Фэнни Флэгг - The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop

Had to take Wilbur to the emergency room in May. The crazy fool was out on the pier feeding the seagulls by hand, and one of them missed the oyster cracker he was holding up and nicked his nose instead. Needless to say, he was not a pretty sight with the big bandage on his nose, but it’s all healed up now.

By the way, speaking of unexpected things, I had a rude awakening at the doctor’s this year. The gal taking my weight and height told me that I was five foot three and I said, “No, that’s not right. I’m five feet four and a half, and I’ve always been five feet four and a half.” I made her measure again, and sure enough she was right. Gang, I have shrunk! No wonder my pants are too long. It’s me! I’m too short.

But on a happier note: Did you know that once you pass seventy-five and you are still alive, it means you have a better than average chance on making it past ninety? So let’s keep on going! The way they are curing all these diseases and replacing body parts left and right, who knows, we could live forever. My question is, would you want to? Write and tell me what you think.

Well, signing off for another year. They tell us it’s not PC to say Merry Christmas anymore, but Merry Christmas anyway, everybody!

Your faithful scribe,

Dot

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

1972

OPAL BUTTS HAD three sisters, Ruby, Pearl, and the baby, Garnet. It was clear her mother had been hung up on jewelry. And Opal had been hung up on fixing hair since she was eighteen. After she married Julian Threadgoode, she started a small beauty shop in their kitchen. It might have been one of the reasons for their divorce. Every time he came home, there were at least three women in the kitchen and two more in the living room, chatting away, waiting to get their hair fixed. All weekend, there were women in and out of the house at all hours, and it had driven Julian crazy. Finally, he gave Opal an ultimatum and she chose the beauty business. After he moved down to Florida, she opened up her own beauty shop two doors down from the cafe and was very successful.

But in 1954, Opal had to close her beauty shop in Whistle Stop, and wound up moving to Birmingham and working for a beauty shop in a downtown hotel. It was so different. At her own shop she had known all of her customers, but now the customers were mostly walk-ins. And almost nobody wanted a permanent wave anymore.

But Opal’s main preoccupation now was heading up her condo association, and the job was turning out to be extremely stressful. So stressful, she had just ordered a T-shirt that read KILL ME IF I EVER VOLUNTEER AGAIN. The main problem was that her neighborhood was in flux. As the older residents left, young singles were moving in, and the atmosphere was changing. And oh, how the singles loved to party. Now that it was summer, every weekend at the pool, someone was having a cookout and playing loud music, and who did everyone call to complain? Opal was so tired of having to get up out of bed, go out, and ask them to turn down the music and keep their voices down. They were usually pretty good about it, but within an hour, it was just as loud. Sometimes she had to call the police to get them to be quiet.

Noise was one thing. She understood they were just trying to have a good time, but these kids had all kinds of people showing up at their parties. People they didn’t know. A lot of the older residents were worried that some of these strangers might come back and rob them. It was a valid fear. There had been a lot of holdups and carjackings going on lately.

One night just last week she had stayed late at work. A group of girls, in town for a bachelorette party, came into the salon pretty drunk and wanted her to dye their hair pink to match their dresses for the wedding, and they didn’t leave the shop until after ten that night.

She had closed up the shop and was walking to her car when she noticed a scruffy-looking man in a long coat who seemed to be following her. She looked around the parking lot, and most of the cars were gone. When she realized she was alone, she began to walk a little faster, and so did he. She was now convinced this guy was up to no good. Oh Lord, he was probably going to rob her and steal her car or worse. She didn’t know, all she knew was she had to think fast.

As she got a little closer to her car, she slowly reached inside her beauty supply bag, pulled out a curling iron, then quickly turned and pointed it at him. And in the deepest and loudest voice she could manage, she growled, “You come one step closer, sucker, and I’ll blow your head off.”

It must have scared him, because he backed off and went the other way. As she stood there and watched him leave she felt just like John Wayne, and, boy, did that feel good. That bastard wasn’t going to get her tip money, not tonight. Not as hard as she’d worked.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

IT WAS HER father’s eighty-fifth birthday, and Ruthie had invited Evelyn to come over to Atlanta and have dinner with them as a little surprise for him. Evelyn was delighted. She really liked Bud, and enjoyed talking about the old days in Whistle Stop. It was almost like being with Ninny again.

—

THAT AFTERNOON, RUTHIE picked Evelyn up at the airport, and as they were turning in to Caldwell Circle, Ruthie said, “Evelyn, look over at the big house. Do you see a face in the window yet?”

Evelyn looked. “No, not yet.”

“Well, keep looking.” And as they got out of the car, a curtain was suddenly pulled aside in one of the upstairs windows, and a face peered out. Ruthie said, “There she is, right on schedule.” Ruthie faked a quick little smile and waved at her, and the face quickly disappeared behind the curtain.

“Who was that?”

“My mother-in-law.”

Evelyn said, “Oh dear, I knew she lived close by, but not that close. She really is right on top of you, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes, and in more ways than one.” As they entered the house, Ruthie stopped in the entrance hall and said, “Hold on a minute, Evelyn,” then walked over to the house phone and waited. Five seconds later, it rang. Ruthie rolled her eyes and answered.

“Hello, Martha.”

“I see we have a visitor.”

“Yes, we do.”

Ruthie counted to five on her fingers, and waited.

“Do I know her?”

“No, I don’t think so, Martha,” she said, looking at Evelyn. “She’s an old friend of mine from Alabama.”

“Oh, I see. Well, have a nice day,” she said and hung up. Ruthie shook her head. “Sorry. Anyhow, come on in; this is home, such as it is.”

Evelyn put her bag down, walked around the living room, and peeked into the dining room. “Oh, Ruthie, this place is just beautiful. And these colors. I just love this shade of yellow on the walls, and all these gorgeous slipcovers, and your rugs. Who was your decorator?”

Ruthie shrugged. “Just me.”

“You did all of this by yourself?”

“Yes, it was a hard-fought battle getting rid of all the big, dark antique furniture Martha Lee had in here, but it was one battle I won, thank heavens.”

“I should say so. I had to hire an army of people to do my house.”

“Of course, it took a while. I had to replace the wallpaper and put in all new light fixtures.”

“Well, you did a great job. You have a real talent, Ruthie.”

“Why, thank you, Evelyn.”

“You must entertain a lot.”

“No, not really. We used to, but when Brooks died, most of our friends were married couples, and when you’re suddenly a single woman, your life changes. But I do miss the fun we all used to have.”

That night, Ruthie dropped Evelyn off at the restaurant and then picked up her father at Briarwood Manor. Bud had assumed it would just be the two of them, but when he walked in and saw Evelyn sitting at the table, his eyes lit up. “Well, look who’s here. It’s my friend Evelyn. What a great surprise!”