Turning treats and tricks

Saturday, 31 October 2009

Daddy came round in front of the house with the green garden tractor and the 'stagecoach', a little wooden enclosed wagon he built for Jessy and me when we were small to take us round the yard at Delaware and the nearby beach park and neighbourhood. Down the front steps came Lisa (an angel) and JJ (Robin Hood), with their little canvas bags for treats, and Daddy alit from the tractor, in his 18th-century black coat and tails, and opened the door for them. The 'stagecoach' is cosy for anyone under about ten years old, with two facing seats and a door each side and fixed windows and plenty of room for blankets to keep war. When we were smaller we used to love riding in that thing. I remember once Mother (when she was our nanny) managed to squeeze into it during an unexpected rain-- she was about 17 then, but having always been petite (she could wear a girls' 16 in some things!) she was able to duck her head and snuggle right in with Jessy on her lap. Of course now she is too big for that, so she will accompany Jessy and me, and Josie, walking behind the tractor. Mother wore one of her Colonial outfits, blue and brown and off-white, with a cape more for comfort and warmth than looks, though of course it's period-authentic. Josie came in a really cute Batgirl costume that she bought and wore with black tights and high-heeled boots and a mask that she and Jessy modified to look really cute. And her cape was functional as well. As for Jessy and I, we were soon freezing. We went to the six houses of the little development in front of our house and then a little up the road to a few more, but the houses are few and far between here and with the tractor Daddy was quickly able to outpace us. (JJ always prefers to go faster-- 'Go fast! Go fast!' he cheers from inside the coach.) By about 7.30 it was fully dark and had started to rain, and then we girls, and Mother, were hurrying along under umbrellas (which Daddy kept in the stagecoach) and skipping along the rough tarmac of the road to get home.

I had to clean one of my shoes which I had dipped in a puddle, which really got me mad, but with a bit of white polish it did clean up well enough for us to go to the party at our friend's house. Roger drove the three of us in the Cadillac, so there was no need to take off our wings. Alighting in front of the house we must have been quite a sight-- two white angels and black-and-grey Batgirl. Two boys we know from school pulled up at the same time. 'Oh,' one said, 'I might have known! What else but angels?'

We all laughed. But the party went like that, people admiring the costume, admitting they had expected no less of Jessy or me, and then taking the time to look over the costume again. No one else was dressed in anything so... vulnerably feminine. There were plenty of devilettes, vampiresses, and underaged witches, but nothing so truly creative as a ballet-leotard angel. So, I guess for that reason, we tended to get some attention. I really did not mind so much-- I guess it's fair to say that you don't get dressed-up for a costume party unless you expect some attention. But in all this was a good crowd of people and nothing truly terrible happened.

Well, maybe one thing happened... terrible or not depends on how you look at it.

All nine of us from the girls' club were there. Paula and Rita were there with dates. Other boys came to meet us there. There was dancing in the recreation room and plenty to eat (and nothing alcoholic to drink). Some parents had come merely to socialise with each other but they all honoured the no-booze rule and kept to themselves in the room with the TV on. And I met a guy named Caleb who was dressed as a police officer and proceeded to talk with him most of the night.

Well, I can't say we talked all that time. It started out as talking. We each had a few glasses of punch (teens' kind, meaning it had soda in it). I reminded myself to be careful because if I'd had to pee it would have meant taking off the entire costume. So I kept myself to two glasses. Round the time the second glass ran out Caleb and I found ourselves sitting in a sofa in the corner of the basement room. My wings got all scrunched-up, but they're durable. (All angel wings are, once you've earned them.) Jessy was not far away, Rita and her date were somewhere, Paula's date was probably hitting on some other girl, and most of the other people within speaking distance (in the crowded room) were not people either of us knew. We had been talking about peanuts, believe it or not, and other things that people have allergies to. I said, 'It's not that I'm allergic to them. I can eat peanut butter. I just don't like having nuts in my mouth. It's the feeling of them.'

Caleb said, 'And it's such a pretty mouth.'

I looked right at him. 'What?' And he kissed me.

It was not a bad kiss. Well-- that is an understatement. It was a really good kiss. I stared right at him-- I had not closed my eyes at all-- for about five full seconds. He only stared back. I guess he assumed I wasn't complaining, because he leaned in and kissed me again.

Now anyone who reads my blog knows I just don't get picked-up. In fact I tend to despise guys who come to a party with the idea that they just have to pick up some girl. If it's one thing I absolutely hate, it's being treated like just some girl. But Caleb wasn't treating me like that. There were plenty of other girls there-- the girls probably outnumbered the guys close to two to one. He could have had any of them. He chose to talk with me. And it had been real talk, too, not that cheap, insincere kind of talk that guys indulge you in that's sort of foreplay to asking you for a date or making out. Honestly-- the comment about my mouth was the first indication I'd had that he thought of me as anything other than a cute little angel all in white.

I shall not say too much here now, except that the kissing wasn't bad at all and I felt rather drunk with it. In fact I actually allowed a good deal more than I usually do even on a fourth or fifth date (just saying) and it wasn't all bad. I confess maybe the angel costume lent me some security-- he could feel but he couldn't have, you know, because though it covered me very sleekly and snugly, there was no chance on earth he was going to get any of it pushed aside where he might have wanted to. I was an angel, and I was safe.

I shall also not say too much except that when I got home I had to get out of everything pretty urgently.

This dastardly, very un-Janine-like behaviour came to an abrupt and welcome end when Jessy happened to come by and see me. Even if she had not seen my face she could not have missed the costume. I saw her wings looming up over Caleb's bushy hair and suddenly gasped. 'Jessy!'

She gasped too. 'Janine!'

'Oh,' I said, to Caleb, 'I'm sorry.' And I sat up.

She reached for my hand at once and helped me out of the too-soft couch and towed me at once off across the room to another corner. Once assured of some privacy she turned round and folded her arms in front of herself and just looked at me.

I went red. 'I'm sorry,' I said.

She tapped her foot and drummed fingers on her arm.

'Really, hun. I am sorry.'

She narrowed her eyes at me.

'It was just-- Well, he is really nice, and--'

She cleared her throat, took a breath, and sighed impatiently.

'Jessy!' My eyes were wet. 'I really am sorry.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I'll text Roger now. He'll be here in ten minutes.'

I nodded. 'Yes,' I said. 'Of course, Jessy. Is Josie coming with us?'

'I won't wait for her,' she said, and then took my arm and escorted me, away from Caleb, across the room to the stairs.

In the light of the kitchen up stairs I had to blot my eyes. I asked after the bathroom and spent a long five minutes just pulling myself back together. I really did not feel myself at all-- because I was at least partially numb and because I felt like I had been acting like someone else. I had embarrassed my sister who adores me and looks up to me. That kept my eyes wet a little longer.

When I stepped out Jessy was waiting in the hall. 'He's here,' she said.

I nodded. 'Yes, Jessy. Thank you.'

We went out, said our politest good-byes, kissed a few of our friends as we often do and got outside. I did not get to say good-bye to Caleb and I'm pretty sure Jessy would not have wanted me to. Roger stepped up and opened the door. With our wings still on we sat in the back and clicked the seatbelts. When the car was away from the house she turned to me. 'I'm sorry, Janine,' she said. 'I shouldn't have judged you.'

'Did you judge me, Jessy?'

She went a little red. 'It's just that I have never seen-- never seen you-- doing that--'

'I'm sorry,' I said, and took her hand. 'It won't happen again.'

She shook her head and then had to blot an eye. She was weeping, more than I had been. 'No-- it's all right. You don't have to put on an act just for me. You have to just be yourself.'

'I'm not sure I was being myself,' I said.

'He's a nice guy, and he likes you,' she said. 'It's only normal. You're eighteen-- almost. Things happen. I can't be that naïve.'

'Jessy! What are you saying? Are you saying that I would--'

'I don't know, and I don't want to know.'

'Jessy!' I squeezed her hand and she looked at me. 'I would never. You know that.'

She sniffled. 'I know you wouldn't. I just saw where his hand was--'

I giggled. 'Jessy! I'm still dressed!'

She looked down at me in the costume. 'Such as it is.'

We both laughed. 'He wasn't going any further... and I really did like the kisses. Other than that....'

She nodded then. 'All right,' she said. And she held onto my hand all the way home. And we held hands going up the steps to the house too.

Mother wanted to know all about the party and I gave her the abridged version, mentioning particularly how I had met a really nice guy who is a year older and going to UMES where Stephen goes and that he wants to become a police officer. Daddy seemed to approve then. He didn't need to know where Caleb's hand was. Rushing up stairs I found Jessy was already on FaceBook, so I think I was probably too late to ask her not to blab about it. This blog is a little safer for me, for all sorts of reasons-- not the least of which is that I have left out a lot of unflattering detail. And that is why I choose to mention it as I have.

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