“I can see your wig, Mother!”
Though Lolly’s body was small and fragile, there was no mistaking—even from a distance—her mother’s teased, flame red wig and rainbow makeup. From a distance, Lolly looked like a falling meteor.
Arden watched her daughter motion with both arms for her to take a seat. When Arden refused, Lauren crossed her hands in mock prayer. “Please!” she mouthed.
Arden stepped down off her bleacher and sat with a thud, crossing her arms in displeasure.
Tu-li-tu-li-tu-li-tulip time!
The choir finished its song with a weak warble, and was immediately replaced by an Up North bellow:
“We begin da pageant with da evening gown competition!” the emcee yelled, reverb causing the crowd to cover their ears. “Contestant number one is Molly Von Mancipher!”
Slowly, the contestants walked the runway, stopping in the center to pose, turn, and smile. One by one, Dutch blonde after Dutch blonde winked, blew kisses, tossed tulips, and pirouetted.
This is like the movie Groundhog Day … I have to watch my life over and over again, Arden thought, grimacing.
“Our final contestant is Lauren Lindsey from Chicago and Scoops! We have quite da world traveler!”
As Lauren took the stage, Arden watched her daughter gracefully float across the platform, as effortlessly as one of the white clouds bouncing overhead. Lauren stopped in midstage, posed, and turned.
Don’t fall! Don’t fall! Arden thought, tugging her earlobe and clamping her eyes shut in a panic, reciting the line in her head like a prayer, fingering the handle on her purse as if it were a rosary.
Don’t fall! Don’t fall! she prayed.
She opened them as Lauren continued to walk—beaming a smile with complete confidence.
NO! Is that … could that be…? Arden’s eyes widened.
Arden stood again, her hands over her mouth. She realized her daughter was wearing the same dress she had worn, the exact gown her mother had made for her decades earlier. And yet the yellow dress with the train of tulips that had looked so garish on her looked totally different on her daughter. Lauren was happy, beautiful, confident.
Arden’s negative thoughts were swept from her head and replaced with a positive one:
The difference is my daughter is happy to be here, proud to wear that dress, proud to be a Lindsey.
From a distance, Lauren resembled a beautiful tulip come to life, sunshine radiating on her. Lauren’s long hair had been pulled into a soft updo, blond tendrils falling around her face, chandelier earrings dangling to complement the simplicity.
All around her, the crowd buzzed. “Who is that?” “She’s beautiful!” “Lindsey? No! Is she related to Lolly Lindsey? Was her mother Ar-don’t…?”
As the applause and whispering subsided, one other sound caught Arden’s ears. In fact, she could hear it even in the bleachers, yards away from the platform. As Lauren crossed the runway, Arden noticed the only other jewelry Lauren sported was her own and her grandmother’s charm bracelets.
Arden could feel her heart in her throat. Without thinking, she gripped Jake’s hand. He put his arm around her.
“She looks just like you and your mother,” he said, reaching out to kiss her on the cheek.
Arden smiled as Lauren exited the platform as if walking on air.
“Now for da talent competition!” the speakers boomed.
Arden’s stomach lurched. The memory of her debacle—Tiny Tim, the ukulele, the wig, falling into the water—overwhelmed her, as the contestants began to dance, sing, and twirl batons on the platform. She tugged furiously at her lobe.
“Everything is going to be all right,” Jake said, pulling her in close to reassure her. “Everything!”
“Our final contestant … Lauren Lindsey.”
Arden gritted her teeth, her molars emitting an audible grinding sound.
As Lauren walked out, two pageant workers zipped onto the deck. One hastily set up an easel and placed a canvas on it, while another placed paints, a brush, and some water on a little table.
“I know this isn’t as exciting as singing, or dancing … or my mom,” Lauren said, eliciting a few titters from the crowd, “but I’ve never really put my talent on display for the world to see, or followed my calling. But I learned that now is the time.”
Arden watched her daughter look offstage, and then Lauren began to paint.
“Picasso once said, ‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up,’” Lauren said to the crowd, as her brush danced over the canvas. “I never understood what he meant until recently … until I’ve gotten to know my grandmother—my family—a lot better.”
Lauren quieted and continued to paint, the jangling of her charm bracelet carried on the breeze.
“Painting is like life,” she said. “It requires a lot of patience, a lot of faith, a lot of passion. The beauty in great painting is capturing the emotion underneath the subject.”
Lauren set her brush down, picked up the canvas, and began walking toward the crowd.