“I mean … it doesn’t, I guess.”
Or maybe it did. I always got the feeling that was why people thought of me as sweet and innocent. Because I was blind. In stories, the injured, the weak, they were always good. Kind and innocent. More than once, I’d heard the women at my church describe me as “an angel.” They’d tell Mama that God only sent angels like me to parents he knew could handle the challenge. I was a precious gift to be taken care of.
But I wasn’t an angel. I was just a kid who couldn’t see real well.
“I don’t think of you that way,” Bo said.
“You don’t?”
“As a sweet, innocent blind girl? Nah. I mean, you’re nice and all. But you’re tough, too. I think you’re kind of a badass.”
I laughed. Because there was no way that was true, no matter how much I wanted it to be. Telling off Christy was the only badass thing I’d done in my life. And even that had made me feel bad.
Bo didn’t laugh, though. “I ain’t kidding,” she said. “I think you’re a Loretta.”
“What?”
“Loretta Lynn,” she said. “She’s nice—at least, I like to think she is—but she’s tough, too. She dealt with a lotta shit, but she just keeps going. You’re a Loretta.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I always related more to Tammy Wynette.”
“Fuck that,” Bo said. “Tammy’s all right, but she ain’t got a backbone. She stands by her man. She’s a good girl, but she only goes bad to impress a guy. That ain’t you. You’re a Loretta.”
I still thought she was wrong, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I asked, “And who are you?”
“Me?” She sighed. “I’m a Patsy.”
Patsy Cline. I sat there in the passenger’s seat, trying to think of her reasoning behind this. To me, Bo seemed more like a Loretta. She was loud and didn’t take crap from anybody. But Patsy … was so sad. Her songs were about missing people, being lonely, yearning. I wanted to ask her why. Why Patsy? But, somehow, that silly question felt almost too personal.
Besides, the car was slowing down. I stared out the window, wondering where we were, but all I could see were trees and, straight ahead of us—
“Are we at the river?”
“Sure are.” Bo cut the engine and climbed out of the car.
I didn’t know what to do at first. I wasn’t sure why we’d just gone to the river. There was nothing to do here. Nothing interesting. It was the river that separated Mursey from the next town over. We’d all been there. All fished on it. There was no reason to go there if you didn’t have a boat and some live bait.
But Bo was getting something out of the trunk, so I climbed out of the car and just stood there, next to the door.
“I got you something,” she said, shutting the trunk.
“What?”
She walked over to me and held out the thing she’d gotten from the trunk. I reached out, my eyes not really processing it as more than a box. But then I understood.
“Beer?”
“You said you wanted to try one,” she said. “Here’s twelve. But drinking them all at once probably ain’t such a good idea.”
“Where did you get these?” I asked.
“My fridge. They’re Mama’s. She ain’t gonna miss them. I’ll just tell her one of her boyfriends drank them.”
We sat on the hood of the car, our backs pressed to the windshield as I popped open my first beer. Bo hadn’t taken one, probably because she was driving. And, even though I didn’t know much about alcohol, I knew for someone as tiny as Bo, it probably wouldn’t take much to get drunk.
I sniffed the open can. The odor was strong and familiar. One I’d smelled a million times on hot days when Daddy opened a cold can before watching a ball game. Part of me was still nervous, still worried about breaking the rules. But it didn’t seem as scary drinking with just Bo. It felt safer than the party. And, she’d just told me I was a badass.
Slowly, I lifted the can to my lips and took a sip.
And gagged.
“Ugh.”
“No good?” Bo asked.
“It’s kinda what I’d imagine pee tastes like,” I said. “Why do people drink it?”
“Guess they ain’t too worried about the taste.”
“It’s awful.”
But I took another sip. And another.
“How come you weren’t at school today?” I asked.
“Dunno. Didn’t feel like it.”
“Oh.”
She said it so casually. Like this was a choice she got to make every day. She’d wake up in the morning and choose whether she wanted to eat cereal or Pop-Tarts, to wear the pink shirt or the blue, to go to school or to not. Bo didn’t seem to have any rules. She could spend the night without asking permission, take her mama’s car, and basically do whatever she wanted. No one seemed to care.
Well, not no one. In a way, I guess everyone cared. What with the whole town keeping an eye on Bo and all. Judging her for every little thing she did. And even some things she didn’t do.