The Virgin Wore White
by Phil Richardson

I am a curious person. I read the newspaper from beginning to end--including the classifieds. Now if it were The New York Times, that would take a day or so, but our paper, The Missini Herald, takes only about fifteen minutes.

“Street repaving stalled by broken equipment”

“Man bitten by neighbor’s dog”

“Bank President elected to City Council”

Those headlines speak for themselves, but I find the really exciting news in the police report, the obituaries and the classifieds.

Our police reports reflect the nature of the people in our community which, although small in numbers, is large in oddness.

“Neighbor accuses man of molesting goat”

“Man injured while driving stolen tractor”

The obituaries are equally bizarre add to my information about the inhabitants of our town.

“Jebb White, Age 97, falls off horse.”

“Mary Oliver Melinda Reichert was a loving mother to 12 children, 33 grandchildren and 105 great-grandchildren.”

The classifieds also provide me with some interesting reading and, sometimes, some exciting experiences.

“I will haul to dump and remove anything dead or alive from your property.”

“For sale, unused bridal gown and engagement ring--cheap”

Sometimes, if I’m in the mood, I follow up on the classifieds and so, just for fun and be-cause my sister was soon to be married, I called about the bridal gown.

“Hello, who is this?” a sultry voice answered.

“I’m David Peemer,” I said, “and I wanted to talk to you about the gown and ring you advertised.”

“Well, it’s for sale, but why would you want it?”

“My sister’s getting married, and I thought she might want it. If it’s cheap enough, that is.”

“Why that’s very thoughtful of you,” she replied. “Doing something like that for your sister. You sound like a nice man.”

After a few minutes of questions and answers, she finally gave me her address, but as-sured me that a big man, “my brother, the police officer,” would be there. I smiled because I doubted she had a brother and I doubted he would be there.

He was there. He was big. He was a police officer.

She, on the other hand, was a small woman with luminous eyes and blond hair that hung down to her shoulders. She was, in a word, exciting. I stayed on the porch while I talked to her. I didn’t want to upset her brother.

“Well, could I see the items?” I asked. “You can bring them out here if you like.”

She nodded and went back into the house. I breathed a sigh of relief when her brother went with her. As I waited, I decided to sit on the porch swing and, remembering my childhood, I started it swinging to the side.

“Don’t do that,“ a booming voice said. “It’ll work the hooks in the roof loose.“

I stopped swinging. I really didn’t want to upset her brother. Then the screen door opened. She was back, and she was carrying a large package that obviously contained her wed-ding dress. She sat down next to me on the swing and started crying. I can never keep my mouth shut and so, foolishly, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

“My fiance and I used to sit in the swing together like this. It was so wonderful and then...” She broke into sobs and her whole body shook. I looked nervously at the door, hoping her big brother didn’t hear her sobs, and think I was to blame.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe I should come back at another time. When you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, no!” She hurriedly pushed the box toward me. “You must look at the dress, it’s beautiful.” A tear dropped from her eye. She held the dress up for me to see, and I knew immedi-ately it would not fit my sister. This woman was very curvaceous and my sister was as curveless as a desert road.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe if you modeled it I could tell more.” I am shameless.

She nodded and went into the house with the package. I knew this was going to take a while because most women don’t just put on a dress. They have to put on eyebrow pencil, comb their hair and apply fresh lipstick.

It took a while, but when she returned to the porch I was almost breathless. She had erased all the ravages her tears had caused and she looked like a model,

 

 

“Could you turn around, please,” I said, relishing the prospect of another view of this wonderful lady.

“I’d rather not,” she said, blushing. “I don’t think I have a pretty rear end.”

I blushed too. I had been thinking about her “rear end” and imagining how it went with the rest of her. My thoughts were rudely interrupted however by a bellow from indoors.

“Sis, you about done out there? Sell the damned dress, will you! Get rid of that guy.”

“No! Now don’t bother me,” she yelled back. “I’ve got a gentleman out here. He is only interested in my dress.” She shook her head and her blond curls danced in the sunlight. “I’m modeling for him because he wants to see what the dress looks like.”

Well, that was not exactly true. I no longer thought much about the dress. I wanted to know why any fool would dump a woman this beautiful. She stood there in her white lace gown; the fit was perfect and the fabric clung to her body. Her veil fell softly over her face and the ef-fect on me was devastating.

“Well, I am interested,” I lied smoothly. “Perhaps you could change and come back and we could discuss price.”

She smiled, gave me a little curtsy and went inside. I watched her leave, noting that there was nothing wrong with her “rear end.”

When she returned, she had changed into shorts and a halter top. I was having difficulty looking her in the eyes as mine kept drifting downward.

She plopped on the swing next to me, tucked her legs underneath her and smiled.

“So, you don’t mind buying second-hand clothes from a second-hand bride-to-be?”

I was afraid she might cry again, so I tried to buoy her spirits. “You’re certainly not a second-hand anything. I can’t see why some dope would dump you.”

I knew immediately that the choice of the word “dump” was not wise.

“Yeah,“ she said, sobbing. “Dumped! That’s me ‘Dumped Dora’.”

Well, now I knew her name. Dora. She didn’t look like a Dora. More like a Lindsey or Pam or Sandra. I thought perhaps it would be good idea to change the subject.

“Well,” I said. “Read any good books lately?”

More sobbing.

“I can’t read,” she said.

I was perplexed. She didn’t seem dumb and she obviously wasn’t blind.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I never got to go to school,” she said. “You see I was kidnapped by aliens when I was only four years old.”

Oh my! My momma told me there would be days like this. Just when your ship’s coming in to port, it sinks.

“Oh! That’s interesting. When you were four-years-old? And where did they take you?” I said this, not really wanting a reply, but in to kill time while I thought of a way to escape.

“I’m not really sure. You see, they erased my memories. All I know is that I showed up here at home and my parents were gone and I just assumed they were taken by aliens too. My brother says they died, but I don’t believe him. I think they erased his memories too or at least changed them cause he thinks I was put in a mental institution..”

I stood up thinking “All that glitters is not gold.” I had to get out of here quickly.“Are you leaving? Don’t you want the dress? You haven’t even looked at the ring. Did I frighten you with my story? You’re kind of cute, don’t you want to stay and sit with me here on the porch?”

“Well, you’re kind of cute yourself,” I said. “I decided the dress is the wrong color for my sister since she isn’t a virgin and can’t wear white...you know. There are rules about such things.”

“Well, I wasn’t a virgin--and I was going to wear white anyway,” she said haughtily. “All those aliens, snorting away. They don’t count, do they?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Maybe we can talk about this some other time. I’ve really got to go.” I edged away, hoping she wouldn’t follow me.

“You know,” she said. “You remind me of my fiance. He got nervous just like you. Was it something I said?”

“No,” I replied. “It’s just the virgin rule. My sister consorted with men, not aliens, so she can’t wear a white dress.”

“Pity,” she said as she stood up. “Your poor sister don’t know what she missed.”

As I walked away, I ruminated on this. I almost turned around to ask her what my sister missed, but she had gone inside and left the dress on the swing and I knew the dress wouldn’t fit my sister and, maybe, just maybe, it had been worn by aliens.