The Ringer

The Ringer… She really was one, y’know? The meaning of that word has changed a lot, but nothing else has. Just glad that I can talk to you about this and that you wanna know what the big deal was all about. I’m just glad that someone is going to remember one of my best friends.

So, what do you want to know?

Everyone who has one of those computers or phones – amazing what the technology around those things can do – can find out the stories: the market crash; the Dust Bowl; gangsters; soup kitchens. That can tell ya a lot, but not everything. You don’t get all the real stories if you just sit with a screen or read a book.

My father lost his job about a year into the Depression. He was driving a truck for the local milk board and they did not need as many drivers now. Hard to keep them on if you did not have the money for milk (how did those kids survive?). Then, there was the factory that shut down in our neighbourhood. All the kids had at least a dad or a brother or an uncle who lost their work and it was terrible to see how desperate people were for something (even the factory whistle was missed; I would hear it from school and knew that it was another day done). That was what really brought it home for some of them. I even heard of boys getting into fights at one factory and being scarred by a foreman with some pipe he had... Sickening.

Oh, yes, I'll get to my story.

Yes, her proper name was Molly. She hated Mary, always did. When she was in my class, the only one who called her that was the teacher, and that Ms. O’Hanian was one sour old bat before things got ugly. Even told us that most of us should not waste our time on school. “The world is changing and we have to change with it.” Strange now to think that with all I studied in that one room, that was the only thing that stuck with me. Being old means that you are allowed to forget a few things. Well, at least a few things…not everything.

I still can't forget the day I came to school and Molly was gone. All of the other students looked at each other and wondered what had happened. Some said that the family moved (not true; I lived on the block and saw that their jalopy was still there and that her mother kept taking in laundry and knitting). Others thought that she ran away from home. Really silly rumor, that one. Where was she gonna go? To Hollywood? Monte Carlo?

Sorry, I just…I better speak plainly now.

Molly was a looker. Barely fifteen when the bad news started, she was already drawing attention from the boys…and let me just say it: the men in my neighbourhood could not ignore her, either. Not that she gave them any sign that she was interested, but you can’t deny what Mother Nature gave her. A beautiful figure with a strong will. And then, that smile and those eyes. Even I had to watch myself around her… More for jealousy than anything else. You did not exist for anyone else when she was around.

What else could she have done?

No, no, I’m not raising my voice anymore than I have to, but I gotta say my piece.

People were so judgmental back then…and now, I think. Only difference I see now is that your opinions fly faster with those damn phones…

Sorry, but I have to say it: Molly was a lady…of the evening. Strange phrase for it, especially when I learned that she worked all day when she could. All the boys in my school kept talking about it like she had ruined her life and could never show her face in public. Molly did not care. Molly was her own boss. And I knew every single one of them that lined up in those homes.

They were called “ringer houses”, y’know. She was already called The Ringer by me and my friends, but for very different reasons than those places would make you think. If you had a baseball game on, you called Moll. If you had a debate in class on almost anything, you needed Moll. If you wanted to talk to the boys but could not think of a way to get them to notice you that did not involve makeup and your older sister’s clothes, get Moll. She could knock down all those doors and you never looked back.

My father should have known better…

You know about that story? Well, well…you might like this.

I told you that he lost his job driving that truck, so you might be wondering how we got on in those days.

Those houses…

You could not have girls in those places with some sort of security in case things got too out of hand with the men…and boys. I still call them “boys” now, mainly because of what they said and how they behaved. And how they tried to lie about it all.

At least most of them came from our part of the town. You could figure out who was doing what and when they were passing by certain homes. You never missed a story in a small town. Molly was in a place that was not too far from, and I can’t believe it, Ms. O’Hanian. That sour bat did not have a clue what was going on…for a little while. She ruined it all with her big mouth and herself with the town's menfolk. At least we got rid of her.

Oh, I see that the service is now over, so I will get to my point.

I remember you being there, too. Don’t think that I am too old to forget all the things I saw as a little girl. My daddy was a guard and he would talk about all the things he saw…when he could. Never thought that I was around when he gossiped as much as any lady I took care of at the hairdresser’s (I did quite well with my own work, but daddy always said that money was my own; saintly man). He said that there was something very familiar about a boy with a widow’s peak, that lisp, your scar…

Yes, you knew her, your Eminence, much better than you had any right to. At least now you know that we will still be friends. I ain’t in the mood to spill such a secret on a day like this.

A new saint for us all… Who’d’ve imagined our dear Molly – your Mary – changing her life so much that she’d be the one we could pray, too. They must have really done their research on her to find all this out. And you helped, too, right, Daniel?

Oh, yes. Eminence.

Better make myself scarce now.

She still is the one we all turn to when we want things to turn our way, ain’t she?

And I am not gonna tell.

*

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.

You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

Give it a look...