The Gothic Virgin

Tuesday 13 October 2009

There is a girl called Sarah who sits next to me in one of my classes and who is what is commonly called a Goth. She wears all the black clothes and the ugly black bulky boots and keeps to herself a lot. Since I have got to know her a little I have never seen her with any boys in any kind of relationship that you could call a relationship. For that matter she seems to be such a loner that I do not see her with any girls either. As part of class activities I have had to meet her and to work with her on projects and have found she has very pretty eyes-- behind all that dark makeup-- and she has a pretty smile-- if she would do it more often. It makes me wonder why anyone would want to present herself the way that she does when a more flattering makeover and the right clothes would get her all the best attention anyone has a right to.

Anyway we have already progressed to where we say hello to each other in the corridors regularly. A few people whom I do not know well have asked me, 'You KNOW that girl?' When I say that of course I do they will say, 'Isn't she a little weird?'

I laugh at this, the way I laugh at anyone who judges my friends before knowing them as well as I do. The other day I answered someone, 'She's only unique, the same way we all are.'

The girl then said, 'But you're so straight and prep, and she's so....'

'What?' I asked with a smile.

'Weird.' And that wasn't meant as a good thing.

Monday afternoon I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something that I always like to do. Jessy was going to Josie's-- they have the same history class and are partners in the group project. Josie's mother picked them up at school and off they went. I was dangling my car keys from my fingers and watching them go when my friend Sarah happened to be walking by. I turned, just perceiving her out the corner of my eye, and she made a smile at me and said, 'Hi, Janine.'

She always says hi to me because I am one of the few people who say hi to her. 'Hi, Sarah,' I said. Then something occurred to me. 'Hey. Do you need a ride or something?'

She stopped. Two people right behind her had to dodge her. For a moment she just stood there staring at me, like she couldn't believe I'd asked that. She had on a little black miniskirt over black-and-white tights in a skulls-and-stripes pattern, a long-sleeved black jersey and over it a loose black tanktop decorated in an abstract design of silver and lime-green gel pen, about three chains of varying styles round her neck, black leather wristlets and those horrid high platform boots with buckles up the back of her leg. Her hair (today) was dyed partly turquoise-blue and the rest jet-black, pulled off to one side and left hanging ironed straight like a cartoon of a witch. And, of course, there was that makeup-- bright pink here, pale blue there, black here, there, everywhere, with her pretty lashes done wickedly thick and separate almost like little spikes coming out of her eyelids. By contrast I was only in my pale tan pumps and navy tights and a plain white sweatshirt pulled down low over a khaki skirt.

'I usually just walk,' she said to me.

I shrugged. 'I know,' I said. 'But I go right by you.' --meaning where she lives. I've seen her walking along the road. She lives down along one of the shore access roads where almost no one else from school goes. Why I have never thought to offer her a ride when we've been friendly in school for a month till now is anyone's guess. --or just a sin. 'I'm going to B-and-G's,' I said. 'I mean-- I could murder a Dr Pepper right now.'

She laughed. (When was the last time you saw a Goth girl laugh?) 'I probably could too, but I don't have any money--'

'I'm buying,' I said, and then turned from the kerb. 'Come on.'

She shrugged and then looked about herself, as though she were nervous about being seen going off anywhere with a natural-blonde priss.

In the Regal I put in the clutch to start the motor and she said, 'I didn't know you drive a stick.'

I shrugged. 'My dad insisted that I learn.'

'This is a cool car,' she said, looking round at it.

I suppose the Regal is very unlike her-- it's a light blue metallic with a white top and white leather seats and there's nothing even remotely Goth about it. I admit she looked really odd sitting where Jessy usually sits. But I always accept friends the way they want to be accepted. I believe that's a form of Christian love. 'It's technically my dad's,' I told her. 'He collects Buicks. This is the one he lets me use.'

She smiled. 'My dad won't let me have one,' she said.

'Well,' I teased her, as we started off, 'you've got those boots. He probably thinks you can walk home in those.'

She laughed. 'I....' But she stopped.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

I laughed. 'No, tell me.'

'I've never met anyone like you.'

I shrugged. 'So? I've never met anyone like you. It doesn't mean we're not friends.'

'Yes,' she said, and smiled again, as though really proud of herself all of a sudden. 'It doesn't.'

I drove and she sat there, staring out the window most of the time and occasionally looking down at my leg. I don't think she'd ever seen a priss in a skirt drive a stick before. Actually I am pretty good at both-- being a priss in a skirt and driving a stick. At one light we pulled up next to some boys in a pickup truck and they, of course, looked down at us. I had my window open a little and they leaned out. 'Hey!' they yelled. 'You girls looking for a party?'

It was not even three o'clock! --what kind of party would that be? I ignored them as the light had gone green and we drove off. Beside me Sarah laughed. 'Not your type?'

I laughed too. 'Not yours?'

We both laughed hard then. Fortunately the guys in the red pickup truck turned left. After another minute Sarah asked me, 'You don't date much, do you?'

'No,' I said.

'Why not?'

I shrugged. 'I don't feel a need to be attached to someone who isn't really a part of my life. And anyway no one ever asks me.'

She made a sound like scoffing at me. 'I can't believe that,' she said. 'You're a....' And she would not finish.

'I'm a what?' I asked, pretending I would be offended.

'Nothing. Well-- what is the expression? You're... a regulation hottie.'

I laughed out loud. 'Oh, you are too funny!'

'What?' she asked, looking worried.

'Sarah... dear Sarah. I am NOT a "hottie".'

She shrugged. 'I would have assumed guys would think you are.'

'No. Guys don't like intellectual chicks. You of all people should know that.'

She shrugged again-- she does it a lot. 'Some guys do. I know guys who do.'

I nodded then. 'I guess you do. Anyway, as I said, I do not care to date.'

'Okay,' she said.

At the B&G we got out and went through the shop, choosing soft drinks for ourselves and stopping at the counter. Sarah started to open her black-and-grey canvas bag and I stopped her. 'No, love,' I said. 'On me.'

She got a little red-- if you could tell. 'Thank you,' she said softly.

In the car we opened the drinks before I started the motor again. 'You don't date either,' I observed.

'No.'

'Why not?'

She shrugged again. 'I guess I would rather be friends,' she said. 'And anyway no one ever asks me.'

I lifted an eyebrow at her. 'That surprises me too.'

'Why?'

'I would think most guys would think you are hot.'

She made a face. 'Not around here. These guys are....'

I held up a finger. 'Don't be cruel,' I cautioned.

She smiled. 'All right. I was going to say "unenlightened".'

I nodded. 'Yes. There's that, true. But some are all right.'

'I suppose so.' She looked at me a moment. 'So what is this about this so-called girls' club?' she asked.

At last something I wanted to talk about with her! 'It's just a group of girls,' I said. 'We get together and plan things, and raise money for charity.'

She nodded. 'It sounds like one of those sororities in all those movies.'

'Like in "Greek"?'

'Yes. I don't really watch it, but--'

'No, neither do I, not any more.'

'So it's a club for all the pretty girls. The....' And she stopped.

'The prisses?' I smiled.

'Well... yes.'

'I don't look at "priss" like a bad thing, you know. In certain ways, it should be the very best thing. Well-- you know.'

She nodded. 'I know what you mean.'

We met eyes. 'Do you?'

She nodded and sipped her YooHoo. 'You're all the good girls.'

'We are, Sarah. I mean-- that is sort of the whole point.'

She turned and stared out the window. An older guy got out of a pickup truck, sort of stared at her as he went into the store, and then gave up on her. I imagine most men treat her like that... from appearances. 'I used to be a good girl,' she said, as though I were not there.

I smiled a little. 'You're not now?'

She shrugged. 'No.... Well-- I still am--' She got red. 'Parts of me are.'

'The important parts?'

She turned and looked at me. I could not be sure but her eyes seemed wet then. 'Yes. Those parts.'

I was suddenly moved to reach over and pat her hand. 'Well that's something that matters, then. So long as you keep yourself.'

She nodded and met my eyes again. 'That's what I keep telling myself.'

I smiled right at her then. 'You're not wrong,' I said softly to her.

'People don't believe that I am,' she said.

'I would have believed it, even if you didn't say.'

'I would have believed it about you too.'

I laughed. 'I should hope so!'

'Yes, but you-- you could have anyone. They must be ready to kill themselves over you. You know, which one--'

I was nodding. 'I know. But none of them will.'

She made a smile then. 'You know, you're really not how I expected you'd be. You seem... stronger.'

'I am, hun.'

She smiled more, right at me. I don't think any other girl has ever called her 'hun'. I call everyone 'hun'. Just then she caught sight of the little cross dangling from my mirror. 'So, you're Christian, huh?'

I nodded. 'Of course.'

'I used to be.... Now-- I'm not so sure.' She looked down. 'You'd probably say I'm going to hell then.'

'No Christian would say that,' I told her.

She looked at me again. She felt awkward, being with me, but she was also very brave. She doesn't shrink from the obvious-- she doesn't live in denial. This is why I respect her. 'Well... people have said it.'

'Your family?' She nodded. 'Other people?' She nodded again. 'Sarah, people do not judge. I mean-- they do, but they shouldn't. They must not. We're all here to love each other.'

She nodded again. Now she did blot her eye. 'I just wish....'

'What?'

'Nothing. Really, nothing. Can we-- Can you just take me home?'

'Of course.' I started the motor and we headed out. I knew mostly her way home as I have seen her on the road. Almost to our turn she pointed and I turned down a narrow road, bordered with the wild tall grass that's all over along the oceanside, riddled with mosquitoes in summer and seething with cicadas and locusts on hot nights. Her house is a small white bungalow on a raised foundation with a three-car garage out back where her father repairs small engines as a hobby and sometimes as a job. A little black dog ran out to greet the car as I turned in.

'Sorry,' Sarah said, looking away for a moment. 'It's not much, but--'

'It's nice,' I said. Truly it looked like the many houses on Long Beach Island and in Lewes where I grew up.

'It isn't, but....' Then she turned to me. 'And sorry about before. I just....'

'What?'

She stared at the cross on the mirror. 'Nothing. I shouldn't have--' She blotted an eye. 'You are....'

I waited and then she finished herself.

'You are a good friend,' she said.

I smiled at her. 'So are you. I'm sorry if you ever thought I wouldn't be.'

'No,' she said. 'I mean-- I did think you would be... just not....'

I frowned. I don't like to make her feel uncomfortable but sometimes she stops like that and I really think she should finish her thought. None of her thoughts are irrelevant. 'What?'

She met my eyes then. 'Just not to me,' she finished.

I smiled and took her hand in the car. 'But I would be,' I told her.

She nodded. 'I know. And thanks.'

We smiled at each other. 'See you tomorrow,' I said.

'Yes.' She squeezed my hand and got out.

I watched her stoop down and greet the little dog, pick him up and then turn him towards the car to wave his little arm at me. I laughed and waved back, like to a child. Her mother came to the door then and waved at me. I hooted the horn a little as I reversed out.

Sarah isn't weird at all. That's the tragic part-- that she thinks she is, and yet she is totally normal. I have not yet asked her about her reasons for doing the whole Goth fashion thing, but I learned something about her this afternoon-- that if not for the black clothes and bizarre eye makeup and hairstyles, and if not for those boots, she could be one of us. She could be any other member of the girls' club. Oh, I don't think I will 'convert' her or anything like that. But there is something just under her surface that's trying to claw its way out, and I think she wants to be free of something. It's said many Goths are just in hiding, and if no one comes looking for them they will stay under cover, burrow even deeper, and close themselves off to the world. I don't believe that's ever a good strategy, for Goths or for anyone. It could be said I hide from the world too-- I'm the priss, the 'good girl', with this facade of my father's money and reputation and the house and the shiny blue car and the beautiful sister and our nice clothes and English education and all that. But anyone can know that about me-- I don't even wait to be asked (such as with this blog!). I know some people are not so bold. They need to be asked, to be drawn out, to be welcomed into the world. And as part of that process they need to face why they have been in hiding. It's how the divisions are mended and the injuries are healed.

I will ask Sarah.

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