Green Rivers

1.

            The best thing about being in Branson, Missouri, ordering "Green Rivers" at the drugstore. The counter boy would squeeze fresh limes and add sugar, a thick green syrup, and soda water. It would get frothy, and I’d sit up with my legs wrapped around the red stool feeling proud I knew what to order. Back then, anyone who came in for a Coke or a shake seemed ignorant. Me and my sister and brother would stay in that store for hours, drinking our Green Rivers and wishing something exciting would happen.  

             Last summer there was another family with us in Branson, with four kids. The oldest boy was really rude. He called me Orphan Annie ’cause of my red hair. One day he tickled me so hard I almost threw up. The next day everyone went water skiing, but there wasn’t enough room in the boat. I said I’d stay on shore and walk on up to the drugstore. I like being by myself, ‘cause it gives me time to think.  

            They all got in the boat, life jackets flying everywhere, the littlest kid crying, scared of the motor. I was glad not to be squished in the boat with everybody. They took off, waving at me like mad, and I went over to the drugstore.   

            I sat up on that red stool, reading a movie magazine and wishing my mother had sent me to Hollywood when I was about five. Then my picture would be in the magazine. Any day a famous director might discover me, so I better be ready to move to Hollywood. My family probably wouldn’t miss me. 

             I spent a couple of quarters on Green Rivers, sipping ‘em slow while I crossed my legs back and forth and turned the pages of the magazine. Then I decided I’d walk around Branson.

             The day felt hot and sticky, like it might rain, but there weren’t any clouds. I got tired of walking and climbed up on a stone wall to watch people go by. I put my sunglasses on, and for awhile I pretended I was a famous child movie star, but no one knew me there, so they didn’t ask for my autograph.  Then I played with my fake ring, pretending it was a real emerald.

             An old man passed by—limping and wearing worn-out clothes and a straw hat. When he passed me, he lifted his hat and said, "Howdy, ma'am."

             Whenever anyone calls me ma’am, I feel mighty important, so I smiled and nodded, just like a grown-up. He walked over to the corner grocery store, and I could tell he was trying not to limp. Nothing much happened then, except for a dog chasing after a squirrel. There weren’t any movies being made there or any directors in sight. One time in Ireland I saw a cow blown up in a field as part of a movie. I wanted to stop and ask if I could be in the movie, but everyone else with me wanted to go shopping, so I missed my chance. I think the cow was lucky for being in the movie, even if he had to get blown up. 

            Then the man came out of the store carryin’ a small bag. When he got closer, he smiled, and I could see wrinkles around his eyes.  

             "Hot, ain't it," he said to me.

             "Sure is," I said. At home, we weren’t allowed to say "ain't," but here it didn't seem to matter.

             "What are you doin’ in Branson, little miss?" 

            “We come here for vacation every summer,” I said. “We drive all the way from Arkansas.” Then I told him about the ghost named “It” who lived in the attic at Holiday House and how scared we were when we went up to look at the hole where “It” lived. Then I told him about the mule named Sassafras who lived in the field next to Holiday House. Whenever it rained, Sassafras just stood still, even though I pulled on his bridle to coax him into the barn.  

            “That mule just won’t listen to reason,” he said.

            “I told him how nice it was in the barn,” I said, “But he just preferred to stand in the rain.” Pretty soon I was walking down the street with the man, as natural as if I'd known him forever.

             "Want some limeade?" he asked, holding up his bag. I nodded. Soon we were walking up the grey steps on the outside of his house. He lived on the top floor. I pretended I was going in for a screen test. He didn’t look like a director, but you never know.

            His apartment was small and dingy, but maybe some directors like it that way. He took out some frozen limeade and a can of tuna fish from the bag and set them on the counter.

            "I'll make the limeade," I said. In my house the girls always cook, and the boys don’t have to do much of anything. I felt kind of sorry for the man, living there all alone in that little place. He chuckled.

     "I haven't had the company of a lady in a long time," he said, showing me where the pitcher was in the cabinet. I made the limeade and then asked if he wanted me to make the tuna fish, too. Maybe if he thought I was a good cook he would think I was good at lots of things, like acting.

            “Sure, we’ll both have a sandwich,” he said. He got out the bread. It looked stale to me, but I was polite, just like I was raised to be. Famous directors don’t have much time to go to the grocery store. But I think they usually live in bigger houses, closer to Hollywood. 

            After lunch I asked him if he wanted to see my imitation of Hayley Mills. He nodded, though I don’t think he knew who she was. I did my favorite scenes from “The Chalk Garden,” even the dramatic one where I fell on a pretend rock and cried. He clapped for that one.

            Then I asked him if he wanted to see my tap dance, like the one I saw Shirley Temple do when she was a child star. Even though I didn’t have my tap shoes with me, he liked it. He even did a little whistling for me when I got out of breath singing the song. One time I won a prize for dancing, but it was a Mexican dance not a tap dance.  I got to wear a skirt with sequins all around it. I also won a prize for dressing up like Shirley Temple for a party once. My hair was all done up in ringlets, but I was sad that night because all four of my dyed Easter chickens (Margaret, the green one; Rose, the pink one; Theresa, the yellow one; and Margaret, the blue one) had actually died from being eaten because the mean dog Toby from next door came into the garage and broke into their pen, leaving only some colorful feathers. And what do you think they served at that party for dinner? Chicken. Just like Anne of Green Gables, my life is a perfect graveyard full of buried hopes. Well, anyway, after my dance, the old man clapped again, and then I saw a broom in the corner.  

            "I'll sweep, and you can tell me a story," I said. He started to tell me a story about a girl named Ermalene. Then I remembered how I promised to meet everyone on the dock at noon. "I've got to get back!" I announced.

             "I'll walk with you," he said.

             As we came down to the dock, everyone was waiting for me, sunburned and talking in loud voices.

             "Where were you?" asked my brother. "I looked in the drugstore."

            "With him,” I said. Everybody looked at my friend as though he was a freak.  

            “Who’s this little girl’s parents?” he asked. My mom and dad said they were. “I’ve got something to ask you,” he said. They followed him over to the shade under a tree, where we couldn’t hear them. I saw my mother frown. Soon we were all crowded in the car, and I was waving out the back window at my friend. He looked like he wanted to cry.  

             "What did that old man want to talk to you about?" asked my sister, sitting between my parents up in front. We still call her Baby Jane sometimes, and when she was little, we told her she was adopted ‘cause she doesn’t have a baby book. I don’t really think she was adopted. But maybe she got switched with someone at the hospital. My mother looked upset, like she does when one of us has done something bad.

            "He wanted to know if he could keep Anne," she said.

             "Keep her?" My sister acted like she couldn’t believe it. "Why would he want to do that?"  

            I didn’t care what she thought.  The word “keep” sounded like magic.   Besides, he might really be a director. Maybe he wanted to take me to Hollywood.

            “Can we stop at the drugstore for a Green River?” I asked. But nobody answered.

                                                                        2.

            Reckon it’s been nigh on twenty years since ah’ve had a visiter. Last person who came up here was a little girl. Never knew her name. Reminded me of Ermalene.  Cute as a button. Red hair, a pixie face, and freckles. She could dance, too, and sing and play act. 

            I was walking downtown, for somethin’ to do, see, and I saw her setting up on the wall near to the five and dime. She was talking to hersef, ‘fore she saw me coming. Sort of puttin’ on airs, waving her hands an’ such. Had on some sunglasses way too big fer her.   Purple ones.

            I decided I’d treat her jus’ like a princess or a movie star, so I tipped my hat when I walked by, and she smiled jus’ as purty as a picture. She couldn’ta been more’n nine or ten years old. ‘Bout the age of Ermalene when her mama left me.

            Well, I come out the grocery store with some lemonade and a can of Spam or somethin’, see. She was still settin’ there, swinging her legs and trying to whistle. But she stopped when she saw me, like she was shy. I knew she weren’t from aroun’ here, so I asked her what brought her to Branson. Vacation, she said. Every year she stays up at Holiday House with her family. They drive all the way from Arkinsaw. 

            ‘Fore I knew it I was hearin’ ‘bout the ghost in the attic up thar. Said she would go upstairs with her sister and brother and stare at the hole in the wall until one of ‘em would see a shadow, and they’d all shriek real loud and run down the stairs, hopin’ the ghost wouldn’t follow ‘em. 

            Then she tole me about Francis the talking mule. Musta been on TV she seen him, but she said she tried to pull him into the barn at Holiday House. All he did was stand there. She was cute, tellin’ about how she told him it’d be nicer in the barn. Some animals, ‘n some folks too, sure won’t listen to reason.

            She came with me up to the house and fixed up the lemonade and Spam, or was it tuna fish, herself. Fancy that, her the guest and me just settin’ by helpless like. Couldn’t get over how cute she was. Reminded me of Ermalene, th’ way she liked to tell a tale. 

            Wanted to sweep my house, she did, after I listened to her sing and watched her dancing up a storm. Seems like she wanted to stick around. I thought it was a good idea, too, me being alone and all. But pretty soon she said she had to go back. Before she left I promised her I’d buy her a Green River down to the drugstore someday. She said it was her favorite drink in the world, and since this was the only place in the world that served ‘em, she liked to drink ‘em here.

            Before I knew it, we was down at the boat dock, an’ I seen all these strange people starin’ at me, four grown ups and six or seven children, all crowded together. None of them had red hair like her. I figured she didn’t quite fit in, else why would she be alone when all of them was together? Thought I’d ask her folks if I could just keep her. They had two others. 

            Well, they said no. Pretty soon after that they was getting in the car, and my little friend was waving at me through the back window. Looking kinda sad like, she was. Just about the age of Ermalene when her mama took her away.  

            Never did see her after that. I went up to Holiday House once or twice to look around for her. Only saw a mule eatin’ grass by the barn. I’m still waitin’ to buy that little girl a Green River, if she ever come back here. She’s all growed up by now. Suppose she ever thinks about me? Last visitor I had, she was. Cute as a button, too.

                                                                   3. 

            Back in those days we didn’t really think about it much—the possibility of abuse or abduction happening to any of our kids. It seems like we didn’t know much about anything then. People now are much more aware. They talk about things more openly and warn their kids about dangers and all. 

            But when I think about how my daughter, my own daughter, might have gotten hurt or killed even, it makes me feel kind of foolish that we took chances and never thought anything about it. She was always so independent, and I just assumed she would use good judgment and could take care of herself, even if she did have a wild imagination. I remember the time she was all dressed up in that old-fashioned costume, sitting out on the front lawn, and my sister Jane drove up and asked her, “Anne, how are you doing?”

            Well, she was very cool. “Anne is not here,” she said. “My name is Meg.” I thought I’d die laughing when Jane told me about it. I guess it was my fault for letting her wear those pink wings to school when she was younger. She always liked being different, wearing costumes and all and memorizing scenes from her favorite movies. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her.

            Well, anyway, when we were up in Branson one summer, we left Anne behind on one of our water skiing trips. She was only nine, but she insisted that we leave her behind so everyone else would fit into the boat. The nicest family was with us. I think Anne had a crush on the oldest boy, Jason, and didn’t want him to see her in her bathing suit or something. Funny, it seems now that one child would not have made much difference. We thought she’d just hang out at the drugstore, reading her Nancy Drew mystery and sipping those soda counter drinks she liked, Green Waters? No, Green Rivers.  She still talks about them. An old-fashioned drink.  I don’t think they make them anywhere else in the world,  Maybe not even in Branson anymore.

            We skied and came back to the dock, but Anne was nowhere in sight. Tom went down to the drugstore to look, but the counter boy said it had been over two hours since she’d been in there. We couldn’t find her anywhere. We were all sunburned and ready to go home. Finally, she showed up—with an old man! Apparently, she met him on the road and went home with him. Can you imagine? Think if that had happened now. 

            He was awful. He had some teeth missing and a hat that looked like it came off a scarecrow, and his clothes were torn. No belt, just some old suspenders, one side hanging by a thread. He looked like an alcoholic—red nose, whiskers . . . he couldn’t even walk very well. He probably couldn’t read.

            We were lucky that he didn’t harm her. I assume he didn’t harm her, from what she told me. She acted like she had a good time at his house and wanted to stay there. Imagine! All the advantages she has—clothes, good food, nice family, summer camp, trips to Europe—but she acted like it was something special to go visit that poor old man. Then, he asked us if we would give her up!  He said something about not having a daughter anymore. He went on about her red hair. I was really upset, of course. How could he even think about taking away my daughter? It made me wonder if Anne had put the thought into his head. But I really didn’t think about abuse, only about how shocking it was to consider giving away a child. Or having her want to leave us.

            Well, anyway, we were lucky. Nowadays, kids disappear, and sometimes they are never found. Or months go by and then someone finds a mutilated body or a piece of clothing or something. It kills me to see all the ads for lost children on milk cartons and in the Amber alerts. And think about all the child abuse that goes on! We didn’t know anything about it then. It’s a crazy world, isn’t it? Maybe it always has been, but it seems things have gotten worse.

            We didn’t return to Branson after that. It gave me the willies, thinking about that old man. Anne keeps on wanting to go back; it’s the only place, she says, where they serve Green Rivers.