Call Me Jane (12 page)

Gay began bringing Walt around. I had no idea what those two were up to. You really couldn’t tell. One minute they went off together in the backyard or the porch, the next they ignored each other and watched TV.

The situation over at Ziggy’s was becoming amusing. Dave started making jokes about it, saying things like, “Okay guys it’s a race; let’s see who can get the farthest.” Then you would hear a slap. Or you would hear, “Hey are these yours, or did I just accidently grab Krishna, I didn’t think yours were that big!” Slap.

When Glinda stopped being around to annoy, it grew kind of old making out in the corners. So the lights would come on and the chess games would break out. Ziggy had three or four sets. We’d sit on the floor.

Paul loved to play chess with me. He was pretty good actually, but he could never beat me. I was the only girl there who could beat any of them. The other girls seemed kind of interested in the game, except for Glinda, who never played, and had a haughty disdain for anyone who did.

Just like back at the chess club, Ziggy and Raj usually beat me. Both their plans were so bizarre there was just no way I could understand them.

TWENTY THREE

Everyone was gathered in my kitchen. It seemed we had been arguing about music and the Beatles and what it means to be punk for hours, although it might have just been a few minutes. Drugs and alcohol do that to you. They change time, foreshortening it, elongating it.

A summer breeze blew through the big kitchen window and into the Beatles/Stones argument, cooling it, making it seem beach-like and peaceful. But I wasn’t peaceful. And Krishna, standing by my icebox looking for ice cream, seemed determined to keep it that way. She argued people to her side. She even seemed to be convincing Ziggy over to her way of thinking. I started becoming visibly agitated.

Out of the blue I shouted, “No,” and pounded both my fists on the table. Spoons and cups jumped an inch and everyone stopped their joking and talking and looked over at me. I pounded it so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter, but that rippled glass was very thick.

“What is it?” Ziggy asked, “What’s wrong?”

I started to mumble something incoherent about the Beatles, and then my mother appeared in that threadbare, tattered, blue nightgown of hers that I hated.

“What is all this noise?” she asked. “I am trying to go to sleep.”

“Ugh!” I shouted. “Just go back upstairs!”

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. I could feel Paul’s, without looking up. I knew he looked confused and concerned about me. I could feel Ziggy’s too, same thing.

“We’re sorry, Mrs. Anderson,” said one of them. I think it might have been Krishna. “We’ll be quiet.”

My mom went back upstairs.

I didn’t want to be quiet. I didn’t. So I shouted something really rude and loud at her, and I saw Ziggy shake his head at me.

“Should we just leave?” I think it was Krishna again who said this, but I replied “No, to hell with her,” and continued, “let’s just be as loud as we want.”

They all stared at me. There was some nervous laughter from Krishna, and then Gay broke the tension somehow, with some rude joke that made everyone laugh. I didn’t hear her joke. I was too full of blind rage, and too confused as to why.

Then, to break the silence, I heard myself say, “The Beatles are way more talented than the Stones.”

“Who cares about talent?” Krishna asked.

“What do you mean who cares? That’s just silly,” I said.

“The Sex Pistols have no talent, and I like them more for not having any,” she said.

“What do you mean they have no talent?” asked Dave. “There is no better song than ‘Bodies’. Nobody else can scream that loud.”

“The Sex Pistols are fun, but they are clearly not talented. It isn’t good music,” I said.

“It’s not good music,” Ziggy said. “It’s totally irrelevant whether they are good; it’s actually better if they’re not.”

And that’s how we started on the topic of abortion. Because of the whole issue of whether Sid Vicious was talented.

“So it is relevant,” I said, “because it’s better if they’re not. In fact–I get it now. It’s better if they have no talent and say nothing and do nothing artistic whatsoever. Thanks Ziggy. Suddenly I understand all of modern art as well.”

Ziggy gave me a thoughtful look, and then Gay broke the whole thing up by blurting out that they were talented; who else could write, “She was a girl from Birmingham! She just had an abortion!”

“Shh, you want her mom to come down here again?” Krishna said.

“Yeah, I do!” Gay said. “I want to check out that nightgown she was wearing again!” Gay continued screaming out the graphic lyrics to that song “Bodies”, which was about abortion.

And that’s how we segued to that topic.

I just assumed everyone was pro-choice. I was shocked. Not everyone was. Dave and Chrystal were pro-life. Raj used to be pro-choice, but changed positions to be more like President Reagan. Ziggy was thinking about changing his position too. Paul seemed to be staying out of it, but I eyed him to see which direction he might lean. The direction he leaned seemed to be out the door, because that’s where he eventually went. He slipped out without me being able to ask him where he was going without making a total fool of myself. So I tried not to notice it at all. I heard his car start up, and somebody asked where he was. It was late. And the argument was just starting.

Raj I could understand. He just wanted to be as controversial and extreme as he could possibly be. But Ziggy? Now he was saying, “Well, it is a life.”

“It isn’t a life,” I said. “It’s not. It can’t be.”

“What are you talking about?” Dave said, staring at me. “That’s crazy.”

Krishna and Gay both jumped on him at once.

“No it wasn’t crazy,” Gay said.

“It is crazy talk,” Dave continued

“No, it isn’t crazy, because once you gave the fetus life status you are—” Ziggy started.

“Opening the doors to full on subjugation of women,” I shouted, and Gay was right behind me on this one, and Krishna too, even though she seemed to have lost interest and was now looking through my ice box, and asking if we had any ice cream.

“Oh no,” Gay said. “Krishna’s looking for the ice cream. Here we go again.”

TWENTY FOUR

I noticed Lucy hadn’t even been in school recently. It didn’t dawn on me till I was coming out of the pot throwing class and saw Krishna walking toward me in the hall and she was wearing that strange, calico shirt again that hung around her all hippie style, and I remembered those pot brownies. I asked Krishna about Lucy’s whereabouts, and Krishna said, “What’s the matter? Aren’t things going okay with Paul?”

“No, well, what do you mean? I don’t even know if Paul likes me,” I said. “I mean, he just left the other night without saying good-bye even.”

“Oh, I think he does like you,” she said nodding and smiling. She said this with a big emphasis on the word
does.

“But still, I mean, where is Lucy? I haven’t seen her anywhere.”

“Sick, I think.”

“Well, she must be really sick.”

“I think she is. I gotta go to class.”

I didn’t eat lunch there at the school. I couldn’t take watching Gay ignore me with her jock friends for another lunch, and I hated sitting with most of the people at school. I never saw Ziggy or Paul or Raj eating lunch there, or Krishna. The only one I ever saw in that stupid cafeteria was Gay.

I walked out to the parking lot and climbed in my car and went through a drive-through. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. I felt kind of depressed and a little sick. I went home. I didn’t even feel like going to Mrs. De Muprathne’s class.

I walked into the kitchen, and on that gold refrigerator was a note that said, “Paul called.”

I was so happy now. I was so happy I was skipping. I said happy, cheerful things to my mom. She offered me a grilled peanut-butter sandwich.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll just take something I can grab. I gotta go back to class.”

I drove back to class fast. I didn’t call him back. Better to make him wait. I don’t want to seem too anxious or anything.

Besides, I was feeling pretty cool now, not so needy. Since he had called, this left me feeling like I didn’t need to feel so clingy, waiting around for phone calls, moping around. I was a free spirit.

And besides, I loved Mrs. De Muprathne’s class.

I sat down behind Glinda. I listened with interest to Mrs. D’s description of the true nature of Hamlet. She was brilliant, I thought. Practically the smartest teacher I ever knew, outside of my dad.

Glinda never turned around until the end of class. Then she did the strangest thing. She handed me an envelope with my name on it.

“Don’t read it until you get in your car,” she said.

Well, I wasn’t about to wait till I was in my car. I ripped it open right there in Mrs. De Muprathne’s class. She didn’t see me though. She left imperiously the moment she handed it to me. Somehow she managed to have the loudest soft voice I’d ever heard. When she spoke it carried. People grew silent when she spoke, and turned to look at her, like they do when someone whispers.

It was a legal-sized envelope. My name was scrawled on the front. I ripped the envelope in half and tore out the letter. Her handwriting was elegant and swirly. I sat down back in my desk even though the next class was coming in.

Dear Jane,

I ask you to cease and desist all further activity with Paul. If you must know why, Lucy is pregnant. Don’t tell anyone. We are all hoping Paul will do the right thing by her. You are the one standing in the way. If it weren’t for you and your little Blondie act, he’d be taking care of her and their coming child. I know how you are. I know how you treat your parents. Maybe you can change. Do you have it in you to be decent?

Glinda

I folded up the letter and sat staring in Mrs. De Muprathne’s next class. Someone was standing over me waiting for me to move out of my seat. I couldn’t. I couldn’t move out of her seat. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey Blondie, you’re in my seat.”

That was Gay’s voice. I looked up.

“You sit here? That’s funny,” I said, but I didn’t sound like I thought anything was funny.

“What’s wrong?” she asked me.

“Nothing,” I said, and stood up.

“Are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’ll be okay, I’m okay,” I said.

She followed me out of the room.

“What’s wrong?”

I had a tear in my eye and my voice quivered.

“You must know. You are probably just as angry at me as she is.”

“Know what? Angry as who is?” Gay said.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know until you tell me.” We walked away from the classroom.

“I just found out Lucy’s pregnant,” I whispered.

“Again?”

“Yeah, and it’s my fault if Paul doesn’t take care of her and the baby.”

“God!” Gay said. “Hasn’t Prego fucked up enough people’s lives?”

I looked up at her, tears now streaming down my face.

“Glinda wants me to cease and desist.”

“Oh God, cease and desist?” she rolled her eyes. “Did she seriously say that?”

“Well, she wrote it.”

I showed her the folded-up letter, and she grabbed it out of my hand and read it. She rolled her eyes again and laughed out loud.

“She’s something else,” Gay shook her head handing it back. “Nothing is your fault. Fuck Glinda. You didn’t do anything wrong. Prego’s a fucking whore, okay? It’s okay. Now I gotta go back to class.”

I did feel better, but I still had a tearstained face on my way out of the school. I passed Potty Mouth right near the doors.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Hey, can you give me a ride home?”

“Okay,” I said, grateful for the company.

TWENTY FIVE

“Come on, what’s wrong?” she said in the car.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Do about what?”

“I have a moral dilemma, I guess.”

“Moral dilemma?” She lit her cig; she could tell this was going to be a long car ride. “Is it about that ugly dude?”

“Ziggy? No,” I said.

“Well what? Come on, smoke a doobie with me. Let’s drive around and you can talk to me about it.”

I took a turn toward Menomonee Park.

“Well, I can’t tell you the whole thing. It wouldn’t be right you know?” I said.

“Just tell me what your dilemma is, and you can leave out all the details. Do you have a rolling tray?” Potty Mouth pulled a big quarter bag out of her purse. “I got some good shit here, you’re gonna love this.”

“Um,” I looked around. “I thought there was a tray back there; can you check the backseat?”

“Nope, nothing back there.”

“Check under the seat.”

We drove down Bowen Street and took a left on New York Street.

“That’s my house,” I pointed to the left. “Third one on the right.”

“Wow, girl, you got money.”

“I do?” I asked. “I sure don’t feel like I do.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Well, I got these rich cousins in San Diego. We go visit them all the time. My aunt is a surgeon. They have a pool. They have underwater speakers in the pool. At night it’s all lit up from these beautiful lights under the pool, Palm trees all around. Gorgeous house. Barrel full of swimsuits if you don’t have one. I am a poor relation.”

“Well, take me there with you next time you go.”

“I may be going this summer for a while. I hope so, anyway.”

“Here it is.” She found the leggy-girl tray. It was under the seat. “So what’s your dilemma?”

Okay, now how do I put this? I looked around at the beautiful park. I thought about Glinda’s nasty letter. Blondie, she called me. Like I was the little slut. I had never even gone to second base with a guy. But it is true, I did steal Paul from Lucy, and I knew it. I knew that I had deliberately allowed her to use me for my car in order to be around Paul. In a sense I was using her.

“Park here, and we’ll smoke this parked, and that way you can concentrate.”