Short Stories

Prettiest Little Thing

    I had never felt more uncomfortable in my life. 
    The Annual Tattnell County Pageant was a big deal, and had been for many, many years. Mama had been Miss Tattnell 1995 and all she wanted was for me to follow her footsteps. Daddy and I didn’t feel the same way. To be completely honest, I think pageants are a bunch of bullshit. It ain’t even about which girl’s prettiest half the time anymore. It’s about which girl’s mommy and daddy have the most political pull or which girl was related to who and all of that nonsense.
    But, there I was, standing in front of hundreds of people, maybe a thousand people, in a dress that didn’t fit right, shoes that were definitely too tall, and a light shining so goddamn bright in my eyes it looked like the Lord was getting ready to take me, just trying to make Mama proud.
    “So, Miss  Harp, what is something you would want to change in our community?”
    Oh, there it was. The question I had been dreading. I knew if I spoke my mind, I would disappoint Mama, but giving a generic answer just ain’t who I am. 
    “What would I would want to change in our community? Well, I…” 
    I looked out through the crowd. Mama was sweating like a whore in church. Daddy was looking me right in the eye. He mouthed, ‘Be yourself.’ 
I knew what I had to do.
    “Well, Mr. Emmerson,” I said taking the microphone, “ the first thing I would do to make a chang in my community is stop all this political nonsense that’s been going on.”
The whole room was shocked. 
   “Not only that, I’d make the churches follow the good book a little more. ‘Love thy neighbor’, y’all. Get off your high horses, acting like y’all’s any better than anyone else. Everybody sins, and some of y’all sin more than the Devil himself! But you go to church! You’re good! The Lord has forgiven you! Let’s see how many shits the Lord gives when you show up at them pearly gates after leading the life you did.”
    The judges looked at each other in utter disbelief and whispered amongst themselves.
    “Another thing is this whole ‘boys club’ going on everywhere I look. Some of you men will raise your daughters and treat them like little princesses but treat every other women and girl like they belong under your shoe. If I were married to some of you, I’d have shot you by now! You raise your little girls and tell them that they can do anything in this world, but you’re part of what’s keeping them behind! And to those of you that let your little boys treat girls the way they do because they watched you do that their entire lives, I hope you know that there’s a special place in Hell with your name in it.”
I watched a row of some of the other contestants’ fathers squirm in their seats.
    “And, mamas, y’all ain’t innocent either. You teach your girls that it’s okay for them to be treated this way, that he doesn’t mean it, that you don’t need to talk about the things that have happened to them. They watch how you let yourself get talked to their whole lives and they just think it’s okay. News flash: it ain’t. You are better than that! I don’t care if your mama raised you to keep your mouth shut and take it. We have come so far and you’re just taking us backwards. We’re supposed to improve each generation. How the hell are you making improvements if you’re teaching them that abuse just a part of life?
    “And how about those of you who just want your little girls to be popular because you never were? You turn them out, buy the alcohol, and let them run loose, but you’re suprised when they end up pregnant or on drugs or in jail? Popular doesn’t mean party girl. You have ruined your little girls. It is hard to come back from a ruined reputation. Because when your little girl goes back to school after getting out or rehab or having an abortion, which you claim to be so against, they have nothing. No friends, no respect, no self-esteem. Good job.”
    I saw a row of mamas get absolutely red. I knew their daughters, and now they knew just how much everyone else did.
    “And finally, y’all need to stop acting like there’s anything wrong with the people that don’t fit into your white, heterosexual world. There ain’t nothing wrong with people loving who they want. They can’t help that. You try and act like it’s a choice. Was it a choice for you to be straight? That’s right. And, for the love of God, the Civil Rights movements happend in the 60s and 70s. You have no excuse to treat anyone who don’t look like you any less than what you want to be treated. There ain’t no excuse of ‘Oh, that’s how I was raised.’ Bullshit! You’re a person just like them.” 
I took a deep breath. I had just made a fool of my mama. I could see her sinking in her seat. But Daddy looked so proud. He nodded at me.
    “That is what I want to change in our community. Thank you!” I said, handing the microphone back to Mr. Emmerson. I bowed and walked backstage. 
    “I don’t know how I can follow that,” Sabrina Adair said. She was sure to win, no matter what.
    “Oh, honey, I made it easy for ya!” I said. 
    “That was brave,” she said. 
    “Brave or stupid?” I laughed.
    “Next up, we have contestant number 99: Sabrina Adair!” Mr. Emmerson announced.
    “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s my turn.”
    “Hey,” I said, pulling her into a hug, “break a leg, sugar.”
    She pulled away. “Thank you.”
    “Anytime.” 
    I waltzed back to my vanity and sat there, looking at myself. 
    I was pretty. I had a beautiful, blue gown on and my blonde hair was curled. 
    “What a shame a pretty face has such a big mouth,” a voice from behind me said. 
    I knew who it was. It was Ms. Clara. She ran the pageant. I turned my chair so I could face her.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, I just-” I started.
    “Sorry?” she said, “You’re sorry? Baby, you just said everything I’ve been trying to say my entire life. You don’t have a thing to be sorry for.”
    “Excuse me, but Ms. Clara, I made a mockery of your pageant,” I said.
    She waved her hand. “Baby, you spoke the truth. Living in a place like this is hard. I should know, I was born and raised here and I’m an old woman,” she laughed. “There’s so much pressure put on you to look good, talk right, walk right, mind your manners. At the end of the day, it don’t mean a thing.”
    I just sat there in disbelief. 
    “That took guts, my girl. Good job,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder and smiling at me. “Also, you are just the prettiest little thing in that dress!”