Izzy watched Dollface bounce excitedly on the Cowatch family car's back seat. Izzy repositioned her blue skirt, feeling like a phoney wearing something so nice to the State Fair.
"Can I braid yer hair? Please please please!" Dollface begged.
"Yeah, okay." Izzy partially whispered, turning in her seat to let Dollface braid the cocoa waves. She could never understand where Dollface got her energy.
The beat up but well-cared for Ford used as the Cowatch family vehicle Izzy was in was puttering down the highway to the state fair two towns over.
The dents were from a previous accident caused by a bunch of burned-out hippies in their love machine T-Boning them. The van was crumpled, but the Cowatchs' came out mostly unharmed, but the month's expenses said that the mostly cosmetic dents could wait.
Isabelle Deyhet.
Or, what most preferred, Izzy Dehyet.
Say it fast enough, and kids laughed at the macabe name paired with the soft round girl in loose, homemade clothes who could easily carry stacks of cinderblocks. At first, she blended in. Everyone here could lift twice their weight and eat three times that, but when puberty hit, things became more complicated.
Missy would even start nasty little rumors, and the whole school, specifically the graduating class of just under forty, was convinced Izzy was a pregnant cow-fucker for years. That stupid story even followed her into Freshman year. Hopefully by August that would be over, but knowing Missy, she couldn't get her hopes up.
But because of Dollface's bitchy lemon-sucking cousin, Mama Dehyet discovered her baby secretly vomiting dinner, and things had to change.
And change they I did.
Meaning that the bedroom door lost its lock and meals were better monitored, as well as a therapist in a bigger city was hired once a month.
It was humiliating, to say the least, but Izzy was gaining back the weight and hiding her sessions from the prying eyes of Missy's squad of donkey-faced wannabe-cheerleaders.
Right now, they were going to the State Fair, and none of that was supposed to matter.
The Cowatchs' had decided to make a day of it and invited Izzy, a five, pushing six, year poultry competitor, with Dollface as a contestant for dress making, so it was just easier to carpool.
The week before, the different families had registered and submitted their entries for judging and display.
"What? What's wrong with this?" Izzy had tried to fight against Dollface's push when she had seen the loose, flowy tie-dyed dress Izzy had selected for herself.
"You look terrible. Like a cow in a circus tent. 'Sides, they don't let hippies in." Dollface had pushed Izzy into her cluttered room. "'Specially since they protest th'war goin' on an'smoke grass!"
Izzy humphed and looked at her reflection.
She looked fat.
Like she always did.
"Got any jeans?" Dollface pulled open Izzy's chest of drawers, one after another. "We could match that way."
Finding no real jeans other than the barnyard/chores pants covered in mud, dirt and paint, or anything other than a tie dyed menagerie of shirts, dresses and even a few stuffed animals, Dollface scampered over a pile of books to Izzy's closet. Izzy had, of course, protested this.
No one could go into her closet.
No one.
Not even her mom.
"Izzy, you gotta problem. Ya only make clothin' fer yourself that destroys your shape. You're good at sewin', just tailor the finished projects more! And maybe clean yer room up a bit more?" Dollface scolded Izzy. "Ah ha!"
Dollface pulled out a powder blue dress from the very back of the closet. "Never seen this b'fore, try it on!"
Izzy shifted nervously. Mom had bought it from a Sears' catalogue and insisted on getting it tailored up top and with a modest skirt for school by Muriel. She'd worn it once in the mirror and felt too dumpy to wear it outside the house. She could see how her waist dipped between her ribs and her hips and felt intensely uncomfortable in the mirror.
A perfect pear.
And full of muscle.
And fat, which Prissy Missy never let her forget.
Izzy took it, trying not to make eye contact with its little pearly white buttons or Dollface. Dollface never gave eye contact anyway, so it didn't matter. She unconsciously counted them.
"Put it on!"
"Okay, just get outta m'room."
Dollface eyed her. "You're not gonna switch out, are ya?"
"No..." Izzy felt almost ashamed, having thought of doing that. Dollface knew too well what her friend felt the most comfortable in.
"Get'cha nylons too. Ya got nice legs."
"Okay..." Izzy watched Dollface exit her room with a giggle. She sighed. "Fine..."
This was for her Bantams. They better appreciate all the work she was going to just to show up so they better have gotten blues and purples. She rummaged in a drawer, wishing she had Dollface's boudoir, or Wolfie's wardrobe. They were soooo much better than her rickety dresser. Pulling out her beige nylons, she sighed, watching the ghostly thin pieces of inorganic stockings that maybe resembled legs rise and fall in the breeze a metal fan perched on her dresser was creating.
"There you two are!" Mrs. Cowach said from her window of the car. "Gettin' worried there!"
Dollface smiled, taking the hand extending from the window and giving a quick squeeze, never a fan of physical contact. She opened the car door, revealing the empty back seat and inviting it to Izzy, who was studying Dollface's hot pink French Braid.
"Ladies first!" Dollface beamed, gesturing to the car seat that awaited Izzy's backside.
Izzy scooted to the far window and buckled up with the home installed belts, Dollface close behind and bouncing in her jeans and striped button up.
And of course, a little bit of powder.
It was a rare sight to see Dollface without powder, mascara, and some form of eyeshadow, usually in pink. Strange though, she didn't seem the kid to like pink.
It was also unusual to see Dollface without her heavy black boots, but these days, showing any interest in a military career could get you mobbed by dirty young men with greasy beards and no aspirations with a hefty trust fund to support them.
Izzy found herself wanting to join them, even so, because they seemed to not care about the way she looked or where she was from, and they all seemed to be happier than her.
"H-hi Mr. Cowach." Izzy greeted the man behind the wheel. "Didn't know ya'd still be here today."
"Getting redeployed next week." Mr. Cowach gripped the wheel, voice low. Izzy was scared to get him in trouble. First Korea, now Vietnam. She gulped.
In the present, Izzy was enjoying having her tangles and curls braided down her back. Therapeutic, even. She could feel herself nod off. She had to wonder in her contented haze, did Dollface know?
Small town, small world.
Everyone knew everyone's business.
Mainly because everyone was related.
"And we're here!" Mrs. Cowach said from the front seat. She turned, looking at Izzy. "Sweetie, ya might need t'leave th'roach band here."
"What?"
"Head band, Izzy, headband." Dollface murmured dryly.
"Oh, yeah." Izzy touched the braided leather cord across her forehead.
"You look like one of those damned..."
Mrs. Cowach placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Eustance, please."
He took a deep breath. "I'm not angry, Murial, just a lil upset."
Dollface stayed quiet, face dead sober.
That was another thing Izzy could never get used to.
Seeing Dollface's unsmiling almond eyes, face fallen, and features sharp, hair pulled away from her square face in a dorky little bun. It was like Dollface was supposed to have hair in her face.
Izzy was almost envious. She always looked like she was going to burst into a smile even when she was bawling her eyes out.
She pulled the band off her head, feeling a little guilty.
"Okay then!" Dollface brightened up, already opening the door. Everyone followed along, opening the doors and stepping out into the warm air of the midmorning festival of agricultural wonders.
"Y'all're old 'nough to go on yer own, meet us back at around eeeh..." Mr. Cowach checked his watch, "two? That a good time honey?" He looked down to his wife, a tiny woman by the name of Muriel. She nodded.
Izzy's heart melted inside, seeing Murial's sweet demeanor compared to Eustace's much stiffer personality.
"Holler if ya need us."
Once they entered the fair, the group split up.
"Welcome t'th'1969 State Fair!" Izzy stared at the loudspeaker overhead, feeling almost like a bug compared to its tinny and loud noise. The girls wandered past the small grandstand band playing Beatles covers.
"Never liked the Beatles. But ya know what I do like?" Dollface said, as they strolled by.
"No, what?" Izzy said, a little surprised. Who didn't like the Beatles?
"Jimi Hendrix or the Rolling Stones! Or maybe the Monkees, I dunno!"
"You must have a crush on Davie Jones or something." Izzy said dryly, preferring The Mamas and the Papas.
"Finally! Someone low to the ground I can talk to without having to use smoke signals!"
They laughed.
"Man, I hope Jimi Hendrix never dies." Dollface sighed, watching a few sheep get paraded past to the show arena for judging. "Damn! Those have a good staple weight! I need some o'that fer m'self!"
"Yeah, imagine th'socks from those sheep. I wonder if I could buy some rovin' from 'em later. I got a new wheel I've been fixin' up." Izzy felt comfortable again, even in this funny dress with three, four, five white buttons up the front with white accenting around the collar and her persnickety pantyhose that liked to cling a little too close for comfort.
Actually, she was feeling almost pretty today.
So why shouldn't Izzy match the confident smile on her friend's face as they entered the poultry house? She just won five blue ribbons on her latest entries and couldn't be prouder of her giant Grand Champion ribbon won by a pretty little black Bantam named Scotty.