WANDA
(it is... a story from Six Pretty Good Short Stories)

I met Wanda Lewandowski at my son's first little league game. She and I sat next to each other on hard rickety bleachers just opposite the concession stand. Above us a loud speaker crackled off and on, and around us a mixed fragrance of hair spray and french fries hung in the air. There was nothing to keep Wanda from talking to me . . . not naturally shy or fearful, she was like a puppy on a playground. That happy-go-lucky "Hi, I'm Wanda. What's your name? Isn't this some weather we're having?" was said through a full mouth of bubble gum that matched her outfit perfectly. The only time I had seen anything close to Wanda's look was at the Cass County Jubilee when Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton sang in concert back in the '70's. Her coal black hair, with spiral curls shooting out in all directions, was surely a cosmetic miracle. She wore a white blouse cut low at the neck with rhinestone buttons that barely did their job. Her buxom form reminded me of the torpedo-bra days of my mother's generation and World War II movies. At her tiny waist a jeweled belt in church-window colors held a brass buckle the size of a fried egg. Simple short-shorts in a red-checked lycra left her long legs bare until the tip of her cowboy boots. They were emerald green with gold studs and pointed toes.

As she talked, her hands moved like a whirligig. It was hard to separate her polished pink nails from the collection of rings that covered every finger except her thumbs. When she went to buy a hot dog, any man that was awake in the stands looked away from the scoreboard and watched her navigate, jiggle by jiggle.

I really liked her even though my mother would have called her common and ordinary. That day there was a pleasant tug toward a summer friendship at the park. Frankly, I missed watching most of the game except for my son's time at bat because Wanda always had a new story to tell. Even if it was of the most intimate nature, her voice never hushed to a whisper. She either didn't care who knew or had no idea how loud she spoke. I could never figure it out and, as the season reached the championship playoffs, I stopped trying and simply looked forward to every minute with Wanda.

My favorite story came from simply asking what she did everyday. She said without fail she rises at 6 a.m., not to cook for the family, but to prepare her wardrobe and body for the day. Wanda buys those miniature boxed Kellogg cereals . . . an expensive assortment of twelve that gives everyone an exciting choice in the morning. She devotes one cupboard to them with the plastic bowls and juice cups lined up and ready to go. Tony the Tiger's Frosted Flakes are everyone's favorites and Corn Flakes are always the last to be picked.