The next morning, PP hears a loud knock on the front door of the Loftus house that rouses her from her lazy sleep-in slumber.
Could it be? A Friar come to take her swimming in the lake? Did Brother Bob really round up one at supper the night before to make her lake swimming fantasy a reality?
She's just too excited, so she hurries down the stairs, and throws open the door and......
There stands Friar Rake to take her for a swim in Snake Lake. He's got his brown baggy swim trunks on, his Teen Spirit sweatshirt on, a big orange towel draped round his neck, "I hear you need a friar to take you for a swim in the lake, Missy," he grins, as PP jumps up and down.
It's just too good to be true....
And so it is.....
Not true. (Had you goin for a minute though, eh?)
So, yes, no friar appeared at her door this morning or any morning, and she has no hope for any appearing in the flesh anytime soon. She knew that Goddamn Brother Bob was lying to her the other day, and she was right.
(Though she does have a secret plan for her last night here....stay tuned!)
But, for now, she's gonnna hafta make do with the Corydon YMCA, which is much nicer and much funnier than the lake anyway, esp. since right now, the Y is all a-buzz over: Cockadooole days! Whoopee!
Heading through the double-doors of the Y, PP ducks under a bright yellow banner across the entrance advertises $1 off your chicken dinner coupon—get yours now!
Inside, on the way to the pool, there's a bulletin board detailing all the fun:
There’s a poster of red tractors arranged in a big circle, each tractor driven by a disembodied head, (cut from a photo of a smiling YMCA employee is PP's guess)pasted atop a poor cartoon chicken. There’s big fun with the Corn Hole Tournament, The Old Hen Singing Contest, The Big Cock Sucker—whoops, no, maybe that’s not part of it.
And today, the two bored YMCA clerks, one a cute chestnut haired young woman, the other a big blond strappin' young man, taking her membership card are dressed in down-home orange and yellow striped aprons with big roosters on their bibs and 'Cockadoodle Days' emblazoned across their bibs.
PP hands the cute Bored Cockadoodle Girl her card, who swipes it and gives it back, “Okay, Carol. Thankyee. You’re ready to go.”
“Thanks...” PP takes her card and starts to head into the locker room but then thinks she’s just gotta ask, “What are Cockadoodle Days exactly?”
BCG blushes, shy but forthcoming. (How do some girls, and they’re always girls, manage this? It seems esp. charming with the Midwestern politeness factor and drawly accent.) “Well, Ma’am, it’s this big festival we put on every year. And there’s lots of contests and.....”
“What kind of contests?”
“Well.....” she hesitates as her big blond cohort grins not saying anything to help her out, “They have Tractor Pulls and....”
“Wait a minute, what’s a Tractor Pull?”
She stares at PP completely astounded, her sweet mouth round, her big blue eyes bright with confusion. “You don’t know what a tractor pull is?”
“Well, they have tractors you see and they pull a sled up this kinda slope... and the farther they pull the sled the heavier it gets...”
PP doesn’t ask how this is possible. Probably has something to do with rattlesnakes, signs or corn.
“And so they see which tractor can go the furthest....” Her voice trails off. “It’s kinda Redneck I’m afraid.”
She seems sheepish but also proud of this designation. Her coworker laughs in appreciation.
PP nods, “Thanks for the explanation. I never woulda guessed."
"You're welcome," she smiles, before going back to her computer.
Chickens, Tractor Pulls, Rednecks. (Why are they called Rednecks anyway? Do they really have rednecks? Or is the derivation something not quite so literal?)
The Indiana Y has it all.
And PP's purrty sure, that even though Rednecks like to pull tractors, she bets they probably like to swim too!