Details, Details, Details
So I've got Stella in Park Rapids. It's 1959, December. She's 16 and pregnant. No one knows she's there except Jeanine (the woman who's sheltering her) and Mrs. G. (the woman who brought her there).
Then something happens. Now she doesn't trust either one. She's ready to flee, fly, take a powder. She whips out her cell...she whips out her credit card...she fires up her SUV...okay, so what the hell DOES she do?
(Can you tell that I'm blogging because I don't know the answer?!)
We talked this week about rules for zombies and vampires and shaghouls (OH MY!). What are the rules for pregnant teenagers in 1959? My mother was 19 and pregnant with me in 1959 but also married and living on a naval base so all she can help me with (as has often been the case in our relationship) are the clothes.
Maybe Stella could simply walk away? My "waning gibbous moon" friend is telling me to get off my keester and do some research. Maybe it was unseasonably warm in north central Minnesota on a December day in 1959 and a long walk would be just the tonic for a teenager. (And if I go this way, I can always ask my intrepid "baby oil and dog dirt" friend to advise me at which mile the blisters will likely appear.)
The bus seem promising, but can she figure out the schedule and round up cash for a ticket?
Finally, I consider having her call Mrs. Donahue.
There is the phone on its own round mahogany table. There is the heavy, black phone perched neatly on the doily. There is the tastefully upholstered overstuffed chair next to the table and the phone, because in 1959 talking on the telephone was still a social pleasantry. You did it in your living room, not in the bathroom or while you were also clipping your toenails.
(June Cleaver rises in my mind and I can see the precise way her hand is gracefully cradling the unwieldy receiver against her pearled ear.)
And when Stella picks up the phone, I realize, it will have to be an operator who helps her. 1959. No direct dialing in a small town like Park Rapids. Will her voice squeak? Will she have the courage to ask for the person she really wants (since you know it can't be Mrs. Donahue)? So far in this story I don't think Stella's asked anyone for help, but now I think that's all about to change. ~ Victoria Tirrel
Then something happens. Now she doesn't trust either one. She's ready to flee, fly, take a powder. She whips out her cell...she whips out her credit card...she fires up her SUV...okay, so what the hell DOES she do?
(Can you tell that I'm blogging because I don't know the answer?!)
We talked this week about rules for zombies and vampires and shaghouls (OH MY!). What are the rules for pregnant teenagers in 1959? My mother was 19 and pregnant with me in 1959 but also married and living on a naval base so all she can help me with (as has often been the case in our relationship) are the clothes.
Maybe Stella could simply walk away? My "waning gibbous moon" friend is telling me to get off my keester and do some research. Maybe it was unseasonably warm in north central Minnesota on a December day in 1959 and a long walk would be just the tonic for a teenager. (And if I go this way, I can always ask my intrepid "baby oil and dog dirt" friend to advise me at which mile the blisters will likely appear.)
The bus seem promising, but can she figure out the schedule and round up cash for a ticket?
Finally, I consider having her call Mrs. Donahue.
There is the phone on its own round mahogany table. There is the heavy, black phone perched neatly on the doily. There is the tastefully upholstered overstuffed chair next to the table and the phone, because in 1959 talking on the telephone was still a social pleasantry. You did it in your living room, not in the bathroom or while you were also clipping your toenails.
(June Cleaver rises in my mind and I can see the precise way her hand is gracefully cradling the unwieldy receiver against her pearled ear.)
And when Stella picks up the phone, I realize, it will have to be an operator who helps her. 1959. No direct dialing in a small town like Park Rapids. Will her voice squeak? Will she have the courage to ask for the person she really wants (since you know it can't be Mrs. Donahue)? So far in this story I don't think Stella's asked anyone for help, but now I think that's all about to change. ~ Victoria Tirrel
posted by Seven Authors in A Private Conversation at 12:39 PM
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