Today I am thinking of Caroline.
I
see her with her dark straight hair, smooth dark skin, living in a land
of Wonder Bread. In my mind, she is surviving with her brothers and
parents, moving from place to place, always starting over. I see her catching the bus, eyes cast to the ground, hoping no one would notice her.
I can see her yet, a small teenage girl, shivering with anxiety. A dark skin among a sea of all white, Caroline was drowning.
It was strange then and even now to me.
On
Friday near the end of May, our bus had bumped down a dust and
gravel road, everyday passing a weedy patch, hiding a rusted and faded
single wide mobile home. With weeds almost engulfing it, this tin can of
a home for years had been empty, with overhead wires feeding it power,
and buckets to carry for water.
Then, on Monday there parked by the battered trailer was an equally rusty station wagon.
On
this Monday, Caroline stood waiting where gravel met weeds. She ducked
in quickly, and scooted over in the seat behind bus driver. She shrank
down into her shell, dark straight hair shading, covering her face.
Days
careened into each other, until the bus stopped to release Caroline on the last day of school. And that seemed to be it, no more stops and
hiding behind her hair.
Carnival!
Yearly Carnival weekend arrived for its annual weekend of wonder and
excitement! Lights and games and rides--glamour and side glances at the
exotic carnies!
In
the middle of rides and games stood a booth for choosing "Queen of
Carnival". A photo of each candidate hovered over a gallon glass jar,
where one could drop some coins. The winner would be the one with the
most coins, meaning not just pennies, but some silver as well.
I
looked at each familiar face, lovely young women all of them. Donna?
Betty? Maryanne? ...and then there was a photo of Caroline over an
almost empty jar. Caroline? Is that you?
Caroline and her family walked around the Wonder Bread street. Whispers followed them--Indians? You know, the ones in tents and rode horses...? India? My dad was in India during the War... Dark skin and straight coal black hair, deep brown eyes were proud, defying, almost angry.
The sun set on a last night when a queen would be chosen and crowned, culmination of all the lights.
In
the moments before the jars were to be collected, Caroline''s brothers
carried bags of coins to pour into an almost empty jar sitting beneath
the photo of Caroline''s smiling face. Handfuls of coins rained into the
jar, over and over, until overflowing.
Judges
walked around and looked at each photo, at each jar. Stopping at Caroline's coin filled jar, each nodded. One took her photo and walked
up steps of park's bandstand. Standing at the foot of the steps were Caroline's family, dark eyes reflecting bright lights as only a carnival
could have.
When
her name was announced...
This is not the crown of that night, just vague memory.
she stood tall, a queen in Wonder Bread
land, walking up steps. A crown was placed on her dark hair while Caroline cast a brilliant smile across the town. Her father stood
proudly, tears down his face. His daughter. His girl was queen.
For
the entire summer, whenever Caroline and her family ventured into town
to shop, she always wore her crown. Every single time that lovingly made for another queen"s crown--Ella Evans whose late daughter had worn it 20 years ago as the carnival queen--perched upon her dark hair, now pulled
back away from her glowing face.
When it was time for our bus to begin making its its daily journey, the car was gone, leaving the trailer, new weeds growing.
Queen Caroline moved somewhere, taking a glow of one night when she was crowned.
Where did she go? Does she still wear the crown?
I saw this as a teenage girl myself. My breath caught in my chest as she beamed with the crown upon her head. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful queen ever.
Some aspects had to be changed for the fluidity of the story.
