Whitsunday evening, 31 May
I thought of something funny but as I am about to go down stairs and watch 'Rebecca' with Mother and Jessy this will be brief (I hope). Yesterday afternoon Jessy found a box of cake mix in the cupboard and made a chocolate cake, on which she sprinkled powdered sugar and of which she then ate about three pieces. I just cut for myself a piece leaving about two pieces' worth left in the pan and thought how nice it was that we had a chocolate cake lying round here for no special reason. But, you see, this is Jessy-- during her period she becomes almost uncontrollably industrious. She rearranges her room, categorises books, paints a picture, throws two or three pots in one afternoon, shovels snow, rakes the yard... and then for the next 21 days she does little or nothing in the way of being constructive. She is a princess-- and I guess the only time she doesn't feel like one is when she doesn't feel like much of anything, you know.
I am the opposite (I think). I do nearly nothing during my time except pop Advil and read a book (or type in this). At most of the other times I tend to be eager to do things. I like this place looking nice and always help Mother. Mother has an attitude about doing chores that makes everything she does an act of love. She sings and hums and makes up silly little rhymes about the most mundane things and always says she actually has fun scrubbing a floor or folding and ironing. So I try to take advantage of that mentality.
The odd thing I thought of is that for the first time in my life I had a first date (and a second) during the most inconvenient of weeks and it never felt like an issue. We went out, we talked, we had fun, we shared the experience of being together and at no time during any of it did I feel uncomfortable at all. I have to hope that Jessy finds someone to date soon-- or, I should say, that Jessy finds someone has found her. There is great value in not having to worry about how uncomfortable you feel-- or, maybe it is that it's being able to not worry about how you feel. Aside from not being able to sun all bare-bottomed outside, I have no regrets at all about the past week. I am sure Jessy would feel the same way were she going on dates too.
Then again, if she were, we all might just miss out on having a nice chocolate cake for no special reason.
...
31 May 2009
Such is the gentle life.
Whitsunday, 31 May 2009
As we are back in the US again we must become used to American ways all over again, and one of them is the way the church here celebrates Whitsunday as 'Pentecost' and emphasises the colour red. Jessy and I would be unswayed however and with Lisa we all wore white. We each have a new soft cotton dress, and I wore my white sandals. Of course at church half the people teased us-- 'You forgot to wear red!' --none of the poor dears knowing that we really were commemorating the day, only in a different way. There were two baptisms as this is a traditional day for it, but, unusually, one was an adult-- a mother and a the newborn (actually about 2 months old). Then there was the usual reception with tea and doughnuts and all, which Daddy and Mother wanted to stay for since it meant we did not have to go out for pancakes.
At home I rang Dottie at the ice-cream parlour up in New Jersey, because I promised to, just to find out how she was doing. So by the time I was ready to go outside the cloudiness and drizzle had cleared up. I put away the dress and sandals and in my underthings went into Jessy's room, where she was complaining about not being able to go all bare outside. After some comforting I got her to come out with Lisa and me anyway. I went out in my panties too, to not let Jessy feel left out, but she was still a little miffed that my panties were white. Hers could not be-- she of course had worn a slip with her white dress to church.
And little Lisa went bare, such as she is prone to do. She doesn't have these problems!
We did not merely lie out but did a bit of straightening-up round the yard, as the recent rains have cluttered the side yard with sticks from the trees and so on. We rearranged some potted plants round the bottom of the steps from the upper garden and finally dragged our chaises down to the lawn to settle in. The sun was very bright, even intense, which was what we wanted. Jessy and I imposed on Lisa to put the lotion on our backs. She never minds this-- she considers it an honour. Of course I put it all over her too. She giggles when you rub lotion onto her bottom. I always make sure to tickle her because that's sort of called-for when she is only 5 and prone to giggling.
When we moved the chaises down we sort of set them up a little closer to the water. The walled garden is very formal and solid, with plenty of rip and even a spare little beach between the easternmost wall and the water of the Bay. But the yards to either side just sort of roll down in a series of shallow terraces till a fringe of grass is separating the area we maintain from a short dune and then the sand and the water. The fringe of grass is never trimmed and so provides a kind of screen between the fishermen's eyes and where we lie. I have never felt uncomfortable lying there. I am quite sure none of them would ever even think to look for us with binoculars and as I said I don't think they would see us. So last summer we gradually came to make this our usual sunning zone. Because of the wall we are out of sight from the first storey if anyone should happen to come over-- although we'd still have the problem of sneaking back into the house!
I nodded off-- too many late nights online I am sure! --and had a very bizarre dream about these horrible steel frames which rolled on a track and you put scrap metal into them to burn so that they would move together, which was the end. And some terrorist group was using them as an execution device. One prisoner I had become friendly with and I remember reaching out and holding his hand in farewell, saying, 'I love you, brother!' And he said, 'I am safe now.- --meaning he was in God's hands. He knew I would be the last friendly human being he would see on this earth. And I woke up shaking.
Jessy was out of her chaise and wandering down along the fringe of grass. There were boats out-- I wondered how modest she would be, but none of the boats seemed close enough to worry about. As I watched she said down cross-legged in the grass and toyed with a small stick. She was bored. She would rather have been naked. Lisa was long gone by this time-- she never lies long but wanders round the yard too, sometimes doing some questionably modest things herself-- once last summer we found her on the other side of the house exploring the construction site that would become the ballfield... and naked, but for her sneakers which she put on 'to be safe'. I got up and strolled down to where Jessy sat. 'What's wrong?'
She shrugged. I watched her toy with the stick for a bit and then she looked up at me. 'We're not going to be able to do this at the Shore,' she said.
Both of us are intending to work at the ice-cream parlour this summer. We'll be staying in our old house, the little house Daddy built on the beach when he and Mommy were first married. It's cosy, but of course the beach there is very popular with even unsavoury characters and there's no opportunity do do as we do here. I folded my legs under me and sat down. 'I know,' I said. 'But we'll be back often. Dottie's giving us a very lenient schedule.'
'I know....' She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs. 'I didn't think I would love here, and now I do.'
I smiled at her. 'Because of this?'
She shrugged. In that pose it looked very cute. 'Yes.... And the house. And the quiet. And because of Daddy.'
'Daddy?'
'He loves it here,' she said. 'He's busy all the time. He scarcely even works now. And now with the ballfield....'
I knew what she meant. Daddy drives over on the tractor and mows the whole outfield and surrounding yard as well as our own. You would think someone like him would be content to hire someone-- but the only paid people who do our yard are for cleaning the pool and trimming the trees with that tall thing on the arm. He actually enjoys driving round in circles on that tractor, often with little JJ on the 'copilot seat' (which is a seat with a seatbelt he bolted to the fender beside his seat in his lap) or in the trailer with Lisa. We see very few visitors here, being so far away from all our usual acquaintance. And we did not go away for New Year's and scarcely have gone anywhere since. I feel as Jessy does-- that when we are working up in New Jersey this summer I will miss this place terribly. It's become a home in more than a physical sense.
Little Lisa came running-- I mean really running, full tilt-- round the front corner of the house and down the whole yard to where we sat. 'You guys!' she said. And she skidded to a halt and slid in on her side beside us in the grass. 'What are you doing?'
'Talking,' Jessy told her.
'Ha-ha-ha. Is it girl talk?'
I turned at her. 'What if it is? You're a girl.'
'Ha. Yes I am.' And she shrugged, as though unsure of that. But really there isn't much we refuse to talk about in front of her. What she doesn't get doesn't matter. 'So are you going steady with Stephen?'
I smiled at her. So did Jessy. 'That's not exactly what we were talking about, you know. But, for your information, no, I'm not.'
'Ohhh. Did he ask you?'
'No.'
She nodded, understanding that. 'Does he have another girlfriend?'
I laughed. 'No.'
'Then why hasn't he asked you?'
Lisa is adorable when she gets like this. The first reason is because she has about half of Mother's Anglican Australian accent-- she uses words like 'hasn't' well and never seems to say anything that's not well said, meaning articulately pronounced. The other thing is that she's uncommonly persistent. She doesn't actually nag and she never really becomes a nuisance-- if you just tell her you'd rather stop talking about this she will respect that and stop. But she will ask everything that comes into her mind and she asks it because she really does want to know the answer. She is clearly the precocious product of a brilliant and charming mother, a mature and worldly father, and two older sisters who converse with her like an equal. She is the epitome of the 'triple threat' and will be absolutely terrifying to puerile boys (and the men they grow up to be) some day.
(The 'triple threat' is what Mother calls the concept of being good-looking, intelligent, and virtuous, to the point where most men are completely stymied. Invariably they can accept two out of three. It's that third one that drives them nuts. But, as Mother says, it's what all decent and intelligent men really want. It only falls to the men to figure that out, appreciate it for what it is, and then lift themselves out of the gutter to deserve you. Invariably they can do two out of three. It's that third one that they give up on.)
We got up and with Lisa holding each of our hands strolled back along the lawn towards the chaises. When we were halfway there Daddy came round the corner with the tractor and JJ on the 'copilot seat'. Seeing us he hit the horn and raced the tractor towards us. Lisa giggled, let go of our hands, and ran off towards the trees squealing as though she were being chased. Daddy stopped the tractor and then she approached him, warily, standing a few yards away and hooking her fingers in front of herself and twirlling on her heels like she does when she's being bashful. Before we got there Daddy had put JJ down and the two of them ran hand-in-hand up the garden steps to the house.
'What is it?' I called.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Tea. That's all.'
We both nodded. Jessy paced off towards the steps, not saying anything. I stopped beside Daddy in the idling tractor.
'What's with her?' he asked me.
'She's just being pensive,' I said. 'She says she will miss being here this summer.'
'Well, I don't expect you two to be gone all the time.'
'No,' I said, 'I don't expect us to either.'
'I would miss you,' he said.
I smiled at that. The house at the beach is his house-- he can come and go as he likes. What he was saying is that he would prefer to be here, or at Lewes. He has become gentry-- I hid a laugh at the notion of my father the ex-performer taking the peace of his own 'vine and fig tree'. This is his house and the husbandry of it is what he loves best. So-- is that what we have come to? We are gentry? My father has land, tenants in houses, even a tenant farmer and gardener, so that must mean I am a gentleman's daughter. Well-- there might be worse things to be.
...
As we are back in the US again we must become used to American ways all over again, and one of them is the way the church here celebrates Whitsunday as 'Pentecost' and emphasises the colour red. Jessy and I would be unswayed however and with Lisa we all wore white. We each have a new soft cotton dress, and I wore my white sandals. Of course at church half the people teased us-- 'You forgot to wear red!' --none of the poor dears knowing that we really were commemorating the day, only in a different way. There were two baptisms as this is a traditional day for it, but, unusually, one was an adult-- a mother and a the newborn (actually about 2 months old). Then there was the usual reception with tea and doughnuts and all, which Daddy and Mother wanted to stay for since it meant we did not have to go out for pancakes.
At home I rang Dottie at the ice-cream parlour up in New Jersey, because I promised to, just to find out how she was doing. So by the time I was ready to go outside the cloudiness and drizzle had cleared up. I put away the dress and sandals and in my underthings went into Jessy's room, where she was complaining about not being able to go all bare outside. After some comforting I got her to come out with Lisa and me anyway. I went out in my panties too, to not let Jessy feel left out, but she was still a little miffed that my panties were white. Hers could not be-- she of course had worn a slip with her white dress to church.
And little Lisa went bare, such as she is prone to do. She doesn't have these problems!
We did not merely lie out but did a bit of straightening-up round the yard, as the recent rains have cluttered the side yard with sticks from the trees and so on. We rearranged some potted plants round the bottom of the steps from the upper garden and finally dragged our chaises down to the lawn to settle in. The sun was very bright, even intense, which was what we wanted. Jessy and I imposed on Lisa to put the lotion on our backs. She never minds this-- she considers it an honour. Of course I put it all over her too. She giggles when you rub lotion onto her bottom. I always make sure to tickle her because that's sort of called-for when she is only 5 and prone to giggling.
When we moved the chaises down we sort of set them up a little closer to the water. The walled garden is very formal and solid, with plenty of rip and even a spare little beach between the easternmost wall and the water of the Bay. But the yards to either side just sort of roll down in a series of shallow terraces till a fringe of grass is separating the area we maintain from a short dune and then the sand and the water. The fringe of grass is never trimmed and so provides a kind of screen between the fishermen's eyes and where we lie. I have never felt uncomfortable lying there. I am quite sure none of them would ever even think to look for us with binoculars and as I said I don't think they would see us. So last summer we gradually came to make this our usual sunning zone. Because of the wall we are out of sight from the first storey if anyone should happen to come over-- although we'd still have the problem of sneaking back into the house!
I nodded off-- too many late nights online I am sure! --and had a very bizarre dream about these horrible steel frames which rolled on a track and you put scrap metal into them to burn so that they would move together, which was the end. And some terrorist group was using them as an execution device. One prisoner I had become friendly with and I remember reaching out and holding his hand in farewell, saying, 'I love you, brother!' And he said, 'I am safe now.- --meaning he was in God's hands. He knew I would be the last friendly human being he would see on this earth. And I woke up shaking.
Jessy was out of her chaise and wandering down along the fringe of grass. There were boats out-- I wondered how modest she would be, but none of the boats seemed close enough to worry about. As I watched she said down cross-legged in the grass and toyed with a small stick. She was bored. She would rather have been naked. Lisa was long gone by this time-- she never lies long but wanders round the yard too, sometimes doing some questionably modest things herself-- once last summer we found her on the other side of the house exploring the construction site that would become the ballfield... and naked, but for her sneakers which she put on 'to be safe'. I got up and strolled down to where Jessy sat. 'What's wrong?'
She shrugged. I watched her toy with the stick for a bit and then she looked up at me. 'We're not going to be able to do this at the Shore,' she said.
Both of us are intending to work at the ice-cream parlour this summer. We'll be staying in our old house, the little house Daddy built on the beach when he and Mommy were first married. It's cosy, but of course the beach there is very popular with even unsavoury characters and there's no opportunity do do as we do here. I folded my legs under me and sat down. 'I know,' I said. 'But we'll be back often. Dottie's giving us a very lenient schedule.'
'I know....' She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs. 'I didn't think I would love here, and now I do.'
I smiled at her. 'Because of this?'
She shrugged. In that pose it looked very cute. 'Yes.... And the house. And the quiet. And because of Daddy.'
'Daddy?'
'He loves it here,' she said. 'He's busy all the time. He scarcely even works now. And now with the ballfield....'
I knew what she meant. Daddy drives over on the tractor and mows the whole outfield and surrounding yard as well as our own. You would think someone like him would be content to hire someone-- but the only paid people who do our yard are for cleaning the pool and trimming the trees with that tall thing on the arm. He actually enjoys driving round in circles on that tractor, often with little JJ on the 'copilot seat' (which is a seat with a seatbelt he bolted to the fender beside his seat in his lap) or in the trailer with Lisa. We see very few visitors here, being so far away from all our usual acquaintance. And we did not go away for New Year's and scarcely have gone anywhere since. I feel as Jessy does-- that when we are working up in New Jersey this summer I will miss this place terribly. It's become a home in more than a physical sense.
Little Lisa came running-- I mean really running, full tilt-- round the front corner of the house and down the whole yard to where we sat. 'You guys!' she said. And she skidded to a halt and slid in on her side beside us in the grass. 'What are you doing?'
'Talking,' Jessy told her.
'Ha-ha-ha. Is it girl talk?'
I turned at her. 'What if it is? You're a girl.'
'Ha. Yes I am.' And she shrugged, as though unsure of that. But really there isn't much we refuse to talk about in front of her. What she doesn't get doesn't matter. 'So are you going steady with Stephen?'
I smiled at her. So did Jessy. 'That's not exactly what we were talking about, you know. But, for your information, no, I'm not.'
'Ohhh. Did he ask you?'
'No.'
She nodded, understanding that. 'Does he have another girlfriend?'
I laughed. 'No.'
'Then why hasn't he asked you?'
Lisa is adorable when she gets like this. The first reason is because she has about half of Mother's Anglican Australian accent-- she uses words like 'hasn't' well and never seems to say anything that's not well said, meaning articulately pronounced. The other thing is that she's uncommonly persistent. She doesn't actually nag and she never really becomes a nuisance-- if you just tell her you'd rather stop talking about this she will respect that and stop. But she will ask everything that comes into her mind and she asks it because she really does want to know the answer. She is clearly the precocious product of a brilliant and charming mother, a mature and worldly father, and two older sisters who converse with her like an equal. She is the epitome of the 'triple threat' and will be absolutely terrifying to puerile boys (and the men they grow up to be) some day.
(The 'triple threat' is what Mother calls the concept of being good-looking, intelligent, and virtuous, to the point where most men are completely stymied. Invariably they can accept two out of three. It's that third one that drives them nuts. But, as Mother says, it's what all decent and intelligent men really want. It only falls to the men to figure that out, appreciate it for what it is, and then lift themselves out of the gutter to deserve you. Invariably they can do two out of three. It's that third one that they give up on.)
We got up and with Lisa holding each of our hands strolled back along the lawn towards the chaises. When we were halfway there Daddy came round the corner with the tractor and JJ on the 'copilot seat'. Seeing us he hit the horn and raced the tractor towards us. Lisa giggled, let go of our hands, and ran off towards the trees squealing as though she were being chased. Daddy stopped the tractor and then she approached him, warily, standing a few yards away and hooking her fingers in front of herself and twirlling on her heels like she does when she's being bashful. Before we got there Daddy had put JJ down and the two of them ran hand-in-hand up the garden steps to the house.
'What is it?' I called.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Tea. That's all.'
We both nodded. Jessy paced off towards the steps, not saying anything. I stopped beside Daddy in the idling tractor.
'What's with her?' he asked me.
'She's just being pensive,' I said. 'She says she will miss being here this summer.'
'Well, I don't expect you two to be gone all the time.'
'No,' I said, 'I don't expect us to either.'
'I would miss you,' he said.
I smiled at that. The house at the beach is his house-- he can come and go as he likes. What he was saying is that he would prefer to be here, or at Lewes. He has become gentry-- I hid a laugh at the notion of my father the ex-performer taking the peace of his own 'vine and fig tree'. This is his house and the husbandry of it is what he loves best. So-- is that what we have come to? We are gentry? My father has land, tenants in houses, even a tenant farmer and gardener, so that must mean I am a gentleman's daughter. Well-- there might be worse things to be.
...
26 May 2009
Janine rocks
Tuesday, May 26th
Prom photos were distributed today during homeroom. Apparently the photographers made short work of that-- though they did have four days, even if it was over a holiday. Of course Jessy and I didn't have any coming. Michelle, the Ladybugs' coach, said she had already framed and hung up the best of the photos taken on home plate the other day, and that's good enough for me.
'Hey,' Becky said to me, 'so how was the prom?'
I looked at her. 'It was all right.'
'Janine rocked,' Vivian said beside us, and I turned and glared at her.
Becky giggled. 'You rocked? How did you rock?'
I shrugged. 'Oh, it was nothing.' The bell went off and the Pledge began.
In the PE cabana a girl called April leaned over and said, 'Oh! Janine! My God-- I couldn't believe it! Poor Stephen! And lucky you!'
Her friend said, 'Awww, Stephen was pretty lucky too.' I blushed at that.
In the corridors people who never even seemed to notice me said hello. Two girls I don't even know came down the gallery once, one after the other, with their hands raised to slap my palm as they passed. It was embarrassing. Did any of this matter this much?
And so all morning a certain tentative engagement nagged at the back of my mind. I really was not sure I wanted to keep it, especially under the circumstances-- But it could not be helped. At lunch I wandered in a little nervously, my eyes flitting all over the place to see if I had been noticed. I had not, other than by the usual crowd, which is now two-thirds of our girls' club. As I sat down with my salad the others all looked oddly at me. 'What?' I wondered.
Then a voice came directly behind me. 'Is this a closed party, or may a stranger join you?'
I whirled round and gazed up at Stephen. Someone else waved him towards the seat beside me and he set down his tray and sat. 'Hi,' I finally said.
'Hi,' he said, and unfolded his napkin. 'How was your weekend?'
'All right....' I was blushing. All five of the others were staring at me in silence. I realised that none of them, save Jessy, had ever seen me with a boy before. And this, of course, was the prom king-- three of the others had not even been there but the story was already widely circulated directly and indirectly, and-- from what I have heard-- thanks to FaceBook, AIM, text messages and even old-fashioned telephones. Rumour even has it someone scrawled 'Janine rocks' in one of the boys' toilets. (And no, it does NOT really say 'Janine sucks'. For one thing, it would be inaccurate.)
Stephen and I did not talk about The Dance. We discussed our other impressions of the prom, the food, the place, the table arrangements... and the Cadillac. He asked and Jessy and I both told him about the weekend spent working Mommy's ice-cream parlour, and he seemed impressed with that, the costumes, the location, staying on our own for two nights, and all. All he had to report from his own weekend was having worked in the distressed-animal shelter over Saturday and Sunday and assisting a 'pretty cool' veterinarian who showed him how to bandage a racoon's leg and then meeting a little girl and her family who were unexpectedly and tearfully reunited with a recovering cocker spaniel they had lost weeks ago. From his telling of it the whole table of girls were sappy with damp eyes and pathetic sighs of 'Awww....' I do not think any of us had expected to find Stephen the talented comedic actor-- and our prom king-- was such a gentle, noble-minded philanthropist when it came to helping unfortunate creatures.
As we cleared off at the bell he and I stood up together. 'You know, Janine,' he said, 'I really wish there was another dance coming up.'
I felt something let go in my tummy-- okay, maybe not my tummy. 'You do?' (Why did I say that?)
'If I had known you needed a date-- if I had thought, I guess--'
'But I had Jessy,' I said.
'Ah, yes, a sister, the perfect backup date,' he smiled. 'Girls are so lucky. You don't know how lucky you are to have each other. You have this nice club, all these good friends, you have each other for company-- Sometimes it's hard being a guy.'
I stood there in the centre of the cafeteria whilst people went round us with their books and food trays, just gazing into his eyes.
'What I mean is-- I think I should have asked you to go with me. If you would have--'
'I would have,' I said bluntly.
He smiled. 'Really?'
I just nodded like there was something rattling loose in my head.
'Well, maybe you would this time, if I asked you to go with me... maybe tonight, like for supper? It doesn't have to be anything special, just--'
'Yes,' I said.
He smiled at me again. I love that smile. 'Really?'
I nodded. 'Yes really. It sounds nice.'
'Well,' he said, looking round himself like he was not sure what to say next, 'that's cool then.' So I told him where I live and he said he would collect me round six. He has a car, an older Chevy, kind of an apple red-- Daddy would like it. In fact Daddy would like Stephen. He's polite and intelligent and articulate enough to hold an actual conversation... and he's going to Eastern Shore for biology before going pre-med.... My head felt light as I turned round to go, but all the girls had gone. That's Jessy-- she has never eavesdropped on me, mainly out of respect, but also because she knows she will get the best of it from me personally anyway. I took one step and felt my knees go weak. Then the bell rang-- I was late for Chemistry.
I suppose some people might say Janine's been late for chemistry for too long.
...
Prom photos were distributed today during homeroom. Apparently the photographers made short work of that-- though they did have four days, even if it was over a holiday. Of course Jessy and I didn't have any coming. Michelle, the Ladybugs' coach, said she had already framed and hung up the best of the photos taken on home plate the other day, and that's good enough for me.
'Hey,' Becky said to me, 'so how was the prom?'
I looked at her. 'It was all right.'
'Janine rocked,' Vivian said beside us, and I turned and glared at her.
Becky giggled. 'You rocked? How did you rock?'
I shrugged. 'Oh, it was nothing.' The bell went off and the Pledge began.
In the PE cabana a girl called April leaned over and said, 'Oh! Janine! My God-- I couldn't believe it! Poor Stephen! And lucky you!'
Her friend said, 'Awww, Stephen was pretty lucky too.' I blushed at that.
In the corridors people who never even seemed to notice me said hello. Two girls I don't even know came down the gallery once, one after the other, with their hands raised to slap my palm as they passed. It was embarrassing. Did any of this matter this much?
And so all morning a certain tentative engagement nagged at the back of my mind. I really was not sure I wanted to keep it, especially under the circumstances-- But it could not be helped. At lunch I wandered in a little nervously, my eyes flitting all over the place to see if I had been noticed. I had not, other than by the usual crowd, which is now two-thirds of our girls' club. As I sat down with my salad the others all looked oddly at me. 'What?' I wondered.
Then a voice came directly behind me. 'Is this a closed party, or may a stranger join you?'
I whirled round and gazed up at Stephen. Someone else waved him towards the seat beside me and he set down his tray and sat. 'Hi,' I finally said.
'Hi,' he said, and unfolded his napkin. 'How was your weekend?'
'All right....' I was blushing. All five of the others were staring at me in silence. I realised that none of them, save Jessy, had ever seen me with a boy before. And this, of course, was the prom king-- three of the others had not even been there but the story was already widely circulated directly and indirectly, and-- from what I have heard-- thanks to FaceBook, AIM, text messages and even old-fashioned telephones. Rumour even has it someone scrawled 'Janine rocks' in one of the boys' toilets. (And no, it does NOT really say 'Janine sucks'. For one thing, it would be inaccurate.)
Stephen and I did not talk about The Dance. We discussed our other impressions of the prom, the food, the place, the table arrangements... and the Cadillac. He asked and Jessy and I both told him about the weekend spent working Mommy's ice-cream parlour, and he seemed impressed with that, the costumes, the location, staying on our own for two nights, and all. All he had to report from his own weekend was having worked in the distressed-animal shelter over Saturday and Sunday and assisting a 'pretty cool' veterinarian who showed him how to bandage a racoon's leg and then meeting a little girl and her family who were unexpectedly and tearfully reunited with a recovering cocker spaniel they had lost weeks ago. From his telling of it the whole table of girls were sappy with damp eyes and pathetic sighs of 'Awww....' I do not think any of us had expected to find Stephen the talented comedic actor-- and our prom king-- was such a gentle, noble-minded philanthropist when it came to helping unfortunate creatures.
As we cleared off at the bell he and I stood up together. 'You know, Janine,' he said, 'I really wish there was another dance coming up.'
I felt something let go in my tummy-- okay, maybe not my tummy. 'You do?' (Why did I say that?)
'If I had known you needed a date-- if I had thought, I guess--'
'But I had Jessy,' I said.
'Ah, yes, a sister, the perfect backup date,' he smiled. 'Girls are so lucky. You don't know how lucky you are to have each other. You have this nice club, all these good friends, you have each other for company-- Sometimes it's hard being a guy.'
I stood there in the centre of the cafeteria whilst people went round us with their books and food trays, just gazing into his eyes.
'What I mean is-- I think I should have asked you to go with me. If you would have--'
'I would have,' I said bluntly.
He smiled. 'Really?'
I just nodded like there was something rattling loose in my head.
'Well, maybe you would this time, if I asked you to go with me... maybe tonight, like for supper? It doesn't have to be anything special, just--'
'Yes,' I said.
He smiled at me again. I love that smile. 'Really?'
I nodded. 'Yes really. It sounds nice.'
'Well,' he said, looking round himself like he was not sure what to say next, 'that's cool then.' So I told him where I live and he said he would collect me round six. He has a car, an older Chevy, kind of an apple red-- Daddy would like it. In fact Daddy would like Stephen. He's polite and intelligent and articulate enough to hold an actual conversation... and he's going to Eastern Shore for biology before going pre-med.... My head felt light as I turned round to go, but all the girls had gone. That's Jessy-- she has never eavesdropped on me, mainly out of respect, but also because she knows she will get the best of it from me personally anyway. I took one step and felt my knees go weak. Then the bell rang-- I was late for Chemistry.
I suppose some people might say Janine's been late for chemistry for too long.
...
On polite dancing
Monday evening, May 25th
It's about 11.30. The Memorial Day weekend is come and gone and I type this in the back of the dark-green Cadillac at about 65 miles per hour on Route One in Delaware. Jessy is asleep in the other side of the seat. We closed the ice-cream parlour at about 9.00 and were able to leave right from there with our bags and prom gowns and everything. We're both still in the Colonial gear-- Jessy has loosened her stays (she scarcely needs them anyway) and we're both barefoot, which is common for us anyway.
Daddy and Mother and the little ones are staying at the beach house tonight-- Lisa will miss a day of kindergarten and return home tomorrow. Jessy and I will have school at 7.45 as usual-- Roger will drive us. And Dottie will manage the ice-cream parlour as it goes into that weird schedule between Memorial Day and the end of school, when hours are shorter and the staff are less available till they know what their summer will bring.
I face the next few weeks with some degree of anxiety. I recognise that Stephen respects me, even likes me, for what I did at the prom, which I believed at the time and still believe was only simple human courtesy. Vanessa's moronic date doesn't have that concept. He is like what I assume too many people are nowadays, especially in America-- crass, selfish, without any understanding of the larger issues in life. In fact Vanessa is probably only just like him, though I don't know her very well and maybe that's unfair. But Stephen is different. We all understood why he was elected prom king-- he deserves it for being an all-round nice guy who is smart, entertaining, and mannerly. He is what we should all want to admire about people our age. And it broke my heart when Vanessa's date, a guy whose name we don't even know, stepped on his feelings like that. It's the king-and-queen dance! No one ever said they are a couple! And what is it about dancing in this country that makes people believe it's always about romance? Don't people realise there are many, many, other reasons to have a dance with a guy? Since I have been tall enough to look like a woman I have danced at formal affairs, with guys my age, even younger boys, and also older men, other people's fathers, my own father-- is that about romance? Dancing is just a social activity, it's what you do when you're at a party, especially a formal one. Sometimes-- as it's been with me-- it's been political. Sometimes there are men you simply cannot decline-- to be seen with them makes me look good, makes my family look good, makes my father look good, and may get something accomplished. I have said this to people before and someone actually said it makes me a kind of prostitute-- but when my dad has told me I have to dance with this man or that man I have just got up and done it, because I knew there was a reason. And yes, even since I was about 14, about half of them have propositioned me-- may I say here that most of those were Americans. The British men I have danced with would never have presumed to ask. They recognised it was a dance. And the French men-- I shall not say here, but by no means did I feel awkward round them either. The Frenchman places his hand a little too low on your hip, more like on the top of your bottom. Exactly once did I reposition a guy's hand, but I was a little too immature then, and I came to accept that it's just how they are. The Englishman places his hand on your side, at the bottom of your ribs. It's very proper. The Japanese man does too. The American doesn't know where to put his hand-- he tends to take your lead. If you put your hand on his shoulder, he puts his on your back and pulls you closer. If you put yours on his arm, he puts his on your side and keeps a distance. He seems afraid to look like he's trying something, because inside he really wants to be be trying something, but living in denial about his true motives he has to go to all this effort to make it look like he's not trying what he's really trying to come up with a way to try. He is a teakettle nearly boiling over, and stupidly he holds down that little cap as though that can even work, and the whistle comes out in some other way, usually in the look in his eyes. He looks at you like he wants to possess you, to consume you. When I see that look I just want to get out of there.
And I have danced with many men of my father's generation who were fathers themselves, and they will ask me about school, or about my college plans, or about whom I'm dating-- like the way any father would. When I don't care to talk too much about that I will ask the man about what he does, how he likes his profession, what his goals are, you know. Men like to tell us about that. They think we are impressed. I am usually not impressed by careers and accomplishments and goals and such-- it's only a courtesy to start a conversation that makes him feel comfortable. What impresses me is when a gentleman can have a dance with a girl who is not his daughter or his date and be able to look her in the eye and converse about something of substance. We don't want you to look down at our chest, we don't want you to hold our bottom, we don't want to hear any sleasy pickup lines, and we don't want to look like you possess us. What makes us respect you most is when you respect us. And you've a far better chance of having us want to go off to somewhere private with you if we respect you-- because what girl would go off with a man she doesn't respect?-- and would you really want that girl?
I am resolved-- the very next time Stephen asks me to dance, I will accept.
...
It's about 11.30. The Memorial Day weekend is come and gone and I type this in the back of the dark-green Cadillac at about 65 miles per hour on Route One in Delaware. Jessy is asleep in the other side of the seat. We closed the ice-cream parlour at about 9.00 and were able to leave right from there with our bags and prom gowns and everything. We're both still in the Colonial gear-- Jessy has loosened her stays (she scarcely needs them anyway) and we're both barefoot, which is common for us anyway.
Daddy and Mother and the little ones are staying at the beach house tonight-- Lisa will miss a day of kindergarten and return home tomorrow. Jessy and I will have school at 7.45 as usual-- Roger will drive us. And Dottie will manage the ice-cream parlour as it goes into that weird schedule between Memorial Day and the end of school, when hours are shorter and the staff are less available till they know what their summer will bring.
I face the next few weeks with some degree of anxiety. I recognise that Stephen respects me, even likes me, for what I did at the prom, which I believed at the time and still believe was only simple human courtesy. Vanessa's moronic date doesn't have that concept. He is like what I assume too many people are nowadays, especially in America-- crass, selfish, without any understanding of the larger issues in life. In fact Vanessa is probably only just like him, though I don't know her very well and maybe that's unfair. But Stephen is different. We all understood why he was elected prom king-- he deserves it for being an all-round nice guy who is smart, entertaining, and mannerly. He is what we should all want to admire about people our age. And it broke my heart when Vanessa's date, a guy whose name we don't even know, stepped on his feelings like that. It's the king-and-queen dance! No one ever said they are a couple! And what is it about dancing in this country that makes people believe it's always about romance? Don't people realise there are many, many, other reasons to have a dance with a guy? Since I have been tall enough to look like a woman I have danced at formal affairs, with guys my age, even younger boys, and also older men, other people's fathers, my own father-- is that about romance? Dancing is just a social activity, it's what you do when you're at a party, especially a formal one. Sometimes-- as it's been with me-- it's been political. Sometimes there are men you simply cannot decline-- to be seen with them makes me look good, makes my family look good, makes my father look good, and may get something accomplished. I have said this to people before and someone actually said it makes me a kind of prostitute-- but when my dad has told me I have to dance with this man or that man I have just got up and done it, because I knew there was a reason. And yes, even since I was about 14, about half of them have propositioned me-- may I say here that most of those were Americans. The British men I have danced with would never have presumed to ask. They recognised it was a dance. And the French men-- I shall not say here, but by no means did I feel awkward round them either. The Frenchman places his hand a little too low on your hip, more like on the top of your bottom. Exactly once did I reposition a guy's hand, but I was a little too immature then, and I came to accept that it's just how they are. The Englishman places his hand on your side, at the bottom of your ribs. It's very proper. The Japanese man does too. The American doesn't know where to put his hand-- he tends to take your lead. If you put your hand on his shoulder, he puts his on your back and pulls you closer. If you put yours on his arm, he puts his on your side and keeps a distance. He seems afraid to look like he's trying something, because inside he really wants to be be trying something, but living in denial about his true motives he has to go to all this effort to make it look like he's not trying what he's really trying to come up with a way to try. He is a teakettle nearly boiling over, and stupidly he holds down that little cap as though that can even work, and the whistle comes out in some other way, usually in the look in his eyes. He looks at you like he wants to possess you, to consume you. When I see that look I just want to get out of there.
And I have danced with many men of my father's generation who were fathers themselves, and they will ask me about school, or about my college plans, or about whom I'm dating-- like the way any father would. When I don't care to talk too much about that I will ask the man about what he does, how he likes his profession, what his goals are, you know. Men like to tell us about that. They think we are impressed. I am usually not impressed by careers and accomplishments and goals and such-- it's only a courtesy to start a conversation that makes him feel comfortable. What impresses me is when a gentleman can have a dance with a girl who is not his daughter or his date and be able to look her in the eye and converse about something of substance. We don't want you to look down at our chest, we don't want you to hold our bottom, we don't want to hear any sleasy pickup lines, and we don't want to look like you possess us. What makes us respect you most is when you respect us. And you've a far better chance of having us want to go off to somewhere private with you if we respect you-- because what girl would go off with a man she doesn't respect?-- and would you really want that girl?
I am resolved-- the very next time Stephen asks me to dance, I will accept.
...
Memorial Day weekend
Saturday & Sunday
With Dottie, Jessy and I opened on Saturday for waffles and pancakes, closed at 11.00, and got out of there by about 11.30. It was warm and sunny and Jessy and I returned to the house for our swimsuits and took blankets down to the beach. There we basked pretty much all day. We met a few nice girls from some other part of New Jersey who lay near us. Also some guys came by whilst we were standing ankle-deep in the water, and we talked to them for a bit. They were insistent that we join them at some kind of party tonight but we had to work and so were able to get out of it. Daddy and Mother and the little ones got down this afternoon and the first we knew they were here was when Mother, in a beautiful blue-and-white bikini, came down and tapped my shoulder where we stood at the water. 'Surprise!' she giggled.
And she might have pushed us in, but the water was too cold. We all hugged and Jessy and I started to tell her about the last two days but there was too much to talk about. She and Daddy had taken Lisa and JJ over to see the Ladybugs game-- I told her then that during dinner at the prom I had got a message on the phone that they had won-- and so she was happy to hear (from Jessy of course) about the 'developments'. Apparently someone had rung the house for Jessy too but she had not got name or message. This is all exciting news for Mother, naturally.
We closed the parlour at 11.00 and walked back along the beach in our Colonial clothes, carrying our shoes and stockings. Jessy wanted to dip her feet. I didn't. For some reason I have been feeling very humble and modest-- and not because of the parlour or the clothes, which actually make me feel a little too provocative. Things have happened and I am not quite comfortable with what's been going on. I feel like I shouldn't be this person, that I may be getting away from myself, and that I just want to go back to the way it once was, when Jessy and I were just nice little girls without people paying so much attention to us. I don't know if that's appropriate but it's just a thought I have been having.
Back at the house we got out of our Colonial clothes and turned in. To be truly authentic you don't wear panties under this gear-- elastic-waisted panties really don't show up before 1920. Neither Jessy nor I do, even working in the parlour (unless it's necessary, you know). So we have been sleeping naked in our beds, in the same room, which is NOT that weird since we are sisters (and please don't go anywhere else with that). In the middle of the night I found myself awake, facing a 7.00 shift without going to church in the morning, and I went down stairs for a cup of tea to settle myself. I put on no lights, only the stove and the kettle and the little light under the cabinets, but apparently I was obvious because next I knew Daddy was ducking his head in. 'Are you all right?'
I turned round, standing at the stove, and blushed a little-- not because I was naked but because I was up in the middle of the night. 'I couldn't sleep,' I told him.
He nodded. The kettle was about to whistle and I turned it off and poured into my cup. 'All right,' he whispered. 'You're on in the morning, right?'
I nodded, watching as I swirlled the tea bag round in the cup. 'I'll be fine.'
'Okay. Good night.'
'Good night, Daddy.'
He left. I took my tea out to the front parlour, which faces the ocean, and sat there in the dark sipping my tea. It was hot and we had left a few windows open for the breeze. When I finished the cup I folded some pillows under my shoulder and sighed, staring into space for a while....
'Hey,' she said, 'get up. I can't believe you're down here. What happened to you?'
It was daylight and she was poking my arm, and I was still on the couch, curled up naked with the pillows. 'Oh,' I said. And I got up and got dressed for the morning shift.
...
With Dottie, Jessy and I opened on Saturday for waffles and pancakes, closed at 11.00, and got out of there by about 11.30. It was warm and sunny and Jessy and I returned to the house for our swimsuits and took blankets down to the beach. There we basked pretty much all day. We met a few nice girls from some other part of New Jersey who lay near us. Also some guys came by whilst we were standing ankle-deep in the water, and we talked to them for a bit. They were insistent that we join them at some kind of party tonight but we had to work and so were able to get out of it. Daddy and Mother and the little ones got down this afternoon and the first we knew they were here was when Mother, in a beautiful blue-and-white bikini, came down and tapped my shoulder where we stood at the water. 'Surprise!' she giggled.
And she might have pushed us in, but the water was too cold. We all hugged and Jessy and I started to tell her about the last two days but there was too much to talk about. She and Daddy had taken Lisa and JJ over to see the Ladybugs game-- I told her then that during dinner at the prom I had got a message on the phone that they had won-- and so she was happy to hear (from Jessy of course) about the 'developments'. Apparently someone had rung the house for Jessy too but she had not got name or message. This is all exciting news for Mother, naturally.
We closed the parlour at 11.00 and walked back along the beach in our Colonial clothes, carrying our shoes and stockings. Jessy wanted to dip her feet. I didn't. For some reason I have been feeling very humble and modest-- and not because of the parlour or the clothes, which actually make me feel a little too provocative. Things have happened and I am not quite comfortable with what's been going on. I feel like I shouldn't be this person, that I may be getting away from myself, and that I just want to go back to the way it once was, when Jessy and I were just nice little girls without people paying so much attention to us. I don't know if that's appropriate but it's just a thought I have been having.
Back at the house we got out of our Colonial clothes and turned in. To be truly authentic you don't wear panties under this gear-- elastic-waisted panties really don't show up before 1920. Neither Jessy nor I do, even working in the parlour (unless it's necessary, you know). So we have been sleeping naked in our beds, in the same room, which is NOT that weird since we are sisters (and please don't go anywhere else with that). In the middle of the night I found myself awake, facing a 7.00 shift without going to church in the morning, and I went down stairs for a cup of tea to settle myself. I put on no lights, only the stove and the kettle and the little light under the cabinets, but apparently I was obvious because next I knew Daddy was ducking his head in. 'Are you all right?'
I turned round, standing at the stove, and blushed a little-- not because I was naked but because I was up in the middle of the night. 'I couldn't sleep,' I told him.
He nodded. The kettle was about to whistle and I turned it off and poured into my cup. 'All right,' he whispered. 'You're on in the morning, right?'
I nodded, watching as I swirlled the tea bag round in the cup. 'I'll be fine.'
'Okay. Good night.'
'Good night, Daddy.'
He left. I took my tea out to the front parlour, which faces the ocean, and sat there in the dark sipping my tea. It was hot and we had left a few windows open for the breeze. When I finished the cup I folded some pillows under my shoulder and sighed, staring into space for a while....
'Hey,' she said, 'get up. I can't believe you're down here. What happened to you?'
It was daylight and she was poking my arm, and I was still on the couch, curled up naked with the pillows. 'Oh,' I said. And I got up and got dressed for the morning shift.
...
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