Mabel

Bonnie S. Davis

I could smell her perfume on my shirt long after the silver Greyhound left the bus stop for our journey home.

        In 1956 when I was six, I couldn’t wait for Saturdays. While my father sold cars at our family business in Cameron, West Virginia, my mother and I traveled 35 miles by bus to visit my grandma Mabel in Wheeling. Twice widowed by the age of fifty, Mabel lived alone in a small apartment only a few steps from the action of the city. She was born and raised in Wheeling, except for a brief period she spent living on a farm with her second husband, Homer. Mabel called herself a bona fide city girl. Her painted lips and curly platinum hair matched the lights and the glitter of the bustling Ohio River town.

        Although I missed hanging out with my friends on weekends, visiting my grandmother was more exciting than playing jacks or Barbie. Mabel reminded me of Peter in my storybook, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, a character who defied his mother’s rules and did things his way. In spite of my mother’s conservative opinions, my grandmother smoked cigarettes and cigars, swore a little, and cracked her gum in public. She played poker, occasionally bet on the ponies, and didn’t make excuses for her choices.

        Our visits seldom lasted longer than a couple of hours, except for one time when my mother reluctantly left me in Mabel’s care. I don’t remember the circumstances, but I do recall it was the first and last time it happened.

        “Feed Bonnie only the sandwich and fruit in this box,” my mother said as she placed my metal Annie Oakley lunch box on the table. “If you give her junk to eat she’ll be sick on the bus. And please keep her inside. Her coloring book, crayons and Old Maid cards are in her book bag.”

        When the door shut and my mother left, Mabel put my book bag in the closet and the lunch box in the icebox. “Do you want to take a walk and meet some of my friends?”  she asked. “I’ve been telling them about you.”

        I was ecstatic. “Yes. I do,” I said. At first I felt guilty for not obeying my mother’s orders, but then I rationalized that since Mabel was older than my mother then she must have more authority.

        While Mabel prepared herself for our sojourn to the big city, I jumped up and down on her bed. As I amused myself on her innerspring mattress she rubbed circles of rouge on her cheeks and applied layers of candy apple red lipstick to her mouth. After she squirted sprays of perfume from a fancy gold bottle onto the front of her tight, short-sleeved sweater she slipped on black slacks and rolled up the cuffs to reveal her shapely calves. Finally she planted a small white hat with a blue feather coiled around the bottom on top of her thick curly hair. “Do you have a hat for me,” I asked as I slid off the bed and stood beside her.

        She looked in the top of her closet and took down a black velvet cap and placed it on my head and smiled. “Perfect,” she said. It felt too big for my head and I knew it didn’t match my plaid shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, but it made me feel special.

        Although my huge cap kept slipping over my eyes, our walk was a success. I held her hand and we skipped and jumped over cracks in the sidewalk until we came to the corner where Wally, a blind and crippled man, worked. He gave away pencils to the public and made his living from donations he received from his gesture. “This is my granddaughter, Bonnie Sue. I wanted her to meet you,” Mabel said to him as she took a cold bottle of orange soda from her purse and placed it beside him.

        He reached down and touched the drink. “Thanks,” he said. “You never forget.” He turned his body my way and smiled at me. “Your granddaughter is beautiful. She looks just like you, Mabel.”

        “How did he see me, Grandma? His eyes were all white,” I asked as we continued down the street.

        “He saw you with his heart, baby. Wally sees with his heart.”

        Another of Mabel’s friends was Macy, who served me a three scoop hot fudge sundae with three cherries on top. She was a black waitress who worked at the snack bar in a large department store a few doors from Wally’s business. “I just love this woman,” Macy said to me as she hugged Mabel. “She took me in when I had no place to go. She saved my life. You’re a lucky little girl to have her for your granny.” I smiled and felt proud.

        Later, we bought cookies and chocolate milk at the bakery and took them to the riverbank. I skipped stones across the water and Mabel smoked a cigarette or two while sitting on a pile of rocks. I watched her blow smoke rings and wondered how long it took her to learn the trick.

        Our last stop was a bar and restaurant a few blocks from her apartment. I heard country music before we opened the heavy wooden door. The place was dark except for a few lights over a long bar where several people were sitting. Strong odors of fried food and cigar smoke made my nostrils burn and my eyes water. I felt uncomfortable and pulled on Mabel’s hand to leave. She bent down and smiled at me. “Let’s dance, first,” she whispered. I hesitated, but followed her lead.

Slowly, then faster, we circled the large room. My fears were forgotten when the friendly bystanders clapped and cheered us on. After dancing to several fast paced songs, I was introduced to Mabel’s friends, who treated me to a frosty mug of ice cold root beer, and chocolate covered pretzels. Before we left, I was given a few quick lessons on how to hold a cue stick and throw darts at a swinging dart board.

On the bus trip home that evening I was sick three times. My mother brought a couple paper bags with her, which came in handy for my stomach upsets. I think she knew what the outcome of the day would be and was prepared for it. Although I suffered from a stomachache, I felt happy. As I watched the scenery pass outside my window, I thought about my unconventional grandmother. I realized she wasn’t like Peter Rabbit. She didn’t break any rules. Mabel lived life by her own set of standards that embraced love, friendships, and an innocence that touched me as a child and remains with me today as a very special memory.

Bonnie lives in Nokomis, Florida. She is a wife, mother, grandmother, and a retired real estate broker. She has been published in several literary magazines. Her short story, Queen Anne, appears in Dolls Remembered, a collection of stories about childhood dolls available from Amazon. She is an instructor for a memoir writing class at the Royal Coachman Resort in Nokomis during the winter season. Bonnie says: Thank you for the opportunity to relive my childhood.