THE GOODYEAR GIRLS

April 10, 2004 | 10:21pm

Buea. Slyvia. Georgia. These three elderly woman are worth the 45 minutes it takes to drive up to Goodyear, Arizona. There is no other reason to go there — none. Goodyear has no school system, it isn’t made for teenagers or young adults. It’s purely meant to serve the aging population of Arizona. Buses come in to pick them up and they’re shuttled around to various shopping places. City buses pick-up people specifically for weekly church services. And the only reason we ever drive up there is to see the girls for holiday meals.

Usually I remember people by what they where wearing when I met them. You can easily use this mnemonic to recall me, I only have four shirts that rotate in any frequency. However, I recall the Goodyear girls for three very different reasons.

Sylvia is easy to remember. She’s the religious one. She’s also the giver of gifts.
Scene one: A guest is opening birthday gifts prepared by all the Goodyear girls.
Guest: What is this? Oh my… a check? Sylvia I can’t except this. I can’t.
Sylvia: Yes, you will.
Guest: (sincerely said with a crinkled brow and tilted head) Really it’s too much.
Sylvia: You have to, everything else you got is junk.

Georgia is predictable but does some pretty amazing things if you can catch her in the act. She tries to blend and she’s really good at it, but she isn’t always doing what you think she is. She’ll pretend to read the latest Newsweek on the couch just a few feet away from the party where Sylvia drills us on The Passion of Christ or Condeleeza Rice’s televised testimony. But Georgia really isn’t reading about new bone-headed corporate tax-cuts from the Bush administration. Nope. Georgia is fast asleep; her arms are expertly holding up a magazine with ease and poise. She’ll drop it when she’s called into the dining room to finally eat. She’s a pro in the art of obfuscation, she’s a grad master of familial avoidance, she’s a genius in sidestepping sibling arguments. Basically yeah, she’s a perpetual sleeper.

Then there’s Buela, she’s my favorite. Buela’s humor is wasted on her kin. They have a hard time hearing her snide comments and witty retort as hearing ad batteries die or people begin shouting normal conversations into her sister’s ears.
Scene two: Buela’s family is fighting over whether everyone has taken enough ham and if the potatoes have been pasted around for all to enjoy. They’ve circled twice and somehow a plate has escaped the gravitational pull of starch overload. Sylvia wants to pray and the rest of us just want to start eating our Atkins-free holiday festive meal. Someone gets up to refill drinks before we all begin we’re all left staring at our food once more. All drinks are now full and we’re ready to eat. But not before Buela has time to politely interject, "Can we eat now before I die?"