Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970) (2 page)

“What are you talking about? Of course, I
won’t scare him. I am just going to show him some true southern
hospitality,” she said in a slightly impish way with one side of
her smile curved up.

“That’s what I’m worried about CeCe. You’ll
be visiting Father John in no time” I whispered to her as I moved
in my seat to turn back around, with CeCe still smiling.

A few weeks before, while sitting in mass,
and yes there are Catholic Christians in the south, Father John had
preached about purity and how
only the pure in heart will see
God.
While I had heard this verse many a times in my household
(my mother was Baptist and my father Catholic before they met) my
best friend, CeCe, had not. My parents, Richard and Susan Buchanan,
both deeply devoted to serving God in various ways, felt it
imperative to raise their children to have a healthy fear of God.
CeCe, only child of parents, James and Beverly Crawford, two highly
successful divorce attorneys, felt going to mass was just the right
thing to do but had no personal convictions about church or God, in
general. Going back to mass, a few weeks ago, Father John had given
a sermon on Matthew 5:8 about being pure in mind and having pure
motives to live a blessed life. Somehow CeCe must have been
listening that day and had been frequenting to confessional, ‘to
rid my mind of impure thoughts’ since. She said that she felt a bit
convicted about all the boys she’s kissed, sassing off to her
parents and probably some other things she forgot to mention. To
most people, CeCe comes off as assuredly strong and confident but
I’ve seen the layer underneath all that sneak out—the layer where
she is vulnerable to the voices of others telling her what she’s
not or what she is lacking…mainly the voice of her mother. Beverly
Crawford, CeCe’s mom and Miss Georgia Peach 1969, the magna cum
laude of her graduate law class, successful high-profile divorce
attorney and co-owner, with her husband, of a private law firm
in

Savannah, amongst a very long list of other
accomplishments, is well known as a leader in our community.
However, CeCe likes to refer to her as the ‘steam-roller’. Looking
at this picture-perfect family, everyone appears to be beautiful,
happy, and the ideal of a prominent family from the south. And
while half of that is right, CeCe has always struggled with feeling
good enough or accomplished enough to be her mother’s daughter.
Living up to the very high expectations her mother has imposed on
her has been her Achilles heel. When CeCe isn’t trying her hardest
to make her parent’s or at least her mother proud (her father has
always been a quiet, gentle soul) she is popping off at the mouth
or making waves in some entertaining or jaw-dropping way, which
usually lands her in the principal’s office where we first met.
CeCe and I had gone to the same church since we were babies but we
never really talked to each other until third grade when I got sick
and was sent to the principal’s office to wait for my mother.
Before that day—before I saw into a small window of the real CeCe,
I had always been a little bit afraid of her and yet intrigued by
her too. I had previously associated CeCe with her parents; very
polished, high-class, and uber-intelligent snobby people. That and
my family are more common-country folk, far from the places or
lifestyle CeCe’s family was accustomed to. After we became friends,
I’d tease her and call her Madonna, who was also Catholic,
blonde-haired and blue-eyed and reminded me a lot of CeCe because
she too, was high-style, bold, and shocking just like CeCe. That
day in third grade when I got sick, my father had been away on
business, trying to seal a deal with another retail supermarket to
distribute our peaches, so I had to go down to the principal’s
office (actually just to the
waiting
bench outside the
office) until the substitute teacher arrived so that my mother
could leave her Kindergarten class and take me home. Meanwhile,
CeCe found herself bored. She was whispering not so quietly to
another classmate while the teacher was instructing. As you can
probably already imagine, most teachers do not like to be
interrupted and especially by a sassy little sweet-faced southern
peach. Right in the middle of the lecture, the teacher stopped and
looking straight at CeCe with his finger pointed about six inches
from her nose demanded to know if she would “like to be the first
person to see Mars”. Without missing a beat, CeCe replied “actually
Mr. Bartlemy, National Geographic already reported that they found
a face on Mars.” With his face beaming several shades of red, and
hand jerking towards the door, he yelled “out” to CeCe. Looking
innocent and unaware of what just happened, CeCe made her way to
the principal’s office with Mr. Bartlemy quickly in tow. She knew
what this meant, as she was really good at pushing Mr. Bartlemy’s
buttons and had made several trips to the principal’s office
previously for comments similar to these. CeCe always had something
to say about anything and had quick wit to add to it. Although,
this time, she was serious, due to the fact she really had just
read an article in National Geographic about scientists finding
what looked to be like a human-face on the surface of Mars. Only
CeCe would be able to recall such a fact in a moment like this.
Anyway, although highly familiar with the interior design of the
principal’s office, CeCe instead looked worried while sitting next
to me on the waiting bench, instead of the cool cucumber she
usually was. Feeling like I was going to puke again, I sat close to
the wastebasket eyeing CeCe from time-to-time as she fidgeting with
her fingers, watching Mr. Bartlemy talk to the principle. Starting
to dry-heave, I bent over towards the trashcan, keeping a tight
hold on my hair to not get any possible chunks of puke stuck in
there. CeCe, who I had never spoken with before then and looking
slightly sick at the sight of my current condition asked if she
could get me a tissue. Quickly moving away from me, on the waiting
bench, she grabbed a tissue from the counter, and tossed it at me.
I think she meant to hand it to me but got nervous, dropping it,
when another belching noise abruptly arose from my insides.
Muscling all the strength I had to talk and not vomit, I murmured
“thank you” to her. She a bit awkwardly said “you’re welcome” while
keeping an eye on the principle and Mr. Bartlemy whom were now on
the phone, with someone—probably CeCe’s mom.

Feeling terrible and not having any care
left, other than to get home and climb in bed as soon as my mom
came, I mustered up the courage to say “it’s probably not that
bad”.

Surprised, CeCe turned towards me with a
half smile half worried look.

“It’s probably not as bad as you think,” I
said. “Mr. Bartlemy has a bad reputation for blowing up too easily,
at least that’s what I’ve heard my mother say. So, I’m sure the
principle is taking that into consideration,” I said with my head
still pointed towards the trashcan, in an attempt to help her feel
better or at least less anxious, as her toe-tapping was starting to
bring up extra belches from all the vibrations on the bench.

A bit guarded, which I had always thought to
be snobbery, CeCe cautiously smiled, this time with both sides of
her mouth, “I don’t think we’ve ever talked, I’m CeCe.”

“I know. We’ve gone to the same church since
we were little.”

“My mother’s going to set my butt on fire if
she has to come down here again to pick me up,” CeCe explained
nervously. “She probably won’t come, she’ll probably make Ms.
Winnie come and get me, knowing her.”

“Who’s Ms. Winnie?”

“Oh, that’s my nanny, but I like to call her
mom sometimes—in front of my mother just to see how fast I can make
my mother’s head whip around.”

Trying not to laugh up puke, I giggled,
which also caused CeCe to laugh and forget about the trouble she
was in momentarily.

“My mother is too important for me so Ms.
Winnie has always been there, for everything. My mom is a lawyer
and is always working, always telling me ‘just a minute, just a
minute’ which actually turns into an hour later and then she only
has a minute and rushes me with whatever I’m trying to tell
her.”

“Sometimes moms just get busy. I’m sure she
cares and that’s probably why she wants to light your butt on fire
when you get in trouble.”

A bit puzzled, CeCe shook her head, “well,
maybe.”

Just then my mom was arriving to finally
take me home. As I got off the bench to leave, CeCe tapped me on
the back. “Do you want to sit by me at lunch tomorrow?”

“That would be nice, if I’m not puking.” I
said smiling while trying to choke back the vomit resting in my
throat.

And that’s how I first met CeCe, the softer
side of CeCe that most people don’t know. Not sure how I got off
topic but back in Mrs. Newwater’s fifth grade class, CeCe was
already cooking up plans for Eric Sothersby. I could tell by the
look on her face when the bell rang for second period she had an
agenda. As we scooted out of our seats and into the hallway for our
next class, down the hall, I could see CeCe smiling and escorting
Eric to what looked like the janitor’s closet door.

I knew what that meant…back to
confessional.

Chapter 2: Goodbye High School

With
the final bell ringing for the day, signifying the end of our high
school years as we knew them, I caught CeCe discretely exiting the
janitor’s closet, with some jock departing in the opposite
direction. Some things never change.

“Char, wait up,” CeCe called after spotting
me in the hallway.

“Who was that Ce?” I whispered while she was
still making her way through the crowded hallway.

“Oh, that was my lab partner from last hour;
I was just showing him around the supply closet.” She said in a
giddy voice before going on “Char, we are graduating tonight!”

“I know I can hardly believe we are actually
done with high school!”

“So do you want me to pick you up for
graduation or is Jersey coming by for you?” CeCe asked curiously.
And before I could answer, she continued, “Either way I don’t care,
but you are definitely leaving with me for my graduation party. I
need your help greeting people so I don’t have to stand next to my
mom, all night, while she is critiquing my outfit and giving me
pointers on what to say to all of her associates she invited to
my
graduation party.”

“Well, I think Jersey,” I started to say
when someone snuck up behind me and grabbed my waist, making me
yell loudly, turning heads all around me.

“I think Jersey is what-the most awesome guy
in Georgia?” Jersey, said in a confident, semi-charming and
conceded way.

“Jersey, I told you to stop grabbing me like
that.” I said in a stern voice, while slapping his hands away from
my waist.

“I know, but I think you really like it,” he
smiled at me.

Rolling her eyes, CeCe interrupted, “hi
Jersey, we were just talking about graduation tonight. I already
told CeCe that she is leaving graduation with me to help at my
party but I don’t care if she rides with you to graduation.”

CeCe didn’t really care for Jersey. She
thought he was a jerk and that I was too nice and too good for a
guy like him. Jack Delano, nicknamed Jersey for New Jersey, where
he lived before moving to St. Marys to live with his uncle, was the
quarter back for our football team as well as my boyfriend of two
years. He moved here after he got kicked out of his third private
school for being a bit of a troublemaker. You think they’d really
like each other because they had so much in common; both were known
for having a mouth on them that ran faster than their brain- tact
connection. CeCe was forever telling me that he was no good for me
but I, out of naivety looking back now, have always tried to see
the good in people and believed that somewhere behind that mouth of
his was a good heart. Although I never found it, he, when he was
not pressuring me to make a home run, was devilishly cute, funny,
and very persuasive when he wanted something…like talking me into
being his girlfriend despite my gut telling me no and my brain
saying run. But out of boredom or a lack of better options, I gave
in and have been Jersey’s girlfriend since Homecoming in tenth
grade. I still remember our first date when he came to pick me up.
Oh yeah, it’s not hard to forget when your dad is polishing his
shotgun on the front porch. Not to mention his ammo laid out all
over the place while he’s decked out in camouflage from head to toe
to greet your date for the first time. It was most likely this
first impression my father had on him that caused him to have a bit
of fear and an eager challenge when it came to dating me. I, mostly
mild mannered and from a very conservative family, was drawn to
guys like Jersey for the wild, provoking energy they possessed.
Although I love my dad and he’s always been good to our mom and to
us—he is not the type of guy I would be drawn to. He’s usually
serious, very analytical and works 14 hours a day six days a week.
He’s incredibly frugal, which makes for a great business owner of
one of the hardest industries out there…farming—but not an image of
romance by far. Not that I knew what romance was at 18 years of age
other than the girly movies that always depicted the good girl
ending up with a good guy possessing all the intrigue of a bad-guy.
Jersey was definitely not a romantic. He was the all-American jock
kind-of-guy. His idea of romance was taking me to see a Rambo-flick
and paying for the popcorn and drinks, followed by sugary-sweet
persuasion to make out in his 1989 Camaro afterwards. My mom was
forever and a day telling me that if I found a guy who loved Jesus
with all his heart, he would love me like the princess I am.
Unfortunately, St. Marys didn’t seem to have any interesting
Jesus-loving boys around so Jersey was it for now. Not sure how
long it would last as Jersey was going away to Montclair State
University in New Jersey on a full-ride football scholarship and
myself to the University of Georgia for journalism in the fall, I
was just buying time for the right guy to walk into my life.