Understanding the Midnight Sun (Scene: Country Girls)

Scene: Country Girls

“Ah!” Maggy squeals. “I can’t believe we’re doing this!”

“Me neither,” I mumble, cinching the brown belt that rests on my hips. Maggy does the same, beaming at our similar outfits. My dress is aqua with a paisley pattern. The skirt falls just above my knees and the sleeves billow out at my elbow. The neck scoops in an odd way, but I sort of like it.

Maggy’s dress is the same, but in pink. She pulls on her cowboy boots and motions for me to do the same. Then she goes to her vanity drawer and pulls out two somethings.

“Here,” she says albeit shyly. She places something silver in my palm. I hold it up to see that it’s a long necklace with a feather–shaped pendant. On it is the word: sisters.

“Mag,” I breathe. “This is beautiful.”

She pulls a matching one over her big curls. “You like it?”

I wrap my arm around her. “I love it. Thanks, Mag.”

For the finishing touches, we slip pearl–spotted headbands over our curls and stand in front of the mirror. I pull out my Polaroid and we both smile.

SNAP!

“Hey!” Jackie’s voice. “Time to go, you guys!”

Maggy claps her hands. “C’mon! C’mon!”

I sling my guitar case quickly over my shoulder.

Maggy sprints outside and hops into Parker’s truck. Jackie slides in next to her. I load my guitar into the bed of the truck and slip into the remaining seat. The passenger seat.

Parker smiles at me, his eyes fluttering all over me. Finally he reaches out and gives one blond curl a playful tug. It bounces right back into place.

“Look good,” he concludes.

“Thanks,” I say, fiddling with the hem of the dress, a little flustered.

“It’s my turn to ask a Question,” Jackie reminds us as Parker starts the engine.

“Yes!” Maggy cheers. She loves being let in on Questions.

Jackie thinks. “If you had to be stranded on an island, who would you not want to be there with you?”

“Copeland,” all three of them answer at once.

“Hey!” I protest.

“Okay,” Jackie explains over the sound of Maggy’s hysteric giggles. “Think about it, Copeland. You die under heat and can’t stand being hungry or bugs.”

I look at Parker desperately for any help I could defend myself with. He just side–eyes me and smiles. I sigh, defeated. Fair enough.

“Who would you not take?” Maggy pokes my shoulder. I frown at my reflection in the windshield. That was a hard one. Each person had their pros and cons.

“Parker,” I say.

He sticks his tongue out at me. “Name one good reason why, Copeland Kennedy.”

I hold up my pointer finger and clear my throat. “You are a pampered little prince if I’ve ever seen one.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And what are you, my princess?”

I blush and look determinedly at my boots. “Didn’t say I wasn’t. But you’re more so.”

“Debatable! All here, vote yay or nay,” Parker announces. “Yay if I am more pampered than Copeland, and nay if you think she is more pampered.”

“All in favor?” I ask.

“Nay,” says Jackie.

“Nay,” says Maggy.

“NAY!” yells Parker.

“Ouch,” I mumble. “Yay?”

“Outnumbered,” Parker concludes.

I definitely am.

We pull up to the Ashdown, Arkansas favorite restraunt, so creatively named Cafe Locale. Cars pull into the parking lot. There’s so many people here. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Maggy,” I turn around to look at her.

She looks up, smiling her precious little smile. I want to tell her. I can’t do this. There’s too many people. She can’t really expect me to go up there in front of them and sing. But the sparkle in her eye says excitement and she looks at me so imploringly.

“Yes, Cope?”

“Just…” I struggle to find something to say. “Have fun, okay, Mag?”

“I will!”

Parker parks the truck and we all load out. I reach for my guitar, but Parker grabs it for me. I nod my thanks and he smiles. “Can’t wait to hear you sing.”

I scowl.

We walk up to the building, a small, gray thing with purple canopies. The waiter outside smiles and says, “Are you the Kennedys?”

“I am,” I say, “and so is she.” I point to Maggy. She waves.

The waiter waves back and points to the back of the cafe. “Do you see that lady over there?” He asks. “That’s who you’ll want to see. Good luck, tonight, guys.”

“Thanks,” I reply and follow where he pointed.

Maggy hums excitedly behind me. I can’t chicken out now. This is for her. And the song were singing is one we wrote together.

A few minutes and near–anxiety–attacks later, Maggy and I are standing behind a platform while the manager introduces us to the crowd of customers. There’s applause from the dining tables and I can hear Jackie and Parker the loudest of all, whistling and screaming our names. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Tonight, we are honored to have two young women, Copeland and Margaret Kennedy! They’ll be singing an original if I’m not mistaken. Please, let’s welcome them.”

I fidget with my guitar and Maggy flexes her fingers. “Let’s go, Cope!”

I breathe. In. Out. In. Out. We’ve got this. This song is beautiful. Our voices will be fine. What do I have to worry about?

We step onto the platform together, our boots making loud sounds on the floor. We are greeted with bright lights that dazzle my eyes and an excessive amount of clapping and cheering and more whistling. Parker and Jackie jump up and down eagerly in the back, waving. I smile nervously at them. Maggy takes the microphone in front of her.

“Hello!” She says boldly, cheerfully. “My name is Maggy, and this is my sister, Copeland.”

I give a timid wave.

“We are going to be singing an original we wrote together,” Maggy continues.

There are an abundance of “awww”s.

“It’s called ‘Half of Me’ and we wrote it a few years ago. During the time when we wrote it, our dad left us, just out of the blue. Copeland and me felt like we had nobody at first, because our mom became reclusive.”

I tense. I don’t know how many people I want knowing this about our family. Lots of sympathetic glances are shot at me, and understanding nods. But they don’t know. They don’t know what’s even going on. They can’t see inside of me and they can’t see the evil thats growing inside of my sister.

Mom became reclusive after Dad left. There were days when I was the one who had to take Maggy places she needed to be. I helped her with her homework and made sure she studied. I made all three meals for her and Mom and myself every day, and even prepared snacks for Maggy. I cleaned the house and taught myself how to work the laundry machine, dryer, and dishwasher. All of these things I had to learn.

One day, Maggy found me crying in my room, overcome with stress and hate and hurt. She asked what was wrong and sat in my lap. I told her that I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t take care of her, Mom, myself, and keep up with school, friends, and activities I’d committed to. She wanted to help. She wanted to get Mom back. She asked what would make me feel better. I took out my notebook and a chewed on pencil.

“Let’s write a song,” Maggy suggested.

I smiled at her and took out my guitar, wiping my tears away. Only one person could truly understand what I went through. That one person was my baby sister. She was my other half.

“I hope you enjoy,” Maggy finishes. She puts the microphone back on the stand and looks at me for confirmation. I nod at her and strum the first chord. Maggy sings the first verse.

“When I was lost

You came to find me

When I was blind

You still saw me.”

I join in next.

“When I looked out

Into the raging sea

There was no one there

Who came for me

Except for you

Except for you.”

I breathe out, and look into the crowd. We’ve captured everyone’s attention. Some people have their eyes closed, nodding along softly. Others just have their eyes glued onto Maggy or me. Parker’s are on me.

I strum harder.

“My only one

What could I do?

My other half

You make me smile

When my mind is black

My other half

My best friend

You are there

Until the end

My only one

My other half

The sister that

I’m blessed to have

My other half

My other half…”

I look back out. Tears wind down my face slowly. My other half’s end is much sooner than mine. I blink back the shards of water that prick my eyes. The tears hurt. They hurt so bad.

When my vision clears I look back into the audience. Tears glitter on other’s faces as well as my own. Much to my surprise, even Parker’s face is damp, his eyes still locked onto me. I bite my trembling lip.

Maggy throws her arms around me and buries her face into my stomach. “I love you, Copeland.”

“I love you more, Mags.”

The tears come anew when my traitorous mind wanders how many more “I love you”s the two of us have left. I stroke her dirty blonde curls just like I did not so long ago.

The manager walks on the stage and congratulates us on how well we did. My voice feels raw and hoarse, so I know I gave it my best. I give him a grateful smile and the two of us walk off stage, my guitar bumping against my leg.