Elizabeth Crane - The History of Great Things

— I don’t understand, why, Betsy, if you’re making this all up, it all has to be so hard. Why couldn’t we just go to New York and become successful fashion designers and meet wonderful men and live in penthouses with maids?

— That’s not a story. That’s not what a story is.

— I thought a story could be whatever you wanted it to be.

— Think of it this way: The notes in an aria aren’t random. They follow an order. Imagine how awful it would sound if you tried to sing from a score that someone had put through a shredder and then taped back together. There are still some basic principles that make a song something you might ever want to listen to. I might also point out that you sing some of the saddest songs in existence.

— Yeah, which is one more reason why I don’t want to read sad stories.

— Look, if there aren’t some bits of conflict, the results are likely to be boring, or meaningless, or very, very short.

— But there are happy stories in the world. Heartwarming stories.

— I’m not big into heartwarming. When I’m done you can write your happy story for us.

— Okay, then, I will!

— What if we were to go back to that time Ginny came over to your house and Grandpa was a racist jerk?

— Mmf. Won’t that mess with the time-space continuum or something?

— What do you know about the time-space continuum?

— I read things.

— I haven’t figured out the science of that fiction just yet, but I’m pretty sure the time-space continuum will be just fine.

One day, you bring your friend Ginny home for a playdate after school. You’re having the best time: your dolls are best friends, and they’re having a doll wedding where your teddy bear is the groom because nobody has any boy dolls. Ginny’s doll Althea is the bride, with a veil made of a scrap of tulle and a piece of ribbon trim from our mom’s sewing basket. Chappy the teddy bear is wearing a black ribbon around his neck for a bow tie. Your doll Patty Ann is the maid of honor. Dum, dum da dum , you sing together. You walk Althea to the altar and stand her face-to-face with Chappy. A naked baby doll is jumped in for the minister because you forgot about the minister until just now. Ginny makes the baby doll have a deep voice. We are gathered here today to bring together Althea and Chappy in holy matrimony. Chappy, do you promise to take this doll, Althea, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold in— Wait, I don’t think that’s right, it’s not “to have and hold in” — Sure it is, so you don’t let the sickness out— To have and hold in, sickness and health, richer and poorer, until death do you part? I don’t think that makes all-the-way sense. Just say I do. I do , you say for Chappy, trying to sound like a bear who talks. Althea, do you promise to take this teddy bear to be your dear husband, to have and to hold in sickness and health, richer and poorer, until death do you part? I do , Ginny says for Althea. You both burst into giggles. You may now kiss the bride! Ginny says, and you both mash the doll and the teddy bear together, completely cracking yourselves up, and this is when Daddy comes in.

He gives the scene a good long stare. His face is perfectly still, but his eye sockets may as well have flames shooting out of them. You have no idea why, though Ginny has an idea. He leaves the room and goes downstairs to get our mother, who’s sewing in the den while I’m doing homework. Get that colored girl out of here , he says. Mother hustles upstairs and I follow on her heels, crying Mom, Mom, don’t do it . She says Shush, Betsy. I say Mom, Mom, don’t let Daddy do this , and she says He’s the man of the house , and I say Uch! and I run back downstairs to find Daddy smoking out in the backyard, and I say Daddy, Ginny is a person just like you , and he says You are asking for big trouble, young lady , and I say I don’t care! I am here from the future! We have an African American president! and he says What the hell is “African American”? And I say It means black, negro, colored! We have a colored president! There are two little colored girls in the White House! I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap just for thinking such a thing! And I say I don’t care! The future is here! This is when everybody comes downstairs, Mother holding Ginny’s hand, you right behind, and Mother is extremely worried that the neighbors might hear, what with this happening outside, and she says Walter! Betsy! Please! and I say No! and Ginny really does want to go home now, and you are rather unsure about this whole scene, and I yell loud enough for the neighbors three houses down to hear A racist lives here! A racist lives here! and this is when I get a hand to the face, but I say Go ahead and hit me! I don’t care! You’re crying now, Ginny’s crying now, saying I want my mama . Mother wipes Ginny’s eyes gently with a hanky from her pocket, says Okay dear, we’re going to get you home now . They leave; Daddy tells us we’re both grounded until we graduate from high school; that’s when I say Fuck you, I’m going back to the twenty-first century. Daddy actually laughs in my face. You just got yourself grounded until the twenty-first century, Betsy.

Later that night, when we’re tucked into bed, you tell me I’m crazy. What were you thinking, Betsy, everything is worse now , and I say No it isn’t, it’s better ; you say You got grounded forever! And I say We spoke up. We spoke up . You say You spoke up , and I say We spoke up. We’re a team .

— I have something I want to do next.

— What’s that?

— I want to go to your wedding.

— That would be nice. It was an awesome day.

— So you are married!

— Yes, Mom, I’m married. Didn’t we already cover that?

— It’s getting a little blurry for me, what’s real and what isn’t.

— Well, let’s just try it.

You always said you wanted a beach wedding, so you plan a ceremony on the beach on Fire Island, and the Solomons are kind enough to host a backyard reception. Everyone you want to be there is there. I make your dress, of course. I’m not sure what’s in style right now, so let’s keep it simple, it’s at the beach. You don’t want to look like some dumbass in a ball gown on the beach, you want to go sort of bohemian. Off-white with an empire waist, maybe a slim brocade ribbon under the bust with the ends hanging down, a flowy chiffon skirt, with off-the-shoulder straps, almost like a cap sleeve. A flutter sleeve. Very Juliet. It’s a perfect New York September day, not a cloud on the entire East Coast. Your friends gather on the beach; there’s an aisle made from two rows of beach glass on either side, leading to a driftwood archway decorated with all kinds of white flowers. Ben is at the end of it, with his father and best friend next to him. Nina is your maid of honor, of course. I’m a bridesmaid, because we’re sisters, but it’s informal so we’re just standing there on your side. Everyone is happy.

— That’s nice, Mom. Ben’s parents are actually long gone.

— Oh no!

— I guess this confirms that you aren’t all out there somewhere having a big after-party.