The Two-Piece

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

Anyone who has grown up in the shadow of an older brother will sympathize with my situation. My brother Bill was taller, more talented, and carried a picture of one of the best looking girls in the school in his back pocket. “Bill has a picture in his wallet of Patsy wearing a two-piece swimsuit,” I said. Karen gave no response, just continued eating her school lunch. How irritating. How can I plan my next strategy when I don’t get a response? Maybe she was absorbed in other thoughts and didn’t hear what I said. “Did you hear what I said?” I asked. “Yes,” came her one word reply. This conversation wasn’t going well. Apparently there would be no discussion of photographs in a two-piece with this girl who was wearing my high school ring around her neck. Shouldn’t I have rights if she was going to go steady with me? At least I was entitled to an answer. “What do you think about that?” I asked. “About what?” she asked. “About Bill having a picture of Patsy in a two-piece,” I said in exasperation. “I don’t think about it,” she answered. The bell rang signaling the end of lunch break and we returned to our Spanish class. Just as we walked through the door to the classroom Karen said, “The answer to your other question is no.” “I didn’t ask another question,” I said. “I know, but you eventually will ask and the answer to that question that you haven’t asked is still no.”


The Spanish teacher surprised us with a pop quiz that took my attention for the next few minutes. I hate these classes where you go to lunch during the middle of the class period. It’s like having the same class twice in a row. I finished the little inconvenience of that quiz, passed it back to the girl behind me for grading, and soon had my score of 82. That wasn’t bad but Karen flashed her quiz sheet at me which showed a 98. I need to start dating someone dumber, I thought. Or at least date someone who will flash more than a pop quiz score. Class was over and I walked Karen to her next class before heading off to study hall. There was no more discussion of photos in a two-piece. Instead we talked about an argument that Leslie Duffel and Charles Hineman had this morning. How boring. Maybe Charles was asking Leslie for a picture of her in a two-piece to put in his wallet. That would just be my luck. Charles and Leslie were the ones instrumental in getting Karen and me together. Charles was my friend and Leslie was Karen’s friend. We often double dated and when they were having problems it seemed to be contagious: sort of like being exposed to the flu. Karen would tell me what Charles did. I would see nothing wrong with what he did and pretty soon I was the one in trouble.


In study hall I came up with my master plan or my new attack on the photo in the two-piece problem. I just wouldn’t say another word about it. That would drive Karen to curiosity and she would bring up the subject again or nothing would ever be said; either way I thought my chances of getting that photo was about as good as finding a catfish on every single hook of my trotline out at Cherokee Lake. That had never happened in case you are wondering.


After school I met Karen at our regular meeting place and walked her to her car. I carried her books as usual and treated her with the same respect regardless of the fact that she had said no to my request of wanting a picture of her in a two-piece. That’s not true. I had never got around to asking that question. I had never even seen her in a two-piece and I would have been content with a picture of her in a regular swimsuit. But with girls you need to ask for more than you want or you will always get less than you’re planning on. If that sounds complicated, it is. I’m not an expert on this subject; I just have a lot of experience getting less. Finding the 1962 white Chevrolet Belair in the parking lot, I opened the door for Karen and once she was in the car I handed her her books. Man, this woman packs a lot of books home each night. I’m glad I didn’t have that much homework. After she drove away I put my two feet in gear and headed back across the parking lot. These two feet are what I’d be driving home unless I found Charles and we went for a shake at the Golden Point drive-in on Highway 80. After drinking our shakes he would always drive me home. With the argument he and Leslie were having I knew he wouldn’t be taking her home after school. He was waiting for me as I suspected. I got a strawberry shake and Charles got a chocolate. He had woman problems and there wasn’t much I could do for him. I was just thankful that my relationship with Karen wasn’t so complicated. Who cares if she could guess my questions before I asked them? But I wasn’t giving up on that photo of her in a two-piece yet. Charles just laughed when I told him what I was trying to do.


Back in the sixties girls didn’t call guys on the phone unless it was an emergency or there was just a short question that needed to be answered like why haven’t you called me? Karen and I talked on the phone almost every night. I would take the phone in my parent’s bedroom closet and talk until mother came in and said, “It’s time for you to get off the phone.” That meant I had at least another fifteen minutes before she really got mad. Tonight was no different. I called Karen and we talked about the events of the day. I stayed true to my conviction and never brought up the topic of swimsuits and photographs. Right at the very end of our conversation when mom had given me my last warning, Karen said, “You can have a picture of me in a swimsuit if mother says that it is okay.”



Oh great. I bet Bill didn’t have to ask Patsy’s mother if it would be alright for him to have a picture of her in a two-piece snuggled warmly in his hip pocket. Why do I have to live by different rules? “You don’t think I’ll ask your mother, do you?” I said. “Can if you want. But that is the only way that I will let you take a picture of me in a swimsuit,” she explained. “How about in a two-piece?” I asked. “I don’t own a two-piece, have never worn one and I wouldn’t do that even if mother said it was okay.” I was pretty certain that the subject of the two-piece was closed to discussion.


My only problem now was in knowing when to approach her mother for permission. I could just say that she had given me permission but that would never fly. Karen would discuss it with her mom and I would probably end up looking for my class ring in the grass of her front yard like the last time I did something really stupid and she returned my ring via airmail. No. If I was going to get that picture I would have to face this problem head on or at least face to face with her mother.


The opportunity to speak with her mom about the swimsuit photo came just a few days later. I was invited to dinner at their home. Karen’s dad had passed away when she was twelve so there was just the three of us at the dinner table: Karen, her mom and me. After the meal was over I was helping her mother with the dishes while Karen worked on her homework in the family room. I finally got up the courage to discuss the question of the swimsuit photo. I thought I approached the subject in a rather mature manner. Karen’s mom was gentle with me but gentle didn’t mean she gave me the answer I was hoping for. Instead, she took the opportunity to express just how special the human body is. Then she explained how precious Karen was to her. I will never forget the question she asked me. “Which part of Karen is most important to you? If it is her body I don’t think you are the guy for her. Which ever part of her you want to carry with you all your life, take a mental picture of that and leave the swimsuit photos to the movie stars,” she said. I gave her a hug and I never brought the subject up again.


Karen Young’s mother passed away August 2, 1973. I still miss her and visit her grave each time I return home to Longview, Texas. I also drive by her home where they lived at 805 West Avalon. Just being there in front of her home helps me remember how I grew up a little that night as we stood in front of the kitchen sink drying dishes and feeling that closeness that comes between two people who love each other and overlook the immaturity of a skinny teenager’s weaknesses. She instilled in me a desire to be a better person.