Stories

by Xavier F.Aguilar

 

Whatever Happened to Willa?

I met Willa at the 25th annual Spanish Fiesta at Palmer Park. It was the first day of July ... a Sunday in 1956 ... and the crowd was thick. The decision to attend the celebration was a vote among my friends and me. We could have gone to the Harris Theater in Donora and watched The Werewolf and Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, but we made our choice. Tom and Tanya were two of the five who voted; they were twins.

Everywhere Tom went, his sister, Tanya went. Time after time we would make jokes about the situation. Finally we nicknamed her Shadow. Even though Shadow was the only girl in our group, we all liked her as an equal; when we had fun, she did too, and when we worked to earn money, she followed our lead.

I had turned 13 in the winter of that year and my interests began to turn ... from cars and movies to girls. Instead of studying the shiny new Chevies and Fords, I was beginning to notice the soft curls that rested upon the shoulders of Shadow and other girls. It was intriguing to observe the significance of her eyes when standing close to her.

At noon we all sat under a great tree to plan the rest of the day.

"The baseball game starts at two thirty," I said, making a valiant attempt at getting the conversation to move along.

"Yeah," said Ron, "and there's a softball game at five."

"Five thirty," corrected Billy. "If you're going to say something, get it right."

"Excuse me!" Ron said, sarcastically.

"You're excused."

"Boys, boys," said Tanya, "give it up."

Her comment spurned an almost uncomfortable silence. We were all thinking of something, anything to say to break the silly tension.

"Did you guys know that this place wasn't always called Palmer Park," asked Tom, the one of the crew who probably hated conflict the most.

"What was it called?" I said, since nobody else seemed to follow Tom's cue to change the subject and break up a potential argument.

"My dad said it was called Charlesworth's Grove back in 1920 and that there was a picnic for 12,000 people in August of that year."

Interest was stirred in Ron and Billy, we could tell. They stared at Tom and me as we talked.

"Was it a Spanish Fiesta too?" Ron asked, stretching his long legs over the grass to get more comfort.

"I don't know," said Tom.

***

Willa had hair the color of the darkest summer night and eyes to match. It was in the third inning of the Pony League game that she sat beside me as though that piece of ground was reserved for her.

"Aren't you afraid of getting grass stains on your dress?" I asked her.

"Not really," she said, smiling. "They'll go away."

Having her near me caused my heart to beat just a little faster and my breathing seemed to become labored.

"Want to take a walk?" I asked her, I could feel Shadow staring at us.

"Okay."

We quickly left the baseball game and headed into the park where we could hear the popular Silvertones. The humidity was high, but even so, Willa looked cool, fresh and radiant in her little summer dress.

"Did you know that Marilyn Monroe got married yesterday?" she asked.

"I thought she was already married."

“No. This is her third ... she married a writer named Miller ... the guy who wrote Death of a Salesman."

With that, I watched as Willa seemed to drift into a daze. It was the first time I saw her drift from reality. Her eyes became glassy and her face expressionless. There was something intriguing and beautiful about her silent daydream. Something I wouldn't mind holding on to.

Sweat ran down my forehead as I listened to the guitars and wished my friends were with me. There was something too intense about the moment. I decided not to shake Willa from her daze but to simply wait until she focused on reality again.

The air smelled of Spanish sausage being cooked and my stomach was hungry. I saw Tom and his sister at the booth purchasing food ... I figured the game must be over ... I tried to guess who'd won ... I wished they'd wave me over in their direction, but they didn't.

"Willa ... are you alright ... Willa," I whispered, having lost my patience with her, somewhat.

Her blank eyes finally focused on mine and her pretty mouth formed a warm smile. She had returned to me as quickly as she had gone — and just as lovely too. Her ebony hair was highlighted by the sun and her presence captured me.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

"Of course. Let's go and sit for a while."

So we sat on an old tree that had fallen years before. "This has always been my favorite place," she said, bending to sit while I spread my handkerchief on the ground for her.

Our privacy lasted only seconds when I heard, "Hey, why ya' sittin' there all alone?" It was Ron.

"We've been hunting you since the game ended. Why'd you run off?

Ron kept talking and walking closer. As he continued to approach, I turned and realized that Willa had gone. My white handkerchief was exactly where I had placed it.

***

On Monday morning the five of us headed to the Monongahela River to do some fishing. Billy's dad had told him the news before he'd left to meet us. It was around 4:30 a.m. that Donora police officers Jimmy Totedo and Alfred Calzacorto picked up our friend's older brother for auto theft. He was 16 years old.

We walked in sort of a semi-circle so that when one of us spoke, we could all hear what the other said.

"How did you like the fiesta yesterday?" Ron asked, targeting his question to no one in particular.

"It was nice," said Shadow. "But I can't understand why you left us?" she said, directing her comment toward me.

If she didn't want to remember Willa, that was fine with me. I believed she was jealous.

"Yeah," said Tom. "You're the only guy I know who goes to a picnic to be alone."

"You can be strange," Billy said to me.

I ignored their comments the best I could and changed the subject.

"Let's stop at Popp's Clover Farm ... I'm thirsty."

"Did you boys know that Marilyn Monroe got married over the weekend?" asked Shadow.

"I know," I said.

Shadow looked at me, puzzled. "How did you know?"

"Somebody mentioned it," I told her.

I gazed deep into Shadow's eyes to see if she would give some hint of seeing me walk off with Willa at the baseball game. There was none.

I didn't understand why my friends were not mentioning the dark-haired beauty I had been with at the picnic. It was as though they were denying her existence.

"Remember yesterday I said that Palmer Park was called Charlesworth's Grove in 1920?" Tom asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"So what," Ron said.

"Well, my father said that the very first Spanish Fiesta was on July 4, 1927. But more interesting, he told me, was a ghost story about Charlesworth's Grove — a story he swears is true.

"Are you going to tell us about it?"

"I'll tell you tonight at Matt's Dairy Bar," he said.

"Come on, Tom," Billy said, coaxing him. "No holding back."

Tom raised his hand in front of his face, blocking any further discussion and told the crew, "Tonight."

We all accepted Tom's resolution so we changed our topic of conversation and moved toward our fishing place. A great place near the river.

We caught a lot of fish there; we felt like such wonderful sportsmen. The only embarrassment we experienced was when Shadow's take home was more than the rest of ours combined.

As my friends and I moved over the railroad tracks my thoughts drifted to the day before. Trying hard to concentrate on the festival as a whole, I was swayed by the image of the lovely creature who had demonstrated the romantics of youth for me, forever.

I thought of how she moved beside me as if she had no bounds and I remembered the sweet sound of her voice. I saw her dark eyes and her vacant stare ...

The shrill blast of the oncoming train broke my concentration. We all stopped to watch the Conrail rush past. It was a short one — six or seven cars.

"Onward boys," said Shadow, bored and irritated by our obvious amazement with the train.

As the rest of the crew followed Shadow's command and moved on, I stood a little longer and thought while I watched the last car fade from sight.

I couldn't help but wonder.

Whatever happened to Willa?

© 2006 by Xavier F. Aguilar

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