Breadcrumb #655
E.S. SPARKS
“Alas, my love you do me wrong…”
A weird song for a child to sing, for sure.
“…to cast me off discourteously.”
Cast by Mr. Bowen. I’m the little girl just there in renaissance green velvet and garish gold lamé on the videotape. Past the tops of all those moms with 80s bangs teased up to high heaven, center stage. Glowing fluorescent under the bulbs turned up bright for the Christmas play.
“For I have loved you so long…”
Jesus. At least they chose a secular one to round out the program.
“…delighting in your company.”
I brush the ringlets from my face. My cheeks are strained from smiling HARD, the way only little kids do. For a moment I forget where I am and press the back of my hands to my cheeks, see the tiny fists and limp wrists? Mr. Bowen looks pissed, off to the right in front of Miss Fuller on the ivory keys. I jerk my arms down to my sides pulling on the hem of my dress. It’s fucking hot.
“GREENSLEEVES WAS ALL MY JOY!”
Really belted that one out before falling back, stiff as a pin, into a row of Santa’s little helpers and, luckily, a snowscape of strewn cotton stuffing. My dad, ever the naturalist director of photography, kept the shot tight on me until my mom yanked his elbow down—and if you listen closely—she can be heard to say, “For chrissakes John!” And that’s why they got a divorce.
Kidding. They probably just plain old didn’t love each other. That’s the usual reason, right? Not like Lady Greensleeves and whatever poor sap wrote this ditty about her. Whose most defining characteristic wasn’t even her forearms but like, the fabric covering them. You know I read somewhere that “greensleeves” may have been a euphemism for prostitute back in the day. Green owing to the fact that in those times ladies of the night would often do their work in the fields and get grass stains on them. Though in that case I think “green knees” would be more apt, don’t you? Ha ha. Not that I think sex work is a joke. I don’t. It’s work. Not “work” like this is “work,” sure. But work nonetheless. I’m veering off topic, let’s roll the tape back.
I love that about VHS, you actually roll the tape, or wind it rather, back. And you see the white static-y scrape in the middle of the screen. What actually causes that? Some sort of mechanism in the VCR must, though I don’t know how it doesn’t mar the ribbon permanently. Especially with this one. I can’t tell you HOW many times we rewatched this one. No telling why. It was pretty traumatic when you think about it. That’s the thing about being a kid. You go through an awful lot of shit before you realize how bad it really was. I’m talking YEARS later. I mean, I don’t wear velvet anymore. Sure, why would you in the South to begin with, I hear you, but I won’t on principle.
“ Whose most defining characteristic wasn’t even her forearms but like, the fabric covering them.”
Speaking of, that Principal Farb was one nasty piece of work. Probably not hard to guess what the kids used to call him behind his back. Yeah. This guy gets it. I swear he HATED me. I dunno if it was because I ruined the pageant or what but after that he was on me like a hawk every time I used the water fountain near his office. Once he asked what I was doing there and I said I was parched, and he retorts, real condescending-like, “I bet you can’t even spell ‘parched’,” and I was like “P-A-R-C-H-E-D” ya D-I-C-K (only I didn’t say that part out loud) because little did he know I was the UIL spelling champ come that spring. That shut him up.
There—where I put my arms down. See I think when I did that I locked my knees. It’s funny how no one ever really locks their knees until you’re at, like, assembly and they specifically tell you not to lock your knees and then not five minutes later some kid is fainting on the bleachers and Principal Fart’s all, “That’s it I guess we’re just not doing group pictures this year!” and everyone cheers and honestly you’re grateful yourself because you’re pretty sure you sneezed in the last one. And Adam L. isn’t next to you anymore because goddamn Sarah Little got transferred to your school district after her dad got custody and now everyone likes her because she’s new and it’s all so sad and you can’t even see Adam over her big stupid head.
You know we were all strangers at the start of this but now I feel like we’re a little closer, me sharing this footage and all. Kinda like the way I slipped into my old vernacular. You become more aware of that stuff when you’re up here, talking. I don’t have to be all flowery and literate with you guys (no offense), not like at my readings. No, this is a safe space. I can drop it just like—ah here she goes again—TIMBER! I shouldn’t laugh, it’s still a little girl falling, even if it’s me. It’s weird to think about, that girl being somewhere in me, like rings of a tree. There I go, waxing poetic. And after you’ve all been so patient with me. Patient patients, ha. I’ve never made that connection before. Sort of like we’re all waiting to be seen—Oh, that’s time?