Sunfish Days, 1985

The sweat was leaving a stain in the small of her back and the sequins of her sleeveless gown were rubbing her armpits raw with every movement. A small group of children crowded around her while she waited near the float, their mothers pushing them shyly forward for photos with the reigning Queen. A couple of dads got in on the act too, each of them patting her backside with a good-natured laugh as they thanked her and wished her best of luck. Dina Schmidt, Miss Sunfish Days 1985, was having a time of it, yet she never lost her Maybelline smile, not for one second. She had dreamed of this moment, trained for it, in fact, and nothing was going to get in her way. Certainly not the heat or the lecherous old men or this delay. After the scholarship money, she’d saved another $6,702.22 from babysitting and waitressing at the Country Kitchen where she had to wash her hair twice after each shift just to get rid of the smell of fried onions. She had enough to get a small apartment and maybe even a used car. Four more months and she’d be outta here, on her way to Nursing school at St. Olaf College. It couldn’t come soon enough. 

The parade was supposed to have started at 9:00am, but Mayor Vance made the call to postpone just a bit “due to unforeseen circumstances.” The matter was simple: Susie Berghorst, Miss Apple Fest of La Crescent, was running late–and in more ways than one, apparently. Rumor had it she’d gotten herself knocked up by that no-good Degandesh boy over in Winona, the one with the Iron Maiden patch on his jean jacket and that deadbeat mother of his. Not only had Susie begun to grow beyond the confines of her leotard, but her 1st attendant made the tragic error of forgetting to pack the papier maché apples that were to have been the focal point of her costume. Already halfway to the parade grounds and they had to turn around to retrieve them. Susie was ready to kill Rhonda, the useless turd. Randy coiled Susie’s hair between his fingers the way she liked and reminded her that she’d feel better once the parade was over and she could put her feet up. Looking at her next to him in the back seat, he thought she was just about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He planned to marry her once he saved enough money. For now though, he was splitting his time between shifts at the brewery and weekends in his uncle’s auto body shop. Susie wouldn’t be able to twirl much longer, but today she’d show those mean-eyed gossips a thing or two. She wasn’t the Minnesota State Baton Twirling Champ for nothing. 

Gina Fraunfelder snuck a peak at the Parade Marshal’s call sheet and saw that she was stuck yet again behind the Borntreger Amish Furniture horse and buggy lineup. Two years in a row now of chasing shit when she should’ve been riding up front in the first unit of floats. Her name was in the newspapers, for Christ’s sake. She’d been Holmen’s Viking Princess last year, and this year earned the title of Corn Fest Queen after her family moved to Galesville. There were a lot of bitter girls out there making noise, jealous and petty, but screw them; there was nothing in the rulebook that said she couldn’t serve two terms back to back. National Merit Scholar, Debate Captain, Badger State, Student Council President, 1st chair violinist in the youth orchestra. And her rendition of “New York, New York” was legendary, especially when she held out the last note until the very end and pumped her fist in the air on the big button. People went nuts when she did that. She saw that Cindy Bertram somehow managed to snag a spot way up front, right after Mayor Vance. All because her dad was President of the Credit Union and she had won some lame National Geographic photography contest. It was amazing what a little money could do. 

Dairy Days Maid, Connie Rugen, was already in place, third from the end just behind the Shriners. She didn’t mind that most of the crowd would be thinned out by then; the lawn chairs lining Main Street already packing up and the volunteer firemen in clown makeup beginning to sweep up the candy wrappers and manure. Hanging near the back suited her just fine, in fact. She wasn’t really supposed to be here anyway, but the actual Dairy Days Maid, Patricia Wentz, canceled at the last minute so Connie stepped in as her replacement. Patricia said she’d fallen off the porch and broken her arm, but that didn’t explain the black eye and split lip. Connie didn’t like to ask questions. She put her Home Ec skills to the test and redesigned her Confirmation dress into something approaching a gown. First, she stained it a soft rose color, removed the sleeves, and used that lace to make a belt to pull in the waistline. She cut down the bodice to create a sweetheart neckline, sewing on the bias like she was taught. And in what she felt was a stroke of genius, she repurposed her mother’s silk flower arrangement to accent the skirt. It was simple, if plain, but the final effect was lovely. She’d have to make sure to get a picture today that she could send to her dad in Colorado. He’d be so proud of her. 

In an attempt to redeem herself, Rhonda found a parking place near the head of the staging grounds and rushed to tell the Marshal that they were ready; Susie was here and good to go. He blew his whistle and people scrambled into position, the marching band re-squaring their lines and clearing out spit valves. 

Dina took a deep breath and mounted her float, adjusting her sash and carefully sitting atop the covered chair that had been prepared for her. Her cheeks and jaw were already aching. Susie took her rightful spot at the head of the parade; the State Champion self-consciously tugged at the elastic of her leotard, trying to get it to cover her expanding rear end. No matter; her new routine was a showstopper–she only prayed her apples wouldn’t catch fire if the wind shifted. 

With her shoulders back, Gina climbed into the Chrysler LeBaron convertible she’d been assigned and perched herself above the back seat. The smell of horses filled her nostrils and she wanted to gag. That same Amish kid from last year, Hiram, something or other from Caledonia, was in the buggy in front of her and he gave her a respectful little nod when she caught his eye. It was amazing to her that he probably had no idea who she was. 

Meanwhile, someone was calling Connie’s name from the sidewalk. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight and searched the crowd, finally spotting the girl she’d met at 4H last summer, Robin; the one who smelled like peaches and fresh cut hay. The one who held her hand and let her cry after Connie’s dad said he’d taken a job out west. Connie’s heart stopped in her chest and her face broke into the widest smile as she waved at Robin, smiling back from the sidewalk, never taking her eyes off Connie. After the parade she’d see how long Robin planned to be in town. Maybe she could invite her over to the house for supper, and afterward they’d watch the fireflies come up over the lawn in the backyard. The Parade Marshal blew his whistle three times and the marching band stepped off.

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash.