Dreams Some Assembly Required ... the Beginning

By Dale Bridges

Growing up in the Deep South in 1963 was tumultuous. Three young girls embark on an adventure that will take them from Birmingham to Memphis. They begin to figure life out and they get through it, becoming adults along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477272596

Dale Bridges

Dale Bridges works in the entertainment business and lives in California with her husband of twenty years. She has also lived in New York, Alabama, Florida, Maryland, New Jersey, Massachusetts and Virginia. She has always valued history and the foundation of truth. She knits and sews. Loves gardening and cats.

Book preview

dreams

Some Assembly Required … the beginning

dale bridges

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 Dale Bridges. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/14/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7259-6 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7260-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7261-9 (s)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917471

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Certificate of Registration

Register of Copyrights, United States of America

!st version of Dreams – Some Assembly Required… the beginning

TXu 1-611-616

April 3, 2008

Writers Guild of America, west, Inc.

Intellectual Property Reqistry

Documentation of Registration

Dreams – Some Assembly Required … the beginning

1st draft manuscript

Registration # 1079859

07/29/05

Contents

friday

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

saturday

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

sunday

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

With love for my husband,

Donald A. Johannsen,

who taught me the power of manifestation.

author’s note to the reader

None of the events described in this novel actually took place as described.

Even though several well-known people who really existed may be mentioned or appear as characters in the story; the dialogue and the circumstances are fictitious. These persons appear primarily to represent their iconic status in the era and culture depicted. To acknowledge their importance and to honor their contributions to society and history is the author’s only objective. Their appearance or inclusion and narrative that might depict events associated with them are intended to highlight the author’s tribute to their exceptionally powerful influence.

Things were going to happen. Things were going to be different. One could hear it in the atmosphere around the body. One could sense the difference slip over the skin. Looking outside, one could see a sharp delineation around the very leaves on the trees in the back yard with such clarity, such intensity. There was a motion in the future to make room for the accelerated growth of expanding horizons. People were unaware of exactly where their destinations were located. They were unsure of how they were going to traverse to these new territories. They didn’t even have a hint as to when this would all occur. However, they could feel the impending change. It was approaching. The air was charged. One could smell the transformation drawing nearer. It was going to be memorable.

The summer of 1963 produced thousands, millions of youngsters who were poised on the threshold of adulthood. Perhaps it was their excitement that swirled about like a kettle of water just prior to breaking over the boiling point. Their hopes, their eagerness, their dreams had momentum unto themselves. Sometimes their fears surfaced, but always their dreams persisted. The surge from this energy would carry everyone in its wake. None would be left unaffected.

There will always be some changes. There will also always be resistance to any change.

Three young girls never dreamed they would get so rapidly caught up in the future that bubbled so enticingly before them. They were only going on a short weekend excursion. For each fledgling, it was an attempt to test the waters that surrounded an elusive adult world. Ready or not, they would automatically become members of this fraternity. Ready or not, each would remember the lessons their parents had preached. Ready or not, they wanted to exercise their own judgment, make their own choices. Ready or not – here they come!

friday

1

The main doors and windows of the bank lobby faced west. This allowed Brenda to tell the time of day without making an obvious turn to glance at the clock mounted over the row of cashiers behind her. When the inching shadow of the top of the window reached the top edge of her desk blotter, just to the right of the "Barnes and Dalton Hardware Desk Calendar"; Brenda Johnson calculated the hour to be twelve thirty in the afternoon. When the shadow crept into a perfect diagonal across the desk top, reaching the opposite corners at precisely the same moment; the time of day would be exactly two o’clock. On this summer day, she would be leaving her job early. There was a dream to be caught.

Brenda had managed to obtain a part day schedule. Her suitcase was packed and firmly nestled in the trunk of her newest treasure. The brightest red, the shiniest red, the purest candy-apple red Chevrolet Impala that General Motors made was waiting for her in the bank parking lot. The convertible top was a bonus.

Brenda opened the bottom drawer of her file cabinet for another peek at the latest edition of "Modern Screen". Just gazing at the cover picture gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Brenda never saw Tammy, her co-worker, peering over her shoulder.

Tammy’s eyes were half-closed as she thought ‘Oh Elvis. Oh, hold me. Kiss me. Treat me nice. Oh Elvis.’

When Brenda realized that the other girl was standing behind her, she instantly flushed. Surely, this intruder had read her thoughts; ‘Elvis, Elvis. Oh, Elvis. Oh, hold me. Kiss me, Elvis. Oh, treat me nice.’

A friend of mine saw him once. He’s got the most beautiful eyes in the world. Do you think ya’ll run into the pride of Memphis while you’re there over the weekend?

This question caused Brenda to giggle, becoming more excited and fluttery just thinking of it actually happening. A dream had been spun from fantasy, and then woven into the realm of possibility.

Brenda calculated the illumination of the pencil cup to be her cue for departure. Any moment the gold lettering of 1st Jefferson Savings & Loan would sparkle and shimmer, signaling her freedom. One Mississippi, and two Mississippi and three Mississippi and GO.

The warm breeze lifted the edge of the white kitchen curtains causing the white fluffy balls that had been stitched along the hem to wiggle and bounce.

A pretty girl in her seventeenth year sat at the table in front of the window. She was carefully applying white chalky liquid polish to a pair of canvas tennis shoes. The small square applicator pad was messy to handle so she worked very slowly. As she finished her job, she scratched her narrow upturned nose with a long manicured fingernail. She was an exquisite example of femininity. The small, delicate bones of her face were punctuated by large, dark green eyes with inner corners that turned up. She was also taller than average and very slender. She was a real head-turner. Her name was Marilee Ann Albright and she was a day-dreamer. She remained at the white Formica topped table even though her chore was finished. She didn’t move a muscle. She was very deep in thought. Was it mentioned that Marilee Ann was a day-dreamer? ‘Wishing your days away’; that’s what her mother always complained. Marilee puffed a shudder of resolve, walked to the sink and began to wash the dried white polish from the backs of her fingers. The white phone on the wall rang. Marilee picked up the receiver. As she expected, it was her friend from college, Brenda.

Hey. I’m leaving right now. I hope you’re all ready. I need to change clothes at your house, if that’s O.K.

O.K. Sure, change here, agreed Marilee. What’re you wearing?

Brenda described the shorts, blouse and sandals that would be her traveling outfit.

Uh, huh. Uh, huh. That sounds really cute. I’m ready. Well, I’ll be ready when you get here.

I’m so excited. I just know this will be a trip that we will remember for all of our lives. Don’t you think?

I guess it will. You want me to call Clara now or wait till just before we leave here?

Better wait. I’ll see ya in a bit. Bye.

All right. Bye, now. Marilee hung up the phone in the kitchen and dashed into her bedroom. Quickly she pulled off her grey slacks and shirt, redressing in shorts and a cotton shirt. As she hurried down the short, narrow hall to the bathroom; Mrs. Albright approached her with a small, wrapped package.

Just a little something for Marion. A hostess gift. You give it when you get ready to leave.

Yes, Mother.

I thought you were going to wear your nice slacks.

They’re too hot, Mother. Besides, Brenda’s wearing shorts.

Well, I don’t know …

These’ll be more comfortable to ride in. The grey slacks might get messed up, rationalized Marilee.

… they’re mighty short. Mrs. Albright clearly did not approve of this change.

Can I borrow your make-up bag? This stuff won’t fit in my tiny, little thing.

Do you think you’re going to need all of that guck?

I don’t know, Mother. I should have it, just in case.

You look nice. Just fine without it.

Oh, Mother. Marilee was slightly exasperated.

Well, I guess.

When she had finished assembling her baggage for the trip, Marilee counted her money again. She had saved seventy-eight dollars. She wished she had a hundred, but she didn’t dare mention that to her mother. Mrs. Olive Albright was not at all convinced this venture was a good idea. Twice already, she had hinted that she would be glad to go along as a chaperone. Seventy-eight dollars would have to be enough. Marilee latched her suitcase and moved it to the living room. Taking a seat on a long oak bench, she opened her little note pad to double check the address and phone number of the Peabody Hotel, Rachel’s room number, then cousin Marion’s address and phone number. They were all there, ready when she needed them. She was very organized. Why were her hands trembling? She had prepared herself. Why was her stomach fluttering? She hadn’t forgotten anything. Oh! … her little sewing kit. She might need that. As she stood up to get it, Brenda pulled her car into the Albright driveway, honking the horn to signal her arrival.

Marilee Ann, I think that might be your friend Brenda, now.

The announcement was unnecessary. It was almost time to go. She was sure that her dream was waiting out there, but Marilee was concerned that someone else would find it, pick it up, and then keep it for their own. It had happened to her before. Many times.

Clara? Clara, leave them chores. Your girlfriends just called to say they’re on the way, hollered Mrs. Jourdan as she stood on the back porch. She never dreamed that her daughter had any desire to go on a weekend adventure to a big-time city like Memphis, Tennessee. In spite of parental apprehensions, it was decided that exposure to the urbane would be good for a farm girl.

Clara came running from the back garden holding something in the pouch she had made out of her kitchen apron. As she stomped into the big country kitchen to deposit tomatoes on the worn kitchen table; she fussed, My hair ain’t dry yet. I need a scarf to cover these dang curlers.

There’s that real pretty net bonnet your sister got. She don’t use it much. I’m sure she’d not be minding.

Thanks, Ma.

Now here’s a paper your Pa made of some of his kin that he recollects as still living in Memphis. If you have the time, he’d sure appreciate your calling to say howdy.

I’ll sure try, Ma, agreed Clara from the bedroom as she sprayed Aqua Net over her curlers. She placed the can in the brown paper bag with her other toiletries; Vaseline, a tube of Ipana toothpaste and a frayed toothbrush, Lavoris, baby powder, a new bar of Ivory soap, and a large box of Kleenex. As she rolled the bag closed, her mother gently touched Clara’s strong forearm.

From the bib of her apron, the gray-haired woman produced an envelope. Here’s a little extry left over from my egg money. I want …

Ma, I got plenty.

I want you to have it. It’s not …

I saved almost forty bucks from the road stand.

Then you take what’s here. I want you to feel O.K. about being in a big town like Memphis.

It’s your money that you been saving.

Clara, don’t argue with your Ma. You just might need extra.

Aw, Ma. Just in case. Aw, Ma. I’ll pay you back if I use any. I promise.

With that agreed upon, Mrs. Jourdan thrust the envelope into the opening of the cloth belt laying on the bed; instructing Clara to fasten it securely around her waist beneath her underwear. As she pulled her full skirt back down into place, Clara patted her now ample middle tenderly to make sure that her secret was noiseless. She didn’t want to rustle and crinkle when she walked. Somebody might ask where all that racket was coming from. She would only use her Mama’s money if there was trouble. Clara hadn’t even opened the envelope to count the bills.

The barking of the old hunting dog signaled the approach of the red chariot. As Clara lumbered out onto the front porch; Mrs. Jourdan gasped, It’s one of those cornvertibles. I hear tell they ain’t … She stopped the thought before it was spoken. Safe? Surely, the Lord in heaven would watch over her child. Land sakes! Almost forgot them cookies you baked, Clara. Be right back.

When she returned with two round tins, the girls were already getting settled in the car; Clara taking the back seat. Mrs. Jourdan handed the old coffee canisters over the side of the car, saying Make sure you give this’n to Marilee’s folks first off. Won top prize at the Fair, she beamed to Brenda. She hugged Clara’s broad shoulders then patted Marilee on the back. I declare, child, you are skin and bones.

Aw, Ma, we gotta go.

Mrs. Jourdan called, Ya’ll be careful. Drive safe. Ya’ll have fun. Drive safe, as she waved from the dirt driveway. She continued to wave long after the last speck of red tail light and chrome bumper had vanished. She waved until the sound of the eight-cylinder motor accelerated onto the highway. ‘Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy’, she mouthed. It was an involuntary, unfinished prayer. She just couldn’t dream of her Clara fitting in with two picture pretty city girls who probably didn’t have to worry a bit about egg money.

Clara had no dream to catch, spin or encounter. Not yet.

Nonetheless, they were all on their way.

The candy-apple car zipped along the highway. Clara clutched her head with both hands. Either ya’ll have a real scarf? This thing’s blowin’ all over. My curlers’ll fall out and all my hair with ‘em.

Too much breeze? Brenda’s question was innocently asked. It’s hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. She enjoyed the air forcing her short pixie-cut hair to ripple like a field of wheat stalks.

Marilee was struggling with the road map. The wind made it difficult to hold the paper. One end was always breaking free of her grip, engulfing her face, flapping along the high curve of one cheek bone or the other. Brenda giggled at the silliness of it all.

Regardless of the difficulties, the map was deciphered and all the highway connections were made. Cheers and applause greeted each successful transition. The roads between Birmingham and Memphis were easy to drive. Remnants of the Appalachian Mountains softly undulated toward the shores of the Mississippi River.

Brenda drove her car with a confident hand. This car was her reward. She had used the majority of her earnings from her temporary summer job at the bank. Golly, having money to spend was fun. Although she never lacked for much of anything; Brenda still wanted a husband that would open his wallet, saying; ‘Here you are, darlin’. Get whatever your heart desires.’ She wanted a rich man, a sexy, exciting man with an endless supply of good looking style, a man like … ELVIS. That’s what she had in mind. No country red-necks for her. A big house, big yard, big swimming pool by a big patio just the right size for BIG cookouts. She wondered if Elvis had a brick bar-be-que or one of those round metal things on wheels. Brick pit, of course. Only the best. Does it show Elvis Presley’s house on that map?

Marilee looked. I don’t see it.

Shoot!

Hey! Ya’ll hungry? The question came from the back seat.

Almost forgot, remembered Marilee. I brought some peaches. She dug down on the floor of the car for the sack.

"Can’t we stop for a ‘burger or something?’

Didn’t you eat lunch, Clara? wondered Brenda.

I ate something around eleven; but now my stomach’s growlin’.

Have a peach, offered Marilee. We want to get into Memphis before it gets dark.

Horse pooh, Clara swore. The peach was large and succulent. Juice ran down Clara’s chin, trickling from her hand, down her arm to her elbow. When she had finished, she tossed the hard seed over her right shoulder onto the grass by the highway.

That’s five hundred dollars, litterbug, litterbug. The stern reprimand was from Brenda.

Who’s gonna see? Marilee questioned the scolding. We haven’t seen another car for five miles.

It ain’t litter if it’ll take root and grow. Years from now folks’ll wonder where in Blue Blazes that little peach tree come from.

Good grief, Clara, moaned Marilee, growing irritated by the country bumpkin ways that Clara seemed to enjoy displaying.

It had been Brenda’s idea to include Clara in this weekend. She wanted to have someone to hang around with while Marilee was working. Clara was the only friend Brenda had that Marilee knew too. They shared the same floor of the dorm in Montevallo. So, that choice was logical. As she glanced back at Clara, Marilee saw a large-boned, ample bosomed, plain girl sprawled out on the entire back seat. Her billowing cotton print skirt was tucked between her legs. A narrow bandana was trying to cover her curler adorned hair. A forefinger was picking at the remnant of peach stubbornly nestled between two molars. It was an embarrassing display of bad manners, in Marilee’s opinion. ‘Didn’t her mother ever tell her not to do that sort of thing in public?’ wondered the girl in the front passenger seat. ‘Goodness gracious; I hope she doesn’t pick her nose. She really didn’t seem this crude in the dorm. Boy, if Mother could see her now.’

Marilee’s mother was a very proper woman with quite an aristocratic Southern Belle aura about her. She stressed the importance of etiquette and good breeding. Mrs. Albright was fond of saying ‘All females are women, but not every woman is a lady. You can always tell a lady by the way she sits, by the gloves on her hands, and the light delicate fragrance that always surrounds her. She also always carries a handkerchief and I don’t mean a tissue.’ Her mother often became a fussy nag about lady-like behavior. She was frequently reminding Marilee and her younger sister to ‘mind your P’s and Q’s.’ She hounded both girls to the point of frustrating their self-confidence. The younger girl liked to blast forth with a loud burp; the main purpose being to make Mrs. Albright cringe and Marilee snicker. Marilee lacked the necessary technique for such a talent. Right at this moment, on the highway between Birmingham and Memphis, she was betting that Clara could out-belch even her sister. As if reading her thoughts, Clara demonstrated her considerable abilities. Two big burps right in a row. Brenda laughed and yelled into the wind – Bring it up again and we’ll vote on it – while Marilee slunk down in the front car seat.

The car continued to speed past acres of land planted with row upon row of produce. Perfectly parallel lines of corn, beans, beets, and something else that nobody in the car could identify flashed by. Groves of pecan trees filed past in symmetrical patterns. An occasional group of field workers in the distance completed the tableau. Green rolling pastures with a single, large oak or elm tree sheltered a cluster of dairy cows. Only a few structures could be located; all quite some distance from the road. Weathered barns predominated. The neglected condition of these buildings attested to the poverty of the area. Perhaps it was more a case of lack-a-daisical attitude, for surely these large fenced-in pieces of land must bring a considerable amount of income to the owners.

Gradually, the stretches of pasture and vegetables gave way to houses. Barren, unlandscaped tracts of land on which had been built simple, one story houses swung into focus. Long gravel driveways shot directly from the highway thru overgrown, parched grass to a lean-to or a carport at the side of every dwelling. At most homes, there was a Ford pick-up truck; parked, not in the drive, but off to the side in the open, hot air. The atmosphere was one of struggling and making do. The harsh, calloused reality of making a living avoided the three giddy, innocent young women speeding past in the bright red convertible.

At last a road marker announced: TUPELO – 12 miles.

Tupelo, shrieked Brenda. Elvis was born in Tupelo! Maybe we should stop for gas. Maybe we could find his old house.

We don’t have time, reminded Marilee.

I should stop for gas, insisted Brenda. I also have to go to the bathroom.

Me too! I’m about to wet my britches, chimed in Clara.

I guess we’d better stop, agreed Marilee. My legs are soooo stiff.

I’ll try to find a station that looks clean, said Brenda.

La-de-da, mumbled Clara.

Thank you, responded Marilee.

Brenda located a large, modern service station that looked like it met the required standards. As they rolled to a stop; scarfed and be-curlered Clara frantically squeezed out of the back seat. Without any ceremony, she ran for the restroom with as much speed as her heavy, knocked-kneed legs would permit.

Marilee followed at a more leisurely pace. Not that her need was any less; but her mother’s admonitions of propriety would not allow public awareness of her urinary distress.

All four station attendants on duty flocked around the red convertible, showering most of their attention on the driver instead of the vehicle. The driver could smile. The car wasn’t capable of any tangible response.

Fill it for you, Miss? Ya’ll from ‘Bama?

Sure am.

If you’ll pop that there release, I’ll check your oil and fluids. Ya’ll stayin’ in Tupelo? There was a look of hope on the young face of the husky questioner.

We’re headed for Memphis.

Dang it.

Roll up the side windows so’s I can clean ‘em good. How many miles you got on this buggy? Looks real new.

Your right rear needs air, noted yet a different, and older voice.

Pardon me? Brenda was sure she couldn’t have heard the man correctly!

Your tire… needs a tad bit more air. It’ll ride better. It’ll save on gas.

Oh?

Clara returned first. She had removed all of the wire and bristle tubes from her head, managing to brush her hair into a bubble coif of sorts. No one really noticed. As Clara settled into the rear seat, Brenda announced that it was her turn.

The eyes of all four men were on her as she walked. You could only describe Brenda’s method of mobility as sashaying. Her firmly muscled derriere swayed from side to side as her quick dainty steps carried her to her destination. Not one man present missed a movement, a stride, a wiggle. Their activities froze. Brenda was not trying to be seductive or even flirtatious; she was merely trying to keep her balance as she bounced along.

When everyone was back in the car, Brenda started the motor and drove out. Four men waved farewell to four different fantasies; then returned to their reality of grease rags and wrenches.

Wait! Stop! yelled Clara.

Brenda’s foot hit the power brakes, causing everyone and everything to slide forward. What’s wrong? Did I run over something? At the worst, she feared that she had killed a small animal.

I gotta get this stuff on, answered Clara, producing the giant sized can of hair spray from her paper bag. She proceeded to saturate her hair with the vaporized lacquer. Apparently no one had ever told Clara that using hair spray outside never produced good results. The stuff went over everything… and everybody.

Clara, what’re you doing? Stop! For Pete’s sake, stop, complained Marilee. The vapor had blown into her eyes causing them to sting and water.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get any on you, apologized Clara. I’m real sorry. Clara was aware that Marilee had become irritated with her for some reason. It was a mystery to Clara as to what it could be. Now, she had accidently sprayed hair lacquer over her friend’s exquisite face, getting it in her eyes. She handed the tearful, red-eyed girl in the front seat a tissue, saying; I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.

It was an accident, Clara. Marilee, tell Clara that it was an accident, instructed Brenda.

It was an accident, Clara, echoed Marilee.

Don’t be mad at me, Marilee.

I’m not mad at you, Clara.

You act it.

Are we ready to go now? Brenda was getting weary of the tiny sparks of friction that were starting to jump between her two friends.

Yes, snapped both girls in unison.

Brenda laughed attempting to ease the tension. Marilee shrugged it all off. She was just nervous about the job. She didn’t want anything to ruin the weekend. That had to be it. Smiling, she turned her head to Clara, hoping to smooth her ruffled feathers. Clara grinned in return. Both expressions were just a little weak, a little artificial and a little bit embarrassed.

All three girls sat quietly as the car rolled through the Mississippi country side. Brenda’s car radio wasn’t able to pick up anything but static, so she hummed softly. Most of the time, the other two riders couldn’t tell for sure what she was singing. Other times, it sounded a great deal like Heartbreak Hotel.

Clara propped her head up on the armrest of the rear seat. Her hair was so stiff, it couldn’t possibly get mussed. The curls might snap in two; but, they wouldn’t blow away. She was getting comfortable enough to take a little nap.

The hot August sun was beaming a sizzling path down to the open fields below. No more dairy cattle. No more sculpted rows of vegetables. No more neglected houses. Only ripples of hills wildly inhabited by milkweed, golden rod, dandelion and other uncultivated undesirables. The fields were still, unruffled. The breezes too, had retreated from the heat; hiding under trees or in the shadows on the northeast side of the highway. The only movement came from the small burbles of air following the brilliant red car, always losing the race as the wheels went streaking along the asphalt ribbon that had been poured over this uninhabited segment of the poorest state in the Union.

Suddenly… butterflies! A storm of butterflies, all margarine yellow, arose in unison. A whirling cloud of fluttering bits of identical yellow blanketed the entire field as far as the eye could see. They tumbled like waves of foamy water sweeping toward the seashore.

There must be thousands of them! Millions, I bet, gasped Marilee. Never had she seen such an incredible sight. Look at that! Beautiful, just beautiful, she sighed in awe. This was a sight she would remember for the rest of her life. She wondered how many people had ever witnessed this, way out here in the middle of nowhere. Did they just happen along by the right spot at the right time? Every yellow butterfly in the world must have convened right here in Mississippi on this particular hot August afternoon. What an incredibly spectacular thing to witness.

Isn’t that something? Brenda spoke quietly. She too was mesmerized by the gossamer sheet of living fabric. She wished she had a boyfriend to share this with. If she met Elvis, she would ask him if he’d ever seen butterfly clouds. Maybe he’d sing a song about it. Soft and romantic, just for her.

In the next capricious moment, a breeze started up, shifting direction, blowing westerly across the road. The huge sulfur phenomenon was caught by the gust of air. Oh, no! Look out! Brenda’s warning was intense. The flitting, darting, flapping, gargantuan mass of yellow was going to collide with the streak of candy-apple red that skimmed the charcoal path that stretched before them. Brenda applied gentle pressure to slow the momentum of the car. The lemon peel colored insects hit an air pocket, slowing their speed considerably. The result was predictable. Thousands of flutterers engulfed the car. Most were successful in keeping their distance, rising for the occasion. There were only a very few casualties.

Put the top up, begged Marilee as she ducked to the floor of the car. The creatures were beautiful to watch; but… she didn’t want any of them on her. Please, she shivered.

The erratic movement of the butterflies caused Brenda to lose control of the car. It spun, swinging from one side of the road to the other. Brenda fought the steering wheel, grasping for control with frantic hands. Total panic gripped her when she heard the sound of a horn. It seemed to come from directly ahead. Was she on the wrong side of the road? She sounded her own horn, pressing one continuous scream out of the padded circle in the center of the steering wheel. At that instant, the enormous swarm was captured by a warm pocket of air, lifting it above the highway to the fields on the opposite side. Brenda regained control, guiding the car to the proper side of the highway just as a large truck hauling chickens to market rolled by. Although a collision had been avoided, the driver of the dirty vehicle honked. His rhythm