Joy School (12 page)

“Just because he’s cute doesn’t mean I want to do that. I don’t want to do that.”

“Katie.”

“What.”

“You’re in a
drive-in
. What the hell did you expect?”

Well. To watch a movie. Only now I know not to answer with that.

“He should take some time,” I say.

“So tell him.”

I say nothing, watch a girl in a boy’s letter jacket rat her hair up high. She takes a can of hair spray from her gigantic purse, gives it a good squirt, stands back and turns her head this way and that. I am in the exact wrong place.

“This is just for fun,” Taylor says. “It’s no big deal. It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.”

I say nothing.

She stands in front of me, bends her knees so we are face to face. “You
need
this,” she says.

“What?”

“Making out! This is the time of your life to start
learning
this stuff. Just let him kiss you. It’s not so bad. How do you think you’re going to learn? Sometime it will be really important how you kiss, you don’t want to look like an idiot.”

Maybe she’s right. I don’t know anything about good kissing. What will Jimmy think?

“He won’t
hurt
you. And we won’t do this ever again if you don’t want to, all right?”

She straightens up, sighs loud. The cord between us is stretched dangerous tight.

“All right,” I say. “Fine.”

We go back to the car. I sit with my back to the car next to us so they can’t see me. And then I close my eyes. It isn’t just kissing. He keeps trying to do other stuff. And everywhere on my body that he touches feels like wadded-up Kleenex he is throwing out the window.
I am not really here. What’s left behind is only my lonely skeleton, not scary anymore on account of its sadness.

When I get home, I see my father’s car in the driveway. He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. One reason I got to go out on a date is because Ginger was the one deciding. I hated the car I just got out of, but now I wish I could get back in it. Too late, it is long gone.

I take in a breath, open the door. The dogs rush up to greet me. Good, Ginger is still here.

He comes out into the living room, stands before me.

“Dad!” I say. “How’s Diane?”

“Where were you?”

Behind him, the edge of Ginger. She is holding back, but she is watching. I wonder, did she get in trouble too?

“I had a date. Mike Cassidy is his name, he goes to St. John’s. It was a double date, another girl came, Taylor, she’s new, too.”

“And who told you you could go?”

“Ginger. It’s Friday.”

“Where did you go that you’re coming home this late? Where have you been?”

“I… A drive-in.”

His face hardens.

“It’s a movie.”

“I know exactly what a drive-in is.” He steps forward and his arm comes toward my face and I think please, not there, don’t do it there. But he is only holding my face in his hand, looking at it. “I know exactly what a drive-in is.”

“Frank,” Ginger says.
Frank!
But he spins around and now he is on her. Oh, I remember this. Sometimes you are so scared you feel like laughing.

“You don’t make decisions like this for my daughter!” He is talking between his teeth the way he does when he gets like this.

She steps back.

But then, when he turns to me again and grabs me, she steps forward one step, then another, then one more until she is beside him, taking his hand off my arm. “Stop it!” she yells. “What’s the matter with you!”

Oh, the silence now. The brightness of the lamp by the sofa. The innocence of the magazine on the table.

He looks at her, says nothing. Then he lets go of me, walks away. I hear his bedroom door slam.

A long moment, and then Ginger says, “I’ll be here tonight, sleeping on the sofa. Right here in the living room.”

“Okay.”

I go into my room, close the door. I need to pee, but boy, I won’t.

I take off my sweater and skirt, slide into bed with
my slip on. I have gone too far. I have been thinking, this is my life. Well, not yet.

I close my eyes, breathe out deep.
What’s the matter with you!
she said. Right out loud.

Saturday, we take Ginger out to eat before we take her home. My father is not mad at her. He tells her to get dessert. They have a look pass between them when he drops her off, Bones bouncing behind her. “Thanks,” I told her, meaning one thing. “Thanks,” my father told her, meaning another.

“You’re welcome,” she said, to both of us. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

We talk about Diane for awhile on the way home. He is a little hurt she wouldn’t come home. But she was all right. Her body was. I myself am waiting for a letter from her. It could be a very long wait, I know.

T
oday is my luxury day. One, it is my birthday, and even if you don’t get a lot of presents you still can’t help being excited, you walk around all day saying your new age to yourself. Two, there is no school on account of the weather. It’s only a couple of inches of snow so far, but on the radio they are all worked up. They give the forecast so often any normal person has memorized it. “I
know,”
lots of brains are thinking.

My father will be coming home from work early, he called awhile ago. His job at this place is to recruit young men into the army, talk to the ones who are thinking they’ll volunteer about why that’s a great idea. I can’t imagine how he does it. What can he say? Here’s where you’ll live!!! Here’s what you’ll wear!!! I understand they can get their school paid for, maybe that’s a reason they sign up. As for me, I’d work somewhere, save up and pay for it myself so it was mine clean. I could tell those young men about the drill sergeants I heard so clearly outside my window where we used to live. Even in cold weather, when the storms were down. That might change their minds. Well, to each his
own, my mother used to say, and I suppose she was right.

Since there is no school, I can go to see Jimmy early, stay for hours. I am taking a bath first, and I have rollers in my hair so the steam can help set my curls. I have a Snickers candy bar to eat while I relax in the hot water, which is the heart of the luxury. The chocolate gets soft in just the right way, like it is relaxed, too.

After I have finished eating the candy bar, I rinse my hands, which of course is easy. Then I shave my legs very carefully, nick myself only on the ankle, where there is no chance for any shaver.

When I get out of the tub, I put on my bathrobe, line up the makeup I’ll be using in the order that I’ll need it. It comes naturally to me now that you wait to get dressed until your makeup is done. I used to do it wrong, put on my good clothes and then take the chance of dropping stuff on them. I like the part when you are finished and you stand back and there is your madeup face all fancy, and you standing in your old bathrobe, which knows everything.

Taylor has taught me how to do eyeliner. You spit on the black cake, swirl around the little paintbrush. Then you VERY CAREFULLY draw a line right above your eyelashes. It is dangerous but worth it. If she could see how I did it today, she’d nod and say, “Yeah.” Plus she gave me some Pan-Cake makeup, the stick kind, for my face. This is not working out so well. I just look greasy.
I take some toilet paper, pat at it, but no, it still looks awful. I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong.

“Katie?”

It’s Ginger at the door.

“Are you almost done in there?”

No. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Let me know.”

I hear her walk away, hear the vacuum go on. But she’ll be back soon—polite, but in need. I can never get enough time in here. Cynthia has two bathrooms and that is exactly what we need. Now I will have to move to my bedroom and that will break the spell and nothing will come out right.

I rub off the pan stick. I’ll just use some eyeliner and some lipstick. Maybe white, which is the latest. I have some of that from Taylor, too. She is the generous kind, who, if you say, oh that’s nice, she throws it at you, says, keep it. I have never seen a kid who seems not to care about so much.

“I’m out,” I yell to Ginger, then go into my room. I’m wearing a red sweatshirt that looks good on me, and one necklace, and that is it for jewelry. I’ll have to wear my galoshes, but they can come off. I inspect my socks for holes. Not a one.

“King me,” Jimmy says.

“Man oh man,” I say. “You’re hot today.”

“You’re not concentrating,” Jimmy says.

“I am too.” Not on checkers, of course.

Jimmy leans back in his chair, stretches, looks at his watch. “Wow, one o’clock!” I am flattered that so much time has gone by unbeknownst to him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“No. Well. Some.”

“Want some lunch?”

“I don’t know.” Eating in front of him is not something I’m quite ready for. Sounds happen.

He opens his sack lunch, pulls out a fat sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. “I’ll give you half,” he says.

“No,” I say. “That’s okay. I have to go soon.”

“Stay,” he says. “Eat some of this. It’s a big sandwich, I made it too big.”
He
made it! What oh what does his wife do, lie around in blue negligees reading articles in the movie magazines about Charlton Heston?

I take half the sandwich. It’s ham and cheese. Find me one man who doesn’t like that. That is the man’s sandwich, and chicken salad is the woman’s.

It’s a good thing I came to see Jimmy today, he would have been bored silly. The weather is keeping the cars off the road. It turned out to be a great storm, worse than they thought. Big fat flakes are coming down fast now. It looks like a paper factory blew up. But also it’s romantic. I wish I didn’t live so close. Then I could have the chance of being stranded here with him. Night would fall. I would lie on the floor close to him and I wouldn’t see him, I would only hear him breathing.
One thing would lead to the other until we were kissing. He might say my name in my ear. Which maybe I
should
change to Katherine.

“Katie?”

I look up.

He laughs. “I swear, I never saw such a daydreamer. What are you always thinking about?”

I feel myself flushing, a disaster. “Nothing,” I say, and then, “Today is my birthday.”

His mouth opens in surprise, he leans back in his chair. It matters to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug.

“So you’re fifteen now!”

Oh. Oh, yes, that’s right. I’m so glad he said that before I leaked out thirteen. I nod.

“Well, happy birthday, Katie!”

“Thank you.”

“I feel badly that I don’t have a present for you.”

“Well. We’re just new. It’s okay. It’s fun to be here, that’s a present.”

“No.” He looks around the room, frowning. “Want a spark plug?”

I smile. He has a smart sense of humor.

“Wait, I do have something.” He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a flat stone, puts it in my hand. It’s a beautiful gray-green color, speckled, smooth as an egg.

I look up at him.

“It’s lucky,” he says. “Honest.”

“How come?”

“It just is. And it’s … Well, it’s kind of soothing. If I feel nervous about something, I rub it. I don’t know, it helps.” He shrugs. I think he’s starting to regret offering it to me.

“I really like it,” I say, “but I don’t want to take it.”

“Oh no,” he says. “Take it. I’d like for you to have it.” He puts it in my hand.

I hear the low buzz of the fluorescent light above us. This could be the time when I should say something, make things move along. In my throat is the whole sentence, “I think I love you.”

I look up at him and in his face is only a kind affection. Oh, he is twenty-three, he is twenty-three and I am stupid thirteen. His mother should have waited awhile to have him. I guess I will never get to meet his mother. I look down at the stone, close my hand around it. This is what I have.

“I had a date Friday night,” I tell him.
Make him jealous
, I hear Cynthia saying.

“Hey! Good for you!”

Cynthia is an imbecile.

“I have to go,” I say, standing. I didn’t know love could take your stomach up in its hands and squeeze it until it hurt.

Jimmy stands too. “Now?”

Hope. “Well…” Ask me to stay. Say, Oh, Katie …

“I’m sorry, it’s okay. It was nice of you to stay so long. I’d have been pretty bored, otherwise.”

“You have your books,” I say. I’d seen the pile on his desk.

He looks at them. “Yeah, that’s right. I do like to read.”

“What have you got?”

“One is a mystery,” he says. “And one is a biography, about Lincoln. The other is called
The Winter of Our Discontent
. Do you like John Steinbeck?”

I nod. He reads! Us in bed at night, both of our lamps on, both of us with books. “Listen to this,” I’d say, and he would say, “Nice. But listen to this.” His wrists, out a ways from his pajama sleeves.

He grins, and I nearly throw up with longing.

“You’re surprised that I read anything but auto mechanics, right?”

“No.” Kind of.

“Know what I wanted to do, Katie?”

“What?”

“Be a writer.”

Well, I am going home to flat die.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, you know. You get a family, you have to support them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s … fine. It’s a little hard, now, that’s all. But it’s fine.”

“I wish …” I say. I don’t know what I wish. I wish too much.

“What?” he says, and in his face is a yearning, too.

Unless I’m wrong.

“I don’t know. I wish you could have whatever you wanted. All that you want.” My voice has gotten thick.

He smiles at me and it is a new kind of look, a careful one mixed with a new knowledge. “Well. I wish that for you too, Katie.”

“Okay.” Oh, I don’t even know what we’re talking about. It is too full in me. I can’t even swallow against it. I start for the door.

“So I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I turn back, smile, nod. There it is, my birthday gift supreme.

I feel sort of happy on the way home. I can’t wait to lie down and think, what was that? What was the whole, real conversation? Maybe things
are
moving along! If only that could be true, I would do so many good things to pay for it.