A Piedmont Lantern Story
Pearlie Mae Caldwell waited until Maude Baker had taken her third sip of coffee before she leaned in and said, “Now, I’m not real proud of this.”
Maude set her cup down slow. “Oh Lord, that’s how all your stories start out.”
“Well,” Pearlie Mae said, pleased, “this one beats all.”
They were sitting in Maude’s kitchen, mid-morning, sunlight slanting in like it had business there. The radio murmured gospel on WPID just low enough to ignore. Everything was fine and respectable.
For now.
“It was last Tuesday,” Pearlie Mae began. “Which ought to have been my first warning. Tuesdays never want to behave.”
Maude raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, you went to Walmart, didn’t you?”
Pearlie Mae sighed. “I did. And I went in with intentions.”
That got Maude’s full attention.
“I only needed three things,” Pearlie Mae went on. “Dog food, hair spray, and one of them nice folding tables for the church rummage sale.”
Maude snorted. “That’s how it starts.”
“Well, I get halfway to housewares when I see a display of inflatable flamingos,” Pearlie Mae said. “Pink as sin. On sale.”
Maude closed her eyes. “Pearlie.”
“Now listen,” Pearlie Mae said. “I didn’t touch them. Not at first. But this child, no more than eight, comes barrelin’ by me and smacks one of them, and it lets out this scream.”
Maude blinked. “Scream?”
“I swear on my mama’s eyes,” Pearlie Mae said. “Sounded like a goose gettin’ murdered.”
Pearlie Mae took a breath. “Well, folks start jumpin’. A manager comes hustlin’ over. Another man drops a jar of pickles. It was chaos, I’m tellin’ you!”
“And you?” Maude asked.
“I laughed,” Pearlie Mae said softly. “Just once.”
Maude groaned. “Oh no.”
“Next thing I know,” Pearlie Mae continued, “three flamingos are goin’ off at once. Screamin’. Honkin’. A symphony of poor decisions.”
Maude leaned back. “Please tell me you walked away.”
Pearlie Mae smiled, beatific. “I did not.”
She lowered her voice. “Turns out, if you squeeze them just so, you can make ‘em harmonize.”
Maude slapped the table. “You did not.”
“I did,” Pearlie Mae said proudly. “I was standin’ there conductin’ pink poultry like I was born for it.”
“What about the child?” Maude asked.
“Oh, he thought it was Christmas,” Pearlie Mae said. “Started dancin’. His mama didn’t share his enthusiasm, though.”
By now, Maude was laughing so hard she had to brace herself on the table. “Security?”
“Oh, they came,” Pearlie Mae said. “Two of ‘em. Big fellas. Serious faces. One of the flamingos went off right between them and I swear one jumped.”
“And you stopped, right?” Maude wheezed.
Pearlie Mae hesitated just a second too long.
“Pearlie…”
“I finished the song,” Pearlie Mae said. “Couldn’t just leave it half done.”
Maude howled.
“Well,” Pearlie Mae concluded, sitting back and folding her hands neat as you please, “they escorted me out. Told me I was a ‘disruption.’ I told them I was a blessing, but they refused to see it that way.”
Maude wiped tears from her eyes. “What did they say?”
Pearlie Mae smiled, sweet and satisfied.
“They said, and I quote, ‘Ma’am, you are no longer welcome on these premises.’”
She took a final sip of coffee.
“And that’s how I got banned from Walmart for life.”
Maude Baker laughed so hard the radio fell silent out of respect.
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