LINKS to stories published in 2004:Some Things Are Too Private: A grim look at a privileged life.http://www.theminimag.com/may04/alexandra_barnes.htmlPretzel Logic: True love, loss and redemption, maybe, in the blood.Nominated for the 2005 Pushcart Prize for Short Stories.http://www.theroseandthornezine.com/Fiction/71Pretzel.htmlMurray's Moustache: Infidelity, dreams of escape and black shoe polish.http://homepage.ntlworld.com/fandango.virtual/gator/gator_sb.htmInner Musings: What if your inner child is stronger than you are?http://homepage.ntlworld.com/fandango.virtual/gator/gator_nd.htmHappy Mouse: Moms can't fix everything, but they try. How they try.http://quicksitebuilder.cnet.com/mywritingfriend/id310.htmlI'll Be Watching: Rejection, obsession and a game of hide and seek.http://webdelsol.com/InPosse/19_fict_barnes.htmAnd one that took awhile to find a home - it finally appeared in The Country and Abroad magazine in the Hudson Valley. But you can read it here...The Susan Float
There are way too many Susans in this town. Over a dozen, I’m told. I didn’t expect to meet them all, but here we are, gathered in the church basement to discuss The Susan Float. This idea sprang, stupid and fully formed, from the mind of General Susan.
“Why don’t we have a Susan Float in the Labor Day parade?” General Susan asked me in the grocery store. “We’ve joked about it. Why don’t we do it?”
Because it's only funny if you have a sense of humor, I thought. This is New England. Instead, I smiled.
“It might be fun.”
In my head, I saw fistfights, black powder pistols at dawn, perhaps mace and teargas. Fun didn’t really describe it.
“Of course it will be fun, Sue,” she said, beaming. “I’ll talk to the other Susans.”
I’ve told her I hate to be called Sue.
General Susan approaches this meeting with the same desperate, iron-fisted sincerity she brings to the library, the school board and her friends. She stands to one side of the room, prepared to tell us what we should do. She and I got along until she told me who my friends could be. She didn’t like Psychic Susan. I laughed and ignored her. I was whacked off her “A” list with a backhand that did the local country club proud. I’m back in favor as long as she needs help with The Susan Float. I intend to do nothing. I’m just here to meet the other Susans.
Susan must have been a very popular name for a couple of years. My mother followed right along. I wanted to be Mary Margaret or Victoria or Melanie or even George: something a little different. Susan feels awkward on the tongue. People like to shorten it to Sue. Sooooo-EEEEE, here, pig, pig, pig.
There are a couple of Sues in this crowd. Maybe they don’t mind hog-calling, or maybe they’ve given up. There’s Heavy Sue (she’s well over three hundred pounds) and Teacher Sue, whom I cannot tell apart from Teacher Susan.The only thing we have in common is our name.
When we arrived, crying little bloody bundles of joy, our mothers took one look at us and decided we all looked like Susans. We couldn’t look more different, but who knows what our mothers saw?
Sharp Susan is a little fox of a woman. She sizes up the group from her vantage point on the side of the room. I like her, but she seems vaguely carnivorous, like she would gnaw your arm off, smiling all the while, if she felt it was necessary.
“Oh, Susan,” a realtor friend had said when I mentioned her. “She’s a tough woman.” Her voice held more dread than admiration.
Famous Susan stands near Sharp Susan. Famous Susan used to be on television and has had a couple of sitcoms. I don’t know her, but I think I could like her. She greets kids at the door of her huge house on Halloween and remembers their names. I saw her watching a local road race once, fifteen pounds overweight, wearing an ugly floral dress and bright green flip flops. She’s not a slave to her reputation. I heard her husband was going to divorce her and she responded by starting her own business, losing twenty pounds and telling him to go to hell. He stayed.
I’d like to change my name. I met a Sasha the other day who used to be a Susan. “It never fit me,” she said. “So I changed it.” I wouldn’t know what to change it to. Something hippie and weird, like Birch? Something elegant, like Elizabeth? Beth would be okay, too. But I hate Liz. Something cute and quirky like Margy, with a hard ‘g’? No, I’m stuck with Susan. It is what I am. If I changed it, I couldn’t be on The Susan Float. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
General Susan calls the meeting to order. The Susans slowly stop murmuring and pay attention. “This is going to be such fun,” she announces. Her tone of voice allows no dispute. She gets several doubtful looks from her audience. “We are going to need a pretty good sized float to fit all of us,” she observes.
I swear she looked at Heavy Sue when she said it. Sharp Susan shoots her a look.
Sweet Susie, a cute little girl of about seventeen, raises her hand. “Why exactly are we doing this?”
General Susan fixes a patient smile on her face. “It’s just a silly thing, something for fun. It doesn’t mean anything. But I’m glad Susan (she looks at Sharp Susan) asked you to join us.”
Famous Susan speaks up, her scratchy voice still sexy in that “I’ve been at the bar too long” way she has. “Why don’t we make it mean something? Why don’t we raise some money for charity?”
General Susan is taken aback, but she’s not stupid. She knows a good idea when she hears it. “What a terrific idea, Sue!” She shows all of her professionally bleached teeth.
“Susan,” Famous Susan growls.
General Susan blushes. Sharp Susan chuckles. Sweet Susie looks confused.
Starving Susan speaks up. She’s an anorexic-looking attorney. “How about raising money for the battered women’s shelter? Since we’re a group of women, that seems appropriate.”
Famous Susan nods approvingly. Several Susans clap.
General Susan feels the meeting getting away from her and reclaims center stage. “Are there any other proposals for charities we should consider?”
Heavy Sue suggests WIC, which makes sure poor moms and kids get enough to eat. Psychic Susan suggests a donation to the anti-war movement. Teacher Sue (or maybe it’s Teacher Susan) says we should donate any money we raise to the local school building project. She gets shouted down. General Susan is trying to maintain order as a dozen Susans, Sues and Susies start arguing the merits of the charities they think ought to get the huge bundle of money we’re about to raise.
Sharp Susan barks and the room goes quiet. “We need a focus. If we’re going to raise money, we need to decide how, we need to decide who’s going to do it, and we need to know where the money is going. If we start arguing, nothing will happen.”
A dozen heads nod in agreement. Obviously they’re all scared of Sharp Susan, too.
“I like the battered women’s shelter idea,” I offer.
Famous Susan nods.
“How many of you would support raising money for battered women?” Sharp Susan has taken over.
The General doesn’t look happy. More than half the women gathered in the dim, musty-smelling hall put up their hands. We’re ready to agree to anything. Just let us leave.
“Then that’s settled,” Sharp Susan says with satisfaction.
“Great,” General Susan says brightly. This must be killing her.
Sharp Susan quickly whips us into an organized group. I find myself on a committee with Psychic Susan, which is fine with me. We’re supposed to get the materials to make the float.
“What do you think of this?” she asks me. She’s a back-to-the-land-type with long, gray hair, hands roughened by growing her own food, and a belief that all of nature has a spirit. She does psychic readings and she decided she liked me the first time we met. She was impressed because I knew what a Saanen goat was. I like her, too.
“I think no matter what we do, it won’t be good enough,” I smirk. “But it’s okay. We’ll have fun.”
Starving Susan and Famous Susan are in charge of contacting the shelter. Sharp Susan and one of the teachers will do fundraising. All donors will get their names on our float. General Susan and Heavy Sue will deal with the parade officials. Texas Susan, a rangy post-menopausal sweetie with a lazy drawl, will help the other teacher arrange construction of the float. Sweet Susie and a couple of other Susans I haven’t met are on standby, ready to pitch in at a moment’s notice.
General Susan dismisses us and we gratefully file out to the parking lot.
“Susan!”
Everyone’s heads turn and we laugh. Sharp Susan is calling me. “Your husband is a newspaper reporter. Think you can get this into the paper? It will help the fundraising.”
“Probably. I’ll ask him.”
“Good.” Sharp Susan is pleased with me. “You and I need to get together for coffee sometime,” she continues.
“I’m around.” I smile.
She means it, I know, but it will never happen. She’s said this to me at least ten times before. She spots Famous Susan heading for her SUV and runs toward her, waving at me as she goes. I shake my head and smile.
Over the next few weeks, it becomes clear that General Susan has lost her command. Sharp Susan makes the phone calls, organizes the troops and makes sure we’re all getting our jobs done.
The day of the parade arrives and we gather on the village green. General Susan suggested we dress up like Southern belles, but Sharp Susan tore that idea apart. She smiled while she did it, too.
We are all dressed in khaki slacks and white shirts. It looks like a preppy invasion. It was the one outfit we all owned.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Sharp Susan tells us. “We get on the float over by the post office. We all stand, waving and throwing candy.” She shoots a quick look at Sweet Susie. “Did you get the candy?” Susie nods. “We throw the candy,” she continues. “Don’t overdo it and don’t hit anyone in the head if you can help it.” She smirks. “Unless you see my husband.”
Famous Susan laughs out loud. “I think maybe all husbands are fair game.”
General Susan’s lips are tight.
We regroup by the post office, climb aboard the float and prepare to be dragged down our town’s main street. We’ll be pulled by one of the teacher’s husbands on his riding lawnmower. We are Big Time now. The mower is fired up, Sharp Susan gives a signal and he pulls out into the street. We position ourselves with Famous Susan in the center.
There’s a small group of people lining both sides of the street and we begin to toss candy into the crowd. General Susan’s husband, a very handsome black-haired fellow with sassy blue eyes, is coming up on the right. Sharp Susan spots him and tosses a handful of candy at him. She gives him a saucy smile, showing her sharp little teeth. He grins.
“Wasn’t that kind of a lot of candy?” the General asks.
Sharp Susan shrugs a thin shoulder. “He looked hungry.”
General Susan glares at her.
We proceed down the road, tossing candy and waving. I feel like an idiot. Psychic Susan and Texas Susan are really getting into it. This must be bringing back memories of homecoming parades.
Sweet Susie is giggling at a boy who is running alongside the float. He makes a grab for her and gets her hand. She shakes him off, laughing. He tries again and misses completely. She’s loving it. She taunts him, hands on her thin, young girl hips. He makes another grab, gets her waist with both hands and pulls her off the float. Sweet Susie shrieks delightedly, laughing in his arms. He obviously won’t be needing any candy.
Meanwhile, Starving Susan reflexively reaches for Susie with her skinny arms as Susie’s feet leave the float and the poor, skinny woman loses her balance. One of the teachers grabs her and they both tumble to the floor of the float. The float rocks, sending them crashing into Famous Susan, who collapses on top of them, whooping and laughing. Sharp Susan, turning, sees the chaos behind her and frowns.
“This is all your fault,” I hear General Susan hiss at her. “We should have never let that girl be a part of this. Now look what’s happened!”
“I suppose you could have done better,” Sharp Susan says ominously.
I back away. This isn’t going to be good. The Susan pileup in the center of the float is worsening. Every time someone tries to stand up, the float shifts and someone else falls into the mess. Texas Susan and Heavy Sue are down now, too.
“You’re damned right I could,” General Susan says. “But you had to take it over, didn’t you?”
“Well, someone had to,” Sharp Susan says sweetly. Her teeth are bared.
I back up a little farther, and find myself sprawled on top of Famous Susan.
“Pleased to meet you.” She giggles smokily.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” I grin.
The float shifts again and General Susan lurches toward Sharp Susan. Her arms flail and she smacks Sharp Susan right in the mouth. A drop of blood blooms on Sharp Susan’s lip and her eyes narrow. A look of horror grows on the General’s face as Sharp Susan lowers her head and butts her, billy-goat style, in the stomach. A Saanen couldn’t have done it better.
General Susan flies right off the float and into the crowd. She makes a soft landing on a heavyset biker with a bandanna on his head. He holds his prize, a red-faced, spitting housecat in khakis and a white shirt, unsure whether to laugh or punch someone. A group of teenagers break into applause. Sharp Susan manages to lift her arms in victory before another lurch sends her tumbling backwards on top of me.
“Good parade, huh?” she grins. She’s got a split lip.
We travel the rest of the route in a laughing, rumpled pile. Only Psychic Susan remains standing, waving to the crowd, completely unruffled. As we pull ourselves together at the end of the parade, still giggling and dusting off our clothes, my husband steps toward the float.
“I think I can guarantee you this will make the paper,” he says, his eyebrows skyward.
The surviving Susans gather in front of the float, arms around each other and big grins on our faces. The photographer snaps our picture. Next day, we are on the front page. Famous Susan’s hair is on end. Texas Susan has a black eye. Sharp Susan’s mouth is swollen and her lip is clearly bleeding. Starving Susan’s shirt is missing an arm. I’m laughing so hard I appear to be crying, while Psychic Susan has an arm around me, holding me up.
“Area women raise money for battered women’s shelter,” reads the caption below us.
