The All-Girl Filling Station's Last Reunion Part 8

"Hey, Sookie, I saw Dr. Poole leave a little while ago, so I thought I'd run over and see if you needed anything from the store."

"Oh, thank you, Netta. I'm fine, but come in, and have some coffee."

"No, I can't stay. I'm still in my hairnet." Netta looked over at the table and said, "I see you've got your road maps out. Are you going on a trip?"

"No, I was just looking at a map of Wisconsin. Have you ever been to Wisconsin, Netta?"

"Nope, sure haven't. Have you?"

"No, I don't know anything about it. Do you?"

"Nothing much, except ... isn't that where the horses with the big feet come from? I think they're pulling a wagon of Budweiser beer. Don't they call it Milwaukee's Finest?"

"I think you're right."

"And they like their cheese. And Wisconsin may be where Daisy the Contented Cow comes from, but I could be wrong. But if you're not going there, why are you looking at it on the map?"

"Oh, no reason. I just woke up and was curious about where it was, that's all. I'm surprised at how far up it is, almost as far up as Canada. I wonder how cold it gets in the winter?"

"I wouldn't know, honey. Well, I'll leave you to your map. Call me if you need me."

As Netta walked across the yard back to her house, she wondered why anyone in their right mind would just wake up one day and be curious about Wisconsin. But maybe Sookie wasn't in her right mind. Maybe poor Sookie had flipped. Oh, Lord. Another Simmons over at Pleasant Hill. Once that gene gets in there, it just hits them like a hammer, and off they go. Bless her heart. One day sane, the next day looking at maps of Wisconsin for no reason. Her poor kids are going to be very upset, and no telling what will happen to Dr. Poole. She never saw a man so devoted to his wife as he was. But it was to be expected, she guessed. With Lenore for a mother, that girl was probably driven to the brink. She liked Lenore, but she was glad she wasn't related to her.

Sookie sat back down and continued looking for Pulaski and finally found it. "Pulaski: Home of the largest polka celebration in the country." It was close to Green Bay, she could see that. Oh, dear, that was where those people painted themselves green and sat in the football stands in the freezing cold with wedges of cheese on their heads. Oh, well. Who was she to pa.s.s judgment? Carter and the girls had all gone to the University of Alabama, and Carter and his friends wore elephant hats to the games. To each his own, she supposed, but still, it was very strange to think that some of those people sitting in the stands with wedges of cheese on their heads might be her own relatives. Then another thought hit her. She had always liked cheese, especially pimento cheese sandwiches. Could that have come from her genetic background, or did she just love cheese? When Earle came home, she asked, "Earle, have you ever noticed that I eat a lot of cheese, or is it just my imagination?"

"Cheese? No, I haven't noticed you eating more cheese than anybody else. Why?"

"I was just wondering."

The next day, when she knew Lenore was busy playing bridge and that there was no danger that she would run into her, Sookie hurried downtown to the bookstore and spoke to the owner.

"Hi, Karin, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Poole. You just missed your mother. She was here earlier with her little Mexican nurse, buying some birthday cards."

Oh, for heaven's sake. "Well, listen, Karin, I was wondering ... where should I look for a book on Poland?"

"The country, Poland?"

"Yes. Or Wisconsin."

"Okay. Well, both of those would be in the travel section, but if you don't find what you want, let me know. I can always order it. Are you taking a trip now that all the weddings are over?"

"Well, you know, I just might be. I'm just not sure where, yet."

"Let me know if I can help you."

As Sookie searched through the books, it dawned on her that her mother always bought her greeting cards there, so she was probably in there earlier buying a birthday card for her, knowing full well that July 31 was not her real birthday. Honestly!

PULASKI, WISCONSIN.

1939.

IN 1939, MOST AMERICANS, ESPECIALLY THE YOUNG, WERE BLISSFULLY unaware of what was happening outside of their own little world. But the citizens of Pulaski, young and old, were painfully aware of the horrible war that was raging across Europe. Every night, families sat glued to the radio, listening to the news of Poland. Most still had relatives and friends there, and each day, the men would gather at the bulletin board at the drugstore, reading the news of the day in disbelief. The Poles were fighting bravely, hoping to hold out for England or France to come and help. Stanislaw had a cousin who worked in the telegraph room at the Grand Hotel Europejski in Warsaw, and he had managed to send news of the bombing of the city by the Germans. He reported that each night, the n.a.z.is sent more bombers, and each morning, whole new sections of the city were destroyed. Men, women, and children were being killed by the hundreds and left in the streets, along with the dead horses. And then, after September 1, the news abruptly stopped, and nothing more came out of Poland.

September the ninth was a cold, gray day, and the entire town of Pulaski was suddenly deadly quiet as the news was announced. Father Sobieski, whose family was still in Warsaw, walked slowly up to the bell tower of Saint Mary's and rang the bell over and over with tears streaming down his face. Poland had fallen to the n.a.z.is. Like so many, he had dreamed he would return home one day, but that dream was over. The Poland they loved was gone.

After a while, stunned people slowly began coming out of their homes into the streets, and, not knowing what else to do, they all walked over to the church, where a special ma.s.s was said entirely in Polish. When it was over, they all stood and sang the Polish national anthem.

Several weeks later, at the Pulaski movie theater, when they ran the weekly Eyes and Ears of the World newsreel, they showed films of the fall of Warsaw, and one woman screamed when she thought she recognized the man with his arms over his head being brutally shoved through the war-torn streets by a n.a.z.i soldier. "That's my brother!" she screamed over and over, and she had to be taken home.

Poland had fallen, but life in America carried on as usual. Kids still played baseball, and the 1939 World's Fair in New York was being mobbed by people thrilled about seeing all the marvelous inventions that were in the works. The World of Tomorrow exhibit promised nothing but an exciting future. Elsewhere, across the country, women and girls sat in movie houses, swooning over Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, while men and boys were enthralled watching John Wayne ride shotgun across the West in Stagecoach. At night, people were still laughing at their favorite radio shows, Charlie McCarthy and Fibber McGee and Molly. Teenagers everywhere were jitterbugging to Glenn Miller's "Little Brown Jug," and the Andrews Sisters had a big hit with "Beer Barrel Polka," a song that was especially popular in Pulaski.

BY THE SUMMER, GERTRUDE May and Tula June had graduated from high school. Both were well-liked and were members of the Thursday night Ladies Accordion Band of Pulaski and marched with them that year in the Polka Days parade. Tula and Gertrude both had steady boyfriends, lived at home, and helped Momma in the kitchen. The youngest girl, Sophie, was in her junior year at high school. The three girls were a joy to Momma. Gertrude was a big-boned, good-natured girl with a big laugh like her father. Tula was just plain silly and loved to giggle. Sophie was very pretty, and the boys liked her a lot, but she was shy and quiet and very much a homebody, which pleased Momma. She had already lost Fritzi, and she wanted to keep her last three little chickens close by, where she could keep an eye on them.

Momma hadn't said anything, but she had noticed that of all her children, Sophie Marie was the most devout and never missed ma.s.s, and she said her rosary every night. Momma would not be surprised if she turned out to have a religious vocation. She hoped so. It would be wonderful to have a nun in the family. She knew that with the way Wink fooled around with all the girls, particularly Angie Broukowski, he was never going to be a priest. Girls were now driving all the way over from Green Bay to the filling station just to flirt with him.

By the end of 1939, those in Was.h.i.+ngton, including Franklin Roosevelt, fearing that the United States would eventually be drawn into war, became concerned that the country was not prepared. The Army Air Corps was turning out only three hundred pilots annually, and so the government quietly and without much fanfare set up a new program, offered at colleges, called the Civilian Pilot Training Program, which turned out to be good news for the Jurdabralinskis. They already had the little airstrip they had built for Billy, and the local college needed a place to keep small planes and train students. When they asked Stanislaw if they could build a small hangar on the property and rent the land, he saw an opportunity for Wink and the girls and told the college they could use it rent-free. The only stipulation was that the instructor give Wink and his girls flying lessons in his spare time. The girls were thrilled. They idolized Fritzi and wanted to be just like her. But Momma was not happy. Having Fritzi flying all over the place was enough.

Dear Goofb.a.l.l.s, Poppa wrote and told me about your new venture. Can't wait for you to take me for a ride into the wild blue yonder. Billy says, "Be careful, be safe, have fun."

Fritzi All three girls did fairly well-all except Tula. When she soloed, she came in far too low on the landing and brought an awful lot of cornstalks down with her. After that, Tula decided to just stick to playing the accordion and roller-skating.

THE INVISIBLE WOMAN.

POINT CLEAR, ALABAMA.

THE MINUTE CE CE GOT BACK FROM HER HONEYMOON, SHE RAN OVER to see her mother and pick up Peek-a-Boo. "Oh, Mother, the honeymoon was just wonderful. And thanks again for taking such good care of Peek-a-Boo."

"Oh, honey, I was happy to do it."

After they had visited awhile and caught up on Ce Ce's trip, Ce Ce looked at her and asked, "Mother, is there something the matter? You just don't seem like yourself today."

"Oh, no. It's ... well ... with all my children gone, I've been doing a little reevaluating, that's all."

"About what?"

"Oh, how proud I am of all my girls. Le Le and Dee Dee have such good careers, and now you're studying to be a veterinarian. And I guess I'm just feeling a little bit like a failure. I never did anything with my life."

"Mother, what are you talking about? You worked and helped put Daddy through dental school."

"Oh ... not for that long, and I just did a little simple filing."

"And you raised four children. You were always there when any of us needed you. You cooked and cleaned and made sure we all had clean clothes. I don't know how you did it at all."

"Oh, honey, that's just housewife stuff. Anybody can do that."

"No, they can't. I can't. Grandmother sure couldn't. I don't know why you never give yourself any credit for all you did every day. And you never complained."

"Oh, yes, I did."

"Well, not to us. We never heard you complain about anything."

"No?"

"No. You were always so easygoing, so sweet. You just went along with everything."

"I did?"

"Oh, yes."

THAT AFTERNOON, SOOKIE CALLED Dena. "Dena, I want you to tell me the truth and feel free to be brutally frank. You were my best friend in college."

"Yes, I was."

"What would you say were my main personality traits?"

"Oh ... well, you had a great personality. Everybody liked you, Sookie."

"But why?"

"Why? You were fun to be with and always so-"

"Agreeable?"

"Yes ... and you always went along with everything."

"I knew it!"

"What?"

"I am a nonperson. I never had any real personality traits of my own. I'm traitless. I've just picked up things. If I hadn't been pushed into a personality by Lenore, everyone would have seen that underneath, I am nothing but a dull, traitless blob."

"Oh, Sookie, that's not true."

"Yes, it is. All these years, I've just been imitating other people. I'm just an empty suit."

"Sookie, what happened? You don't sound like yourself."

"That's just it. I'm not myself. I'm just one big piece of plasma floating around in s.p.a.ce ... the Invisible Woman. Why couldn't I have found all this out when I was young and still had a chance to change? Now it's too late. I'm already formed. I'm just a second-banana kind of person, and I always will be."

"Oh, Sookie, it's not true. And it's never too late to change, and do something different."

"Yes, it is. For me, at least. I don't think I've changed one bit since high school. I'm just older on the outside, that's all."

"Oh, honey."

"No, it's true, Dena. And there's nothing more unattractive than a sixty-year-old ex-cheerleader still trying to be perky. I just make myself sick. I don't even know if I really like people or if I'm just a big phony. Anyhow, thank you for being my friend."

Dena hung up the phone and felt so bad for Sookie, but she could understand how she felt. She had always thought that Lenore was hilarious and a lot of fun, but then she wasn't her daughter. And with Lenore, everybody was a second banana.

GRAND RAPIDS, WISCONSIN.

BILLY BEVINS HAD MET PLENTY OF GIRLS, BUT NEVER ONE LIKE FRITZI. He was twelve years older, but pretty soon, when they all went out after the show, she could match him drink for drink, cuss word for cuss word-and lately, she had added a few new ones he had never heard of. Best of all, she had become almost as good a pilot as he was.

For the first few months in Grand Rapids, Fritzi had her own room at the hotel, and everything had been on the up and up. But as time went by, Gussie Mintz, the wing walker from Altoona that Billy was living with, had seen the handwriting on the wall. She saw how Billy looked at Fritzi and vice versa. He denied it, of course, but Gussie was not a fool. So one Sat.u.r.day, while Billy and Fritzi were off doing the show, she up and packed her bags and moved back to Altoona. But she did leave Fritzi a note.

Dear Fritzi, Well, I'm off. Good luck, and be careful. They say once flying gets in your blood, you can't ever get it out. I'm getting out while I still can.

Yours truly, Gussie Mintz P.S. I ain't mad at you, Fritzi, but you tell Billy I think he's a real s.h.i.+t.

Gussie may not have been the most refined of girls, but Fritzi had always liked her. When you got past all the makeup, booze, crying jags, and bad grammar, there had been something kind of n.o.ble about old Gussie, and Fritzi would miss her.

And no matter what Gussie had called Billy, Gussie was clearly still in love with him. She hadn't left because she wanted to. But, after all, she herself had kicked some other gal out before she and Billy had gotten together. Just the same, if she had had a gun, Gussie would have shot him right where it counted. It would have made her feel better and probably saved Fritzi a lot of heartache down the line. Billy was not the marrying kind, and he never would be.

AS GUSSIE HAD PREDICTED, things with Billy and Fritzi progressed, and a few months later, she was spending more time in Billy's room than her own. He said, "Why pay for two rooms when you are only using one?" It was as close to a proposal as she was ever going to get. She knew by now there was never going to be a wedding. Billy didn't believe in marriage. The choice was hers. She knew it was a sin, but she had stopped going to church a long time ago, so she moved in with Billy. She only worried about two things: Momma and Poppa finding out, and getting pregnant. As Lillian, the other wing walker, had told her, "Honey, be careful. Once you get pregnant, your flying days are over."

WHO AM I?.