Lovely Rita - surviving the 1960s

A story written for a contest. It follows the rules of that submission. The story ends about the time of the 1968 Democratic Convention. I felt people would enjoy a short visit back to those turbulent times. Looking back on a culture war that has troubled America, ever since the sixties.

Lovely Rita

I am sitting in the county sheriff’s office waiting as he decides what to charge me with. I am sixteen, a hard-working farm boy. Rita changed my life. The sheriff is calling the state’s attorney. I will tell you the story of why I am here. I have the time.

The long Pontiac pulled into the drive; dawn barely light enough to see it. Dad gave me a hug, “Be back in a couple days. I laid out what chores to do.” He gave mom an embrace didn’t say anything. Uncle Gene, Aunt Martha, and my dad headed to North Carolina to bring Rita here for a visit. Rita had never visited before. Everything is rushed and hushed, must be a crisis.

Trips are extraordinary for my family; we keep close to the farm. Gene and dad are driving straight through. Three nights later, Mom drove us into Malvern to Aunt Martha’s. She began fixing supper. Rita is about my age; she is Uncle Gene’s niece. The ‘63 Pontiac pulled in the drive. The trunk could hold a load of hay, but Rita carried only a stuffed tiger and a suitcase. We soon sat down to eat. Rita stayed quiet, uncertain of us or this small town. She didn’t eat much; the food suited me. I ate four helpings of chicken casserole while Rita minced around with one. I learned Rita would stay indefinitely, not for a couple of weeks. Her dad is missing in Vietnam; he is a green beret.

Her father was killed while acting as an advisor, but in Rita’s world he is missing.

I was told to walk Rita over to the school and around Malvern. Rita would soon start sixth grade and I seventh. Once we left the porch someone must have pulled Rita’s talking string. I couldn’t answer her questions fast enough before being buried in two more. Rita has auburn hair and is twelve. Malvern impressed Rita by how much there isn’t. She asked how far to our farm. I told her eight miles. Rita asked, “Do you ever ride your horse to school?”

“We do not have horses.”

Rita went on about how we should have horses, with a farm, a barn, hay, and a place to ride., She was rather mystified why I didn’t want a horse. I suppose I should have realized Rita’s horse obsession would lead to a horse at our farm and me caring for it. I learned as Rita went on about a horse. Her mother disappeared for several weeks. The family in the apartment next door called Uncle Gene. Rita never fully admitted this, but it slipped in as she talked faster than her fantasy horse could run. I liked Rita; we hit it off. Rita needed a friend. We became friends on our walk. Rita hadn’t been with anyone her age for a long time.

She asked, “Who’s your favorite Beatle?”

“I don’t know; I can’t remember all their names.”

I, the country bumpkin, needed a world of learning. From now on Rita became my teacher into American youth culture. She adopted me, as if I had spent my life on a desert island. On Sunday Aunt Martha and Rita came to our farm. Rita stayed until Wednesday, the first day of school. She would ride the bus; I would guide her. After church and dinner, I took Rita on a tractor to tour the farm. When she saw the south place Rita found her dream. No house at the south place but a solid barn and a pasture. Gene and Martha did not have children. They willingly indulged Rita; my chores soon included going to the south place to care for a horse. Rita, knower of everything not-farm, did appreciate my farm boy knowledge and skills. I helped her care for a horse she named Paladin.

Rita told me about her traumas when we cared for Paladin. Her mother acted unstable before her father died. At the barn she would admit he had died, but she needed the faint hope it wasn’t true. Rita said her mother had auburn hair and named her after Rita Hayworth hoping she would have the same color hair. Her mother left her alone sometimes for a couple of nights, but the absences became more frequent and longer. Her dad gave Uncle Gene’s information to the neighbors. When her mom’s absence continued for a month, they called. Rita loved her horse, and he loved her. I cared for him knowing how important he was to her. Rita found our baseball gloves and asked me to play catch. She associated playing catch with her dad.

Rita could walk to school when in Malvern. The district approved her riding the bus to our farm and back. She became a regular at supper. One day as the seventh grade went to recess, I saw Rita surrounded by Cathy and her clique. I walked over then stepped beside Rita. I said, “Don’t pay attention to these milk-snorters.”

I introduced her to Tina a kind girl in our class. After that Rita always ate lunch and hung with girls from my class. Her standardized test results were superb. High school is in a different building. Aunt Martha lobbied to have her move into my class as a freshman skipping the eighth grade. The teachers agreed and Rita joined the future class of 1970.

Uncle Gene owned a guitar; he helped Rita with a few chords. She loved the music scene, disparaged my listening to country radio. Rita became attractive; Gene and Martha did not allow her to date. We could go to school dances; Rita always set me up with a date. I would have been too awkward to ask anyone. Rita convinced me to acquire a horse to ride with her. Rita followed all the rock musicians and their styles. She encouraged me to grow my hair out, but I kept my flattop. I said, “You have enough pretty hair for both of us.”

She tried to not bend fashion rules at school. When we rode out to the isolated places on the farm, she always lost her bra and often her top. We were sophomores when her mother, Lillian, appeared. After six months in AA, she called Uncle Gene. He doubted her, but he and Martha decided she should have a chance to know her wonderful daughter. They rented a small house and got her a job at a gas station combined with a café. Lillian didn’t have a driver’s license a real handicap for getting a job in Malvern. Most folks worked in other towns. I overheard mom and aunt Martha say Lillian looked tough. They didn’t like that she smoked. She may not go to bars, but they thought she dressed like a floozy.

Rita appreciated her mom did not drink now. Rita held many mental scars and resentments. She had been abandoned too many times. Rita saw her mom but continued to live with Gene and Martha. Paladin and I became her supports. Rita and I grew closer, closer than cousins should. We were not cousins as Rita reminded me. At school we stayed with our groups. She never took the same boy to a dance. She stayed aloof when going to a game together. Gene and Martha thought sixteen the minimum age for real dates. Lillian fit in at the café and gas station. She kept it together and did not drink.

Lillian joined our families for Christmas. She then took a bus back to some Carolina. Lillian is engaged to a military man who is on leave. Rita felt sullen when Lillian left, reminded of other times. Rita loved school. She participated in many activities. Vietnam became her focus. Rita grew in her anti-war awareness and activism. She attended a protest at a nearby university. Her expertise on the history of the Vietnam Conflict put her on a collision course with her new stepfather.

Judd, a marine drill sergeant, is assigned to make recruiting visits until he returns to being an instructor next August. He and Lillian returned in late January having driven up from South Carolina. Rita convinced me I should go with her to meet him. Judd is a tall man at least six three. A fit guy, he complimented me on my haircut. A real man’s cut not a hippie mop. I am too young to be recruited all he could do was wax glorious about the corps. Rita tried to be polite but did express her opinion at times. Contrary opinions did irritate him, but he was trying to be polite. Lillian is proud of her daughter. Judd likely listened to how smart she is all the way from South Carolina. I drove back to Gene and Martha’s dropped Rita off. I only have a learner’s permit. Dad thought I could drive to Malvern.

1968 is a turbulent year. The Tet Offensive only increased the volume of chants of ‘Hey, Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?’ McCarthy’s vote total in New Hampshire caused President Johnson to withdraw. Martin Luther King Jr. assassinated in April and Robert Kennedy two months later. Every news event creates a conflict between Rita and Judd. Both, sure they hold the correct viewpoint. As summer approached her stepdad wanted Rita to move in with them. He insisted Rita move on to where he would be training troops. He said she is turning into a little commie. His brothers are dying for her, and she is no more than a collaborator, a Tokyo Rose. I tried to be fact based when with Rita and Judd. Judd wanted to nuke the gooks, and any sensible person knew we should get out. Nixon presented a secret plan. My dad said Nixon was full of shit; he had no plan.

In the past four years, I became strong and well-muscled; hay baling is a fitness habit. Riding horses is also exercise. Football practice is even more fitness. Rita is a decent guitar player. She taught me folk and protest songs when we were at the barn after our rides. At times we played catch; Rita enjoyed chatting as we tossed the ball around. She said living here is the best time of her life. She loved her school, her horse, and hanging out with me. She reminded me; I ought to join the sixties and lose the flattop. I loved being with her, but wished she picked fewer fights. As school ended and summer began, I got a regular driver’s license.

Rita’s news service photo was discovered by someone in Malvern. When she was at the protest a photo was taken of her sitting on some guy’s shoulders waving a sign ‘Make Love, Not War.’ Her thin shirt, the light, the flash, made her nipples clearly visible. Mom said, "The school is very concerned. There will be a meeting with the school board before classes start this Fall."

Judd blew a fuse. He lectured both of us when we visited at Lillian’s. Despite the fact, I had nothing to do with it. Judd raged on, “The little tart needed a good ass-whip’n.”

I kept my opinions to myself, but I thought she looked cute. A couple of weeks later Judd found an anti-war pamphlet in Rita’s purse. He started threatening to cut off her hair like the Parisians did to Nazi collaborators. I grabbed her and pulled her out of there as he went to burn it. I felt Rita needed to be less activist, not stir the pot in Malvern or with Judd. I took her to our house; we called Uncle Gene and Aunt Martha to let them know.

For a week, Rita stayed at our house and spent all her time with Paladin. Our summer of sixty-eight mirrored the nation, normal daily work, at times joyous, scattered with emotional explosions, and tragedy. Rita went back to stay at Gene and Martha’s; she developed a plan.

July is a busy time. I worked on our farm and baled for other farmers. One Saturday, I took a half rack of hay down to the barn. Rita planned to join me and help; I didn’t need help. A friend from her war protest activities wanted to meet her horse. Rita and her friend Ann returned from riding Paladin and Steel. Ann hugged Rita wished her luck. She then got in her car and left. Rita roped me into her conspiracy. She wanted me to use the bales and build a false wall. Rita would live in the haymow.

Rita and Ann had gone to the café to see Lillian. Rita seeing her mother and setting a false trail. Rita mailed letters which people would get on Monday explaining she couldn’t be forced to move with Judd and Lillian. She was running away.

Her plan is to hide for five weeks until Judd and Lilian would be gone. I arranged the bales. I pointed out problems with her plan like food. She said, “You can share some of the gargantuan amounts of food you eat. You will care for the horses. No one will question coming down every day.”

I knew Judd was being a jerk and holding up Lillian giving guardianship to Gene and Martha. Rita is certain her plan will work. I pointed to the mud daubers and a large hornet’s nest. Rita assured me she keeps her soul in harmony, the hornets would not bother her. She corrected me, “They are wasps not hornets.”

I said, “Either wasps or hornets, they are nasty when riled up.”

Rita not backing down, “Appear normal when you come to the barn every day, and remember I like Twinkies.”

I must say for a fifteen-year-old, the plan did seem practical. I got the hay bales arranged. Rita brought a sleeping bag, backpack, her tiger, ball and glove, and a small library: Thomas Merton, Norman Mailer, James Baldwin, and Ray Bradbury. By Sunday Aunt Martha and my mom knew she was gone. I said she came out to ride horses with a friend. I told the true part and avoided other questions.

On Monday, I got a card, ‘Love you always. See you soon, I hope.’ She sent three, beautifully written letters, expressing her love and gratitude, to Gene and Martha, mom and dad, and to Lillian and Judd. She thanked Judd for being good to her mother. She apologized for being unable to abide by his rules. Rita wrote she planned to travel to war protests and stop this criminal war.

I continued to care for the horses and surreptitiously Rita. I could now legally drive the pickup. I would buy food to take to her as I shut the horses up at night. Rita rode Paladin at night, finding natural light adequate. The south farm is on an isolated road any car could be heard and seen miles away. What tripped up the plan was Ole Joes the poacher. He wandered the woods at night poaching deer and pilfering small items. He saw Rita riding. Everyone in town knew about Rita; he told Judd.

I saddled Steel and put a bridle on Paladin. I planned on leading him. Judd pulled into the lot. He came out hot; he ran over to the barn, screaming and swearing at me. He went into the barn. I may have looked to the haymow, I don’t know. He went up into the mow. He started knocking down bales. I came up and tried to push him away. One kick followed by a powerful punch left me a little stunned. He knocked down the bale wall. Rita sat with her arms over her head and her knees up, sobbing. Her hideout nest now exposed. I picked up her baseball and threw it at the hornet’s nest. A hundred hornets or wasps swarmed out. Judd being the tallest was the first to be stung. Rita saw her chance; she scrambled out. We jumped down the ladder to the ground. Rita ran to Paladin and rode him bareback down the road. I took Steel and followed. I caught up at the creek.

“Rita, we have to go back. “

We rode back. Judd’s car is still at the barn. We turned the horses loose in the pasture. “Rita, get in the truck, drive away if you are threatened.” I went up in the mow the angry insects still swarming. Judd lay unconscious. I got one sting; it burned like fire. I came back to the pickup and drove.

Mom and dad were shocked to see Rita; they held her as she cried and shook. I called the fire chief. I explained Judd is unconscious from bee stings in the haymow. He called a nurse in town, then the firemen came out. The nurse gave Judd an injection, he was taken to the hospital.

Rita and I were taken to the county jail. The sheriff put us in his office told everyone else to stay out. The sheriff agreed with Judd, Rita needed a good whipping. You brats are getting out of hand. Flag-burners ought to be shot. He kept suggesting I was behind all of it. The state’s attorney entered. The sheriff asked, “Should we arrest them for attempted murder or sedition?”

The State’s Attorney shook his head, “No, he will live. I think hornets would best be left in the barn. You two go home, study how to unite America again. Don’t get in any more trouble.”