Illustrated by Neal Stepp

LET'S PRETEND

by Ann Kennedy

That summer on McAdam Street was typical of all our summers. With Mother at home and supper when Daddy got off work, our lives were structured around meals. Sunday School and a big dinner at noon were always the same, whatever the time of year. Daddy read the Sunday papers, Mother was in a state because her cooking didn't go well, and Blondie and I were hot and sweaty from the walk home in our Sunday best clothes. It was pretty much the same for everyone on our street, which was one block long and a playground for fifteen or twenty children, including me, Betty Jean Tabb.

Up and down the narrow stairway we ran, carrying the items or toys we needed to play on the garage roof. We knew from experience what was needed to play pirates, Superman and Wonder Woman, house or whatever was simmering in our thoughts for the moment. Some things could be easily lifted to the flat roof from the fence we climbed to get there and others weren't worth the effort. But it was fantastic to imagine all sorts of scenes as we pranced around or sat and played our parts above the orchard and the chicken pen. The fact that we had to be careful not to bump against an electric wire or two on the way down to the ground was just one of those hazards we dealt with. We were not well supervised but instead were free to apply what we were taught at home, in school and Sunday School. With luck and by the grace of God, children survived to adulthood. We loved it.

"Betty Jean Tabb, you look like Maureen O'Hara in that satin dress," Charlotte said, studying me with big brown eyes.

"Thanks. You remind me of Yvonne DeCarlo when she was in that desert movie. You look older than ten."

From our perch, we saw the little girls playing dolls in the grape arbor below us in the back yard. Charlotte and her little sister and I played like we were aboard ship, stolen by pirates and fighting to escape. Half a block away we saw the neighbor boys running wild in the pasture behind and west of our yard.

"Who do I look like? I want to look like Dorothy Lamour.

My hair is as long as hers." Eva whirled in place, her brown hair and circular skirt catching the breeze.

We had the best of town life with the advantages of living in the country. I didn't have to work hard like some of the country kids I knew at school. Feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, running the dogs out of the pen and pulling up green onions for supper, were tolerable jobs. We played most of the time and got to go to a picture show about once a week. It was too hot outside, so we had to play indoors sometimes.

"Pretend the captain made you dance, Eva. Pretend he's going to throw you overboard if you don't do what he says." Coaching Charlotte's younger sister was fun. She argued sometimes, but she wasn't afraid of anything.

"Pretend he made all of us dance, Betty Jean."

We did. Dancing on a hot, flat roof in the summer sun got uncomfortable quickly. We continued our improvisations for an hour or so and then went to the kitchen for water. The humidity made us perspire inside satin and lace dress-up clothes.

"Mother, can be have something to eat?"

Cocking an eyebrow at the three of us, she said, "Peanut butter and crackers or white syrup and bread. Not the brown bread. I need that for your father's lunch tomorrow."

I knew that look. She didn't want to be rude but she didn't want to feed all the neighbor kids. Too many around all the time and groceries didn't last long at our house. There were five of us including Blondie and Pigtails. Blondie was Sarah, age six, and Pigtails was my four year old sister named Martha Louise.

"It's about time for the little girls to come in from the grape arbor. They will want something, too." My Mother was

Janet and she had the bluest eyes. Daddy told me he thought she was pretty and he put his arm around her a lot. He never bought her any presents, though. We weren't poor, just blue collar.

"Let's go to the Paths," suggested Charlotte when we finished our food and water.

"It's getting hot," said Mother.

"Not too bad," Eva piped up.

"Can I go, Mother?"

"Yes, you can go for a little while. Try not to get too dirty in that old cotton field. Stay together. No running off to hide in those gullies to scare each other. And get along. If you can't get along with each other, come home. No fussing."

Having covered all the basics, Mother shooed us out. The shortest route to the Paths, as we called the place, was to cut through my playmates' yard.

"You go ahead. I'll run inside and tell our mother where we are going," volunteered Eva. We walked slowly until she caught up with us and then crossed the adjoining back yard and through to Brickle Street. We hurried past our favorite tree, the one we called the Bigum Tree, and entered the cotton field across the way. It was dusty-dry and level there. Running, we turned into the maze of paths and gullies, the loose red dirt puffing up around us. We took turns playing follow the leader because it was narrow most of the way.

"Stop! I'm out of breath," I said, clambering to the top of a small ditch. "Whew! That breeze feels so good." The dirt was packed and hard as rocks. Even when it rained it was dry as a bone at the Paths.

"Let's play like we're Sioux Indians and we're after wild animals. Betty Jean, be the leader. Charlotte and I are your warriors." Eva loved to play Indians. "My daddy's part Indian. Do you have any Indian blood?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to ask my grandmothers. They know all that stuff about ancestors," I responded.

Charlotte was always the quietest one. She never got tired like I did, but she didn't have a lot to say when we played. The hot summers didn't bother her at all. The only place she ever got wet was her back. My blouse was soaked in spots. My best friend looked fresh as a daisy.

"I'm about ready to head for the tunnels to cool off." At that moment, rounding a bend, I almost ran into a tall boy sitting on a rock. It startled me. Charlotte and Eva almost ran me over. I gulped.

Charlotte said, "Hello, Marcus."

"Hi," he answered, and looked away toward the pasture beyond.

Instinctively we turned around and headed back the way we came. A short-cut took us out of the Paths to Brickle Street.

"Who told you that big kid's name?"

"Our brother knows him. He's a lot older than Rex but our daddy knows his daddy."

"I think he's kind of scary."

"Naw. Just big," replied Eva.

We walked to the small bridge and sat down on the native rock curb. I swung my feet around and put them on the protruding storm tunnel that ran under the street. Charlotte put her feet on the other tunnel. The tunnels weren't very big and there wasn't much water running through them. Their brother, Rex, caught craw-dads there and in the shallow creek in front of us. Eva's feet didn't quite touch so she swung them in the air between us. We threw small rocks and cooled off for awhile.

"Let's wash our feet," suggested Eva.

"I better wash, otherwise my daddy will send me to take a bath the minute he gets his over with. He doesn't think girls should get as dirty as boys, isn't that funny? We aren't supposed to get into fights at our house, either, because we're all girls except him."

"That is funny. We pull hair and scratch at our house, don't we Charlotte?'

"Not if Mama has anything to say about it, we don't."

Everybody laughed. We climbed down to the water's edge. Soon we were walking back and forth in the tunnels, picking up small things from the bottom of the big pipes. We saw a few craw-dads but we didn't much like to pick them up. I washed my arms and rubbed my hands real good.

"That ought to make me look clean, anyway," I said.

The three of us hurried home with stomachs growling. Mother told Blondie she could help make sugar cookies for dessert today. I loved sugar cookies. Eating them, not mixing them up in a hot kitchen in the summertime. My feet took me home eagerly. It didn't matter what we had for supper but dessert was something to look forward to.

"I'll come over tomorrow, Betty Jean." Charlotte and Eva waved goodbye as I crossed McAdam Street. Our house was cornerwise from theirs. When I reached for the screened door, wonderful smells swept over me. Our Sunday School teacher told us to count our blessings and the thought of Mother's good cooking always popped into my mind first.

At the supper table Daddy mentioned a phone call from one of our neighbors nearest the pasture to the south and west of us.

"B.J., why don't you take your little sisters down to the pasture to see the new colt after supper. There's nothing cuter than a colt or a newborn calf." He chewed patiently and waited for my response.

"Okay. Sure I will. Do you want to go Pigtails? You can ride in your red wagon to the gate."

"Yes, yes, I want to go. Don't you Blondie?"

"Blondie wants to go everywhere, don't you?" I grinned at her. She chewed her sugar cookie and shook her head, yes.

Evenings were long at this time of year. We took our time walking down the hill to a vacant lot between the last two houses on the south side of the street. The red wagon bumped along the path to the pasture gate. From experience I knew how to open it and the Tabbs walked the short distance to the little brick cow shelter. Unfortunately, Jersey Bell was out and about. She was a big milk cow and Pigtails had never seen her before. Blondie wasn't too fond of her and neither was I. She was either too friendly or borderline mean, we weren't sure which. The cow bell rang as she walked side by side with us to the building. Martha Louise looked totally stricken, her big blue eyes nearly bugging out of her cute little face.

At the doorway, Jersey Bell lost interest and sauntered away. Only then did the four year old speak.

"That Jersey Bell has the biggest brown eyes I ever saw!"

Blondie and I looked at each other and nearly fell on the floor, giggling hysterically. Pigtails got tickled, too, and we laughed until Mr. Smith pointed to the new colt. In awe, we approached the darling baby. His legs were so long and skinny and his face was so cute that we had to pet him. His mother knew us but she was still nervous. Mr. Smith stood next to her and stroked her soothingly. We stayed only a few minutes, then thanked him profusely and went home.

My little sisters talked from the time we arrived until Daddy sent us all to bed in self-defense. He was so outnumbered, it was pitiful. He was a talker but he couldn't compete with the three of us. Knowingly, Mother kept still and smiled at everybody.

*

We played on the old fallen tree. Sitting on a big limb, the three of us could see a good distance down the shallow creek.

"Daddy said we got five inches of rain in thirty minutes last night," I told Rex.

"And it rained all night, too," added Charlotte.

Both of us waited to be corrected in the usual 'boys-know-better than girls' fashion, but Rex only nodded. It was muggy under the afternoon sun. Charlotte's brother stood up on the tree limb and stepped confidently around each of us. He was a strong, husky boy, a year younger than my best friend and as tall as she was.

Jumping from the low fork in the broken tree, he walked to the water's edge and temperature tested with his toe. He waded down Randolph Creek near the bank. We watched for awhile, then followed him.

"Just right. Don't you love to go wading, Betty Jean?"

"You know I do. It's the next-best thing to the park swimming pool."

Rex waited for us near some big rocks in the middle of the water. "It's up to my knees right here. The rocks are slippery," he warned us.

"Look, we have a small waterfall in our creek," I said, pointing.

"You have a good imagination, Betty Jean Tabb," giggled Charlotte.

The three of us held hands as we walked through a long stretch of ankle-deep water. The creek bottom was full of pebbles. We entered a wide section at the foot of McAdam Street and continued wading north toward the tunnels under Brickle Street. It was so much fun that we forgot the time as we played and splashed around.

"Wow! Look how full the tunnels are," yelled Rex.

"We went around the middle section of a small pool and stepped into a tunnel. A gentle current swirled around my legs, just below the knees. We braced ourselves with our hands on the sides of the big pipe and kicked water at each other until we were drenched. Charlotte laughed so hard that she slipped and sat down in the creek water. Everyone's giggle-box turned over then.

Totally caught up in our escapades, we three McAdam Street children followed the Randolph Creek as it veered slightly west toward the small cotton field.

"Where did the sun go? Is it clouding up again?" Charlotte asked me.

"Maybe it's near supper time. No. I guess it's going to rain again," I groaned.

"Rex, Mama's going to be mad at us. We have been gone too long."

"No, she won't," he answered.

"I'm getting out of the water at the cotton field, Charlotte. Come and walk home from there with me."

"Okay. Rex, when we see a gettin' out place, we need to go home. It's sprinkling."

As we stepped around a small curve, the creek seemed to widen before our eyes. It went way up into the fields on both sides.

"The water is all the way up to the farmer's fence! Oh, brother!" I exclaimed.

"Just follow me girls. I see a gettin' out place."

Charlotte held on to Rex and I held on to her as we waded through fast water up to our knees. I wasn't afraid then. We were closer to the fence. Then we heard the farmer.

"You kids get out of there, now! Crazy kids! You'll drown out there!" His face was red and all screwed up. He was furious as he waved his arms frantically at us.

"Oh, we are in big trouble," whimpered Charlotte.

My voice shook when I said, "It's okay. He's just worried about us."

At that moment Rex stepped in a hole, my best friend lost her balance and the creek bottom went missing. My feet churned water.

"Swim! Swim!" I screamed.

And that's what we did. The water was muddy and dark beneath us and the current pushed and then pulled at us. I was scared to death. As we got closer to the fence, something grabbed our feet. Charlotte cried out and swallowed creek water, then choked up. I squealed and reached down to free my legs.

"It's just grass. It's grass down there," I yelled, so relieved, I felt like crying.

Then the tall boy was there. He climbed the fence and jumped in. He hauled Rex over to shallow water and came after us. We each grabbed an arm as he stood and pulled us to the creek bank. The three McAdam Street kids sat trembling in the mud.

It was the first time in my life that I saw a man so angry. He absolutely scared me to death. The farmer's name was Mr. Jordan and we were on his property. He made it very clear that we were not to come back, ever.

I barely remember the walk home. When I got there, Mr. Jordan had telephoned my parents.

Later that night, I was allowed to talk to Charlotte on the telephone. "My mother was as mad as an old wet hen," I told her. "My daddy glared at me all evening and his face was so red, I thought he would pop."

"My mamma yelled for thirty minutes. Daddy finally told her to sit down and hush. I cried for an hour," Charlotte said.

"What about Rex?"

"Who knows?" she snapped. They were mad at each other.

"We forgot to tell Marcus, thank you," I mumbled.

The next morning Mother was on the attack at the breakfast table. "Betty Jean Tabb, I thought you had more sense than that."

"I have sense. Don't forget that I got the Good Citizen Award at school, Mother."

"Don't argue with me. Just listen. I want you to stay closer to home for awhile."

"Can't I go to the creek? We won't go past McAdam Street," I wailed.

"There are snakes and lizards and lord knows what else down there."

"They have always been there, Mother. Turtles, too."

She sighed heavily, looking at me for a long minute. Then she surprised me. She laughed and shook her head, her blue eyes sparkling in the light from the windows.

As she gathered up the bowls and plates, she said, "I have to take care of the little girls, Betty Jean. Can I depend on you to use your noggin?"

"Yes, Mother," I answered sincerely.

"Your daddy thinks girls are sugar and spice. He grew up with brothers and he gets frightened when you act so adventurous. They used to get in lots of trouble and he wants you to be safe. We all do, even Blondie and Pigtails."

"I know. I promise I'll be careful and use good horse sense."

For awhile after that, we spent a lot of time playing dress-up in Charlotte's upstairs room. When we played outside, we had to find a shady spot. It was hot but our summers were never long enough. We loved them.

One Sunday as we picked up rose rocks for close scrutiny, Charlotte and I walked barefoot down McAdam Street. We hatched a plot for a bit of afternoon fun. Arm in arm, we talked it over.

"Let's pretend," I said.

The End

Ann Kennedy is a fourth generation resident of Norman, OK, retired from customer service. Numerous relatives in the area, including a son and daughter, add spice to her life. She has traveled to some interesting places, and enjoys grandchildren in Idaho. Her short stories and articles for adults have been accepted by The Storyteller, Short Stories Bimonthly, and Cochran's Corner. Oblio Productions is using a children's story for an audio program and is considering another. She has won honorable mentions in ByLine Magazine contests and submits to a variety of magazines. Children's stories are her first love.

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