I reached into the corner locker to hang my wet dress, a sleeveless pale mint green one that was gathered at the shoulders and covered in tiny white dots, and changed into the dry red shirtdress.  Because I was hoping to arrive on a Saturday, I expected the pool to be busy.  So instead of wearing the dress, I rolled it up around a small purse sealed in a plastic freezer bag.

The purse was packed with a new tube of red lipstick, mascara, ballet flats, and a pack of gum.   Then there were the practical items: a tiny flashlight, a lighter, a mini first aid kid, and a folding multipurpose tool. It couldn't hurt to have a knife, pliers, wire cutters, screwdrivers and a bottle opener at all times, even if I might not be able to actually do anything with them.  My dad was really into talking through survival scenarios and it kind of stuck with me.  As I plunged into the glassy water in the middle of the night, I held the whole bundle in my hand, hoping that when I arrived it could pass as a wet towel.       

It worked.  Thanks to my retro bathing suit and my relative calm, as compared to the first couple times I clumsily splashed my way into 1953, my transition was seamless.  I felt pretty confident that I didn't give anyone a reason to notice me as  I climbed out of the crowded pool.   In front of the locker room mirror, I peeled off my new white bathing cap and shook out my dry hair.  I applied some red lipstick, which I immediately regretted when I saw my resting bitch face glaring back at me.  I looked like an angry clown.  After rubbing some of the lipstick off with my finger, I smiled in the mirror.  Maybe it wasn't so bad.  I left it on.

I had a few hours to kill before I could meet up with Pete for the dance, so I planned to explore old Palmer until I found somewhere secluded to nap.  As I turned the corner on my way out of the locker room, I came face to face with Rose, who was collecting admission fees at the entrance.  Her face lit up when she saw me and again I felt stupefied in awe of her.

"Hi!" She smiled warmly.  "Vanessa?"

"Yeah, hi," I said tentatively.

"We haven't officially met. I'm Rose Durand."

"I know," I said, dazed.

"So, how do you like Palmer so far?"

"It's great," I lied to satisfy her.  She would live her entire life in this town after all.  Though even I could admit that 1950s Palmer was kind of charming compared to my version.

Then there was a rumble as a familiar navy blue pickup truck pulled up.  Walter left it running at the curb as he jumped out and confidently approached the pool entrance.  I shuffled backward, wishing I could melt into the brick wall.  But it was as if I wasn't even there anyway because the two of them were in their own world, oblivious to anyone or anything outside of it.

"I have some bad news," he said, "the old man needs the station wagon tonight."

For some reason, it surprised me that his voice was nearly the same.  It seemed strange for someone so young to have a voice with such depth.  It was deep, but clear, missing that gravelly quality from a lifetime of smoking.

"Will we be going to the dance by bicycle?" she teased, leaning forward on her elbows and gazing up at him through her eyelashes.  I definitely didn't inherit my hopeless flirting techniques from my Grandma Rose.  She knew how to lay it on hard, and effectively, if Walt's grin was any indication.

"Well, the good news is that my brother is lending me his convertible."

"Ooo! I guess I'd better use extra Spray Net," she said, patting her hair.

"A whole can!"  He leaned over the counter to give her a quick kiss, then stepped back and admired her.  He was beaming; his face shone with the anticipation of the many years they would have together, and all the possibility that lay before them.  It was simultaneously inspiring and heartbreaking.  "I'll pick you up at seven thirty."

"I can't wait," she responded with a playful half-smile.

She waved as he drove away, then turned to check the wall clock behind her.

"I hope my replacement gets here soon.  I still need to starch my crinoline," she said, acknowledging my presence once again.

"Yeah. Me too," I responded, even though I didn't know what a crinoline was, and definitely didn't plan on starching one.

"Are you going with Pete Harrison?" she asked in a whispery, pitying tone.

"I am."

A faint frown line formed on her forehead as she chewed her lip and tapped a pencil against the desk.  She sighed.

"I know you're new in town, and I'm not sure if anyone has told you this already, but that boy is trouble. I know he seems like a dream; he's tall and handsome and he has his own car and all, but it would be a good idea to break it off with him.  The sooner, the better."

I stared past her at the ticking second hand on the wall clock.  Questions raced through my mind, but they stayed trapped in my tightening throat.

"But at least you'll meet some new people tonight."

"Sure.  See you later then," I managed to mutter, before forcing a weak smile and shuffling away.

It was the kind of hazy summer afternoon where the humidity hung in the air like a gauzy curtain, filtering the sunlight and softening the edges of everything. It was weird to see so many people outside in the heat. Women sat on their porches fanning themselves because it was even more stifling inside their homes.  There were children spraying each other with the hose, shrieking as the shining water droplets rained down on their heads.  As I passed a boy and girl running a lemonade stand, my mouth watered and I wished I had some spare change.

A drowning sensation was dragging me down and squeezing my chest and I didn't know which way to turn for relief.  I wanted to go to the dance with Pete, but I could already feel the suffocating pressure of the judgmental eyes and whispers of people who knew something about him that I didn't. The waitress at the diner held a grudge against Pete for some reason.  Liz told me he would only hurt me and my own grandmother warned me that he was trouble. 

But the thought of turning around and going home filled me with a crushing sense of disappointment.  So I decided to find Pete right away.  We were not going to that dance.  I couldn't face those people who wanted to ruin him for me.  Also a small part of me dreaded what they'd say when I showed up without a crinoline.

I walked faster, ignoring the band of sweat that was forming along my hairline and the difficulty I had breathing the saturated air.  I would check his house first, but I wished I could text him to find out where he was instead of engaging in a manhunt on foot.  Life was so much easier in the future. After a few blocks, I began to feel lightheaded and slowed down.  Then I heard footsteps behind me and I knew who it was without turning around.

"Hello, again. Where are you off to?" Liz inquired with a false politeness as she appeared at my side.

"It's none of your business."

"It actually is my business.  You shouldn't be here.  Now, turn around and go back home, while you can.  It's where you're safe."

I stopped abruptly and asked, "Safe from what?  And why do you care?"

She looked back at me helplessly, like she wanted to say the words, but couldn't for some reason.

Then without thinking, I ran.  I ran away from her as fast as I could.  At first it felt fantastic; the breeze drying my skin, my legs pumping to propel my body forward.  Then with each step I felt heavier, slower, and the air itself seemed to hold me back. I was enveloped in a vacuum of silence.  I glanced down at my arms and legs and even though I was still running with all the energy I had, they were moving in slow motion.

I looked over my shoulder to see if Liz was following me.  As my head turned painfully slowly, I had no choice but to take in every detail of my surroundings.  There was a red wagon sitting unused in the next driveway.  There was a pink rosebush and a tire swing hanging from a tree.  A collie lay panting in the shade of a tree in the next yard.  Finally I saw her, standing in the same place, staring at me and clenching her fists.

By the time I turned my head back it was too late to see the red wagon blocking the sidewalk.  I attempted to jump over it, but my mind was faster than my legs.  My foot caught the underside of the wagon, and as I tumbled to the ground I was jolted back to a normal speed.

I landed hard on my knees and palms and pushed myself back up.  I grabbed my purse which fell a few feet away and cut down a different street to get out of Liz's line of sight.  After zigzagging for a few blocks at a normal speed, I made it to Pete's house.  Afraid that Liz would catch up to me while I waited at the front door, I climbed over the gate and dropped into the backyard.

A clothesline draped with sheets and pillowcases stretched across the small, fenced-in yard.  I heard Pete's laugh from the other side.  Embarrassed by my intrusiveness and afraid I'd find another girl making him laugh, I considered leaving but I didn't want to face Liz again.

I ducked through the curtain of freshly scented laundry and found Pete playing a game of tug-of-war with Sally the dog.  He looked up and dropped his end of the sock they were fighting over.  Sally triumphantly circled him, holding the sock in his mouth and shaking his head vigorously so that the sock whipped back and forth.

His face brightened when he first saw me, but his expression quickly mirrored mine.

"Vanessa!  Are you alright?" he asked as he jogged over to me.

"Yeah. Well, actually, not really."

His eyes searched my face as I nervously glanced toward the street.

"You wanna get out of here?" he asked.

"Yes. Please."

He reached out to grasp my hand and I recoiled. I held my palms up.  They were scraped raw and embedded with dirt and tiny stones.

"What happened?"

"I fell."

"Let's go inside and get you cleaned up first."

"I just want to leave," I pleaded.

"Okay, sure thing."

I followed him to his truck parked on the street.  When he opened the door for me, Sally jumped in and sat in the middle of the bench seat.

"I'll be right back," he said through the open window.

"Hello, Sally."  The dog nudged my hand with his velvety snout, so I scratched behind his ears.  "Rita.  Nice to see you again."  I patted the dashboard with a shaking hand and looked up and down the street for Liz.  She had gone from being simply annoying to a little scary.  But a small part of me wondered if I should have listened to her.  She was, after all, the only person who might have known where I really belonged.

"Alright, let's split!" Pete said when he returned.

He drove straight to River Road and headed north.

"How did you fall?"

"I was running and I tripped over some kid's wagon."

"Was there a kid in it?"

"No!" I laughed. "Thank goodness."

"Why were you running?"

"For fitness...exercise reasons," I said unconvincingly.  "Hey, is it okay if we don't go to that dance?"

"No sweat.  So where do you want to go?  And don't say 'Paris' again.  I can't afford that," he teased.

"I don't know.  Anywhere but here.  Sorry I'm not being very helpful."

Once we left Palmer behind, I began to relax.  The windows were rolled down all the way and a muggy wind rising off the river ripped though the truck cab.  Pete rested his elbow on the window frame and the muscles in his tanned forearm twitched as he drummed his fingers against the side mirror.  I stuck my arm out the window and watched my hand cut through the current of air, rising and falling like a bird.  Once my arm tired I checked my stinging knees.  When I folded my skirt up onto my lap, I found blood seeping from the scrapes.  Pete glanced down at my knees and grimaced before his eyes wandered up to where I had hiked my skirt, maybe a bit too high.

"Hey, eyes on the road!"  I scolded, as I readjusted my skirt for more coverage.

"I was only making sure you weren't getting blood on the seat," he said with a smirk.

"Sure you were.  Do you have any tissues in here?"

He pulled a wrinkly white cloth from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Here, you can use this."

I took it and apprehensively held it up by the corner.

"What is this?"

"A hanky."

Sometimes I managed to forget how many years apart we really were, but this was one of those wake-up moments.  I remembered trying to wrestle away from my grandma when she'd wipe my nose with the handkerchief from her pocket that smelled like eucalyptus and baby powder.  A few days before, I'd watched my grandpa clean his glasses with a handkerchief.  Hankies were used exclusively by old people.

"Is it covered in boogers?"

"No!  It's clean."

"I guess it's green," I mumbled as I dabbed at my bloodied knees.

"It is not!" he protested.  "It's freshly washed, honest."

"Not snot green, I mean, like, eco-friendly green.  Maybe I should switch to hankies, actually.  I read that like thirty-thousand trees are cut down every day for tissues and toilet paper."

Pete frowned and switched on the car radio.  The few songs that followed made me feel decades away from home more than anything had up until then.  The nauseatingly corny and syrupy-sweet music played while I looked out the window at the passing scenery.  The road followed alongside the river and the opposite side was all fields and trees, not yet cleared to make way for the industrial parks and their vast parking lots that would be there in the future.

The longer the music played the more uneasy it made me feel.

"Can you change the station?  I'm not a fan of this music."

He seemed puzzled but turned the dial to a man plucking at a guitar and singing in a whiny moaning voice.  It wasn't great either, but it seemed appropriate for riding in an old pickup truck on a summer day with a dog lounging by my side.  Pete's fingers drummed along on the steering wheel.

"Thanks, this is better."

"You like country music?"

"Not really. But it's better than that other crap."

"Good thing we're not going to that dance then.  All we'd hear there is 'that other crap.'"

I thought the music might be more tolerable if listening to it meant I got to drape my arms over Pete's shoulders during a slow dance.  For a minute I regretted impulsively changing our plans.

"So, what changed your mind about the dance?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't have anything to wear."

Pete turned the volume down on the radio.

"How did you know about it so early?  There weren't any posters up around town until a week or so ago."

"I dunno, I think I heard some people talking about it."

After I spoke, I remembered specifically saying that I saw a poster.  Heat rose up my neck and I hoped he wouldn't call me out on it. 

"You know what's funny?" His voice had a nervous edge to it.  "My friend Jimmy doesn't remember meeting you.  I did introduce you to him that day outside Jack's, didn't I?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"And June acts like she can't see you at all."

He had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and the truck strained under his gradual acceleration.  The muscles in his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth and his unblinking eyes were locked straight ahead. 

"Then you were gone for a while.  You said I couldn't call you.  And nobody knew anything about you, and so it felt like you weren't....real."

"I could see how that would be weird."

"I thought maybe I'd imagined you."  He glanced over at me with a pained expression.  "I like that you're a little kookie, but sometimes you say things that don't make any sense.  What makes you think you can carry a telephone in your pocket, or in your purse?  How come I can see you?  Is there something wrong with me?" His voice cracked on the last question.

I hadn't really considered how my sudden random appearances in his life and my strange behavior could be affecting Pete.  But I understood why he'd gotten so edgy.  I'd read The Bell Jar.  Nineteen-fifties style psychiatric treatments were intense.  If I made him think he was imagining people, he might have been worried about ending up in a psychiatric sanitarium and possibly receiving a lobotomy.

I wished that I could answer his questions, but if I told him the truth, he wouldn't believe me. There was nothing I could say to make him feel better.

"Stop!"  I demanded.  "Pull over. Let me out."

"I'll take you home if you want," he said dejectedly.  "I'm not leaving you on the side of the road."

"I want to walk."

He pulled over onto the shoulder and turned off the ignition.  The ticking of the cooling engine matched my pounding heartbeat.

"You can't open the door," he gently reminded me.  He was right, I tried and failed.  The shiny handle didn't even budge.  I was too drained to put any energy into it.  "Why can't you?"

"Look, there's nothing wrong with you.  Just with me. That's the only question I can answer for you."  I rested my head in my hands.  I was exhausted, and I probably wouldn't be able to make it back if I walked.  "Go ahead and take me back.  I'm sorry about all this.  I'll leave you alone from now on, I promise."

The truck didn't budge and we sat in silence as cars passed, kicking gravel up against the undercarriage beneath our feet.  Every second was agonizing.  If what we had was going to be over before it began, I wanted it to end quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

"I don't want you to leave me alone," he finally said.  "And I'm afraid if you go now, I'll never see you again."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"I don't know," he said slowly, "I don't know if I will."

I thought he was being a bit dramatic, but what he said still gave me a sinking, empty sensation of dread in the pit of my stomach.  And who was I to judge him for being dramatic?  I was the one begging for a ride to escape town, then flipping out and demanding he drop me off on the side of the road. I ran my hand over Sally's smooth fur and gave her a quick scratch behind the ears.

The only reason I was there at all was to be with him, so what the hell was I doing?

Pete reached over the dog lying between us and placed his hand over mine on the bench seat.  Warmth spread from my hand through the rest of my body, releasing the tension in every muscle.

"If I stop asking you questions, will you stay with me for a little while longer?"

I nodded.  He smiled, checked the mirrors and pulled back onto the road.

Then my shoulders slumped and my head rested against the back window.  I dreamt we were on a rowboat beneath a clear blue sky, with no land in sight, gently rocking back and forth.