pretty weird.

“Wait...wouldn’t your Nana know that I’m not family? I mean, if she’s your grandmother...” Maggie’s voice trailed off at Lizzie’s confused expression.

“She’s not my grandmother! She was hired to be my nanny when Momma died. I started calling her Nana. Now she’s kind of a housekeeper too. She lives here with us. Her room is downstairs. She might wonder about you, but she’d never say you couldn’t stay, and you look enough like us that she won’t question it. Plus...you’ll eventually go back to where you came from, right? Last time you only stayed for twenty minutes or so. Can you try to stay longer this time? I’m bored.” Lizzie flopped on her bed, illustrating her claim.

“Elizabeth Honeycutt...you are something else.” Maggie smiled down at the precocious child and shook her head in wonder.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Lizzie waved the compliment away, but Maggie noticed her cheeks pinked with both pleasure and maybe a little embarrassment. “The Russell twins said they could only handle me in small doses, which is why they all decided to sleep at their place. I was trying to be obnoxious, just to get rid of them.”

Maggie laughed and plopped down beside her new friend. “You’re talking about Shirley and Cathy, right? They’re twins?”

“Nah, not twins. Just sisters. Cathy’s older. She was born in September and Shirley came along nine months later, in June. So they’re in the same year at school and everything. I think they prefer to be called twins. It seems to embarrass them that they’re not. Shirley said once that her parents reproduce like rabbits. I asked her if they had any new baby bunnies for sale, but then Irene made me leave her room,” Lizzie remembered with a forlorn expression. “Anyway, they’re Irene’s best friends.”

Maggie giggled. Who was it that said every generation thinks they invented sex? Things weren’t so very different in the ‘50s it seemed. “I liked them. I wonder why Irene’s never mentioned them?” Maggie mused thoughtfully.

“You know Irene?” Lizzie frowned.

“Yes. I live with her. She’s my great-aunt. Just...a long time from now, that’s all.”

“Do I live with you too? Am I a grownup like Daddy? Am I beautiful? Did I marry James Dean? If I didn’t, I hope I at least got to marry Johnny....”

Maggie felt a familiar tug from somewhere deep inside and gasped a little, recognizing the sensation and what it might portend.

“Lizzie. I don’t think you and I can talk about this. I won’t be able to stay for long if we do. Does that make sense?”

Lizzie sat up and peered into Maggie’s eyes. “You’ll disappear?” she whispered, distracted from her line of questioning.

“Is that what happened last time?” Maggie queried softly.

“Yes. You just faded away.”

“I don’t want to fade away...not yet.” Thoughts of Johnny surfaced to the forefront of her mind. She wanted to stay a little longer. She needed to stay a little longer. She didn’t know if she could change anything, but she wanted to try.

“What year is it, Lizzie?” She hoped the question would not make her disappear.

“It’s 1958, silly,” Lizzie said, dumbfounded.

Maggie nodded, strangely comforted by Lizzie’s response. If Prom 1958 was tomorrow night, Johnny would be there. A realization shook her suddenly. Irene had said there had been a girl at the prom in a red dress, just like hers. Could it have been Maggie? Her mind tripped and stuttered over the possibility. She felt a wave of disorientation wash over her, and she pushed the thoughts away, worried they would pull her under. She smiled brightly at Lizzie, willing herself steady.

“I am silly, huh? I’m also stranded in your house with no clothes and no money, and I’d like to stick around for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

“Neat-o! Let’s find you something to wear. And let’s go have an ice cream. I’m tired of being cooped up in my bedroom. It’s almost dinnertime, and I’ve been in my pajamas for three days!”

Maggie begged for the bathroom and a toothbrush and met Lizzie in Irene’s room when she was finished using the toilet and scrubbing her face with the cold cream she found in the cabinet. Lizzie was already dressed and had laid out an outfit on the bed, complete with a bra with cone shaped cups that looked more suited to Wonder Woman than a pretty seventeen-year-old like Irene. Maggie looked at it doubtfully. The panties laying beside it would cover her belly button.

“I think you should pull your hair up in a ponytail. It won’t look quite so babyish that way. And here’s a hair ribbon that will match your sweater.” Lizzie seemed so pleased with herself that Maggie decided not to complain about the underwear, or the comment that her long hair was “babyish.”

“While you get dressed, I will run downstairs and take care of Nana. She can give us some of her grocery money, and we’ll have dinner at “The Malt.”

Lizzie buzzed out of the room, and Maggie proceeded to pull the borrowed clothes on. She pulled on the bra and panties, feeling like she’d stepped into a commercial for synchronized swimming. She chortled at her bullet shaped breasts, outlined perfectly by the fitted blue sweater Lizzie had picked. The blue polka dot pants were high waisted; they had to be to cover those giant undies. They looked like capris....or cropped equestrian pants. She slid her feet into the white flats and dutifully pulled her hair into a high ponytail, tying the ribbon around the elastic band.

Twirling in front of Irene’s mirror, she wondered if she would dare leave the house this way. She picked through the makeup on Irene’s vanity, finding an eyelash curler, an eyebrow pencil, and a round tin of eyeshadow that slightly resembled what she used in 2011. There was a little brush and a rectangular pan of something that said “Maybelline.” She stared at it, puzzled. She decided to leave it alone. Instead, she lined her eyes with the black eyeliner pencil and dabbed on a little shadow. She applied some red lipstick, which seemed to be the only shade Irene had.

She supposed she would do. It was then that Maggie realized not only did she not have her glasses here in 1958, but she didn’t seem to need them. She spun around, focusing her eyes on every corner of the room and then swinging back to her befuddled reflection in the mirror. Crystal clear, all of it. It didn’t make any sense. But at least she wouldn’t go stumbling around while she was here, squinting and bumping into things.

“I’ve got two dollars! We’re going to eat like kings! We even have enough for a show!” Lizzie burst into the room waving the money around in her hand and dancing around. “Nana gave it to me! She thinks I am meeting Eileen and Lucy. I decided not to tell her about you until tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll sneak you in tonight. She doesn’t come upstairs after bedtime unless I screech like a banshee, which I sometimes do. Seeing ghosts isn’t always the funnest talent.” Lizzie slipped her hand into Maggie’s and proceeded to pull her out the door and down the stairs, never even pausing for air.

“You can ride Irene’s bike. She never rides it anymore, not since Daddy bought her a car. You do know how to ride a bike, don’t you?” Lizzie walked to the garage and opened the door, flipping on the light to brighten the interior. Within seconds, Maggie had assured Lizzie that she did indeed know how to ride a bike, and they were off down the street, heading downtown for supper in 1958.

It was a good thing Lizzie was with her because although the general layout was the same and she recognized some of the homes, the spaces between the homes was larger, and much was missing from the landscape. Main Street was decidedly different. Although many of the buildings were the same, the businesses they housed had almost all changed. There was a huge drugstore, a J.C Penney and Co. department store, a jeweler that had a giant cartoonish picture of a diamond and “Watch Repair” emblazoned below. There was a barber shop with the twirly red and blue striped pole and men in hats going in and out of the establishment. There was a furniture store that didn’t exist in modern day Honeyville, either. It had televisions and toasters in the windows with a banner that shouted that they now carried the “Crosley Automatic -- the world’s first fully automatic television with five electronic wonders at your fingertips.” A bank on the corner of Main and Center Street, with a massive clock jutting out from the sign declared it “A great time to save.”

There was a courthouse with stately pillars that must have been torn down before Maggie ever arrived in Honeyville. It sat next to Honeyville High which looked old even in 1958. No wonder they were building a new one. Maggie wondered if she would have a chance to go see it, and if the construction was finished. It had just been completed in the summer of 1958 when Billy and Johnny fell from the balcony. Maggie pushed those thoughts away.

Everywhere she looked were old/new cars and people in the costume of 1950s America. Maggie felt like she was on a movie set, and her eyes whipped back and forth at one wonder after another. One department store had “5 cents to $1.50” in thick gold lettering above its large windows, and like every female in history who smells a bargain, she was tempted to browse, just for a minute. Maggie thought of Johnny driving up and down the streets, comparing Honeyville then and now, and felt a surge of melancholy, finally understanding exactly how different the two towns really were.

“Hey, Dizzy Lizzie! Who’s your babysitter?” Lizzie had crossed the street and swung off her bike in front of The Malt, Maggie close behind her. Maggie gawked at the group of boys piling out of a big blue Lincoln and almost crashed Irene’s bike into the side of the diner. She let out a screech and at the last minute managed to brake and step off without making a fool of herself. She didn’t look at the boys, but primly hitched her bike on the rack and pretended disinterest in a young Roger Carlton and his three friends.

“She’s not my baby sitter, Roger!” Lizzie retorted hotly and stuck her tongue out at one of the boys, who promptly stuck his out in response. Roger slapped the back of his head and sighed. The boys wore V-necked sweaters that revealed the collars of their white undershirts. They all had identical haircuts as well -- buzzed sides with a short flat top. The three seemed to take their cues from Roger, and when he crossed his arms and smiled at Maggie, they repeated the action almost immediately.

“Introduce me, Lizzie.” Roger had a toothpick in his mouth that he slowly moved from one side to the other. Maggie had seen him three times now, and she liked him less each time, if that were even possible. Her heart pounded at his proximity, and she felt a little sick to her stomach. His hair was dark and his eyes green, and he was undoubtedly handsome - and very sure of himself.

“I’m telling Irene that you were staring at our cousin with drool on your chin, Roger,” Lizzie said snidely, looping her arm through Maggie’s and pulling her into The Malt. That seemed to bring Roger up short. It was one of his friends who called out after them.

“Does the cousin have a name, Dizzy?”

“Do you have a brain, Larry?” Lizzie replied, and Larry’s friends guffawed at her wit. Maggie decided she definitely liked her grandmother.

“Inquiring minds want to know!” another boy yelled out.

“Her name is Maggie, okay? Now go away!” Lizzie grumped, and they walked into The Malt. It wasn’t much to look at, really. It was shaped like a long train car with small windows running all along the side. Inside, the roof was domed and a long line of stools connected to an even longer bar ran along one side with narrow tables and metal chairs running along the side with the windows. A soda fountain, complete with pull levers, occupied one side of the counter, and grey menus with three red stripes along the top and three red stripes on the bottom were spread here and there for easy access. Big grey and red squares criss-crossed the floor, and a jukebox played songs in the corner. A man in a big white apron and a white cap dispensed soda and barked out orders to the kitchen behind him. There were a couple of waitresses in grey dresses with rounded white collars, little caps, and white ruffled aprons manning the tables. The place was brimming with teenagers.

Lizzie hopped up on a stool and pulled Maggie along, tapping the shoulder of the fellow sitting between the only two empty stools and asking him politely if he would “scoot over so she and her friend could sit together.”

He slid to his right agreeably, and Lizzie patted the stool he had vacated, indicating that Maggie should sit. She did so and was trying not to be too noticeable about staring at everyone and everything when Lizzie informed her that she would order for both of them.

The two boys to her right were discussing a ball player’s salary, one exclaiming that “before you know it, athletes would be making more than the president!” She giggled a little at that, and one of the boys looked up at her in surprise. Maggie’s giggle died in her throat. She recognized him. He glanced away immediately, blushing furiously, apparently unaccustomed to eye contact with girls.

It was Billy Kinross. She was sure of it. Same glasses and short spiky hair with the cowlick in front. He had a splash of freckles across his nose, and he wore a short-sleeved dress shirt and khakis. He reminded her a little of Wally Cleaver.

“Lizzie,” Maggie leaned toward her young cohort and whispered into her ear. “Who is the boy two stools down on my right?”

“That’s Billy Kinross. Why? Do you think he’s cute? If you think he’s dreamy, you should see his brother.”

Maggie couldn’t very well respond that she knew exactly how “dreamy” Johnny Kinross was. She didn’t need to; Lizzie had simply paused to take a slug of her pink, foamy malt. Maggie pulled the strawberry confection to her own lips and drank thirstily as Lizzie swallowed and continued, her top lip mustached in milky pink.

“Billy is in here all the time, lucky duck, because his mother works here. I think he gets his dinner free.”

“His...mother?” Maggie swung her head around, looking for the two waitresses. “Is she here now?”

“Prob’ly. Billy doesn’t come unless she’s here. No free food that way.” The man in the white cap and apron set baskets brimming with food and lined in red tissue paper in front of them. Maggie’s stomach growled loudly, and Lizzie snickered into her hand.

“Can I get you ladies anything else?” the man asked with a rosy-cheeked grin. Maggie thanked him politely as Lizzie dove in, but his attention was drawn almost immediately to something going on beyond them. Maggie swiveled in her seat to see what had narrowed his eyes and robbed him of his cheerful smile.

Roger Carlton sat at a table with his three friends, but his arm was clamped firmly around a waitress’s trim waist, and his other hand had captured one of her hands in his. The waitress was trying to extricate herself while still maintaining the facade that nothing was amiss, but her discomfort was obvious. Maggie didn’t have to see her face to know it had to be Dolly Kinross. She was a platinum blonde, and her hair was rolled and pinned in curls around her head. Maggie could only see her profile, but she could see how nicely the dress hugged her hips and how youthful her figure was. Roger Carlton seemed to have noticed as well. Funny, Maggie had been given the impression that he was angry with Dolly Kinross for having an affair with his father. Maybe that wasn’t why he was angry at all.

The man behind the counter called, “Dolly...order up!” although no order had been called from the window behind him. The woman freed herself and turned away from the boys. Roger watched her walk away, and his face held a strange expression. He caught Maggie staring at him, and his face smoothed immediately. He gave a little wave, and her heart gave a dread filled twist. She turned away from him quickly. As she turned, she noticed the episode had not escaped Billy Kinross either. His cheeks were ruddy again, and his eyes were on the counter-top, his hands fisted and white. Dolly Kinross slid behind the long counter and shot a grateful look at the man in the apron. He shook his head at her and turned away. She smiled and shrugged and, leaning forward, pinched Billy’s cheeks, causing him to lift his sullen gaze.

“Eat up, Billy. I get off in a few minutes. Can you walk down to Gene’s and ride home with Johnny?” Her voice was musical, and there was the slightest gap between her front two teeth giving her a winsome look. Deep dimples appeared at each side of her mouth. Johnny had those dimples.

“Aren’t you comin’ home?” Billy asked, his voice low and wary.

“In a while, darling.” She glanced away then, and busied herself removing her apron. “Don’t worry about me.” She sat a brown bag on the counter in front of Billy. “This is for your brother. Make sure he gets it now!” Dolly Kinross let herself be distracted, and she hustled away. Billy sighed mightily and grabbed the bag, sliding off the stool as he did. He sneaked a glance at Maggie without turning his head, his eyes darting sideways. He ducked his head when he again caught her looking at him.

“Gee whiz, Maggie!” Lizzie breathed between bites. “Stop staring. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a cute boy before.”

Maggie twisted back around on her stool and stared at the food she hadn’t even touched -- food she no longer had any appetite for. She was almost nauseous with the knowledge she carried. She knew what would happen to Dolly and Billy, to Johnny, even to the little girl who sat next to her. She knew their life stories, their heartaches, and the day each one died. Could she change any of it? Did she dare? What if she made things worse just by being here?

She wanted to run down the street, screaming after Billy, warning him of the perils to come. And more than anything else, she wanted to find Johnny and lock her arms around him, convince him that she loved him, and never go back home. Could she? Was it possible that she could stay and save him from Purgatory all together? Would time go on in the future without her? Or would it remain suspended until she returned, or until she caught back up with it?