Time will tell

Wednesday 24 February 2010

I walked through the corridor at school this morning feeling really refreshed. My cold is not gone, of course, but staying home yesterday helped (even if all I did was type on the computer all day) and my voice is still raspy and sore but least I can talk today. I had on my black sweater and black tights and a really cute bronze-coloured wool skirt and my black booties and I felt really good about myself, like nothing was going to let me down. This is what an imbecile I am.

At homeroom is when the notes get passed round. You get passes to the nurse, to guidance, for early dismissal... and from your friendly neighbourhood school administrators. Mine was in an envelope--

'Sorry about your illness-- hope you are feeling better today. We have considered the girls' letter and are eager to meet with your panel this afternoon in the main office conference room. Please check in with the office this morning if you are able to make it.'

This cordial little note was signed with the principal's initials.

I sat and stared at it till the bell rang. Jessy met me in the corridor and saw me with the note in my hand. 'You got yours?'

I nodded. 'How many are there?'

'Just the exec board got them,' she said-- meaning the four of us who act as officers of the girls' club. The school administration are apparently mistaking the girls' social club for the GAGA movement. The GAGA movement doesn't exactly have officers, so maybe that's why.

I suggested we invite two of the other girls who are not in the club but who have been vocal about the bigger (GAGA) issues. Jessy agreed. We reconvened the nucleus of this meeting over lunch and agreed on the six people who would make up the board. From then on I began to feel nervous. Before eighth period I went into the lavatories and rang Mother. 'They're calling us in this afternoon,' I said.

She knew what that was about. She asked who was on the panel and I told her and then she said, 'Do you need me for anything?'

I thought about it. I really did feel like I needed guidance, you know. But I would be brave. 'No, Mother. It'll be all right. We have a legitimate cause, you know. We'll just say that we expect something good out of it.'

'Something good will come out of it, Janine. Because you are right.'

'Thanks, Mother.'

'God bless you, good girl. Call if you need me.'

That made me feel better. And I was not late to history class.

Rather than to all wander in to the meeting at different times, we all met in the front hall, just lingering as though we were waiting for a bus, and then at 2.20 we turned and marched en masse in to the conference room. The APs were already there, the child-study team guy was there, and my guidance counsellor, as on the other day. The principal came in a moment later. We had not even sat down yet. 'Ah,' he said, 'so this is it, then? The delegation?'

None of us responded to that. It sounded insincere. We were waved to sit down and there were not enough chairs, so someone got two more and we were able to sit in a semicircle at the end of the table. The AP (not Mr H--, but the female one) began by reading over the letter, of which we all had copies. I just nodded a lot.

Mr H-- said, 'We know that you girls have some issues with what you perceive the administration does regarding sexual-harassment cases in this school.'

The girls all looked at me, but I just nodded. Becky sat next to me, taking notes-- she was writing down their exact words (from which I have got most of this). The principal, who was sort of near her, leaned his head over to read what she wrote. It didn't matter-- truth is truth.

Mr H-- said, 'We want to assure you that none of this is personal, that no-one on this administration has anything against any of you personally, no matter what might have happened in the past.'

We all just nodded again.

'And we want to assure you-- to reassure you-- that we will continue to do all we can to ensure that you girls-- that all students in this school-- have the safest, healthiest learning environment that we can possibly provide.'

And we all just nodded again. Say nothing, that was what we had decided. Let them make the first move.

'Your letter addresses some specific concerns,' the other AP said. 'Such as... rude comments-- what you called "sexual innuendo" coming from teachers as well as students. Can you give some specific examples?'

I looked round and they were all looking at me. I pointed at Sherry first. Sherry nodded and gave an account of how she an administrator called her a 'player' because some boy she did not like was able to corner her in the cafeteria and kiss her against her will. Becky mentioned that her PE teacher (the male one) had told her to move her 'fat butt' during class. I mentioned Mr H--'s comments to me in the office about Sherry's detention. Jessy spoke up and contributed her experience about one of her teachers laughing when one of the boys in her class called her a 'foxy piece of ***'. (She actually said the word too. Sometimes Jessy can shock you.)

The administrators before us all stared with their eyes wide open or else looked down at the table. That guy from the child-study team was writing everything down at full speed.

So was Becky.

'The letter,' I said, 'requests you as the administration only to enforce what is already your job to enforce. We know the code-- we've seen it. We are wondering why the teachers and administrators don't seem to care about it.'

The (female) AP said, 'This thing about your teacher--' she wagged her finger-- 'Jessy, is it? When did that happen?'

'About a month ago,' said Jessy.

'And you didn't report it? Why not?'

'I said something to the teacher about it,' Jessy said. 'I don't think anything got done.' She looked at me then. Deliberately I would not look at her.

'Well, we can't do anything if we don't hear about it,' the (female) AP said.

'Are we supposed to be put in the position of having to report teachers to their superiors?' I asked.

They all looked at me. The principal-- not looking at me then-- said, 'If that's what it takes, yes.'

The other administrators all agreed with that. Then the AP said, 'You say that students have harassed you too.'

'They have,' I said. The principal asked us to give details. We had (written down in our presentation notes) four cases which were enough for examples. None of the cases was minor-- like, in this blog I mentioned my sister being gawked at. That's going to happen, but really it's just rude and stupid. The cases we mentioned were more like guys making rude comments on a girl's appearance when teachers did nothing about it, guys asking girls for sexual favours (not just dates) during school time, and administrators not taking seriously any girls' complaints about anything like this.

The female AP fixed her eyes on me and asked, 'Why do you wear a skirt to school every day, or nearly every day?'

I fixed my eyes on her. 'Why do you?'

'I don't, not always,' she said. She hadn't today.

'Neither do I,' I said.

'I have noticed you've been wearing skirts nearly every day since the winter break.' ('Winter break' is what American public schools call 'Christmas'. It's okay to declare it a public holiday, but not okay to say the name of the occasion for it.)

I said, 'I don't think it matters what I wear. I'm a lady, and I wear skirts. I'm still entitled to respect, which I am not getting.'

'Do you ever think that your choice of wardrobe invites a certain kind of attention?' she asked me.

'That's a sexist comment,' Becky said immediately.

'Yes it is,' Jessy said immediately after that.

'It's not a girl's fault that she has the body she has,' Sherry said. 'Or even that she's a girl to begin with. The whole point of discrimination is that you can't hold us to a different standard because we're girls.'

'And happen to dress like girls,' Jessy said. She had worn a nice skirt today too.

'I never thought I dressed inappropriately,' I said to the other girls, as though I were sincerely disappointed, you know. Then I turned round and looked at the AP. 'I thought I was dressing to look serious, and to show respect for the school, the teachers and what I have to do here.'

'That hardly matters to a bunch of teenaged boys,' Mr H-- said then.

'"Boys will be boys",' I said cynically then. 'Is that really what you want to say at this point?'

'Now, then--'

'So,' Jessy said, 'we should change how we dress and act because some idiot teenaged boys don't know how to act properly?'

'Maybe you need to,' the (female) AP said then.

'It's our school too,' said Bonnie, one of our other girls.

Mr H-- scoffed at us. 'Do you really expect to change that much of how all teenaged boys act? Unfair or not, wouldn't it be more sensible to play it a little safe?'

We all sat there with our mouths open for a moment. Then I pushed back the chair. 'Are we done, then? Is that what you're saying?'

'Tomorrow I'm wearing a swimsuit,' Jessy smirked then.

'No you're not,' the AP said. --and we all started to push back the chairs.

'Hold on,' the principal said.

We all stopped, pushed back from the table. 'Sir,' I said to him, 'if this is an educational institution, and it's supposed to be preparing people for the real world, is it too much to ask that you as an educator actually try to educate these miscreants?' He smiled when I said that. 'I mean-- I have been to places in the world most of these students haven't. And I know for sure that the way they behave, at times, would never pass anywhere but here-- maybe here. And, Sir, you know it too.'

He was nodding.

'And I was raised that if I have something good to offer people, I should try to share it with them. If what I have to offer is a good example, I'm going to try to set that good example. And I'm not wrong, Sir-- I'm not incorrect, and I think you know I'm not doing it out of ego.'

He was nodding.

'Because, Sir, you know as well as I do that if these... miscreants go out into the real world and see a young woman in a skirt, if they're standing there with tongues hanging out tossing sexist comments at her it's not going to fly. What if it's an employer or a bank lender-- or a police officer?'

'Police officers don't wear short skirts,' the AP said then.

I looked at her. 'Is it that you don't see my point, or do you just like mocking me?'

'I'm not mocking you--'

'I see your point,' said the principal, and then he looked round at the others then. 'I'm only uncomfortable because a student has to teach it to me.' Then he looked at me and smiled. 'But that's not something I mind, if it's a point well taken. So, Janine. What do you propose that we do? Be specific.'

I smiled a little back at him. 'Thank you, Sir,' I said. I couldn't resist glaring at the (female) AP then. Oh, and I glared at Mr H-- too. 'Well-- we're not asking to be treated like goddesses. Some girls at this school are completely inappropriate, and some boys are very gentlemanlike. But I do think that you, Sir, could speak to some teachers, maybe at a faculty meeting, let them know students have complained, let them know you take it seriously, and most importantly let them know that you believe it's a point well taken. That it's part of the... mission of a school to teach proper behaviour, for the real world.'

He nodded. 'I can do that,' he said.

'And please take it seriously when a girl comes in sincerely concerned about being treated impolitely. Some people won't say anything, some people will make a little thing into a big thing, but some of us will actually have a point to be well taken, Sir. And it only hurts when you're a girl and you realise no-one really takes you seriously, or like as long as you show enough leg it's not important. And it might be hard for some people-- I was taught not to use foul language and it's difficult if you ask me to repeat what someone might have said... but if that's what it takes maybe I could-- I don't know-- write it down or something.'

They all smiled then. Becky's hand was flying over the paper-- she was getting most of my words exactly. (The rest I have tried to remember.)

'But if it's serious, Sir-- and forgive me for saying this-- then you have to take it seriously. Look, we try to take you seriously, when you say we are under all these expectations. We do our work, we attend dances and club meetings, we are not inappropriate or disrespectful-- if I may say so, we're the students who hold up this school. We help make it look good. We're not your enemies.'

He was nodding. He tends to be quiet and to listen more than he talks, which is good. Jessy said, 'All we ask is that you respect us, Sir. And show us you do, by how you act, by how the school acts.'

He looked at her. 'I can do that,' he said. Then-- the moment of truth-- he looked round the rest of the administration at the table. 'Can we all do that?'

They all nodded. --the [female] AP last of all.

He asked if anyone had anything else, and no-one did. Then he said, 'What I would like to do, Janine, is to ask this group to meet back with us next week, so we can iron out some details. I think that if we're codifying a finer point about behaviour and expectations, we should have your input. Can we say... Wednesday next week? Can we all be here?'

This was agreed. The principal thanked us all, we girls thanked the administrators, and everyone got up to go. Then he asked me to wait a moment behind. The other girls lingered in the corridor-- Jessy leaned in the open doorway. Likewise the [female] AP stayed behind with the principal in the conference room. I got the feeling it was always going to be like this now, no one-on-one meetings without seconds present-- not because of the fear of inappropriate conduct (no, not at all!) but because of jurisprudence-- it's become all like a courtroom now, somewhat cold and formal even though there is grudging respect. We don't trust the school and the school doesn't trust us. Then the principal put out his hand.

'I'd like to thank you, Janine, for giving us a lesson we probably do deserve to hear, especially from a student.'

I took his hand and we shook on it. 'Thank you, Sir.'

'I'm not going to be blind, or proud, and say we haven't made mistakes. I only hope that working through these issues we can work as a team. Your eyes and ears in the hallways are as good as anyone's-- you, and your club, and all the girls you few here are representing. And you're right-- in some ways you very much uphold the good name of the school. I won't want to see that get tarnished.'

'I hope we can work through it too,' I said. 'All we want is to help.'

He nodded, and then followed me out to the corridor with Jessy. 'Majoring in English, hm?' he said, and then stopped and smiled at Jessy. 'See if you can convince your sister to take up law.'

Jessy laughed. 'Oh, she won't hear of it!' And we all laughed.

...

Skirts on the warpath

Monday, 22 February 2010

I have not kept up in this blog concerning the big issue about the discrimination against us girls at the high school. Over the last few weeks we have taken a few initiatives to stand up for ourselves and to refuse to be treated disrespectfully. This movement (GAGA, for Girls Against Grobians Association) kind of came out of our girls' club but it is bigger than that and the club makes up only about a third of the actual membership. The other 20-odd of us are just girls who are fed up.

The first thing we did was to make t-shirts. Everyone in the GAGA group got one. We wear them on Mondays. Of course the girls' club have already been wearing our 'colours' on every Thursday (club meeting day), exactly what Mr H-- feared we would do, which is part of the reason why we're doing it. The 'colours' are the plaid parochial-school skirt (which we've all had appropriately tailored of course) and the plain navy-blue sweatshirt (for winter) with the club logo (designed by Jessy) on it, and navy tights and decent (black) shoes (sometimes Jessy wears high black boots with hers, which looks adorable). We look like girl scouts or private-school students, but not quite. GAGA girls who are not in the club wear a nice skirt and top or a dress. It's strictly voluntary, of course, but on any given day I'd say 25 or 30 of us are dressed up, noticeably more than the 3 or 4 I used to observe at this school. This is four days a week, and on Fridays we wear jeans or leggings.

The reaction has been mixed. Most other girls in school hate it-- they accuse us of 'taking over the dress code' or 'making it uncool to wear a skirt'. Of course this is their version of it. The reality is that we're really doing it for them too, and we haven't claimed anything but the right to respect. It's really about us and the teachers, the administrators, and the male students. Most of the male students like it-- they admit they like to see legs, but part of what we've determined as a group of girls is that we don't show too much-- nothing too short, nothing too low-cut, nothing gaudy or clingy-- definitely cotton-blend tights are the order for the day in winter.

Jessy and I gave some lessons on how to walk up stairs (close to the wall, legs together, short smooth steps) and how to sit (ankles crossed, never a foot off the ground, legs turned to the side, skirt held down with hands in lap). Everyone was impressed that we knew how to do that, and that they could do it as well. I also stood up at that meeting and talked about grammar. A lot of the girls said there wasn't time for an English lesson, and it kind of hurt me because I believe that's one thing we can always do better in (see? That should have been 'one thing in which we can always do better'). But I agreed and said, 'Can we just agree to not be egregious about it?'

'And to not curse,' Jessy said.

'Yes,' someone else agreed. That was what we all agreed.

Using foul language is about the single worst thing a girl can do if she ever expects to be respected as a lady. It reduces you to a skank who is letting everyone know you don't care what impression you make on other people. And the impression a girl who curses makes on other people is never positive. Guys won't be impressed at all, which is totally antiproductive for the girl. Other girls will alienate you. Teachers hate it. Parents hate it. In public it's the worst thing you can do without flashing your underwear.

A girl should avoid foul language at all costs. At the very least, you might learn new bits of the language you should use instead, and that would only make you look more intelligent. And to many people, a smart girl is a virtuous girl-- the two seemed to be assumed to go together, which even if it's false logic still works for us.

The other thing we did was to send a letter, signed as a petition by all of us, to the administration asking that 'decency statutes' --bans on cursing, sexual innuendo, sexual harassment by teachers and students, all forms of bullying, as well as the infamous displays of public affection-- be more consistently and quickly enforced. We wrote that 'there is no reason why a school response to any such infraction needs to be delayed.' In other words, we would rather have a teacher stop the lesson to enforce the rule-- send the violator out, assign a detention, whatever-- than to let it go, issue some kind of trite verbal warning, and essentially push the issue under the carpet, which is what most teachers and administrators do.

The letter continued, 'If a school is truly serious about promoting an atmosphere of dignity and respect, and about responding to infractions with meaningful disciplinary consequences, then nothing we have stated here should be considered anything but sensible, appropriate and within the full compass of what is reasonable and possible.' (I wrote that part-- can you tell?)

We also said that, seeing no reason for the school to not comply, that we expected a 'material improvement in [the school]'s de facto policy forthwith.'

This letter was sent on February 15th. Because of the snow we had not had the chance to meet before then. (Oh, by the way, we meet in one of the classrooms after school. Would they dare to stop us?) On Thursday the 18th I was summoned to the office (after school) to meet with Mr H-- as well as the principal and, as it turned out, the other AP, my counsellor and some guy from the business office (I think). I walked in (in my club 'colours' of course), set down my books (did not even sit down at the table) heard their first question and respectfully requested that the meeting be rescheduled when a more appropriate 'panel' of involved girls could attend all at once.

'This meeting is just with you, Janine,' the principal said.

'Yes, Sir. As you will see, there are thirty-two other names on that petition.'

'We recognised your hand in this letter,' Mr H-- said.

'But I was only one of about six girls who wrote that letter,' I said.

'We assumed you were the ringleader in this.'

I made a smirk then. I could not help it. 'I am not responsible for what you are willing to assume, Sir,' I said. 'Would a day next week be available? I'm sure we can get a panel together by then.'

'You say in here that there is some urgency, and you want to wait till next week?' they asked.

I did not want to get into the issues, but I couldn't resist that. 'Sir, there are disciplinary cases at this school for issues touching on sexual harassment that are not resolved in longer periods of time than that.'

They all stared up at me (I was still standing at the end of the table) as though I had accused them personally of these infractions. 'How could you possibly know if that's true?' the other AP asked me.

I scooped up my books under my arm. 'I'm sure the group will be very eager to meet with you all. I'll get in touch with everyone, and we'll see if we can schedule something next week. All right?'

They protested. The other AP said, 'Janine, the principal is asking YOU a question, not your group.'

I nodded at them all. 'Yes, Ma'am,' I said. 'Oh, one thing-- we'll need time if we have to engage legal counsel. Unless that won't be an issue--?'

They all stared at me with their mouths hanging open and I turned round and walked out.

This is part of the reason I did not want to stay home sick, for I have been worried that they would call in some of the other girls when they'd know I wasn't there to 'ringlead'. So far I have not heard if they attempted to talk to anyone today. I did hear yesterday, however, when I was on an unrelated trip to the front office, that a change to this week's school-board meeting agenda had been submitted (in writing as they all are) from our school's principal's office. When I told Daddy about that he said, 'Well, I'll be sure to attend that and bring popcorn!'

...

Girls Against Grobians Association

Friday, 15 January 2010

Our meeting was organised on very last-minute notice-- basically Jessy and I spoke to as many girls as we could, especially those whom we thought would be sympathetic to Sherry's situation. By the way, that was about every girl in the school, whether they're dating or not, whether they've ever dated or not, even if they've never been kissed or have done it all the time, because it's not the rule about Public Displays of Affection we're riled-up against, but the way Sherry (and I) got treated because of it.

And we invited everyone to our house-- our house, because it's got the only rec room we know of that can hold 25 girls for any kind of actual meeting. After school we were able to use someone's mom's minivan and we borrowed a bunch of folding chairs from church. We set them up in the rec room, round the long table that we usually use for a buffet. Mother prepared a side table of homemade cookies and fruit punch and soda with ice and paper cups and coloured napkins. People started arriving at about 6.45. By 7.15, thirty-one girls had showed up, including Jessy and me and the seven other girls of the club, who were sort of hosting it, so that's two dozen girls we didn't know would be even slightly interested.

Looking out over the room I realised we had a pretty good cross-section of the best people at school-- honour-roll girls, band girls, theatre girls, athlete girls, a couple of cheerleaders and even a few who are not known for great grades or great involvement but who are typically maligned for their looks or by their boyfriends or maybe just because they are not so stellar as students.

As president of the club I started it like we would usually start a regular meeting, and then we went off our formal agenda and gave a report on what had happened with Sherry, what had happened in Mr H--'s office when he called me down, and what had happened when Jessy and Paulette and Rita had brought flowers and a cupcake down to Sherry in the detention room after lunch. The girls were all impressed by that-- they had not all heard of it. In fact no one seemed anything but interested. I mean they were sitting at the edge of their chairs hearing what Sherry and I and Jessy had to say.

Before taking questions I made the loaded proposal that we girls-- 'young ladies' as I called us-- had both the right and the responsibility to do something, to say something, to request a change in the way the whole school, even the administration, treats us. I said that civility at the school is at an all-time low, that even the teachers do not show us the respect we deserve, and that the crime of getting unexpectedly kissed in the cafeteria is nothing compared to the crime of just wearing a skirt to school or using good manners and speaking English properly. At that half the girls in our rec room reacted with agreement. 'We all know the boys are guilty of it too,' I said, 'but it starts with the administration and faculty. We can expect a bunch of churlish imbeciles to treat a lady poorly. We should not have to put up with it from adults who should be setting a better example.'

The girls all agreed with this at once. Then someone asked, 'But what can we do about it? You know if we said anything, they'd just make light of it or brush it under the carpet.'

'We insist,' I said. 'We stand up to it and demand to be treated with respect. Look, we're not asking to be treated like goddesses. None of us is perfect. But we deserve to be treated like a little better than just air-breathing mammals with mammaries.'

They all looked up at me when I said that. One or two giggled a little. But they all knew what I meant.

Jessy said, 'Has anyone here ever been cursed at, or treated rudely, or like your feelings don't matter? By anyone at school?'

Hands went up. No one didn't raise her hand. I smiled round the room at everyone. 'So... wouldn't you like to do something about it?'

'How do we insist?' someone asked.

'We act like we deserve it. We behave like ladies. We dress properly. We speak properly. We treat other people with respect, even if they don't respect us. We... intimidate them.'

Girls all looked up at that. I honestly think they had never expected they had the power to do that. Maybe they just didn't read enough Jane Austen!

'Look,' I said, 'maybe most of you don't really know about me... and my sister, but we were raised to believe there is power in being a lady. No one can deny you that-- only you can deny it. If you act like you don't care how you're treated, expect to be treated badly, because you're letting people do it. But if you act like you expect to be treated like you deserve....' I smiled at everyone again. 'The most powerful thing in the world is a pleasant-looking young woman with good manners and half a brain.'

They were all silent as they contemplated that. Finally someone said, 'That sounds so old-fashioned.'

Other people giggled. 'Yes,' I said, 'it is.'

'And what's wrong with that?' Rita finally said. 'You know it's what we all want to be. Even if it's old-fashioned. Why is it bad?'

'It's not bad,' someone said.

'It sounds so... simple,' one girl said. 'Sugar and spice and everything nice.'

Girls laughed. I laughed too. 'Yes,' Jessy said, 'but that's exactly what it is.'

One girl whom we did not know well spoke up. 'Well, that's fine for you,' she said, looking at Jessy. 'You ARE sugar and spice and everything nice. You're disgusting.'

People laughed. 'Disgusting' is what some girls call other girls who are a little too appealing, too sweet, too cute. Jessy is like that--a little TOO perfect. She was blushing. 'She also doesn't date,' one girl pointed out.

Jessy and I looked up then. 'No,' Jessy said bravely, 'I don't.'

'Why not?' someone asked her.

'Because,' said my little sister, 'I haven't met anyone I want to date yet.'

'Picky, picky,' one girl teased, and people laughed.

'What's wrong with being picky?' Rita said, turning on that girl then. 'Is it better to settle for someone who's not as good as you'd like a guy to be?'

The room was silent. Girls thought about that. 'Well, it's only dating,' someone said.

'You could just be lonely,' someone else said.

'I'm not lonely,' Jessy said, defending herself. 'I have my friends, and my family, and I have all of you. I'm never lonely.'

'Yeah,' someone said, 'but we all have... needs.'

Girls giggled at that. Of course I knew what she meant by 'needs'.

'Yes,' I said,' we all have romantic and emotional needs. But all of that becomes so much more valuable when you wait till it's a little closer to perfect.'

'Waiting till marriage?' one girl teased, and people laughed.

I waited till they were all sort of looking back at me and then I said, 'And just what is wrong with that?'

The room went dead quiet. I wasn't blushing. I think that was when I realised just how much power I had. Or, have. 'So what is this,' one girl asked then. 'Virgins anonymous?'

I smiled at that. 'Not anonymous,' I said.

'Coming out of the closet?' someone else teased.

They all looked at me. I sat there with my ankles crossed and my skirt on my knees looking back at them. 'I hardly think it's any big secret. I mean, if you're a nice decent girl from a good family who isn't married... what else would you be?'

They were quiet then. Probably half the room was suddenly feeling a little guilty. The other half of the room was suddenly feeling very empowered.

'I wouldn't have it any other way,' said Rita. 'You know, till I met Janine I had never really thought of it. Then she told me about Henry....' She and I smiled at each other then. 'What was it your stepmother said?'

I nodded at her. 'If he's willing to put a ring on your finger, show up at church, promise in front of all his friends, family, and God to love you for ever, all before he gets to sample the goods, he must really love and respect you.'

People actually sighed at that. (I am not making this up!)

'That's what I want,' Becky said.

'That's what I want too,' Josie said.

'Me too,' someone else said. By this time some of them were sniffling.

I remember a story my stepmother told me about when she had her own apartment at Delaware and she invited a new friend over for tea. She used to play classical music CDs and had a cute old-fashioned sofa and wing chairs and posters of Rococo art on the walls of her little parlour, and she was pouring out for her guest and the girl suddenly broke out into tears and said Mother was just like the way all girls wanted to be when they were about eight years old. And it made her cry, because Mother was still like that, and everyone else had changed. And she said she wanted to be able to get back to that, but she couldn't any more. And Mother told her, 'You can if you truly want to.' And that day her new friend literally changed her life, because Mother was pouring out tea for her in her little parlour.

I am not sure if that kind of epiphany actually occurred here at Terncote, but I like to think it's at least started. Jessy, Rita and I were able to get most of the girls to make a kind of pledge to each other and to themselves that we will all try harder to act more ladylike and to treat each other, and everyone else, with more respect. Everyone in the room promised to not ignore each other in the halls, but rather to say 'Good morning' or 'Hello' whenever we see each other. We promised to tell our friends how much we care for them and to hug each other regularly, even in school-- and so daring the administration to forbid us from showing friendly affection. One girl asked if we had to do the 'lady kiss' --that almost-kiss that the chicks in 'Mean Girls' do so insincerely. I said, 'Only if it's really sincere.'

At once most of the girls said that they wanted to, that it would seem really cool. 'That will really blow them away,' one girl said, and she is right-- it will.

'And we don't tolerate that stupid little "friend hug" that guys insist on,' I said, 'when it's really just an opportunity for guys to look like they can get any number of girls round the middle. It's a form of possession, and they're not entitled to possess us or even look like the do.'

Everyone had something to say about that. Some girls related their experiences with feeling possessed and we all agreed we don't like it.

Later I said, 'We can act as though we don't need rude people-- including guys,' I said. 'I mean, the one thing that will make them all want us more is if we act like we don't need them.'

Girls laughed. They all knew about that one. But it's not playing hard-to-get. It's only behaving with self-confidence and respect.

We also talked about clothes and manners and how to wear a skirt and go up the stairs and how to wear heels and walk in them, and Rita and Jessy both demonstrated how to walk and stand and sit properly and even as they were all fascinated by this-- since I'm pretty sure no-one's ever taught them before-- someone made a joke about going to 'charm school'. And we all laughed. But we did make a pact-- all thirty-three of us-- that we will dress better from now on and behave properly as ladies just to see how it will change how we are treated.

Jessy wanted to make Mondays and Thursdays 'legs days', meaning that we should all wear dresses or skirts, just to resurrect the convention as a form of ladylike behaviour. But actually not everyone has enough wardrobe for that, so we'll meet again after Valentines' to see if we can actually establish that, especially for the warmer weather.

Of course we club girls still wear our club skirts and blue tops on Thursdays. From now on I think the other girls will understand it better.

One of the girls (I do know their names but am not mentioning them all here) stopped me on the way out and said, 'Now I see where you get your reputation.'

I got a little red but asked her, 'What reputation is that?'

'Well,' she said, 'you're... a princess.'

I blushed. 'I am not.'

She laughed. 'But you are, Janine, you are. Everyone thinks so. It's not bad, honest. I think they all secretly admire you.'

I went beet-red then. 'I don't want to be admired!'

'Then why did you invite everyone to your beautiful house and show us how to sit with ankles crossed?'

I shrugged. I felt embarrassed. Was this all about ME after all? 'I just think it's a good thing when young women act properly,' I said. 'It makes it easier for all of us.'

'But, the thing is, it's not that easy. It's hard to act like you deserve respect.'

'Yes it is,' I said.

'It's a challenge,' she said.

I nodded. 'Yes it is.'

She leaned in and gave me a hug and kissed my cheek. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'I promise we'll be friends.'

I hugged her back straight away. 'I promise too.'

...

The crime of a kiss

Tuesday 12 January 2010

I first learned about it when I was summoned to the assistant principal's office. Here in the US the assistant principals (we have two at this school) are responsible for maintaining attendance and discipline. As you might figure the worst-behaved people are most familiar with them. I had never been called to see them before today. A student arrived in my 4th-period maths class bearing a pass and I got up amidst the teasing and jeering feeling like I was about to be guillotined in the square.

I stepped into the office and Mr H-- gestured for me to sit down. I sat, crossed my ankles, arranged the skirt in my lap, and exhaled to calm my breathing. If I felt awkward at least Mr H-- felt more so. He looked about himself for a long moment and then stared straight at me. 'Janine,' he said to me.

'Yes, Sir.'

'Do you have any idea what this is about?'

I shook my head. 'None at all, Sir.'

He looked oddly at me then, as though he had expected a simple No. I suppose I was long enough at HOH (in England) that know how to answer a proper question from a senior school administrator. So he went on to tell me that Sherry, one of my friends (who is in our girls' club) was 'caught' (his word) kissing a boy in the school cafeteria, which is against about three or four school rules (including, if you can believe, the health code) and is facing disciplinary action as soon as Mr H-- can figure out exactly what happened and, as he admitted, who the boy is.

I stared straight at him the whole time he told me this, not out of respect nor anything else but in total disbelief. I know that kissing in the school is against policy. We've discussed what's known as 'PDA' (public displays of affection) in our club meetings. I am very strongly against it, as anyone who knows me can verify. For one thing, it makes other people feel awkward. Just because you can get a date doesn't mean you should ever flaunt in front of other people. Then of course it's form of possession, as though the guy is saying, 'Look what I get to have, and kiss, in front of you, and you don't.' And of course a girl will feel the same thing about a guy. And for another thing it's never really a good kiss-- it's a polite kiss, or more importantly a gesture, being shown to other people, not intended to be particularly pleasant. If you want really good kissing, go somewhere where you're both more comfortable (like a Halloween party in an angel costume-- okay, that's somewhere else in this blog). And, for another, it's disruptive-- it makes people pay attention, not much better than a car wreck on the highway. Also, I guess, from the school's point of view, they don't want to be put in the VERY awkward position of having to determine where a simple 'see you later' kiss ends and where 'making out' begins, so they have to ban all of it-- which I am totally in support of. So I guess the next issue is, if Sherry is in our club-- and had participated in that discussion-- why one of 'us' (if I may say 'us') was 'caught' kissing a boy in the cafeteria.

'And so,' Mr H-- was saying, 'I asked you down here because I have a little problem with getting a straight answer out of her.' He looked straight at me then. 'Who is Sherry dating right now?'

I looked straight back at him. 'Sir--?'

'It's a simple question. You're friends with Sherry-- you must know whom she's dating. What's his name?'

'Sir, I really don't think--'

'Just an answer. Do you know who her current boyfriend is?'

I went red. I did know. I have met him often. He came to our Christmas party. He's been helping to organise our Valentines' Day dance. He hangs out with the other two boyfriends who date girls in our club at the moment. 'Sir,' I said, 'if you will forgive me-- I think that's a question for Sherry, and not--'

'I'm asking you, right now.' There was no awkwardness left in him now. 'Do you think you'd like to answer, or--?'

I waited. He did not finish. I swallowed and said bravely, 'Or--?'

He let out a long sigh. 'Oh, so I get it,' he said. By now the respect was gone too. 'It's not just a girls' club, then. It's a little gang you've got here. One for all and all for one-- is that it? All go down together? --something like that.'

'Sir, I don't think that--'

'You'll START thinking, young lady, and you'll start now. I've got your little lady-friend in the next room' (he meant the detainment room where they put people for the period, or the day, or after-school detention) 'for insubordination at the moment, for refusing to co-operate with administration, but it can very easily go to more than that. So start using your pretty little head right now. Do I have to bring every member of your little skirt-wearing gang in here to find out one little piece of information? How many is that? --a dozen girls? And will I be able to get a straight answer out of any one of them?'

I stared straight at him. I mean-- I was not going to back down, not now, not at all. 'Sir, I haven't said I won't co-operate.'

'I'll be the one to define co-operation here, Janine.'

'Yes, Sir,' I said, ignoring that. 'You should know, Sir, that we girls-- in our club, I mean-- don't condone "PDA". We've talked about it. We all agree it's pretty crass and tasteless-- not to mention against school policy.'

He made a smirk then. 'If what you say is true, if "PDA" is against your... principles, then why was Sherry caught doing this?'

I shrugged. 'I am as surprised by it as you are,' I said. He didn't seem to believe that-- he definitely didn't care. 'Sir, if I may ask something-- If Sherry was kissing this guy in the cafeteria... do you know which of them started it?'

'Started it? It's a public display of affection. It takes two. What difference does it make who started it?'

'Well, Sir, if you were to ask a girl, I would say it makes a lot of difference.' That seemed to stump him and it gave me a chance for another breath. 'I mean, Sir, not to be too tedious about it, but it's entirely possible that this guy just came up and kissed her.'

'From what I hear she didn't seem to repel him very much.'

I made a smile. 'If it were a good kiss, I don't think it would repel me either, Sir. And even so, you could hardly accuse me of initiating it. After all, Sir, some of the best kisses are by surprise-- and any guy knows that.'

Mr H-- sat back in his chair, made a cathedral of his hands and pressed his fingertips together over and over, staring at me as though his stare could make me feel intimidated. I was far from feeling intimidated. He had got my ire up and I wasn't going to back down. What does Lizzy Bennet say in 'Pride and Prejudice'? --'I always rise to any attempt to intimidate me.' So we sat there staring at each other for a long moment. Fortunately Mr H-- is not a bad-looking man of his age-- he has the ex-Marine build and close-cut hair and a pleasant, if serious-looking face. Unfortunately (probably because of being an ex-Marine) he is virtually impossible to out-confidence. 'You're very clever, aren't you?' he asked me.

I cocked my head a little at that-- maybe I should not have looked like I would flinch. 'Sir--?'

'You bring up these philosophies of yours-- very confidently, very smoothly. You, and your holier-than-thou clique, with your slogans and carwashes and charities, and it's really just all for one and one for all, isn't it? Not much better than a gang-- maybe a better-looking gang, but a gang-- as I suspected. Not much difference at all.'

'Lots of difference,' I said.

'You have gang colours,' he said, 'and initiations and creeds and even a form of territory. Gangs are illegal in this school, Janine.'

'We are not a gang, Sir. For one, we are not self-serving. We are not violent. We don't rebel against authority. And you allow other non-school clubs to wear "colours" here. You have non-school clubs here who wear team colours-- that's not considered a gang. You have clubs here that wear "Jesus" t-shirts, clubs that wear "Darwin" t-shirts, paintballers, Boy Scouts, the black-t-shirt groups and cliques-- Sir, you have a club at this school who wear colours and get together only to smoke pot and play Warcraft.'

'Do we?' he wondered.

'And you cannot compare that to a bunch of decent girls who practise good manners and chastity and honesty and raise money to feed poor people-- and, I might add, Sir, help hold up the reputation of this school, especially in behaviour and even in grades.'

'"Especially in behaviour",' he said back at me. 'And by that, you mean co-operating with school administrators in upholding school policy?'

I drew a breath and nodded. 'In everything good, Sir.'

He smiled smugly at me. '"In everything good",' he repeated. 'Who is your friend Sherry kissing these days?'

I sighed. Had he not heard anything I'd just said? 'Sir,' I said, speaking quickly and firmly now, 'I think what I've been trying to say is that it's very possible the guy who kissed her in the cafeteria and the guy she's currently dating are not the same guy.'

This completely threw him. His eyes went suddenly wide as if he had just been caught by an ambush. Then he smiled smugly at me. 'So, your little friend is a bit of a player, then?'

'A player, Sir?' I had never heard a school administrator say something so disrespectful about someone I knew.

'Two boys at once? Is that one of your club's core values?'

'Sir, I hardly think--'

'I'm still wondering if you think at all. Any of you.' He leaned forward to his desk. 'I'll write you up for insubordination right now, and we'll see about resolving the issue with your little player friend in the other room--'

'Sir?' I asked, suddenly getting an idea, 'will you allow me the benefit of the doubt? May I go in and ask her myself? Confidentially, of course. If it's any news that will... absolve her, I will tell you everything I know. If not....'

He nodded. 'If not, you'll plead the fifth... and take this.'

I nodded seriously, seeing the discipline referral form on his desk. 'Yes, Sir.'

He rose at once. So did I. 'You have two minutes. This isn't legal strategy. You can tell her I'll call every last member of your little gang in here if I don't get an answer out of her. I'll start with your little sister.'

I met him in the eye. 'Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.'

There was another student in the detention room, a boy in a black hoodie with his head down on the desk who, apparently, had been sent down for the day for failing to dress for PE. I stepped right past him and went to Sherry in the corner. She leaned down on her arm, with her long reddish hair spilled out all over the desk, her knees together, her ankles crossed, in a cute black-and-grey speckled wool skirt and black tights and an off-white sweater. She didn't see me at first. I crouched down beside her-- in a skirt and tights-- so that our heads were less than a foot apart. She was surprised to see me but I told her what was going on at once.

'He says,' I said quietly, 'that he'll pull us all in here, one-by-one, and interrogate us till he finds out. Whoever doesn't tell will get the same thing you get.'

She made a face. 'That's unfair,' she said sadly.

I nodded. 'I know, but what would be worse is not showing you the respect you deserve. I mean, it's your life-- he shouldn't interrogate us about it, like it's a matter of public record.'

'If we're talking about respect,' Sherry said then, 'then I shouldn't let any of you go down for anything I've done.'

I shrugged. 'That doesn't matter, if it's important to you.'

'Are you going to make that decision for the rest of us? --all the others?'

'We do love you,' I said quietly. 'All for one.'

Sherry shook her head. 'Then I guess I'd better tell you,' she said. In a near-whisper she explained that her boyfriend's best friend ('Mike') had often been teasing her by saying that he has a crush on her, that she looks hot (she does), that he would go out with her if she were not dating his best friend, and so on. And yesterday in the cafeteria 'Mike' came up to her and got her aside for some kind of 'private conversation'-- the topic of which I will NOT go into here, but it was very disrespectful towards a guy he has been claiming is so much his best friend that he wouldn't disrespect him by following his heart, or whatever such bile boys like to spew out as though some dumb chick will believe it. And Sherry had told 'Mike' she would not change her mind and said she thought it was better they did not have any such 'private conversations' any more. And so, I am sure mainly because 'Mike' felt it was appropriate (though we will all agree here that it wasn't), he needed to give her a 'goodbye and good luck kiss', right in the corner of the cafeteria, behind the big square column, where no one (except the teacher on cafeteria duty) would see.

'And I can't say anything, because [boyfriend] will get upset,' she told me, 'and there's nothing going on, there never was anything going on, and there never was anything going to be going on, but you know how guys are-- I mean sometimes they just don't accept that.'

'So it's a simple case of a guy unable to resist his best friend's girlfriend,' I said.

'Please don't tell [boyfriend],' she said. 'I swear I will, Janine, when the time is right, when I should. I just don't think--'

'"What's right to be done can never be done too soon",' I quoted. (Too much Jane Austen in one day, I know.) 'The right time is the very next time you see him.'

She blotted her eye. 'I know. You're right. I will.'

I stood up. 'Well, let me go tell Mr H-- that, so we can get you out of here.'

Mr H-- probably hearing his name in my regular voice then-- appeared in the doorway. 'No,' Sherry said, catching my hand. 'I wouldn't say a word-- It would get back to him and I couldn't bear that.'

I nodded. 'It means you're going to have this lunch detention,' I said. 'For like three days this week.'

She nodded. 'I'll take the lunch detention.' She looked past me at Mr H-- then. 'Mr H--, it's not her fault. It's mine. I'll take the lunch detentions.'

'Is that your plea, counsellor?' he asked me.

I stood up straight before him. The boy in the black hoodie looked up. The other assistant principal appeared in the door behind Mr H--. And another boy was just signing in from having been sent out of his class, and he looked up too. In front of this audience I said, 'Yes, Sir.'

He beckoned me with his finger and I followed him out. Behind me, Sherry put her head down on the desk again. The detention room is like jail. For someone like Sherry-- for anyone of our club, for anyone at all, really, it must be humiliating. I do not know how I would ever choose to be here. But somehow I just did.

I explained to Mr H-- that the boy had kissed Sherry without her permission, and that because of the circumstances she felt guiltier than she should, and she was choosing the punishment rather than giving up his name to keep the whole thing quiet and just put it behind her somehow. 'She's not a "player",' I said, 'as you called her, Sir. She's actually being very noble about it.'

'Noble? And now you know the guy, and you're not giving him up either?'

I stood my ground. 'No, Sir.'

He nodded, looked down at the discipline-referral form on his desk, and picked it up to read it over. 'All right,' he said past me to our other AP. 'She gets the three LDs, and the counsellor here-- I'll decide on her later.'

The other AP nodded and went out. My heart pounded. I did not want lunch detention nor anything else. 'Thank you, Sir,' I said, because I did not know what else to say.

'Thank me for what? I haven't decided on you yet.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Sir. But-- thank you for considering it.'

He made that disrespectful smirk again. 'Get out of here,' he said, and called over me towards his assistant who would write a pass for me to return to class.

I have thought a lot about it all afternoon and still don't know what the sin is in 'all for one and one for all.' If Sherry is wrong, it's because as a lady she allowed herself to be kissed by her boyfriend's best friend in school. And she really is being noble by taking the punishment to protect someone she loves and someone he cares for as a best friend in turn. I have to respect that. But she is being mistrusted and mistreated-- I probably am too-- and Mr H--, who should be a role model of fairness and noble behaviour, is being obstinate and arbitrary.

I texted everyone in our group this afternoon and not one of us, if we are asked, will be giving over 'Mike''s name, even if it means we are all sitting in lunch detention-- and not being allowed to talk or even communicate with each other-- for the rest of the week.

I have not told my parents, but I know what they will say. 'Do what you believe is right, Janine.' -- and I have done, and will do. Thanks be to God.

...

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.

* * *

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.

...

An end, a beginning, and an event in between

Wednesday 5 August 2009

Jessy and I have been here on our own these last two days, 'chilling' (as she says. I never say that). I have resumed swimming 25 laps a day-- in fact I swam it twice yesterday. A lot of good it will do-- after Saturday I won't get a chance to swim, sunbathe or go to the beach till we get back from England. But I am really pretty well-tanned (and I mean all over) by now anyway.

Wait-- it gets worse.

Since we've got home (meaning here at Terncote, that's Virginia) people have been ringing us to get together. We haven't wanted to-- Josie was supposed to come over today (and didn't-- wait) and we have made some plans to go tomorrow night (Thursday) to see HP6 again, down at Lynnhaven, with a group of the girls. Otherwise we are content to do nothing, mostly outside, for as little time as we have left to do nothing.

It was hot yesterday-- there was a threat of rain which didn't happen. I was in my room for a while, escaping the worst of the heat, typing in my novel, and also compiling the stuff I will take on our trip. Jessy updated her FaceBook, which is what she does most of the time. I urged her to get her summer reading done. She's reading 'Their Eyes Were Watching God', which I have read (had to read it last year as before I started at school here in fact), and I have offered to help her do the paper, but she has not seemed interested in it. This is how she is-- she procrastinates till the pressure's on and then does a stellar job in half the time you'd expect anyone to do a so-so job. Well-- I am like that to.

This afternoon I was lying out on my chaise in the side yard. I didn't have anything with me, no book, no sun lotion (put it on in the house) no towel... and no clothes. Neither of us has been dressed since we went to bed on Monday night. Earlier my phone rang and it was Stephen, who left a voicemail message (he never texts) that he wanted to see me, 'to talk'. I knew what that meant. He is going off to UMES in about two weeks-- he will be gone before I get back from England and that will be it for us for the school term. I had expected to drive up and visit him a few times... but there really isn't going to be any kind of 'relationship' in any even slightly exclusive sense. We are friends, and I truly hope we always will be, but we are not really girlfriend-and-boyfriend and I think we're both aware of that. I was only touched that he wanted to see me in person to discuss it, which is only out of respect, which is how it should be. I sent a text-message to him that I would like to see him later, this evening maybe, but I wondered if he would get it. Then I turned off my phone and went outside.

I think Jessy was up stairs at the time. I really don't think anything would have happened the way it did if she had been out in the pool... which is where I thought she was. Neither of us recalled a car pulling up. Normally the gate in the front wall is closed and you need a passcode to get in. The wood beyond where I lie out in the chaise has a chain-link fence the other side of it, with barbed-wire (it was there when we got this property) and there is a perimeter security system here that James Bond couldn't get through. On the other side is the softball field, which is semi-developed as a kind of park or preserve-- that is, mostly tall grass, some shrubs, whatever trees were there, you know. There is also a tall fence round the softball field-- it's not open to the public though the security system is really only on the building there. The house system goes through the fence between the softball field and us.

On the Bay side is our dock, a rocky and swampy beach, ooky beach grass and a lower version of our wall with another gate. That gate, like the one in front, is on the same axis as the front and back doors, so that if you opened them all you could see straight through the house from the road to the water. This is the Baroque style and something Daddy intended, you know. It's really pretty elegant.

I was lying on my back with one hand over my eyes, half-asleep in the early-afternoon sun. I was so divinely comfortable that I might have stayed there all day. I can get like this, when I don't even know that I don't have any clothes on. And so when I heard the voice I wasn't immediately concerned.

'Janine.'

I turned my head a little and finally had to move my hand up to see. It was Stephen.... walking slowly down from the garden steps. I got an elbow under myself-- and then realised. Oops! Well! --this was an all-new experience for both of us!

I was embarrassed-- I certainly blushed! --but I was not afraid. Why should I have been afraid of Stephen? This is a guy I have dated, on and off, as it's been, because I already respected him as a gentleman, because I knew he respected me, because the whole relationship between us has always been based on trust and admiration and genuine friendship. Though I have had many pleasant moments in his arms (and many pleasant kisses) he has always been mainly a friend, and I really do trust him.

'Sorry,' he said, just about stopping about twelve yards away. 'Are you all right?'

I leaned back on my elbows-- oh, yes, I did cross my legs! --and made a red-faced smile at him. 'Um, yes,' I said.

'I'm sorry... the side gate was open. I was over there-- I'm sorry.'

He was trying very hard not to look at me, but the thing is, no guy could have ignored what he was seeing. To me it just depends on WHY the guy wouldn't ignore it. Stephen does have older and younger sisters, and he's seen as much of them as he was seeing of me, even if only by accident. It was just that he'd never seen ME like this, and I'd never let any guy see me like this (or even close).

'It's all right,' I finally said. 'You, um-- wanted to talk?'

He looked right at me-- at my eyes-- and smiled. 'Well, yes, but-- it can wait.'

I shrugged, gaining my courage back. 'I'm too comfortable to get up... if you don't mind.'

He smiled more. Now he came closer. 'Well... maybe we shouldn't talk about it now.'

'Why not?' Yes-- I really asked that.

'Well, just because.... Well, I wanted to talk about the next couple of weeks, that's all.'

I nodded. 'Okay....'

So he went on, telling me basically what I already know, about his going away to college and me going to England and we really weren't going to have much time between now and after then, so it was probably best that we don't expect too much of each other. 'Although, Janine, I have to say, you kind of make it hard to think about it, well, now.'

I laughed. 'Stephen,' I said, 'it's just me. We're friends. That doesn't change, does it?'

He was sitting in the grass now, about six feet from the chaise, beside me, not quite facing me, so that he had to half turn round to look at me. This is how he shows respect. If he'd wanted to ogle me he wouldn't have had to say a word. He wouldn't have had to pretend he was here for anything else. But Stephen is a gentleman. And that doesn't change. 'No,' he said. 'It doesn't. I just feel like I'm letting you down-- as a friend, even.'

'You're not,' I said. 'You're moving on. You're going to a really terrific new part of your life. In some ways so am I. Believe me... I would respect it a lot less if you tried to make something happen that wasn't going to be able to, and then just attempted to string me along for the odd date every month or so. I mean--' I smiled right at him then-- 'if we want to see each other, or go out to something, we can still have that, right?'

He looked right at me (at my eyes). 'Yes,' he said. 'I would like to think we can.'

'Then we can.'

Now he stared. I didn't mind by now. 'Janine,' he said, 'you do make it hard to think about it all now.'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'It's just that I'm going to England and staying in someone else's house, and so I won't have a chance to get any sun for the next two weeks. You've got to know how it is there.'

He laughed. 'I guess so.'

We looked each other in the eye. 'I was expecting maybe Josie,' I admitted. 'She's been coming over here recently.'

'And she does as you do? Like this?'

'Oh, sure. Well, you know that Jessy invited her.'

He smiled. He does know about Jessy from what I've told him. 'I might have guessed.'

I thought of something and then said, 'Do you want lunch? We might have something here.'

He nodded. 'Sure... if that's okay.'

I shrugged, looking down at him. 'It's only lunch.'

'Okay.' Then he got up. 'Um... I'll go round to the door. I can wait for you there. If you'd like to....'

I smiled right at him. 'That would be very good of you.'

He smiled back. 'All right.' And he turned and walked away from me, not looking back, till he had gone round the front corner of the house.

I didn't wait a second and ran full-tilt for the garden, ducked in the back door and galloped up the stairs. 'JESSY!' I yelled.

'Whaaaaaat?' she called in a babyish voice. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with the computer (on FaceBook), naked of course.

I stopped and leaned in her doorway, catching my breath. 'You didn't know my erstwhile boyfriend was in the yard?'

She looked up. 'Stephen? He's here?'

I made a wry face at her. 'Walked right up to me whilst I was lying in the chaise.'

Her mouth dropped open. 'You're kidding!'

I shrugged smugly. 'Not much I could have done, right?'

She giggled. 'Oh my God! Well--' she giggled more-- 'at least it's Stephen!'

And that is the great thing to be grateful for then.

In some shorts and a t-shirt I went down front to let him in. Jessy came down, dressed too, and we fixed sandwiches in the kitchen and sat round the table talking, about England, the ice-cream place, the animal shelter, people we know. Stephen never brought up the awkward situation again-- and he will never hold it against me. Someday when he's away at college he will tell someone that on the day he was amicably breaking up with his high-school girlfriend he happened to see her sunning naked in the yard. A perverted guy will say, 'Did you tap that?' --or whatever guys say, you know. And Stephen will say, 'No. That's not how I am. And it's not how she is either.'

Right, Stephen. It's not. You are a gentleman and I am a lady. And that doesn't change.

...

Time for a cold shower

Saturday 1 August 2009

I got home from working this morning and-- naturally, and as you might guess-- got undressed straight away. Well-- this is only sensible since I may wear the same clothes when I go in tonight. All our costumes are all natural fibres, which 'breathe' well but also can get somewhat... ripe. I usually change over my shift and stockings from morning to evening... but it's totally 'in period' to wear a gown and bedjacket that might not be so 'fresh', you know... and of course we don't wear makeup and do little with our hair-- no curling, no straightening, no highlights or dye, you know.

When I sat down at the computer the yard-care people were out. They come on Saturdays and are supposed to start at 11 and be done by noon. Of course they work very fast, with their loud whining machines, edging, whacking weeds, clipping bushes and so on. We don't have much here, being on the dune line, but Daddy was very careful to plant scrubby pines and cedar bushes which help hold the sand down. Very few people seem to care about this, making dune erosion such a big deal. (My dad tried to lobby for a reduction in his property taxes based on having so much planted here, saying that 'his' share of the beach maintenance costs, for both these houses-- ours and the rental-- were probably less than some others'. Needless to say they turned this down.)

Someone asked me once if the yard-care guys are good-looking. I don't usually go in for ogling the help. It's low-class. The sad thing is that so many Americans don't understand this concept. Everyone is so 'equal' in the United States that we don't seem to think it's odd for a girl whose father pays labourers to be attracted to one of those sweaty labourers. Maybe having been raised so very English and having gone to school there has altered my way of thinking, and maybe I am just the odd one out then.

All right, there is one cute one... he's about my age, very well-tanned, very well-shaped, with good teeth. I have seen him smile at me before. I said 'Good morning' to him once and then if he happens to see me, like coming back from work in my Colonial costume, he always says hello. I do not know his name though. Part of me wants to make sure I never do.

This morning I happened to look out this window as the noisemaking machines came round this side of the house and he was there. I got very embarrassed and sat back down, away from the window. Of course he would not see me, even if he knew I was up here looking down-- the screen makes the window opaque and it's on the third floor anyway, 18 feet above his head and the yard is only 18 feet wide down there, so he wouldn't have the angle (sorry about relying on trigonometry here) and he wouldn't have been able to see much below my shoulders anyway... but still it is very weird being totally naked in your own room and looking down on the bare back of an ordinarily good-looking young guy, who is known for smiling at you, who is just a decent middle-class guy in excellent health who chooses, to support his university tuition, to labour as a yard-care worker in the summer.

I wonder if I should have a shower now before I go to the beach with Jessy. It would have to be a cool one.

...

An invited guest

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

It is morning-I am up. I must be going for a record-- I have not had on a stitch (not counting shoes) since Sunday afternoon... that's what? --two and a half days, and will be three and a half by tomorrow. It's just been too pleasant. And Daddy is still away-- Mother got a call from him last night that he had driven down to the house in Lewes last night to pick up things for the boat and drove right back up to his brother's house in NJ. He asked if Jessy or I wanted to come along and I think at least I was in bed by then and Mother said we were just having too nice a time here to be disturbed. I am sure he knew what that meant.

Mother is full of happy thoughts and happy comments and cute little smiles, as though she likes being queen of a house full of naked girls. Yesterday she was in a bikini all day-- her blue-and-white striped one. She honestly looks about 20 in a bikini. (She's 27 and has had two babies.) Together we have all been gardening, raking, sweeping, even doing a bit of painting like round beyond the garage. Little J.J. (age 3-1/2) is the only male-- and may I say the only one of us who doesn't work. He's built a sand village in the side yard, bordered by the tall grass along the water, the tall grass and shrubs along the preserve, the garage and the garden wall. It's probably fifty feet on a side and is pretty well planned-- there are a few houses (stacks of bricks) and roads between them all and the place is cluttered with trucks and cars. Lisa and Jessy sometimes go over there and help him. He is grateful for the help, rather like a young king (or prince in this case) newly proud of his own domains. No one challenges his authority over Sandtown and so he remains placated.

The surprise this week is that Jessy's friend Josie came over. Mother of course for the door, having put on her cover-up shirt, and gave Josie fair warning. 'Oh,' Josie said, 'well if she doesn't mind--!'

Jessy appeared on the mezzanine above her-- naked of course. 'Come on up!' she said-- and thus the situation was resolved. Next I saw of them they were both skipping-- I mean really SKIPPING-- out the back door, and I went out with Lisa later and joined them. So Josie has become the very first one of our friends to take up with us as we are. I expected her to be concerned about sunburn but she was actually not very white at all. --hmm! Wonder why? We were all very clinical with each other as far as sharing the sun lotion and had a very pleasant afternoon together. Mother rang her little bell for tea on the terraces and we all attended-- four of us this time-- none of us dressed at all. Mother had this sly little smile on the whole time. She secretly envies us, but she won't indulge it herself. I'm sure she thinks it is not her place. So she only encourages us in our indulgence instead.

Many people have asked me about that and have said it is odd that our parents do not do as we do. I am sure they have their own reasons for asking. I am sure too that many of them do not believe it is how it is for us. But our parents are very proper and responsible. I'm not saying other people's aren't-- though that may be true-- but our parents do not have a need to indulge every little whim that pops into their heads without caring about the consequences. In fact you could say that caring about the consequences is exactly what both my parents do best. Daddy teaches us that we are girls and ladies first, and one should never burden or obligate a lady. If he does not know how we would take to his being naked with us, he will not insist that we do, and of course he would be concerned about how we would come to accept all men based on his example (and I mean in terms of behaviour). And anyway he has no need or desire to be naked like we are.

Mother is something else entirely, a perfectly beautiful young woman with needs and desires not much different than those Jessy and I have. The difference is of course that she is married. She feels awkward revealing too much of herself after she has been 'known' (for lack of a better word) by our father. She considers that inappropriate. And of course, as in the Bible, a parent should not be naked in front of her own child, in this case Lisa and J.J. It's just a little awkward thinking that the children can see where they came from! Of course in the case of Jessy and me, those two conditions do not exist-- we are still 'children' in every good sense of the word and at least in one way our bodies can have no effect on the rest of our family. (I do have a suspicion-- perhaps more than a mere suspicion-- that Mother is much less prudish in private with our father, but I really think that shouldn't be something I think about or discuss too often. They are happy as they are and that's all that should matter to a child or stepchild.)

As for Josie... well I shall say that she has taken to it very easily. She and Jessy disappeared into her room, the door was not even fully closed, as we all knew who was in the house at the time, and not five minutes later the two of them emerged, giggling quietly, and trotted down the stairs to the big parlour. In another moment I had looked out my window and seen them going through the garden for the side yard. Jessy even remembered to bring the other chaise for Josie. That meant they expected me to join them... so I did. We sunned and swam and sunned and swam some more all afternoon. By tea-time Josie was as at-ease as we ever are, not even flinching when she saw Mother bringing the tea things to the terrace. 'How are you girls enjoying the day?' Mother asked us all.

'It's lovely,' Jessy said. 'Are there biscuits?'

Mother set down the tray as we all drew out chairs. 'There are, but I was going to heat them up first.'

'Heat them up?' wondered Jessy.

'Well, it's not too hot,' Mother said. 'But you girls have had nothing but sun over there.'

We all agreed the biscuits did not have to be heated up and took our places. Mother returned with the biscuits on a tray and leaned in to set them down. Josie looked up then. 'Thank you, Mrs C--,' she said sweetly.

Mother smiled right back at her. 'You are very welcome, Josie. Do you girls mind if J.J. and I join you?'

I saw Josie glance at me then. Jessy did not hesitate. 'Mother! Do you have to ask?'

Mother giggled and turned to get the other chair. Then we all six of us were seated under the umbrella having (hot) tea and biscuits, chatting about our impressions of the day.

Josie would have to go home for dinner. Very reluctantly she moped up stairs after Jessy. They were up there till Josie's mother pulled in to the front yard. Mother called up to remind them. In her cute shorts and tank-top Josie hurried out along the front gallery and down the stairs, Jessy following her naked, and in the foyer they said good-byes. I said mine from the mezzanine. Mother, in her blue-and-white bikini and cover-up shirt, stepped in at the last moment. 'I'll get that,' she said, and interposed herself between Jessy and the front door. That was a good thing-- Jessy might have got it herself, and what would Josie's mother have thought then?

Mother waved cheerfully out the front door as Josie got in to the car with her mother and they drove away. The electric gate closed. Then she shut the door. 'Well, you two had quite a day,' she said wryly at us.

Jessy only shrugged and turned to come up stairs. 'It was nice that she came over. I did invite her, you know.'

Mother smiled. 'I'm sure.'

Jessy stopped halfway up the stairs. 'Is it all right if she comes over tomorrow?'

Mother made that face again. 'Have you already invited her?'

I did not see but Jessy must have nodded then.

'Very well. Your father comes home tomorrow night or Friday. Just so you know, now.'

'Yes, Mother, of course.' And she started up the stairs again. Later in the evening I happened to pop in her room and she was sitting in her bed with her knees up and the laptop propped on her legs, typing furiously. Seeing me she looked up, and then I could guess the content of her typing. 'Do you think the rest of the club would ever.--? You know.'

I laughed. 'Do you really think they should?'

She shrugged. 'We have to have a pool party before we go,' she said. 'It has to be Friday, when he gets here with the boat.'

I nodded. 'I think we had better not. Not this soon.'

She nodded at once as though that was a perfectly reasonable response, and then she typed more, as furiously as ever. She attacks the keyboard, not hard, but so quickly you swear the picture's running in fast-motion. 'Josie agrees,' she said after a moment. 'But she's looking forward to coming over again.'

I smiled. 'She's always welcome,' I said. 'Just be careful whom you extend invitations to.'

She nodded, typing again. 'I'll always ask Mother first, you know.' Then she looked up. 'And you.'

'Me?'

She typed and then looked up again. 'You know best,' she said. 'And you know me-- I would be like this all the time.'

I giggled. I am sure she would-- and thank God there were no boys there, for her pose was certainly too immodest to have kept them them at bay! But Jessy is like that-- she always feels she has nothing to hide. And so I am glad she consults me. In a way I am her protector, and that makes me happy to be so trusted. There is nothing in the world that could make me betray her trust in me.

...