A Snapshot of Dixie

DIXIE

Why is country music so swoonworthy? Is it because of that country twang in their voice or how the words feel like they're explicitly written to reach every crevice of your heart, body, mind and soul?

Growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, I suppose it's logical for me to feel that country beat course through my veins, or maybe it's because of the boy who made me fall in love with country music in the first place…

“I haven't quite figured out the chords yet, but this is what I have so far.”

Smiling, I take my usual seat in our fortress of solitude, as Tucker likes to call it. My dad built me this amazing treehouse for my sixth birthday, eight years ago. I've always been a stargazer, so he made it extra special and installed a retractable roof, giving me the best view of the twinkly lit sky.

Tucker strums a few chords on his guitar and starts to sing. Watching him in his element, I feel my pulse race as his voice soothes me. Like it always does.

Tucker's been my best friend since kindergarten. He sat next to me on his first day of school and offered me half of his PB&J sandwich. Right then and there, I knew we would be friends forever.

“I'm still trying to work on some of the lyrics, but what do you think, Dixie Cup?”

“I wish you would stop calling me Dixie Cup. I'm a girl, not a paper product you drink from,” I respond, crossing my arms and rolling my eyes.

“I'm older than you, Dixie, so that entitles me to call you whatever I want.”

“You're only older by two months, Tuck.”

“Minor details. Now, what do you think of the song?”

“It's okay. Not your best work, but you’ll get there,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. It's so fun watching him get all worked up from not hearing good praises about his music. Tucker James is most definitely a star in the making, but he doesn't need to know that.

“Well, shoot me for thinking I just wrote a number one hit in a matter of three days. You know Momma just bought me this guitar a few days ago. I'm going to make millions with it some day. You watch, Dixie Cup...”

“Dixie, it's time to go to the ball!” Hearing my Momma yell from downstairs forces me out of my stroll down memory lane. Turning off my radio, I stand up from the chair and step into my bathroom. Closing the door, I pat my rosy pink dress and gaze at myself in the door mirror.

Looking myself over, making sure every spiraled curl is strategically placed in my half updo, I reach for my makeup bag and add a light shade of dusty pink lipstick to my lips. Feeling satisfied, I take a deep breath and try to coax myself into doing this. “Welcome to society, Dixie Mae.”

Walking down the stairs, I immediately feel everyone's eyes on me as I struggle to breathe in this tight gown. The bodice is pretty suctioned to my stomach compared to the Cinderella vibe in the bottom half. But thankfully, it's one thing my mother let me pick out myself. She was Miss Alabama for three years straight back in her young adulthood and is convinced that I'm meant to follow in her footsteps.

“You look as lovely as a Georgia peach, Dixie Mae.” My aunt Betsy squeaks. Every time the woman says anything, you have to shake your ear from the pop that goes off inside.

“Thanks, Betsy.”

“Mhmm, thank you, Betsy.” Momma corrects my lazy grammar. “If you're going to be Alabama's newest debutante, you need to speak more formally, Dixie Mae.” Momma scolds me, reminding me how much I regret agreeing to attend the Ball of Roses.

The yearly occasion is the season's hottest social event as far as my mother and every other southern woman are concerned. The Ballet Guild of Birmingham founded the Ball of Roses to raise funds for their ballet productions. After seeing how successful the formal event was back in 1961, they made it a yearly event and have since presented eligible women to society.

As for me, I'd much rather be one with nature, exploring every hidden gem God intended for me to appreciate. That's what I want to do with my life, become a nature photographer. My parents gave me my first polaroid camera for my tenth birthday and I've been hooked on seeing life through a lens ever since.

My mother Gracelyn Mae, however, has other plans for my life. With my twenty-first birthday approaching in a few months, I promised her that I would give this debutante thing a real shot to please her. Twenty-one is the age limit of being presented to society, so to keep her off my back, I agreed. If I decide it's not for me, I'm off to Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut, to make my dreams of being a real photographer my only purpose.

Yale University has been my dream school ever since I was young. It was actually because of Tucker that I first discovered the Ivy League school. He said it was the best of the best when it came to producing world renowned photographers and that was our vision for the future. Tucker was going to be this big music star and I was going to document every one of his milestones. But that was before fame and fortune ripped us apart.

Tucker got a record deal when we were eighteen and I haven't seen him since. He called several times and naturally, I was so excited for him at first. Seeing him shine like the bright star I always knew he could be was him living out his dreams. But then reality sank in and I realized his dream didn't have room for me anymore.

You see Tucker wasn't only my first best friend, but as we got older he became my first everything. My first kiss, my first dance, my first love. Our senior class voted us most likely to marry their high school sweetheart even. He meant everything to me, but it didn't compare to the world that was awaiting his musical talents. Before he left on his first U.S. tour, he said: “Don't think I’ll ever forget you. You're the only girl for me, Dixie Mae...”

“There's my beautiful daughter. You look exquisite, Dixie Mae.” Daddy brings my thoughts to the present as my mother blows her breath.

“Thank you, Daddy. Are we ready to go?” He kisses my cheek and hooks his arm with mine.

“We sure are, sweetheart. Gracelyn, I trust you and the other ladies will meet us there?”

“Yes. Ensure Dixie Mae gets those gloves on before she walks into the Country Club, Gentry.” My mothers tone drives me insane. If it weren't for my father, I would have run away long ago, but he keeps me rooted.

My family owns one of the largest cotton farms in Alabama, so I’ve been raised with the values of sticking around and helping where I'm needed. Watson’s Cotton Farm has been in my family for five generations and although I have it instilled into my brain that I’m attending college over a thousand miles away, I plan on coming back.

“Remember to dab some vaseline on your teeth before you go in tonight too, Dixie Mae. It'll help you in remembering to smile.” My mother lets out as she hands me my purse.

“Got it, Momma. Don't worry so much. Those wrinkles on your forehead will keep on growing. Okay, I'll see everyone at the Country Club. Bye!” I quickly tug my father's arm and drag him out of our luxurious farmstead while giggling.

Daddy chuckles and opens the door of his 1960’s ford pickup. “I can't believe Momma still lets you drive this thing,” I say, tucking my dress into the floor of the truck.

Although my dad is much more relaxed about life than my mother, he still buckles to her wishes and lives a pretty high class life. Lucky for me, my mothers only weakness is my father. I don't know how the two ever ran with the same crowd and ended up together, but somehow, they equally balance the uneven scale of their personalities.

“She doesn't know I'm driving it, so we better hurry.” My dad tips his white stetson and chuckles as he rushes around the side of the truck. The rusted brown color blends in with the driveway as it kicks up dust and brings us to the Country Club in record time.

Arriving at the decked out estate, I suddenly feel my nerves shift gears. As if my father senses my tenseness, he reaches across the cab and takes my hand in his. “Don't worry, Dixie. You'll do great and remember if you don't want to become a part of the guild, that's entirely your choice.”

Smiling at him, I reply, “Thank you, Dad.”

Reaching into my purse, I put on my elbow-length white gloves and close my eyes. Breathing in the air that I need to get through this evening, I open my eyes and suddenly feel all those puffs being sucked out of me.

Seeing his face blown up on a large tour bus in front of me, I glance over at my father. “Dad, what is Tucker’s bus doing here?”

“It would appear that he's the surprise guest performing at the ball tonight. What are the odds...?”

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