The Girls on the Picnic Table
Prologue
When we were young, we thought we had nothing but time. The 18-year-old girls you see on the picnic table couldn’t wait to experience life beyond the 13 square miles of Pine Point, Connecticut. An idyllic little town that time forgot, Pine Point was home to ancient stone walls, weathered barns, one general store, and three traffic lights. Tucked into a fertile valley beside the Massachusetts border and the Berkshire Mountains, this was a town where neighbors helped neighbors, and if you did something wrong, you better believe everybody found out about it. It was the place where fresh-cut grass was the perfume you smelled in warm weather, and the clock atop the Congregational church on the village green chimed the time every hour.
Back then, we thought living in this sheltered world of ours was all we needed, but when my father snapped this picture, we were leaving for college the next day, and the girls on the picnic table would be apart for the first time. Remember the game Mother, May I? We were ready to take that giant step because we had our sights set on a wider horizon.
This photograph has never left my sight. It’s hung on the wall in every place I’ve ever lived: my college dorm room, my rundown first apartment, the tiny condo where I rocked my newborn son to sleep, the antique home where my first husband broke my heart, and finally, it hangs in my present home — a big old colonial framed by daisies in summer and filled with a love that was worth waiting for.
Every time I moved, I carefully wrapped the picture in a beach towel and drove it to our next destination. Other things have been lost or misplaced along the way, but not this picture. The girls on the picnic table have always come with me.
I am looking at the picture closely now. It was taken on 35-millimeter black-and-white film, yet somehow the beauty of that perfect August day and the personality of each friend are captured in technicolor.
That’s Kate sitting on the bottom left side of the photo. She’s our wild child, ready for any dare, anytime, under any circumstances. Like the horses she rides on her parents’ sprawling farm, she’s ready for a good run. Kate often paid the price for her refusal to follow the rules, with frequent trips to the principal’s office where, somehow, she managed to charm the entire office staff and avoid detention. Across from Kate is Mary Alice, our human compass and the conscience of the group. A little shy, always fair, balanced, and kind, she’s the one to call when you have a problem with a boy or your mother — which, in my case, was all the time. She’s also the only one of us to graduate with honors. Smarty-pants.
And then, there’s me — Penny, aka “Lucky Penny,” a nickname given to me by my father, who said I was his good luck charm. I’m the girl with the scarf on the top left. It was my mother who insisted I wear it for the picture. “When you accessorize, you set yourself apart, Penelope. The other girls are such country bumpkins. This scarf will give you an edge.” Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, she had been a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue and Bonwit Teller in New York City, so it made no sense for me to get into an argument with my mother about clothes. Before I knew it, she was tying that paisley scarf around my neck in a tidy square knot.
As the only child of divorced parents, I was alone with a disillusioned mother who was also dying of breast cancer. Music was my passion, and singing was my gift. Thank God I escaped the madness of my home life in a song.
Next to me, in the center of the photograph, sits Lila, our beauty queen. Literally. She’d been crowned Miss Pine Point a few weeks earlier at the annual town fair. Quiet and sometimes goofy, she laughed as we all took turns wearing her tiara. A pageant kid since kindergarten, I notice she’s wearing a softer smile in this shot — not her usual stage smile. Maybe that’s because we’re all around her, and she feels safe. Other girls outside our circle thought Lila had it all, but we knew better. She hated herself. I’ve heard it said that beauty is a blessing, but sometimes, it can also be the very thing that opens the door to your own destruction.
Beside Lila is JoJo. Known for her “get your shit together” attitude, she was scrappy, independent, and clever. Blessed with perfect boobs and a bombshell body, all the boys at Pine Point High lusted after her. Whenever we had a sleepover, all of us would huddle around JoJo as she explained “everything you ever wanted to know about sex but were afraid to ask.” In between bowls of popcorn and Diet Coke, JoJo held court while we practiced inhaling cigarettes and fantasized about sex and love as if they were the same thing.
Sometimes, I wish I could talk to Penny in the picture. I’d wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear:
Don’t listen to the harsh words of your dying mother. She doesn’t mean what she says.
Sing at every open mic night in college, but pass on that rotten record deal.
Stay away from handsome men with hearts of stone.
Trust your intuition, every time, always.
I’d tell her that motherhood will expand you, and chasing a career just might kill you.
And Penelope, are you listening? Time is a thief!
Slow down to the speed of joy, and most of all, please believe in yourself.
I know how 18-year-old Penny would react to my hard-won words of wisdom. She’d roll her eyes, toss her hair back, and ignore me.
I’m guessing you have a picture like this, too. Maybe it’s tucked away in a memory box or in a frame on your wall. These snapshots capture moments in our lives, halting the sands of time as it moves through the hourglass.
All this reminiscing is creating a need for Kleenex and white wine, so I’m drying my tears and pouring a glass. As I reach up to touch the picture, I hear my beloved father’s voice again.
“Girls, please, hold still,” he says, peering through the viewfinder of his Nikon camera.
It sure is hard to sit still when your restless heart is ready to fly. “Daddy, hurry up!” I say.
There we are, five girls perched on a picnic table, but we’re also teetering on the edge of a whole new chapter in our young lives.
“Just a couple more shots, girls. Please don’t move. My Lucky Penny, smile for the camera!” says my father.
We all lean in, holding each other just a little closer. Arms touching, a hand rests on a knee as the summer sun shines on our young and willing faces. Just then, Kate laughs, Lila lifts her chin, JoJo cocks her head, Mary Alice tucks her hair behind her ear, and I make a silent vow to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Click goes the camera. “Perfect,” says my father. “You’re gonna want to keep this one!”
He sure was right about that.
It was time to go and as we climbed off the table, the tears started to fall. In between long hugs and promises to call and write, I made a declaration:
“If one of us is ever in trouble, we all have to show up.” With those words, we came together and held each other tight.
It’s been 50 years since this photograph was taken. One of us is dead, and the rest of us are still trying to figure out where the years have gone, if we lived up to the promises we made that day, and what comes next.
This is our story.
The story behind the picture.
This photo was taken by my father the day before my best friends and I left for college. Can you guess which one is me? I’m sitting on the table, top left, with the paisley scarf. And yes, my mother did make me wear it. While some of the details of our real lives have made their way into the storyline, this is fiction. The names of the characters, their personalities and professions, along with the name of the town are all my creation.
Be on the lookout for The Girls on the Picnic Table in the next issue of Pink Chair Storytellers Magazine.
If you have a picture like this on your wall, I’d love to hear YOUR story.
Follow me on socials: @candyoterry @candyoterryofficial
