A Betty Sue Summer
Each year, on the last day of school I would shout goodbyes to my school friends: "Bye, D.J. and Patty! See you, Laur! I'll call you guys!" But I never did. I meant to call, but once my backpack was tossed into the deepest corner of my closet I would head next door to the Sanders' house and the wheels of summer would begin to turn. It seems that the school year had its set of friends and activities -French homework, slumber parties and cheerleading practice -but the summers . . . the summers were all Betty Sue.
The pattern had been established in the summer before sixth grade when I moved with my family to Minnesota. My brothers and I met the Sander kids soon after we settled into our big, green, cube of a house on Lake Owasso. Betty Sue was two years older that I, and we quickly established our relationship: I was the wide-eyed Ethel and she was Lucy, bold and bursting with ideas.
I knew Betty Sue was cool when I first met her. She was loud, confident and cutting. She had a swagger in her walk and she laughed more often and more completely, snorting and cackling and gasping for breath, than anyone I had ever known. In awe, I learned that the Sander house had a no-restrictions candy cupboard in their kitchen and Betty Sue had a bottle collection that spanned all of the shelves and window sills in her bedroom. Betty Sue knew what she liked -sewing projects, juicy novels and Greg Lyford, and she knew what she hated -prissy girls, Barbie dolls and the Conrad sisters who lived down the street.
On the first day of the summer when I was 13 and Betty Sue was 15 we were bored, so Betty Sue said it was time to make a list. I got out paper and pencil and began to take notes as Betty Sue dictated:
1. Swim 10 laps from the Carlson's raft to the Flynn's raft every day.
2. Practice throwing the softball for the President's Fitness Award.
3. Sew a maxi skirt.
4. Lie out in the sun.
5. Spy on Greg Lyford
6. Spy on the Conrads
7. Canoe all the way around the lake.
8. Sleep in the boathouse.
It was my idea to sleep in the boathouse every single night of the summer. Betty Sue said that would be cool so we made a pact: "We swear to God that we will not sleep in our beds this summer. (Signed) Betty Sue Sander and Mary Christensen. June 17, 1971."
Time was wasting. Betty Sue said we would start with the softball throw so we gathered the necessary equipment - tape measure, chalk and softball - and headed up the hill to the street. We made chalk lines every ten feet, from zero to one hundred, which was Betty Sue's goal. She threw the ball first and made it to 79 feet. "Way to go, Bed!" My turn. I wound up and threw the ball, hard and straight, right at the ground. "Twelve feet! (Cackle, snort) You throw like a girl. But we'll work on it."
For the rest of the day we worked diligently on some of our other goals. We laid out in the sun, shivering and goose-bumped, for 53 seconds. We paddled our canoe clumsily past the Conrad dock where the sisters were dangling their feet in the water. We were sure they didn't notice us (flail, snort, cackle) as we skimmed stealthily by. We wrote an anonymous, steamy love letter to Greg Lyford. Betty Sue sprayed it with some of her mom's musk perfume and dropped it into a squarish yellow bottle from her collection, plugging the end with a wad of Juicy Fruit from the candy cupboard. Betty Sue let me do the honors and I threw the bottle as far as I could into Lake Owasso. I can't be sure, but I think it must have gone at least 14 feet. "We'll work on it," snorted Betty Sue as we watched the bottle sink.
After dinner we met in the boathouse with our sleeping bags. We knew how to open the screen door and slip in - zip - to keep some of the mosquitoes out. Betty Sue and I were still wearing our 24-hour summer uniforms: swim suits covered with big tee shirts. Changing of clothes and taking showers were both kept to an absolute minimum in the summer. Betty Sue had brought a bag full of her mom's novels to share and I nervously looked through them. No Nancy Drew or Betsy and Tacy books here; I picked The Graduate. We climbed into sleeping bags, slapping at mosquitoes and settled into page one on night one of a really cool, Betty Sue summer.