Meet Me In St. Louis

Ginny Dobbs

The waiting was becoming unbearable and the excitement level was at a feverish pitch. Weeks ago when it was announced that Meet Me In St. Louis was coming to the local theater my four sisters and two brothers about drove our grandma crazy with our singing. We clang, clanged the trolley and begged everyone to meet us in St. Louie, Louie. Each time we asked Grandma if we could go she said, “We’ll see,” and then, after hearing the question again and again she informed us that if we asked one more time we would absolutely not be going to that movie or any other movie for the rest of our lives. If you knew our grandma you would probably agree that she always meant what she said so we dared not ask her again.

        For that entire week none of us whined about our early bedtime, complained that it wasn’t fair to have to do so many dishes, hated to eat stuff like turnips, and even gave up bickering with each other as was our usual custom. When we were around Grandma, fourteen eyes stared intently at her and silently willed her to speak, but she simply acted as though the movie had completely slipped her mind.

        On Friday, the day before the movie was to open, we kids had a meeting and decided that one of us would have to ask Grandma again if we could go to the movie. My brother, Jim, took straws from the broom and we three oldest drew to decide the unlucky victim. As usual, I drew the short straw. To this day I truly believe Jim always knew how to make sure I was the one saddled with that dreaded straw.

        So there I stood with the straw in my hand, my throat so dry I couldn’t swallow and my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it. Jim told me I must ask Grandma tonight at supper because that was the rule of the straws. I asked him who died and left him the boss, but he just pushed his nose up with his middle finger and ambled away.

        Supper was a silent affair. I tried to eat, but six pair of eyes drilled into me as my brothers and sisters waited for me to speak to Grandma. One by one they finished their supper and asked to be excused. As they carried their plates to the sink they continued to torture me with their silent demand that I speak up.

        Grandma and I were left at the table and I saw my siblings hovering around the kitchen door, waiting to see if I would chicken out or live up to the rule of the straws. I was wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt when Grandma spoke. “Well, Virginia, are you going to live up to the code of the straw or are you just going to sit there like a bump on a log?”

        My throat went dry and I tried to make spit so I could swallow and be able to answer her. How did Grandma know about the code of the straw? Why was I the one sitting here by myself without support from the others?

        I gulped and managed to utter just loud enough for Grandma to hear: “Grandma, may we go see Meet Me in St. Louis tomorrow?” I saw the other six holding hands and drawing deep breaths as they waited for her reply.

        Grandma pursed her lips and quietly hummed the trolley song while the seven of us froze in place. How long would she make us wait for her answer? Did we dare clang, clang the trolley along with her?

        Finally she stood and turned to the others and said, “I am definitely going to the movies tomorrow. Now, I don’t know about Virginia because I told you not to ask me again and she asked me. Should I let the rest of you go with me and leave Virginia at home?”

She paused and seemed to be in deep thought. I was sure that for the rest of my life I would never see another movie; wasn’t that what she had told us? Finally she spoke again. “I decided if I punish Virginia for asking I will have to punish three of you because three of you drew a straw and it could have been anyone of you who had the bad luck to draw the short straw.” Grandma continued, “I have made up my mind and will let you know my decision after the kitchen is cleaned, the porches are swept, the dog is fed and the garbage is out.”

        Let me tell you! Never before have you seen seven children work so quickly and do such a thorough job of cleaning while their grandmother sat on the porch swing and sang every song from the movie and seemed to take no notice of the activity around her.

        Finally all the chores were completed and we seven stood in front of Grandma for her verdict. She stopped swinging, looked us over and said, “Do you really believe I would take seven unbathed kids to a movie? Come back here for my answer when you are clean.”

        Once again we trudged off; this time to take turns at bathing and washing hair. We older ones made sure the little ones were shiny clean and then, finally, after what seemed an eternity passed, we once again stood in front of Grandma who said, “Well, it looks to me like you have earned a trip to the movies tomorrow. Lay out your clothes and get yourself ready for bed. We’ll have a big day tomorrow.”

        Saturday morning—the big day had finally arrived and my siblings were already up and pulling on my covers, telling me to get out of bed. “We are going to the movies.”

        I didn’t want to move. What was wrong with me? I should be up and eager to eat breakfast so we could get ready for the walk to the theater. I took one bite of my oatmeal and felt my stomach rebel. Grandma wasn’t in the kitchen so I grabbed my bowl and ran out to the dog house and poured my oatmeal into the dog’s bowl so Grandma wouldn’t know I hadn’t eaten it. I felt really ill, so before returning to the house I upchucked behind the big tree where, hopefully, the eyes in the back of Grandma’s head would not discover it.

        Back in the kitchen I made a big show of clearing the table and getting ready to wash dishes. Jim knew I was sick but I threatened to tell Grandma he was smoking behind the shed if he ratted on me. I thought I was putting on a pretty good act but, all of a sudden, there was Grandma. After putting her hand on my forehead she took me by the arm and led me to bed. All the while I was protesting that I was not sick—I felt just fine, thank you.

        That was my story. I was not to meet anyone in St. Louis for a very, very long time. As a matter of fact, neither was Grandma. Before the other six left for the movie, Grandma doled out a dime, a nickel and two pennies for each of the children. The movie cost twelve cents and popcorn was a nickel. We never questioned where the money came from. We just took it for granted Grandma would have seventeen cents for each of us.

        I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn’t stop to think of how much Grandma wanted to see that movie but, even though I was certainly old enough to stay home alone, she stayed with me and never once acted as though she was as disappointed as I was.

        Shortly after this, we seven were picked up by our father and stepmother and transported to Illinois. Sadly, that was the last time I saw or heard from Grandma.

        I don’t know if Grandma ever saw Meet Me in St. Louis, but I had the sweet pleasure of watching it with my granddaughter about forty years later. In a way I was grateful for missing it that day because it was as new and delightful for me as it was for her.

        I like to think Grandma had a great-granddaughter who, one Saturday, clang, clanged the trolley and met her in St. Louie, Louie. You know: She met her at the fair.

Ginny says: I am a retired high school media specialist. My husband and I divide our time between Venice, Florida and North Myrtle Beach, SC. We tell our friends we aren’t too bright because both places are hurricane prone. Ah, well.