Girl Singer

5. Bonnie Mae Goode

Lulu Martine

On the way to Kansas City, between songs, I tried to do some thinking, knowing how poorly equipped for that I was. I wanted to know more about the girl I had become. Wouldn’t her memories be somewhere in the brain I was now using?

Even though it seemed that brain might have been damaged somewhere, it was the only one I had. I tried to remember, had Bonnie always been like this?

But that wasn’t working, it just made me sleepy to try.

“What’re you pouting about, honeypie?” Alvin asked.

I looked at him. How to communicate the problem without being able to talk? And he didn’t even know that the person inside his—wait a minute? Am I Alvin’s girlfriend—or—or what? I belong to him and I have to do what he tells me to do. That sounds like I’m a slave.

Which made me squirm. Damnit, no one is supposed to like and get turned on by the idea of being a slave. But I was.

Alvin laughed. “Horny, huh? I swear, Bonnie, no one could possibly keep up with you. And we ain’t gonna stop somewhere to buy rubbers and find a bed, so you can wear me out and make me not fit to drive.”

I looked at him all big-eyed. It sounded like a wonderful plan.

“Bonnie, no,” he said. “It’s hours still before we get to Kaycee. You should just take a nap. We’ll stop for lunch in a couple hours, I’ll wake you then.”

Even though nothing he said was an order, I knew what he wanted me to do. Which apparently counts. I yawned.

“Go to sleep, honeypie,” he said. Now that was an order, and I felt myself drifting off already. “Have nice dreams,” he added.

Oh, good, that was an order, too. I snuggled up beside him, laying my head on his thigh. I was already asleep and hardly knew it.

*

I dreamed of being a little girl, growing up in a forest with my grandad and my granny to keep me safe and hold me when I got scared.

I didn’t talk at all but no one scolded me for that. I understood when people spoke to me and I could make noises that sometimes were understood, even if they weren’t exactly words.

One grunt for ‘yes’, two for ‘no’, and a bunch for ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t care’ or ‘I’m confused’. A whistling noise for ‘I’m thirsty’ and a smacking noise for ‘I’m hungry’. One word I could say, “poopy,” which had an obvious meaning but was also what I used to mean I was upset or annoyed or scared.

I didn’t like wearing clothes and in nice weather, I would take them off and run around like the bunny rabbits and puppy dogs. “Poopy, poopy, poopy,” I said when my Grandad would catch me and put my dress back on. They’d long ago given up on trying to keep panties on me.

“Why does she do that?” Grandad would ask Granny.

“I reckon she just likes being naked,” Granny would say.

“Well, she can’t keep doing that. Pretty soon, she’s going to have to start school.”

Granny scoffed. “You think there’s any point in sending her to school? She can’t talk. We been trying to teach her her ABC’s with letter blocks but she still don’t know more than about six of ‘em.”

“Buh, buh, buh,” I said.

“Yes, honey,” said Granny. “Bonnie starts with a B.”

I had no idea what school was or what “starting with a B” meant, but “Buh” became another word I used, if you can call it a word. Buh for Bonnie. Buh for one of the letter blocks I recognized, the one with the capital B on it. I couldn’t tell the little ‘b’ from a ‘d’ or a ‘g’ or a ‘p’ or a ‘q’ or a capital ‘P’ or “6” or “9” for that matter, and none of them were Buh because I got told so often that I was wrong.

Buh also meant, “Look at me!” If I did something I thought was notable, like drinking from a cup without spilling it, or escaping from Grandad when he wanted to put clothes on me.

“I swear,” Granny would say, “can’t no one keep that girl in a dress if the sun is shining and it’s warm.” This while she watched Grandad pursue me around the garden patch. He’d make a nab for me and I would shout, “Buh!” if I got away, and “Poopy!” if I got caught.

Either way, I laughed because it was funny.

My cousins thought it was hilarious. But these are supposed to be nice dreams so we’ll leave Ryan and George and Davis out of them.

*

Alvin woke me in early afternoon for a bit of a late lunch. He’d parked outside a diner right along the highway in some middle size town. “I’m gonna go inside and bring us out something to eat, I didn’t think you’d want to go in somewhere until we get a chance to take baths, huh? But I didn’t want you to be sleeping out here by yourself.”

I yawned, nodding that I understood. I made the smacking noise and rubbed my tummy while trying to look famished.

He laughed. “Burger and a coke?” he offered.

I nodded and grunted once. “Now, don’t be scared,” he told me. “I’ll be right back.”

I nodded happily because I knew I wouldn’t be scared to be alone. “Buh,” I said, and he laughed again and hurried off after a kiss

I’m going to have to train him to understand me, I thought. I wondered why Bonnie had quit using her signals and tried to actually talk with such a horrible stutter? Probably some misguided do-gooder trying to educate her.

One thing the dream taught me, Bonnie could function quite well with a little help from people who cared. But anything like learning to read was going to be a major undertaking. I might have an advantage over the original Bonnie since I had actually learned to read once before. In a different body, with a different brain, but still, there might be some carry-through.

“Buh,” I said and pointed at my chest. Much easier and less strain than trying to say Bonnie with a brain broken in the syllable assembly module.

I wasn’t feeling the panic I’d felt when left alone before. I realized it was because Alvin had told me not to be scared. He didn’t want me to be scared because he loved me, I decided. Well, maybe. Better not to think too hard about that.

I looked around. This was a nice little town with wide streets, big green trees and grassy spaces. There were signs all over, too, and I had great fun looking at them and picking out the letters I recognized. Especially the B’s. If the signs were very far away, the Bs had to be pretty big. Maybe I needed glasses.

I’d finally worked out the difference between something that pointed up and something that pointed down, apparently, but telling a ‘b’ from a ‘d’ seemed to still be somewhat beyond my ability. There was a word for this kind of handicap but save me if I could think of what it might be. It didn’t matter anyway.

After a runaway case of the giggles when I spotted a sign that had more Bs on it than I could count, I lost interest in the game. I kept looking at the door where Alvin had disappeared and even practiced a little puppy dog whining just for fun.

About then I realized I had an audience.

*

It being a hot humid day in the middle of Missouri, Alvin had parked the car in the shade under a big old oak tree with the windows all rolled down. So I was sitting in the middle of the bench seat, bopping and being silly, (I’d actually segued into singing “How Much Is That Doggy In The Window,”) when three guys showed up, two on my side and a third on Alvin’s side of the car.

“Forget about the doggy,” said one of them. “How much is the pussy in this window?” His buddy laughed like a jackass. I mean, really, “Hee, Haw, Hee, Haw.” It was disturbing.

The other idiot leaned in. “Hey, girlie, you waitin’ on your man?” He did a theatrical gesture. “Well, here I am!” Silent cartoons have better dialog than these guys had.

Scared, I cut off the tail of the doggy song, and that’s not easy because songs are like all one chunk for me. I almost let out a scream, but instead, what came out was — Sink the Bismark.

“In May of 1941,” I sang, “the war had just begun….” Maybe it had, I didn’t know the real date when and where I was, but I started with all the volume I had. The guys were so startled, they just stood there, their eyes getting bigger and their mouths hanging open. Just the reaction I was hoping for.

I did the whole song—God bless Johnny Horton—complete with, “Poom! Poom! Poom!” artillery sounds when I would shake my shoulders so my boobies would bounce. Then I got to the last chorus and waved at the boys that they should sing along. They did, getting into it, though they hardly took their eyes off my chest. For them, the poom-pooms were the best parts.

Past the two guys on my side of the car, in the middle of the chorus, I could see Alvin coming out of the diner carrying two sacks. He looked confused but he hurried toward me.

I added another chorus to give him time to get there, holding my hands out and pushing down on the volume so we ended with a fadeout. My audience had grown, there were several more young men listening now, and a few women, so Alvin had to push his way through.

“Hey! That’s my car! Hey! That’s my girl!” he said several times. I pointed at myself, then at him, nodding and clapping to show we were together. The crowd took it up, clapping and hoo-hah-ing like it was a real show.

Alvin reached through the window to put his two bags on the seat, then struggled against the crowd to get his door open. I was bouncing up and down in excitement, completely forgetting the show I was putting on. Every time I got to the top of a bounce, my braless breasts would almost come out of my partly unbuttoned dress.

I could smell the food and let out a squeal. The bigger, brown paper bag had grease stains on it and the aroma of hamburgers and French fries filled the car. The other bag clinked when Alvin moved it aside to sit behind the driver’s wheel; it had the cokes in it.

The crowd kept talking after the applause died down. “Who’s he?” someone asked but the most common thing I heard was someone asking, “Is she gonna sing again?”

Alvin asked me, “What the hell, Bonnie?” but all I could do to answer was shrug. Which got him to say, “Do up a button or two, Jesus, you’re falling out.” But Jesus didn’t button my dress so I had to do it. Just one button, though, the crowd loved to get a glimpse of my titties and I loved the crowd.

I so wanted a hamburger out of that sack! But somewhere in little Bonnie’s past, she’d been taught not to just grab food but wait for someone to give it to her, so I sat there giggling and laughing and probably drooling. Bonnie is such a little kid sometimes and that’s part of why it is so much fun to be her.

*

After listening to the crowd for a moment or two, Alvin stuck his head out of the driver’s side window and tried to get people’s attention. “Hey, listen everyone,” he called out. “Bonnie’s going to take a break to eat lunch, then she’ll sing another song. Or two?”

“More,” someone shouted.

“Okay, maybe more,” Alvin agreed. “But let her have time to eat, she’s hungry.”

That got laughter and applause and a few people came up with questions but Alvin jollied them into going away so we could eat.

I still had the giggles, so excited that I almost dropped it when he handed me a hamburger. I made my smacking noise several times while I unwrapped my burger. It was hot and mouth-watering with pickle and ketchup only, just the way I like them.

Wait. That’s the way Bonnie likes her burgers. I think in my other life I wanted lettuce, tomato, cheese and grilled onion. No sauce. That’s how I always got them at—the place with the palm trees on their cups?

I couldn’t remember their name. I could see their sign in my mind’s eye but I couldn’t read it because—I’m Bonnie now and Bonnie can’t read. I sang their jingle instead. “In-N-Out. In-N-Out. That’s what a hamburger’s all about.” I took a bite and it was so good, I moaned.

Alvin laughed. “Hamburgers make you horny now?”

I shook my head, giggling.

He passed me some fries on a piece of waxed paper. “So you were singing for the crowd?” I nodded. “Hmm?” He looked thoughtful. “You had about thirty people listening. I think the population of this burg is only maybe five or six hundred.”

I shrugged. Numbers don’t mean much to me anymore. I know six hundred is more than thirty but I’ve got no feel for how much bigger. I must have given him one of my blank looks because he chuckled and assured me, “That’s pretty good. But I don’t think we’re going to be able to charge them to listen.”

I had no clue. I pursed my lips and blew out like I was trying to whistle while looking at the bag of cokes. Alvin got the hint and pulled out a bottle, opening it with the bottle opener hanging by a string from the dashboard. It was all bright orange and bubbly, my favorite kind of coke.

Alvin had two little curvy bottles of coke and two cheeseburgers and most of the fries but I had plenty for me. I still had some of my drink left when Alvin finished his and asked. “Are you ready to sing?”

I glanced down at my chest then at him. He laughed. “I think three buttons undone is plenty. Do you know what you’re going to sing?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t even been thinking about it. My eyes probably got real big. Planning things had never been something Bonnie did or had to do and it just didn’t occur to me.

Alvin sighed, climbed out of the car, retrieved his hat from the shelf under the rear window, and made a noise to get everyone’s attention. “Hi folks! Hi! Ever’one who wants to hear, gather up closer, we ain’t got a platform ‘r a microphone,”

People did get closer, some of them close enough to the car to look in and see me. I waved at them.

“Bonnie will be out to sing in a bit, but we can’t stay long so maybe only two or three songs. We got to get to Kansas City, we’re going to try out for the show at the Schubert. Hanh? What do they call it now?”

“The Folly,” someone called out.

“Yeah, well,” said Alvin. “It is pretty foolish but I think my girl can sing better’n almost anyone.” That got some applause from people who had already heard me sing, including the three jerky boys. Alvin nodded. “Yeah, I surely do.”

He went on, pulling his hat off and setting it on the fender of the car, open side up. “So, we been traveling and that costs money and it might be awhile afore Bonnie gets a job, and funny enough, I eat more than she does.” He got a laugh.

“What I’m saying is that if you want to put any money in the hat, it will be appreciated.” That just got a lot of stares. “Okay, I’ll stop talking. Here’s Bonnie and she’s going to do some singing. She’s real good at it.”

“No music?” someone asked. No one answered.

Alvin reached into the car and pulled me out on his side. I handed him my coke, then he picked me up, and set me on top of the hood. I hadn’t expected that so I squealed and got the giggles. “More people will be able to hear you,” he said.

I nodded, looking around. You could see a lot further from on top of the car and I liked that.

“What are you gonna sing for us, honey?” asked a woman standing right in front of the headlights.

A man behind her commented, “You can almost see through that dress.”

I looked at Alvin. He shrugged. “Sing, Bonnie,” he said.

I turned back to the crowd and stamped my foot to get their attention. Then I sang:

     Down in Alabama near the Georgia side

I started right out, as loud as I could and a few people were startled.

     Way back in the woods where the possums hide

Why did I sing that? Possums are cute but ugly. It made me grin.

     Stands a little shanty made of earth and wood

     Where lives a country gal called Bonnie Mae Goode

I pointed at myself with both hands and all my fingers.

     She’s never gonna learn to read or write so well

I shrugged and kept grinning.

     But she can sing a song just like ringing a bell

I made a hand motion like ringing a bell then I danced through the chorus, one foot mostly in one place while I stomped and shook and shimmied around it.

     Go, go, go Bonnie,
     Go, go, go Bonnie,
     Go, go, go Bonnie,
     Bonnie Mae Goode

I got down, leaning over for the beginning of the second verse, like I was gonna tell them a secret.

     She allus brings her lunch in a paper sack

I pointed at the sack Alvin had in one hand

     Then she’ll dance ‘neath the tree by the railroad track

The tree was right there and the track just down the street

     Yeah, you oughta see her dancin’ in the shade
     Boppin’ to the rhythm that the trains have made

I made chugging motions with my arms.

     People pass by, and if they stop by chance

I waved at the crowd

     They’ll say, sure, that little country gal can dance

I did a spin, holding my dress out to swirl and almost falling off the car. Then I gave them two choruses, encouraging them to sing along. They sang a third chorus, just the crowd, while I danced on the hood. They loved me and I loved them right back.

While still dancing, I saw Alvin, and he was standing there with his mouth hanging open. I laughed so hard, pointing at him, that I did fall off the Dodge and he had to catch me.