East Marion was, despite its name, in the western part of the state. It was snuggled alongside I-47, an interstate highway used by travelers just passing through on their way somewhere more interesting. In fact, I-47 curved perfectly around the small town, rather than slicing straight over homes and businesses like major interstates normally did. Those that drove this part of I-47 noted an eerie stillness settling around them. It was as if something was trying to slow their progress, as if their cars were forced to drive through dense clouds and thick sludge.
At the very peak of this I-47 curve, there was a single exit—Exit 3 for those familiar with the area. Exit 3 was the only exit that led directly to East Marion, specifically by way of a long, straight road, creatively named Main Street. All other routes to East Marion were winding and inefficient.
A woman who went by the name of Bonnie—whether or not this is her real name does not matter—had taken up temporary encampment outside the East Marion Wawa. The employees of the gas station needed to shoo the wandering woman away before the town’s exciting day could begin.
Upon leaving the trash-riddled gas station pavement, Bonnie made her way down Main Street. On this day, the road was particularly busy, with the residents frantically preparing for the East Marion Mother’s Day Parade.
Despite her sunken eyes and drooping jowls, the residents of East Marion were friendly to Bonnie’s face, keeping their true judgments hidden within.
“Hey there!” Martha Moore said, one hand waving while the other clasped a child’s hand.
“Welcome to East Marion!” Cathy Jackson shouted from across the street, pushing a pram.
“Do let us know if you need help finding your way around,” Delia Owens said in a hushed tone. “Don’t let the folks here overwhelm you.”
Bonnie wasn’t able to reply before the woman hurried off, scolding a young boy pretending to have a sword fight on a skateboard.
These were not the only children that Bonnie could see. Kids of all ages bound around the town center, playing and crying and yelling as kids do. Their similarity in appearance to one another was striking, but Bonnie did not care enough to notice.
The three-story glass clock tower of the East Marion Credit Union struck noon, and the bell’s jingle echoed throughout the small town square. This hypnotic little tune brought about a sense of belonging and hope for every resident of East Marion. For Bonnie though, it simply reminded her that now might be a good time to eat, as her stomach grumbled loud enough that anyone nearby might hear.
Inside the small and fairly empty East Marion Diner, the drifting woman ate eggs and bacon, scalding her mouth not once, but twice, on the burnt coffee.
“In town for the parade?” The waitress asked.
Bonnie said no, that she was just passing through, and that she hoped to leave before things got busy. In the far corner of the diner, sitting in a cramped booth outside of Bonnie’s line of sight, the only other patron spun a padlock on his finger as he observed the drifter.
While Bonnie scraped the last vestiges of scrambled eggs from a scuffed ceramic dish, the ladies of East Marion bustled outside.
“Those will be lined up along here, behind the barricades.” Martha Moore was signaling to some teenagers who held a pop-up tent.
“The cake came out beautiful, didn’t it? East Marion red and gold!” Cathy Jackson beamed as she looked at the desserts spread across several tables.
“Pass me the tape,” Delia Owens said to the skateboarding boy, who now jabbed an invisible enemy, as she held a colorful array of balloons
Slowly but surely, Main Street in East Marion was transforming. The town already had a strong sense of pride, but every effort was made to ensure that parade day was the most special day in East Marion.
Not all things were going smoothly though.
Elsewhere, the men argued.
“You must have left the cage open!” Mark Moore was angry, pointing fingers.
“I locked it, same as always!” Charles Jackson attempted to defend himself, but there was an undercurrent of doubt in his voice.
“The cage has never failed me.” Ray Owens’ confidence was always welcome but plainly useless in this situation.
The danger of the missing parade star presented a true danger to the residents of East Marion and was thus frightful enough to call in the mayor. When the men first summoned Mayor Samuel Lewis, they were nervous he would be angry with them, but the folks of East Marion needn’t have worried about each other’s temperaments; even in the most stressful situations, East Marionettes kept their cool.
“While eating lunch, I thought of the perfect idea!” Mayor Samuel’s alternative had put the men at ease.
“I’m so glad Mayor Samuel has found us a replacement,” Mark Moore said, his tone satisfied.
“It’s not like we could have a parade without it. I knew Mayor Samuel would come through.” Charles Jackson smiled at the other two men, feeling accomplished.
“Time to rig ‘em up, I s’pose,” Ray Owens said, as he jumped onto one of the floats.
The East Marion Mother’s Day parade was a bit different than the parades held in other towns. To start, there were only two floats. Both were identical, simple things: a metal bar jutting up from a sparkling clean dark-stained wooden floor. The bar stood approximately five feet high, loose ropes hanging from the top.
With a solution to their dilemma, the men carried on, readying for the coming parade.
Back downtown, Main Street was flourishing. The women corralled the children and jockeyed for the best view.
“I can’t wait to see the new one,” Martha Moore said, her voice vibrating with elation.
“Hard to believe it’s been a whole decade. I still feel the buzz from last time!” Cathy Jackson was laughing as she shook a rattling toy in front of her pram.
“The years certainly flew by,” Delia Owens said, shaking her head at the passage of time.
By now the crowds had gathered, clogging the sidewalks. Children tried running past the barriers into the closed street before the adults pulled them back.
The distant thunder of drums began and the jumpy crowd simmered. The brass and woodwinds soon followed, as the East Marion High School song became audible. The crowd began to chant.
Go East Marion Cougars!
The high school band emerged on Main Street and the crowd went wild. Behind them, the color guard spun and contorted, all while holding massive flags with the town’s emblem.
Go East Marion Cougars!
With the crowd in a proper frenzy, it was showtime. Mayor Samuel Lewis stopped the floats from moving into view.
“Welcome everyone, to the Ninth Decennial East Marion Mother’s Day parade! Today marks the ninetieth year our small and resilient town has said NO!”
The crowd erupted. Go East Marion Cougars!
“Ninety years since we said NO to the medical risks associated with childbirth!”
More cheers. Go East Marion Cougars!
“Ninety years since we said NO to destroying the bodies of the beautiful women in our community: our wives, the children, and the women who raised us!”
The crowd danced and celebrated with passion.
“Today we all come together not only to celebrate what we’ve accomplished here in East Marion, but also to retire Mother Eight and usher in a new generation, a new decade. I can’t wait for you all to see Mother Nine.”
Mayor Samuel fed off the crowd’s fervor.
Go East Marion Cougars!
The first float moved into view and paused before the raucous townspeople.
Mother Eight hung from the once loose ropes tied to the float’s metal bar. Her thin wrists were knotted above her head and her limp body hung all the way down to the beautiful stained float floor, her pale white skin exposed in the bright spring sun. The men had done a great job cleaning Mother Eight. Her hair was shaved—head, armpits, and vulva alike—and her oily skin glistened.
“Mother Eight gave East Marion nine new children, nine wonderful children! To retire Mother Eight, we ask Ike Owens, Mother Eight’s first product, birthed for this community, to please join me on the float.”
The trouble-making, skateboarding boy next to Delia Owens ran forward and jumped onto the float next to Mayor Samuel.
The mayor handed the boy a knife and said, “You remember what I told you, right?”
Ike Owens first nodded and then stabbed. Over and over, the boy stabbed. Blood leaked down Mother Eight’s clean, convulsing body. It splattered onto Ike’s shirt, onto his Vans, onto his skateboard. He smiled the whole time—even as he carved apart the breasts his mouth had never known.
Go East Marion Cougars!
Mayor Samuel waved the second float forward as the East Marion High School band continued to play. A gray tarp covered Mother Nine.
Go East Marion Cougars!
“Who wants to meet Mother Nine?” Mayor Samuel grinned and looked around, pointing to the dancing kids and the jumping adults. He knew how to work a crowd.
Go East Marion Cougars!
He ripped the tarp away from the float to reveal a writhing beauty. She was hung low enough that she was able to sit directly on the float floor, her bare skin only safe from splinters thanks to how well the men had stained and cleaned the wood.
The arms and legs of Mother Nine were spread wide and secured with more rope. Between her legs was a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers, blues and purples, a perfect Mother’s Day medley. A pink primrose flower adorned each nipple and a collection of orange poppies sprouted from Nine’s mouth.
Mayor Samuel pulled a rope attached to Mother Nine’s arm, simulating a waving motion. “Say hello, everyone!”
Oohs and aahs, rippled through the crowd. The kids waved their hands passionately in return. The men nodded their heads approvingly, patting each other on the backs. The women showed no signs of jealousy, but instead commented on her eye color, her height, her figure—speculating, of course, what type of children she would bear for East Marion.
Go East Marion Cougars!
Bonnie’s eyes flitted back and forth in horror at the crowd’s excitement. She was unable to respond though, not just because of the lovely spring flowers gagging her, but also because her tongue had been cut out.
And with that, Mother Nine’s decade began.
This is a work of fiction written by Ryan Marie Ketterer.
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