Patty Rink the Pageant Queen

Art by Liz Nedelescu

“It’s a sunny day in Houston, Texas! The temperature is 96 degrees fahrenheit and the humidity is at-at-at-“

The crank radio fizzled out on Patty Rink’s backstage vanity. Her mother, Sarah, banged against the side with her slender fist.

“Oh not again, we’ve gotta get your father to fix the damn radio, Pat. How else are we gonna listen to the pre-pageant broadcast?”

Patty touched a freshly pink-painted hand to her updo, feeling the crunch of her blonde curls and the clink of rhinestone pins. The day had finally come- the statewide Junior Miss Texas competition. Sure, she’d participated in Bluebonnet Tots and gotten a little plastic participation trophy, but that had been kid stuff. She was ten now,  it was time to get serious. And anyway, Sarah used that puny trophy as a paperweight now. 

“Oh bother,” Her mother grumbled, spitting out hairpins, “Patricia, turn your face towards me and let me put on your makeup.”

Patty winced as the smell of her mothers breath, as sharp and steel as rubbing alcohol, wafted towards her. The truth was, it was hard to look her mother in the eye. The thick powder she puffed on every morning collected in her wrinkles and blood vessels, creating valleys of dust that made her look much older than she was. Her nails were sharp as she clawed layer after layer of mascara on Patty’s eyes. 

“You just look so stunning, baby. You’re gonna go on to be Miss America someday. I can feel it. Just wait till you see the dress I got you- it’s an exact replica of my 67’ winning getup.” 

Her eyes got liquidy. Patty’s mother only ever got sentimental when she talked about her pageant days. But Patty saw the way the other backstage moms, in their business jackets and pencil skirts, looked at her mother, who wore the skin-tight leather tube tops and leggings teenagers wore. 

“Contestants! Ten minutes to showtime!” An overhead voice declared. 

“Shit, we gotta get your dress on, Pat,” Sarah said huskily, her words tinged with smoke. Unzipping the garment bag, Patty’s eyes grew round in horror as a miniature pink gauzy evening gown with elbow length silk gloves was unveiled. It looked like the heaping ice cream sundaes in the windows of Smiley's her mother never let her eat. 

“Do you love it?” Sarah beamed. Patty nodded weakly and tried to smile. 

Seven minutes later, Patty was zipped  into her dress like a prize pig, a plastic silver tiara tucked into her blonde locks by her mother’s shaking hands. It was as if Sarah wanted to scream to the audience, “She’s a winner!”

Sarah ushered Patty to the line of girls waiting in the wings as the announcer boomed “Ladies and Gents, welcome to the sixty-fourth Little Miss Texas Pageant!”. She gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, light as a dragonfly and as dry as paper. 

Patty heard her name called, and waltzed onto the stage with her shoulders loose and saucy. 

Under the blinding stage light, she could feel in her too-tight shoes that something was very wrong. Sarah must not have hemmed the dress enough. Patty kept her smile winning as she stepped out to wave at the blur of the audience. 

But the dress caught in the skinny spike of her heel, giving her ankle a hard twist.  There on the stage, Patty tumbled to the ground, her tiara snapping on the polished floor.

Ella Song