ME, LAST YEAR; 15th Installment

Mom brought a couple of books home for me and Brian this afternoon. Some books by a man called Lloyd Alexander; shivery names like The Black Cauldron and the Return of the King. And Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat, for Brian. I told him he could read my books when I’m finished, but I don’t want to read about wolves.

And there was a surprise for me too, because Mom had ordered a pair of shoes for me from Simpson’s. They were on sale, real nice leather in two shades of brown. Mom said they’re like spectators or something. I wanted shoes like those, but Mom said before I couldn’t have them because she didn’t think they were good for my feet because they have big platforms kind of, though not as big as most of the ones the kids at school wear.

Anyway, they’re really nice and they fit just right. We’re wearing boots to school now because there’s snow a mile high and Mom said I should take the new shoes to school and keep them in my locker and wear them there. I think she wants to get them out of the house so Dad won’t see them and get mad. They were kind of expensive and anyway, Dad doesn’t like big heels on shoes for girls. He thinks they’re stupid and dangerous.

I went to The Bay on Saturday with Mom and we did some shopping. She bought some underwear for the boys and looked around with me for jeans and stuff. Am I ever hard to fit. Like there’s no other kids like me. I meant built like me. Whenever I saw a nice pair of jeans that I really, really liked they wouldn’t fit me. Mom kept giving me stuff to try on that I hated. They were awful pants, wide around the middle and skinny legs. She doesn’t even know what kids like to wear.

When I did find a pair of pants I liked and they fit okay, she said they were too tight and I wouldn’t be comfortable in them. Oh sure, how is she supposed to know if I’m comfortable in what I’m wearing? I’m wearing them, not her, aren’t I? And she wanted me to get long sleeve sweaters and jersies and I told her no one’s wearing long sleeves at school.

“It’s winter now Dear, and I want you to be warm. You can wear short sleeved things in the spring and summer.”

“Mom”, I said (I guess it really sounded more like whining and I hate people who whine) “It’s always hot at school. I’ll be plenty warm in short sleeves.” And I like skinny-rib sweaters and she wants me to wear baggy ones. She just has no sense of style at all.

“Are you certain, Dear”, she said, looking at the price tag. “That’s the pair of pants you want? I think the other ones suited you much better.”

“Look Mom, I know these cost more but they’re the ones I want. I like the way they fit much better than those creepy ones you want me to get.”

“You’re just a slave of fashion”, Mom said, getting kind of mad at me. “The other pants are perfectly good. The fabric is every bit as good as these, but these cost twice as much. You’re paying extra for the wide legs and distinctive styling. Why, they’re ludicrous … I wouldn’t want to wear them!”

“Mom, be reasonable.” I said that, but of course I didn’t expect her to be. What mother is reasonable after all? “You don’t have to wear them, you’re not thirteen-almost-fourteen. I am, and they’re what I want. What’s the point of buying the other ones, I’ll never wear them, they’ll just hang in my clothes cupboard. If you want to get me something I’ll wear, then you’ll buy what I like, not what you like.”

“Well, my dear child” Mom said (her temper definitely not improved by what I had said and I was kind of surprised at myself for what I said because it even sounded to me like I was talking down to her, even though we’re always being told we’ve got to be honest) “I think you are not being reasonable. I am trying patiently to explain to you that you are behaving like an unthoughtful person, reacting as a slave to current fashion rather than trying to evaluate what you’re getting for your consumer dollar. I suppose”, she said, heaving one of those great big sighs that warns me I’m going to get a comparison-lecture. “I suppose it’s because you’ve never had to work for anything yourself. Not that we’d want you to, of course, but you’d feel differently if you had to work for the money you’re spending so carelessly.”

What a drag! I mean about how hard it was for Mom and Dad when they were young, how glad they were to get anything that was given to them and all that. I know it’s true and all that, but why compare what happened so long ago to what’s happening now? Like, I know they’re going to get me stuff anyway, so why not the kind of stuff I want? And sure, I feel bad that I’m not pleasing Mom, but for crumbs’ sake, how about what I want! And she doesn’t always please me, and anyway, we’re always being told to be considerate, but they tell us to assert ourselves too, and what happens when we do? Well, wow!

“Mom”, I said to her, “please don’t start all that stuff again. I know things were different for you and I don’t want you to think that I‘m not grateful because it’s not true. It’s just that things are different now than when you were a kid all those years ago. Kids are different now.”

“Well!” she said, kind of huffy. “It wasn’t all that many years ago, I’m not exactly Methusalah, you know.”

“Who’s he?”

“Who?”

“Meth … oh, who you said.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, I don’t know, someone in the bible who lived to a great ripe old age … I’m only using his name as an example. Look Jen, we’ll get you what you want, but please, please Dear, wear the stuff. I’m so sick of seeing half the clothes we get you being outgrown and you never wearing them.”

“That’s because it’s all stuff you liked and bought for me. I don’t like the dresses and skirts and stuff like that, don’t I keep telling you?”

Finally, it ended up me getting the stuff I liked (Hallelujah!), and Mom was in a bad mood and she kept telling me all the time like she does, to stop saying ‘like’ and to please put the ending on my words. She doesn’t like it when I say “goin’” and “tellin’” instead of “ing” like she says, but like I told her, everything’s changing from the kind of world she knew, and crap! That’s how all the kids talk. Except Larry. Yep, Brian too.

Later, Dad took us all to a second-hand sports shop and we all looked around at the sporting equipment. We got skis for Larry, Brian and me and we all got boots, nice leather ones, and poles and everything. Earlier in the week, Dad had brought home skis for him and Mom that he bought from somebody he works with and he brought them home on the bus, one pair each day and he said it was really awful. Bringing them home on the bus, I mean, like they’re heavy and awkward. He says he was lucky he wasn’t charged an extra fare for the skis. Now as soon as we get a fresh snowfall, Dad says we’re going to go out skiing. I can hardly wait.

It’ll be easy because all we have to do is put the skis on outside the side door and go right into the park and then the park just keeps going on right out of the subdivision and for miles it’s like a rough kind of park, called a greenbelt, where we can go cross-country, and it’s really nice. People go there from different parts of the city, to park their cars and go skiing, but we just have to go from our house; neat, huh?

ME, LAST YEAR; 14th Installment

Wow, we had a real big snowfall overnight and have we ever got gobs of snow. All over the place, all the trees are full of snow and just everything is covered. Daddy says we’re all going to get skis so we can take full advantage of all the snow that falls here in the winter. I said, isn’t it going to cost a mint, and he said, sure, but we’ll get them second-hand.

On the way to school I saw two black squirrels chasing each other up in the trees. I almost held my breath because they were so careless, it looked like they were going to fall out of the branches, but they caught hold and the branches swung like crazy, but the squirrels didn’t fall, they just kept chasing each other all over the place. I thought now that winter’s here, they’d hibernate like bears, but Brian said they only semi-hibernate and they still come around the house for peanut hand-outs.

I go to school now with Jane and Brenda Parker. They live just down the street, and we usually meet halfway through the park. They’re nice. Jane is my age, and their parents know my parents.

Last Saturday night Mom and Dad had a wine and cheese party for some of the neighbours and the Parkers came along, with some other people who’re nice too. Mom let me help serve, and I listened to all the conversations. It was kind of nice. The Parkers have a Springer Spaniel they call Cheeky and he’s really cute. He’s just a puppy yet and he jumps all over you for excitement. He pees too, when he’s excited and you’ve got to watch he doesn’t do it on you.

As soon as the ice rink outside the elementary school close to us freezes over, me and Jane are going to go skating together. They’ve got hamster pets too, and I showed both of them my pigs and they think they’re cute. Brenda and Debra spend a lot of time together now, so I’m glad I introduced them to each other, although maybe they would have met anyway. Sometimes I see Linda next door over with them too; they’re all the same age and they get along together.

Today I got the results of a project I did on the Northwest Territories. I did some really good maps and illustrations and I’ve found a real neat way of printing. Me and Jennifer T have done some experimenting and we do it kind of slanting and blocked, like what Mom calls banker’s script or something, and it’s real neat. Mr. Henderson gave me an A-minus and it was one of the best marks in the whole class, and he hung my project up along with two others on the bulletin board for everyone to see. Not that I care, really.

Boy, that Sally! Is she ever green with envy. Well, all it takes is a little dedication to hard work, as Larry says. Sometimes he does say something worth repeating. But he’s so fussy about things, he won’t ever let me borrow any of his books, if he’s read something interesting and I’d like to read it, too. He can’t stand it when people fold back the corners of pages to keep their place. And he says I’m too casual about my books, and I don’t take proper care of them. I think I do, actually. It’s not fair; he’s not interested in the kinds of girls’ books I read, but I’m interested in some of the adventure books for boys that he’s read. He read them ages ago, he’s outgrown them, but he won’t even let Brian read them because, he says, he hasn’t a proper respect for books too. Anyway, that’s Larry.

Back to Sally though: she didn’t feel like working on her project that she did on the Canadian Inuit and it was only three pages long and messy with no illustrations or anything, not even anything cut out of magazines, so what did she expect, anyway?

“Hey, sucky-Jenny”, she said. “Aren’t you a good little girul. Got a lovely A, and your project all stuck up on the board so everyone can see what a little suck you are”. Did I ever see red!

“Go suck your thumb”, I told her. “I do good work for my own satisfaction, that’s all. I enjoyed doing that project and I thought if I was going to do it I might as well do it well. That’s not sucking up!”

“Oh year, sure”, she said, and she snickered at me. “Tell us another story.”

Well, there was Laura standing over beside Sally where she used to stand beside me, not saying anything as usual, but I didn’t expect her to. And there was Jennifer T standing beside me and I could tell she didn’t like what Sally was saying, and the rest of our little group, Diane and Donna were kind of standing between us. I guess they weren’t sure where they stood, ha-ha. The writing’s on the wall, I guess. Laura isn’t my best friend any more. But she’s still my friend. I mean, you don’t just dump a friend because she’s friends with someone else, even if that someone else is someone you don’t like, can’t even stand.

When we went into Industrial Arts, me and Jennifer, she told me not to feel bad about Sally, just to ignore her because she was jealous because of my good mark, and she got just a C-minus. Boy, she didn’t even deserve that, her project was such a mess. I guess Mr. Henderson is very sensitive and doesn’t like to hurt peoples’ feelings, even someone like her who has no feelings, it seems like.

Mr. Bronson, our Industrial Arts teacher; he’s always got on this long white cotton coat over his clothes, and he’s always cracking jokes; he’s working with us on our cutting boards and it’s fun. First he showed us how all the tools work and he said we’ve got to be careful. He told us some awful stories about kids who were careless and got their fingertips lopped off. Ugh, really! I usually tell Mom a lot of what goes on at school, but I guess I won’t tell her that. She’d probably get all nervous and tell me to transfer to Home Ec.

We’re not supposed to use the table saw, but Mr. Bronson said we can use the scroll saw and the band saw. We’re all supposed to clean up after ourselves, and we’ve elected monitors to remind everyone. One of the guys in our class, Kerry Blake (he’s hyper-kinetic, he gets pills at the office all the time to slow him down), well, all the teachers give him special assignments to make him feel good. He’s an awful trouble-maker, but he can’t help it, he’s always so nervous. Anyway, at Industrial Arts he’s supposed to see that everyone’s careful using the saws. We all had to take turns passing a use-test and Kerry was allowed to pass us. He gets kind of bossy, but he’s proud that he’s got the job and so he’s good at it.

Once, when Kerry was away, Mr. Henderson told us all that Kerry’s got special problems and we’re supposed to be patient with him and not get him angry, because when he gets angry, he gets real mad and starts to fight. I mean really fight, like with his fists, and he gets really mean. He’s an all-right kid, I guess, not stuck-up, just confused. He’s kind of smart, too. There’s a special lady that comes in a couple times a week and he goes off privately with her so she can work with him. He likes her and calls her his special teacher. He likes to be treated special. Mom says it’s because he craves attention, like he was ignored or something maybe, when he was young and now he does things for attention or approval, or something like that.

Sometimes when he gets mad though, you’ve got to look out. Once he threw a book at a bunch of kids and it hit Tom Parker on the forehead and cut him. Another time the boys told some of the girls that Kerry started to fight, really fight, with Mr. Farraday, the Physical Education teacher. Boy, that must’ve been something. I’m glad I wasn’t there, I would’ve been scared.

Sometimes Mr. Henderson, when he kind of thinks Kerry is getting burned up about something, he tells him to get his coat on and have a run around the block or something and be sure and come back. Kerry does and he comes back and he doesn’t seem so bad any more.

ME, LAST YEAR; 13th Installment

Laura is still my best friend and we spend a lot of time together. She comes over to my house more than I go to hers because she’s got more brothers and sisters and she has to share a bedroom with one of her sisters and it’s more private like, at my place. Besides, she likes to play with my piglets and do beading. Sometimes though, we ride our bicycles over to her place even though Mom says we’re crazy to ride our bikes in this cold weather and they’ll have to be put away soon as we have the first snowfall. The snow is late coming this year, everyone says.

Laura’s mother is really, really nice. She says she likes me to come over and be with Laura because, she said, she likes me better than some of Laura’s other friends, and I’ll just bet she means Sally. Laura told me she’s had Sally over and her mother thinks Sally talks too much. I’m still thinking of yesterday when I went over to Laura’s after school and she told me about Sally and me.

“Sally’s mother thinks you’re a hippy”, Laura said to me and was I ever surprised. Me, a hippy? Crap! I’m not even fourteen yet!

“Why did she say that?” I asked her and maybe I sounded a little mad.

“It’s the way you wear your hair, I guess”, Laura said. “Mrs. Clung said she can’t make up her mind whether you’re more of a Gypsy or a hippy.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very nice of her”, I said, feeling kind of hurt. Although really, I don’t see what’s wrong with either hippies or Gypsies. They’re kind of romantic. “Did you say anything?" I asked her, and what I meant was, did she defend me or anything like that - and she knew it.

“Say anything?” she repeated innocently. “What was I supposed to say? I didn’t say you looked like a hippy. Or a Gypsy.”

“Well, do you think I do?”

“Noooo, not really. You’re just awfully messy looking sometimes.”

Oboy, my best friend. Well, I told myself, that’s what friends are for, to tell you the truth.

“And that’s not all”, she said, looking straight at me.

“Okay, what else?” I asked, not really wanting to know, but I knew she meant to tell me anyway, so I thought I might as well give her the satisfaction of me asking.

“She said”, and she lowered her eyes, kind of, not looking at me. “She said she doesn’t think much of your parents.”

“My parents! Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know my parents!”

“Well, I can’t help that”, Laura shrugged her shoulders at me. “I’m only telling you what she told me.”

Well, I wondered, why was she telling me? I didn’t want to know if the mother of some kid who I don’t even really like doesn’t like my looks or if she thinks my parents aren’t nice or something.

“Laura, you know my parents. You’re over all the time. My father is always nice to you, and my mother always gives you stuff to eat and like that. Aren’t they always nice to you?”

“Well sure, Jen, of course they are. Hey, I didn’t say anything about your parents. I think they’re nice. I’m only telling you what Mrs. Clung said.”

“Didn’t you say anything at all, like you know them and they’re nice?”

“How could I Jen? I’ve been taught to respect older people, not to contradict them.”

“Well, how can you respect someone who says they don’t like someone they don’t even know!"

“I don’t know. You’re making too much out of it. She probably said that because she thinks they let you go around looking like a hippy.”

There we go again, a hippy. As if Mom isn’t always after me to comb my hair or put it in a ponytail or something. As if Mom doesn’t always nag me to wear a skirt instead of jeans. My own mother respects my wishes to wear what I like, even if she doesn’t like it, and here this lady who swears at her kids and fights with her husband sees her kid is dressed like a… what’s that word Mom used … a tart, and she says my parents are no good. What a nerve!

“Why did you bother telling me all that anyway, Laura?”

“I don’t know. I thought you might want to know. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know”, I said, feeling kind of mad at her. “Are you?”

“Why, how can you ask me that?” Laura said, getting mad herself.

“Well, I kind of think you’re an ingrate, Laura. Here my parents have been so nice to you and you let them be talked about nastily by someone you tell me isn’t nice at all. And for that matter, how about when the bunch of you were over at my place last week and after I gave you all chocolate bars and milk, Sally and Donna left their wrappers just lying around and my mother cleaned up after them. Sally thinks my place is a big garbage can, but my house is always neat and clean. How about that, when you told me their place is a big mess!”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Anyway, Mrs. Clung is too, nice. She took me out with Sally and her brothers to MacDonald’s for dinner last week.”

“Okay, Laura, you’re a fair-weather friend.”

“I am not! And if that’s the way you think about me, I wonder why I bother at all trying to be your friend!”

So what am I supposed to think? That’s not the way I think a friend is supposed to be like. Like, I’m sure I’d defend a friend of mine and I’m sure I wouldn’t want to listen to anyone saying mean things about their parents if I knew them and they were nice. People sure are funny.

ME, LAST YEAR, 12th Installment

Mom wanted to know did I want to have a birthday party to invite my friends and I said no, I just wanted a family party. She thought it might be nice for me to have some of my friends over though, so what I did was invite some of them over for Saturday afternoon lunch and games and I didn’t say anything about my birthday.

I asked Jennifer T and Donna and Laura and Diane and Debra, and Jane and Brenda Parker. And of course, Sally. I talked to Mom about inviting Sally because I really didn’t know if I wanted to have her. Like, I don’t really think all that much of her, you know? But Mom said it wouldn’t be very nice not to invite her, because she’d find out that I invited my other friends, and she’d be hurt. So I did invite her.

Well, they all came over, and it was nice to have them, all my friends-but-one. We played Scrabble and Masterpiece. Scrabble was fun but Sally doesn’t like it, she has to think too hard, she says. So we didn’t play it for very long. I was glad I had invited Deb even though we haven’t been seeing each other very much lately, because she and Brenda are the same age and seem to like each other. Maybe they’ll be friends.

Sally looked around at everything in the house like she was getting ready to buy our stuff or something.

“Our house is bigger”, she said. Just like that, out of the blue.

“Oh, that’s nice”, I responded. I could have said more, because Laura had told me that they rent their house and it’s not really theirs then, is it? But I didn’t.

“What’re you going to entertain us with?” She asked me and I kind of got ready for trouble, even though I didn’t know what she was leading up to. The other kids were busy playing Scrabble, and she had asked me to take her up to the bathroom. Everyone else found the bathroom by themselves; they used the powder room downstairs, but Sally insisted she wanted to see the upstairs bathroom.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Oh, I’m such an innocent, I guess. “We’re playing games. Everyone’s having fun!”

“Now whatever gives you the idea that everyone’s having fun?” she said, looking at me frostily. “Where are the rest of your guests?”

“Why, everyone’s here” I said. I really didn’t know what she meant.

“You’re kidding!”

“No, no I’m not. Who were you expecting? The Queen and Prince Philip? When I asked you over I said it was just a little get-together for some of my friends!”

“Listen, Child, we’re kind of adult now, some of us. When I get invited over to someone’s house for a party, I expect to meet some boys too. You mean to tell me you didn’t invite any boys over?”

“No, it hadn’t even occurred to me. I don’t know enough boys to invite over anyway. Anyway, I don’t want to have any boys over at my house. My brothers are quite enough, thank you. And anyway, my mother wouldn’t like me to invite boys over either, I’m sure. I don’t go out with boys, and even if my mother didn’t mind, I’m not really interested in seeing boys.

“Well, you are a child, aren’t you?”

“No, I am not! What’s so great about boys anyway? And I haven’t noticed you having any great success attracting the guys at school, either!”

“That’s not entirely true, my child. You don’t know everything", and she hinted darkly at all the things I don’t know. Well, I certainly don’t want to know. And anyway, she’s bluffing.

“Where’s your brother?” she suddenly asked. “I mean your big brother.”

“Are you kidding? He’s gone out to see some of his friends", I said really snarky. “As soon as he heard I was having some girlfriends over he said he was leaving. My little brother too. HE went over to a boyfriend’s. So much for boys wanting to be around girls!”

Later, me and Mom served hamburgers and buns and pizzas and potato salad and chips, and then we had ice-cream. Jennifer T was really a big help, and Brenda and Deb too. None of the other girls did too much, but then I really didn’t expect them to, they were my guests.

We listened to music downstairs in the recreation room. Larry told me I could borrow his record player, if I was very careful, and Mom said I would be. I guess he only said I could borrow it because Mom asked him. We didn’t have any of the right kind of records like rock or anything, so Jane and Brenda brought some of theirs over.

Sally didn’t look happy like everyone else. She just looked bored, like she always does, and she let everyone know how she felt, like she always does.

“Laura”, she said, turning to Laura. “What do you think about not having any boys over?”

“Huh?” Laura said very intelligently. But I was glad to hear her say that because it meant she wasn’t thinking like that.

“Boys, BOYS, you know”, Sally said impatiently, and she turned to Donna and Diane too. “I was telling Jennifer how she kind of made a mistake not to invite any boys over. Like, wouldn’t we all be having a good time with boys around?” And she batted her mascara’d eyelashes at them like crazy.

“Are you kidding?” Donna said, and I could’ve hugged her, the fatso. “Who wants boys around? All they ever do is pick on you and stuff. We’re having a good time without them - it’s bad enough we gotta have them at school. If there was boys here we’d have a lot less to eat, hey? Hey, Jennifer, is there any cookies or cake, or something?”

Sally looked at her real mad. “Well Donna, we all know how important your stomach is to you. After all, how else could it grow so round and fully packed?" Bitchy Sally. The meanie - because Donna’s face really fell. “But the rest of us feel differently … I’m sure" And Sally looked at Laura for support, but for once Laura didn’t say anything to side with Sally, she just shrugged her shoulders.

“Face it”, Jennifer T, my pal, said. “It looks like you’re the only one who’s anxious to see boys. We’re all happy. And we think it was really nice of Jennifer to invite us over like this, don’t we?” And she turned to the other girls who all said yes. It made me feel so good.

“I guess I’m just too sophisticated for you girls”, Sally said, heaving a great big sigh. It just didn’t seem to bother her that no one else felt like her. Like it was a big deal she even bothered to be with us. I’m supposed to feel flattered I guess, because she came to my party and she’s eating my food, because she’s so grown up.

After we finished with the ice cream and chocolate cake that Mom baked for me and let me ice, we started a game of Monopoly. We had two boards and it was real fun and we laughed like crazy all the time. After we played a while I was doing pretty bad; nothing but the little properties, and I was running out of money for fines and kept landing on the expensive properties and getting in jail. But that was okay, I’m used to it; whenever I used to play with Brian and Larry the same kind of thing happened. I guess I just don’t have a good head for business, or something.

Over at the other board I could see that Sally was doing just as bad as me and she was really sizzling. Would you believe, she started to blame Brenda Parker, and she said Brenda was cheating? Brenda is a little younger than us and she’s a little shy and she felt really bad and she kept saying she wasn’t cheating.

“My sister wouldn’t cheat”, Jane said. “she doesn’t have to. She’s smart enough to win without cheating.”

“Honest, I didn’t!” Brenda said, trying to make Sally believe her. They didn’t know what Sally is like, but they’ve learned since.

“Well of course I expect you to stick up for your dear little baby sister”, Sally cooed at Jane. “I’m afraid though, that it won’t help. I know a cheater when I see one.”

“It takes one to know one” Jennifer T said and was I ever surprised. I almost fell off my chair, only I wasn’t sitting on a chair, I was on the floor. “Only thing is, I believe Brenda and I do believe I’ve been watching you cheat all through this game. Pity you’re no more successful cheating than you are playing the game honestly.”

“You witch!”, Sally exploded at Jennifer. “Call me a cheat, huh?” She stood up and stuck her hands on her hips and looked really mad. “You’ve got your bloody-damn nerve! Just where do you get off calling me a cheat?”

“Well, I apologize if I’ve hurt your feelings Sally dear”, Jennifer said, smooth as glass. “I’m merely stating my observations.”

“I don’t have to sit here and be insulted by someone like you!” Sally said, glaring at Jennifer.

“Indeed you don’t”, Jennifer said right back. And I sat there with my mouth open because usually I’m the only one who talks like that to Sally and I don’t talk near as good as Jennifer when she starts talking. And of course I expected Sally to pick up and leave, she was so mad, and I wasn’t about to do anything to stop her, like she brought it on herself, and I felt so bad for poor Brenda. But you know, Sally just huffed and puffed and didn’t leave at all.

Later, I brought down chocolate bars and potato chips and peanuts, and Jennifer and Jane helped me bring down chocolate milk for everyone, and we sat around telling jokes and laughing a lot, and Brenda forget all about feeling bad. And Sally sat there listening, but not saying too much.

We had a contest to see who could best imitate one of the teachers at school. Donna did a take-off of Miss Hennesley doing Swedish calisthenics and it was a scream! No one else did nearly as good, although my take-off of Mr. Levesque doing a garbled French wasn’t bad at all, if I do say so myself.

After everyone left, Jennifer stayed around to help clean up and we found peanuts and chips scattered all over the rug where Sally had been sitting, just like she did it on purpose. And would you believe it? She had stuffed her chocolate wrappers all crumpled up in one of the planters beside the coffee table! Boy, what a nerve!

ME, LAST YEAR; 11th Installment

Larry was going over to Debra’s house after dinner. Not to see her, but to get her brother who’s in his class at school. They made arrangements to go over to another friend’s place. They’re busy making a telescope and they’re grinding the lenses for it. Larry knows how, because he did some of that kind of stuff in Toronto, since he was a member of the Royal Astronomical Society. He used to be really into astronomy, but for the last while he’s gone into music, like you don’t know.

Anyway, because we’re not supposed to go out at night alone, Daddy said he’d drive Larry over to Debra’s place to see her brother Norton, and I went with along to fool around with Deb. She’s got a hamster. A cute little thing, and she has plastic tunnels for him, so he can run around in them. He’s not as cute as Munchkin and Grumpkin, but he’s better than nothing. They’ve got a fat old cat, too. Boy, I wouldn’t trust any fat old cat around my hamster.

When we got home after, Mom mentioned to me that since my birthday’s coming up next month, she and Dad are trying to think of what to get me for a gift. Everything’s supposed to be equal in our house, and because Larry got a real big present for his fourteenth birthday, I’m supposed to get something really great, too. Mom made some suggestions like a T.V. of my own, because I like to watch some programs (like the Waltons and the Beachcombers), that no one else wants to see. Or a sewing machine or something like that. But I know I don’t want anything like that. I’m pretty sure I do know what I want.

“What I’d really, REALLY like to have, Mom, is a flute.”

“A Flute? You mean a transverse flute? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I just didn’t say anything to you about it. I’d like to play a flute. I like the recorders, but I’d really love to have a flute.”

“Look Dear, that’s a lot of money we’re talking about. It wouldn’t do at all to get you something and then have you get tired of it and just lay it aside. What makes you think you’d like to learn to play a flute?”

“I know it, Mom! I know that’s what I want. You asked me, didn’t you? That’s what I’d really like to have. I want to learn how to play a flute and I would like to have one. I know they cost a lot and I’d take care of it, and honestly, I wouldn’t get tired of it.”

“I don’t know. I’ll mention it to your father. Then we’ll talk about it. Meantime, you think about the suggestions I made and perhaps you’ll think of something else you’d rather have.”

It won’t matter how much thinking I do about it. I know I want a flute. I’d like to be able to play a flute more than anything. And next year when I’m in high school I’ll be in the band and the orchestra and I’ll take flute lessons at school. That would be the nicest present I could think of. Larry isn’t the only one in this family who can play musical instruments. He plays the school Euphonium in the band and takes private viola lessons because they don’t teach string instruments at school. I don’t see why I can’t have a flute if they’re thinking of getting me something I want anyway.

We were all given choices at school to fill out. We were supposed to pick what we wanted to do for arts minor and major. They’re trying something new at the school. There’s a new pair of teachers that’re supposed to come in half-days, and they’re teaching music. One’s teaching voice and the other one recorders. I don’t want to sing in a choir, so I guess I have to sign up for the recorders. I know it’s going to be Mickey-Mouse because I’m so far advanced of anyone else (I’m sure), in the school, and they’ll all be learning “Mary had a little lamb”, and I’ll be bored stiff. There’s guitars too, but who wants to learn guitar anyway?

And then we had to choose between Home Economics and Industrial Arts. Then next turn around we’re supposed to do the opposite. I signed up for Industrial Arts and we had our first Industrial Arts lesson today. Nothing much; we met Mr. Bronson, the teacher. He’s nice, and he showed us what we would be doing.

He said we’ll be spending the first month or so learning drafting. Boy, that’s not what I thought I.A. was all about. We could pick either a salad bowl or a chopping board. I think I’ll do a chopping board. There’s different shapes, you can do a mushroom or a fish, but who wants to wait?

Just me and Jennifer T decided to go into Industrial Arts and recorder. All the rest of our group - Donna too, thank heavens - went into choir and Home Economics. It’s nice to be around Jennifer because now I’m getting to know her better, she’s just like me. I mean she likes the same things I do, and she’s like me inside, kind of, if you know what I mean.

ME, LAST YEAR; 10th Installment

Miss Hennesley, our Phys.Ed. Teacher (she’s nice), has been taking our class out skating, lately She says she’ll try to get us as much ice time on the rink as she can. So I took my skates with me to school today, and we all walked over to the area rink. It’s really getting cold out now. For sure we’ll soon have snow.

We had balls of fun on the rink. It’s the second time we’ve been out skating this month. Really great. Everybody grabs everyone else’s wool toques and throws them ‘way over the other side of the rink, then you have to go looking for them. It’s fun. Kind of. Sometimes irritating, too

What wasn’t so nice I guess, was that Donna, you know, the plump girl (she’s fatter than me) well, she didn’t know how to skate even though she had a pair of skates, and Miss Hennesley said, bring them anyway. So what she did, Miss Hennesley, was get a chair out on the ice for Donna so she could hang onto it, and push it in front of her, to kind of get her skating legs. Me and Laura encouraged her. We thought it was a really good idea. Miss Hennesley said, she’s got to learn and that was the most painless way she knew of.

Well, I don’t know how painless it was. I mean, she didn’t fall or anything like that, and she was doing all right, but some of the other kids, like the in-groups and Sally too, laughed and called her a hippopotamus on ice. And Donna-Hippo, and stuff like that. Donna didn’t seem to mind this time. I guess he’s getting used to it. And we told her to ignore those ignoramus-potamouses (we made that up). Anyway, it looks like Donna is on the way to learning how to skate. She was doing pretty good, before we had to leave.

And we had to leave early. We were only there just over an hour and we were supposed to be there for an hour and a half, but what happened was, there was this accident. The kids were all fooling around like I said, and some of the girls were acting pretty silly to get the guys to notice them and all that. Well, this girl, Pearl Stafford; she’s one of the biggest show-offs wouldn’t you know? Well, she kind of fell and she fell right on her face, which is kind of a funny way to fall, because usually you fall backwards when you’re skating.

Well, she fell forward and she must’ve hit her teeth on the ice or something, because we were skating around when we heard a yell and looked around and saw a bunch of girls all in a group. Turned out Pearl had knocked off half of her two front teeth and she was bawling. Miss Hennesley skated over to Pearl and we all gathered around, and Miss Hennesley told us to keep skating, not to bunch up there.

She looked at Pearl and asked her a few questions. I guess she wanted to know if someone pushed her, probably. Of course, we all had to leave. Miss Hennesley got us all back to the school and sent Pearl home after she called her mother. Did she ever look weird, with her top lip kind of squooshed in because her teeth were half gone. I don’t care if she is a show-off. I’m sorry it happened to her. I wouldn’t want it to happen to anyone. Just goes to show you, you never know what’ll happen when you fool around too much. I guess.

“I KNEW something like that was going to happen”, Sally-know-it-all told us.

“How could you know?” Jennifer said. Not me - Jennifer Thackeray. “After all, everyone was having fun.”

“I know, because I heard Tommy Smithers say he was going to go after Pearl and give her a good shove if she didn’t stop pulling his hat off.”

“Well, he didn’t push her. She fell by herself, Smarty.” Good for Jennifer.

“That’s how much YOU know, child. I say he pushed her, then skated away so no one knew, not even her. You just can’t trust boys.” And she smirked at us like she does. “Anyway, she deserved it. She’s too damn snotty by half. That’s what my mother calls getting your comeuppance.”

“That’s an awful thing to say about someone!” I said, and I meant it. I wouldn’t even wish a mean thing like that on her. I think.

“Come on, Sweetikins”, she said to me, (the witch). “You don’t like her any more than I do. You’ve always got to let on that you’re holier than anyone else. Pretty sickening, the way you’re always sorry for everyone.”

“Well, I’m with her”, Jennifer T said, and I could have hugged her, I felt so grateful for someone sticking up for me, because usually when Sally has her little sticky says, no one says anything, much. “I think it’s pretty small to relish someone else’s misfortunes”, she said, and was I ever surprised. I didn’t even know Jennifer could talk so well, like she was grown up or something. Just goes to show you, you never can tell with those quiet ones, like Mom always says.

“Oh you two! Why don’t you take yourselves off and say a prayer for her?” And Diane laughed and Laura laughed. Was I ever surprised! How about that Laura? How about that for a best friend?

Jennifer said to me “Why don’t we?” And we did. We just walked away from them, the rats, and sat by ourselves, the two of us, for the rest of the day. And it was nice. I never really got a chance to talk to Jennifer much by herself, before. Whenever we were with other people she was always quiet and didn’t have too much to say. Not like me. I always thought she was a mouse, but it turns out she’s a quiet mouse that roars when she wants to.

ME, LAST YEAR; 9th Installment

After Debra went home I remembered Mom going to see Mr. Levesque. Funny she hadn’t said anything to me about it, because I’m certain-sure she went because of me. I guess she figured she didn’t want to talk to me about it when my friend was over. So I went into the living room where Dad and Mom were sitting reading the newspaper. Well, Mom was reading the newspaper. Dad was lying on the sofa, snoozing.

Funny thing about Daddy snoozing. Mom always tells him don’t lie down on the sofa, sit up you’ll fall asleep. Dad always reacts like he can’t believe what Mom’s saying.

“Who, me?” he says, very indignantly. “I never fall asleep on the sofa. I’m reading and resting, that’s all.”

Well, he’s really funny, because here he’s got a book propped up on his chest, or the newspaper, kind of to hide behind I guess, and all of a sudden he starts to snore very softly, like sneaky. That’s some relaxing! He says he’s not sleeping, Mom says he is, and we laugh.

Parents sure behave as silly as they say we do, sometimes. Anyway, what he does, because he always wants to prove he’s not sleeping is, he wiggles his toes. That’s right, even while he’s sleeping. It’s like if he hears talk going on around him and even if he’s sleeping, he’s kind of aware of the voices, and he starts wiggling his toes like to tell us he’s awake, although he’s not. I guess he figures that if we see him moving, even wiggling his toes, we won’t think he’s asleep.

So I went downstairs, like I said, and there they were and I sat down beside Mom and talked softly so I wouldn’t disturb Dad who was resting, you know. “Mom”, I said, “How come you went to see Mr. Levesque this afternoon?”

“Oh”, she said. “I’d forgotten about that. Yes, I want to talk to you about it. How did you know I had an appointment to see him?”

“Well, it was announced over the PA., remember?”

“That’s right. I forgot. Well, when I got the call I didn’t quite know what it was for. I hadn’t even met the man before. It would appear, my dear, that your performance in French class could be considerably better than it is.”

“What did he say, for heaven’s sake? I try, I really try, it’s just that I must have a mental block or something when it comes to French. It’s boring and I hate it, and I can’t understand it, and I speak it terrible, and I don’t really like Mr. Levesque all that much, and really Mom, I KNOW he doesn’t like me and he picks on me all the time just to show the rest of the class how dumb I am in French, and I’m sick of it!”

“Whoa! Just a minute, please”, Mom said, holding her hands over her ears. How do you like that? All those words wasted. Now how do I know if I’ll remember everything I said, to tell her all over again?

Dad started to stir and propped himself up on an elbow, eyes blinking, and said, “What’s going on?” I hate it when people come in on the tail end of things. Mom let him in on the big news. Lovely, so now they’re both looking at me like I told the cat where the birds live.

“Let’s hear that again, Jen?” Ha-ha, Dad’s a poet, but I don’t feel like saying it all over again.

“What did Mr. Levesque say about me, Mom?” I asked, turning to her. “you tell me that first, then I’ll tell you what you want to know about me, okay?

“Fair enough. That, in fact, was what I had in mind, to begin with, before you started your little monologue of self-defence. Well Jen, he said he thinks you have the potential to be a better-than-average student, but you seem to be extremely disinterested. He said that you don’t contribute to class discussions, that you’re reluctant to answer questions. In short, that you’re not putting yourself out at all.”

“Well, all right. Now let me tell you this: I feel dumb in French, so I don’t like to talk too much. The rest of the kids are down on me enough as it is. Don’t forget, most of them have already had a couple of years of French instruction and this is my first year. It’s not that I’m not interested, really. It’s more that I don’t like it and I KNOW I can’t do good in it. And Mr. Levesque mimics me when I say something wrong. I do try, honestly! I guess I could try a little harder, but it’s a boring subject.”

“We all have to do things at times that we aren’t particularly interested in”, Dad said. “Do you think I feel like going out to work all the time, instead of doing other things I might prefer to do? It’s for your future that you’re being asked to learn these subjects. You’ve got to learn to discipline yourself so that you’ll perform well at tasks you dislike as well as those you have an affinity for.”

He has lots of practise at saying that, because it’s the same thing he says to Larry all the time. Next year maybe it’ll be Brian’s turn.

“Yes Dear”, Mom said. They were at me from both sides. It’s not fair. “We want you to have the same educational opportunities as your brothers. Without a sound education and the choice of occupation that comes as a result of one, your future may hold nothing more promising for you than housewifery.” I blinked at that one.

“But Mom”, I protested, “what’s wrong with being a housewife? You’re a housewife, and you’re smart.”

“True“, she agreed, modestly, “but you see Dear, I’m not really equipped with any kind of academic or technical expertise to be too much else. We’d like a different future for you. Or at least the opportunity for you to select any other kind of future occupation you’d like.”

“But what if I WANT to be a housewife?”

“Jen, don’t be silly! What’s so wonderful about staying at home day after day and stagnating? Don’t you remember Mrs. Bloom in North York, and all her friends, how unhappy they were, how they always complained?”

“Mom, why look at Mrs. Bloom? You’re happy as a housewife. You always say you enjoy doing things at home, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Be reasonable, Dear. No one is saying you might not be, but in the event that you would prefer in the future to follow another discipline than that of housewife, the avenues wouldn’t be closed to you. That’s why it’s imperative that you build the basis of a sound education now. We want you to be able to choose your future, not be streamlined into a traditional female role.”

“You’re just afraid that I might be better at cooking and stuff than you, that’s all”, I said, kidding her, even though I understood what she meant. Dad laughed, and Mom got mad.

Boy, you can’t kid about things like that with her any more, since she started what she calls consciousness-raising about women’s place in society. She reads all those books she gets out of the library, then she picks fights with Dad about things like he should do some of the housework for a change, then when he wants to, she won’t let him.

Dad always knows when Mom’s read another book because then she’s crabby for a while, until she gets over it. Anyway, I said I saw what she meant and I’d try to do better. Ha-ha. I mean I will try, but I KNOW it won’t do a bit of good. I mean I KNOW I’m just no good in French.

And anyway, Mr. Levesque doesn’t like me. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t.

ME, LAST YEAR; 8th Installment

When Laura and I walked home from school we both agreed that the class acted pretty dull. But then, what can you expect? We were both surprised with mousy little Donna. You never can tell.

“But Sally’s the worst”, I said, thinking of her happiness in making sex sound stupid and dirty.

“I don’t know why you always pick on her”, Laura said, surprising me. Who, me? Me pick on Sally?

“What do you mean?” I asked, really feeling hurt and misjudged. “I don’t pick on her, I’m merely pointing out the obvious. She’s always behaving nastily. I can’t understand you at all, Laura.”

“Well, she’s not so bad, Jennifer. In fact, I’m getting to like her more all the time. I told you she can’t help the way she behaves, and she’s sorry, later.”

“She never apologizes. When I hurt someone’s feelings I’ll apologize on my own, she never does. And what makes you think she can’t help the way she is? People can be nice, with a little trouble.”

“Maybe some people can, but she had problems at home. Her mother and father are always fighting. Her mother always picks on her, that’s why she calls her mother names.”

“How do you know so much about her family?” I asked, suspicious. And I was right to be.

“Oh, I’ve been going over on the weekends”, she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world that my best friend was cozying up to my best enemy. “Did you know she has an older brother? He’s really nice, not at all like Sally. I mean like, he doesn’t act like her.?

“Hey, what happened to your crush on Bill McLaren?”

“Oh, him. He’s just a little kid. Sally’s brother Bill is fifteen! He’s good looking and he’s in high school and he plays hockey and he’s really terrific. He’s blonde and smart, and he talks to me.”

“That’s nice”, I said. I wasn’t about to tell her what I thought of her, the traitor. Some people will do anything to be noticed by a guy. It’s all right with me. I have an almost-fifteen brother too, but he wouldn’t bother taking any notice of a skinny nit like Laura. Oh, that’s awful. She’s skinny, but she’s not a nit. She only behaves like one.

I feel so bad inside. Like I don’t want to lose Laura to Sally. I’d still have my other friends, but Laura is kind of special. We spend so much time together, and tell each other all kinds of things.

*********************************************************************************

Debra came over after supper today. It’s really cold out this evening. We’re supposed to get maybe some light snow flurries. Debra’s face was all red from cold. She rode her bicycle over. Mom wouldn’t ever let me ride my bike in the dark, but Debra says she has good reflectors on the back of her bike.

Well, while she was over, Debra, we went into the living room for a minute and she saw the statue. Sculpture, I guess it’s called. The one that Dad and Mom bought each other for their eighteenth wedding anniversary. Boy, that’s a long time, eighteen years. Anyway, was she ever surprised. Shocked, I guess, because she got all embarrassed and wouldn’t look at it. I guess I should explain that it’s done out of marble, of a lady without any clothes on who’s sitting on a bench looking at a couple of birds who’re sitting on the bench, too. It’s really old, maybe a hundred years old, Dad says.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” I wasn’t trying to embarrass her more or anything. I hardly ever notice it when I’m in the living room, I’m so used to it. But I do think it’s pretty nice. Sure, beautiful. I wanted to know why she felt so funny about it.

“My mother”, she almost whispered, and I could hardly hear her “wouldn’t like it”.

“Crap! What’s wrong with it?” I asked. “I think it’s really nice. We’re supposed to admire natural things and like my mother says, what’s more natural and beautiful than the human body? I mean, so what if she’s naked - she looks like a nice person!”

“Let’s go upstairs”, Debra said, still not looking at the sculpture. “My mother wouldn’t want me to look at stuff like that. We’re not supposed to.”

Well like, what can you say? So anyway, we went upstairs for a while, but we didn’t have too much to talk about. I guess we both felt kind of awkward because of what happened downstairs. Like what happened when we were living in our other house in Toronto and I happened to mention that my family doesn’t go to church or synagogue and all the other kids looked at me like I was nuts or something.

Actually, I guess we don’t have that much in common, me and Deb. She’s a year almost, younger than me and in a lower grade. But then I thought, why not give Munchkin and Grumpkin a bath? And I said it to Deb and she got excited, and we did. We went downstairs and I filled up Mom’s orange plastic tub-thing she uses in the laundry room with a couple of inches of soapy water, then we took turns bathing the pigs. Poor things, they hate being bathed, but I know what’s best for them. They have to get their fur and feet washed every so often. We use piggy-pet soap for them.

Later, when we were finished washing them, we wrapped them up in two old towels Mom gave me for them. They’re so silly looking when they get wet. All bedraggled looking, and they squeak like they’re being murdered.

Me and Debra took one apiece and went upstairs and cuddled them until they dried off and we fed them bits of celery so they’d be quiet. As long as they’re eating, they’re happy. Kind of like Larry, always worried about what he’s going to have for din-din.

Deb wanted to know which one I like the most, but I hate to pick one over the other. Munchkin is a light orange colour like caramel and she’s not as brave as her sister. Grumpkin doesn’t have as good a temper as Munchkin and sometimes picks on her - she’s a funny browny-white colour. I guess I like them both as much as the other. I’ve had them for over a year and a half now, and I really love them. Mom thinks I should give them away; that I’m too old for them, but I never, ever will.

ME, LAST YEAR; 7th Installment

It’s starting to get colder now. Looks like we’re having an early fall. Mom said I should get a cardigan to wear under my jacket on the way to school, so I went into my dresser drawer to look for my favourite sweater. Actually, my only cardigan, because I don’t like the other ones, hanging in my clothes closet. This was a very special favourite because I bought it myself, with my saved-up allowance and I picked it myself. Mom doesn’t like it. When I put it on, I just couldn’t believe it. It was ruined!

I took it downstairs to show it to Mom. And she said, “oh dear, I was afraid of that!”

“Of what, what were you afraid of? Why is my sweater such a mess?”

“I’m sorry, Dear. I was in a hurry and washed and dried it electrically rather than by hand. But it’s not ruined. I think it looks great. It fits you fine, Dear”, she said encouragingly.

Like I’m some little kid who believes anything I’m told.

“I feel like crying, Mom. I’ve got one, just one sweater I really like. I picked it out myself, I bought it myself. It’s the only one I like and it’s ruined!” Actually, I felt just a little hysterical, but was I ever mad! How would you feel to have your only favourite sweater ruined? “It’s all baggy now! And look at the sleeves. Look how short they are!”

“Why Dear”, she said in that soothing voice she puts on whenever she doesn’t want me to be angry with her, “it looks just fine. The sleeves are a perfect length, you just won’t cuff them anymore. And the looser look is much nicer than the cinched-in waist … don’t you think?”

“No! No, I don’t! Now what’ll I do? I have no clothes at all to wear! Just one lousy pair of jeans, a bunch of old Tee-shirts, and I haven’t even got my red sweater any more!” And I felt so sorry for myself that I started to bawl. Just like a baby. I guess it’s because of my going through puberty or something. At least that’s what Mom always says to Dad when she thinks I’m not listening.

“Why, what do you mean, you’ve nothing to wear? You have a closet full of lovely clothes. What about them?”

“Mom, when will you understand I’m not about to wear those dresses and skirts and stuff. I don’t like them. I want to wear what I’m comfortable in!”

And I could see she felt bad for me. This time I didn’t even get a free lecture on how fortunate I am, and how some kids don’t have enough to eat, and all that. I guess she felt a little guilty about being so careless with my sweater. Serves her right. So she promised that she’d go shopping with me soon, so we could get some new jeans and sweaters. I’m not looking forward to it, because I want wide-bottomed jeans and I want them to fit just right, and she thinks I should wear them comfortably sloppy and just anything will do. Mothers are so old fashioned!

************************************************************************************

Mr. Henderson took the whole class into the teachers’ lounge this afternoon. He wanted to have a secluded place to talk with us, he said. All the areas are always noisy and there’s kids fooling around sometime, or someone’s using slides or a bunch of guys are doing oral compositions or something, Well, it was nice there, but it really stinks of tobacco smoke. And they’re telling us about the evils of tobacco. There’s ashtrays all over the place piled high with cigarette butts.

And garbage. There’s paper bags and balled plastic wrap lying on the floor beside the trash basket. They’re no better than us kids are at hitting the basket. There was an apple half eaten on a coffee table and half a bitten-into sandwich, and they smelled. How about that, and they’re always after us to clean up after ourselves! We should have a student patrol come in here every day to check up on the teachers’ untidy habits and to lecture them on the undesirability of polluting their lungs and the atmosphere, like they’re always and forever telling us. Talk about double-forked tongues, eh?

Oh yeah, the reason Mr. Henderson herded us all in there, boys and girls, was, he said, he wanted to talk to us about birth control. Birth control! Is he kidding? Well, he wasn’t, and he did. I mean, he talked to us about all that stuff, including respect for our bodies and others’. Like, I knew most of it all before, because we talk about all that stuff at home too, kind of. It’s mostly a bore.

Most of the guys were red-faced and the girls were giggling, so you could hardly hear what-all he was saying, but he did try. I’m sure he meant well, and he really did try to get us to shut up and listen to what he was saying, but no one could keep a straight face. Well, almost no one.

Finally, he ended the lecture by telling us that even the best contraceptives fail sometimes. And is he ever terrific! He told us he has four little failure-results at home! He’s a great teacher.

Well, you can imagine we all had something to talk about at tutorial later, sitting in the library. Sure, we were supposed to be doing a project on the West Coast Indians, but I bet all the other tables were just like ours.

“Personally”, Sally said (leave it to her, even if we were having fun she would have to go and spoil it all) “I prefer the method, what’s it called? Of taking my temperature every day. I think that’s great. Whenever the thermometer reads a hundred and twenty I know it’s time to call the fire department!” And she laughed and laughed.

“There’s one method he forgot about”, Donna said, snickering, and I was so surprised at her … she’s usually so mousy. “He didn’t mention exercising.”

“Exercising? I never heard of that one. What for do you exercise?” Laura asked, letting herself right into the trap. I’d never bother asking; the answer would always come anyway.

“Not what for, stupid. You’re supposed to ask, before or after?”

“Before or after what?” Laura asked and she meant it. Then she realized, and did she ever blush.

Sally was laughing so hard, she had her head down on the table and she kept thumping it with her fist. Diane looked a little anxious or confused or something, and me and Jennifer just shook our shoulders at each other. It looked like Donna really appreciated Sally’s response to her little joke.

“Instead of! Instead of! Get it?” And Donna and Sally laughed their fool heads off. God, how boring. They think that’s smart. I thought sex was making love and that’s supposed to be beautiful, Mom says. I wouldn’t laugh like that about something beautiful.

I don’t think Mr. Henderson meant this when he gave that little lecture. And of course, every other table was loud and noisy this time and Mrs. Barker was really mad. Mom was there at the library desk and she kept looking over at us. I was embarrassed. Mrs. Barker came over all huffy and told the whole class to get back to our area.

Just before the last bell rang for dismissal in the afternoon, I heard Mom being paged over the P.A by Mr. Levesque. Now I’m in for it. I just can’t wait until I get home. I won’t have to wait either. Mom’ll tell me all about it, I’m sure.

ME, LAST YEAR; 6th Installment

Daddy’s supposed to be home tomorrow from a trip to Detroit. It’ll be good to have him home. Mom’ll be less nervous. Boy, she’s always so uptight when he’s away. And of course with Daddy gone, I had to take a bus to get to my recorder lesson on Monday instead of Daddy driving me.

My recorder teacher gave me the bass recorder to take home for a couple of months. It’s the only one of the recorders me and Larry don’t have ourselves. She wants me to practise so she can count on me to play the bass parts in our group. I’d love to, but Lanky Larry keeps taking it out of my room so he can use it. I complained to Mom, but she’s no great help. I don’t see why I should let him use it. He never lets me use his recorders. And whenever we play a duo he always criticizes my playing. He thinks he’s so great, a real virtuoso.

I get so mad at him! He knows I hate being called fat, yet he keeps calling me Fatty Rascoon. Like, it was okay when I was a kid, but I’m growing up now and even if I am plump I don’t want him calling me that baby name any more.

He thinks he’s so great, just because Bianca - that’s our recorder teacher - invited him to play in her advanced Saturday morning group. That’s supposed to be for exceptionally good music students. He has all the luck. It’s not so much that he’s better than me, even if he says he is, it’s just that he has more nerve than me. And we fight about that, too.

“You don’t practise enough!”, he always tells me.

“I’ve got other things to do with my time. There’s more to life than playing music. You’ll get dry rot on the brain from staying in your room all the time just playing music.”

“I’m dedicated to my music”, he says, the pious nit. He thinks he’s so great, and grown up and everything, and he’s not even two years older than me. “If you don’t intend to take music seriously, don’t complain that you’re not getting ahead.”

“Who wants to?” I tell him snottily. Like, I don’t care, that he gets all that praise and attention from Bianca. But I do, I do. I’d love to have Bianca tell me I’m good enough to join the Saturday group. Still, I’m not prepared to spend all my precious time practising. Dammit.

***********************************************************************
When Daddy arrived home late this afternoon, Mom looked so happy, like I felt. He brought back goodies for all of us, because he was away a little longer than usual this time. A record of Baroque recorder music for Larry, a book on tree identification for Brian and a whole lot of stuff for me and Mom.

For me two long strands of beads and a sweater and a blouse and for Mom a gold chain and two bodysuits. Everything fits great. I don’t know how he does it. (The bead strands are awful, but the beads are great. What I’ll do is, I’ll let a little time go by, then I’ll cut the strands and take the beads off to make my own jewellery with. Dad’ll never know. Gee, I’m awful.)

To celebrate Daddy’s home-coming, Mom had bought clams and made them for dinner. She made a dip to go with the clams. The dip was great, but the clams were so-so. She was really disappointed that we weren’t more enthusiastic. Me especially, I guess.

“Well”, she asked, smiling all around the table at us: “what do you all think of the clams?”

“They’re … all right”, I tried to answer truthfully … well almost. We’re always supposed to be truthful at home. I don’t know why we bother, because no one ever seems to want to hear the truth. “They’re not bad”, I said cautiously. “I like the dip fine, though.” The dip helped to disguise a squishy taste I didn’t like.

“Well, that’s nice”, Mom said sarcastically. “You liked them well enough when we had them in Saint John. What’s wrong with these?”

“I can guess", Dad said. “The ones we had in New Brunswick were deep-fried. These are steamed.”

“These are healthier for you”, Mom said defensively. “They’re better for you steamed than fried.”

“Well, they don’t taste the same”, I said. “I like them fried better.” I wanted to be honest, but still I felt bad because Mom would be hurt, thinking I didn’t appreciate her cooking.

“Listen, Fatty-Rascoon”, dear Larry said, waving his fork at me. “Greasy fried food is fattening. You can’t afford to eat fat food.”

“Listen yourself, fat-head”, I said, “I’m no fatter than you.” Now why did I say that? He’s long and lean and I’m not. Oh, I get so mad at him. Here’s Daddy just home from a long trip and he makes me fight with him. I could just kick him!

“Who’re you calling fat-head?”, fat-head asked. But I didn’t have time to answer because Brian told him to cool it, and give Mom and Dad a break.

And so there was some peace for about two seconds, until Brian had to show off how much he knows. Like, we all knew what he was thinking, but who wanted to know anyway?

“Did you cook them live, Mom?” He just had to ask.

“No”, came the curt reply. I started to squirm, and I wanted him to shut up but it didn’t do any good, he just went on. I knew, I just knew, if he made her say it, I wouldn’t be able to eat the damn things.

“But I thought that shellfish were bought live and dropped that way into a pot. Aren’t they?” Isn’t he clever? “How did you cook them, then?”

Mom never did really answer him. I was kind of looking down at the shells on my plate, wondering how I’d get out of eating the little rascals, but I glimpsed Mom mouthing a “shut up!” at Brian out of the corner of my eye. Just as I suspicioned. Yech! Maybe if I eat all my mashed potatoes and salad, no one would ask about the clams I didn’t eat. Better yet, I’ll leave a little bit of potato and salad and mound them over the clams.

“Why did you decide to get clams today anyway, Mom?” I asked innocently.

“I thought I’d have a go at a new culinary effort. Introduce you to some sophisticated food. Educate you gastronomically.” I wish she wouldn’t use those damn big words.

"What’s gastron … well, whatever it is? And you’re pronouncing culinary wrong.”

“Gastronomy - that’s the art of eating, appreciating fine foods. And it is an art, of sorts”, Daddy said to us. “We should be appreciative that your mother’s such a good cook. And", he said, turning to me “how would you pronounce the word?”

“Culinary”, I said, giving the U a hard sound.

“You’re wrong, Dear.”

“Well, that’s how Mom usually says it.”

“She does?”

“Sure, she’s always telling me to put the … uh … cutlery on the table.”

“It’s not the same thing Dummy!” dear Brian snorted. “Cutlery means tableware.” How come he knows words better than me, anyway … he’s younger than me. It’s just not fair. Anyway, while everyone was so busy talking, I pushed some of my potatoes over the clams. The pile looks bigger than I thought it would. It doesn’t look very convincing at all, like I have a huge pile of potatoes left over.

“Oh well, anyway”, I said. “I hope we don’t have too many more experiments with new foods. This is one I could do without.”

“Have you no sense of adventure?” Larry says, waving his fork with a poor little creature skewered on it. Heartless slob. All he thinks about is his stomach. What does he care if some mother clam is crying her heart out at the bottom of some ocean. I hope I never get so hard-hearted.

“Listen, Crumb”, I tell him, “you're the one who won’t eat mushrooms and rhubarb so where do you get off telling me what I should eat?”

“It’s good to be home again”, Dad said, laughing and squeezing Mom’s hand. “That’s the sound I’ve been missing.”

“Brian, don’t eat those hard bits”, Mom told my stupid little brother. Anyone else wouldn’t have to be told, but there he was, chewing away at the hard little pieces; what else?

“Hey, I wonder what part of the animule it is?” Brian said. Trust him.

“Don’t know, maybe the head”, mother suggested helpfully, and I thought that would be the end of the post-mortem.

“Know what it looks like?” he asked. Like, who wants to know? I wish, I WISH, he would just shut up!

“No Dear”, Mom answered absent-mindedly, getting out dessert dishes for the apple crisp. I’ll have two helpings of that. With ice cream, too.

“A penis. It looks just like a penis.” Oh boy, just what I needed Now for certain-sure I’m not eating any more.

“You’re gross! You’re just sickening!” I yelled. “Mom, can’t you do anything about the way the boys behave? It’s just disgusting!”

I gave up. Mom laughed. Dad laughed. And Brian’s sticking out his chest like he said something smart. Larry’s doing his best to think of something smart-alecky to say to upstage Brian.

What am I doing in this sweet little family group? What gross mentalities. Like, there must have been a mistake in the hospital. I must really belong to some other, genteel family group. Normal people, you know? “Why do we have to put up with that kind of icky-talk? How come he can get away with something like that? It’s disgusting and vile and revolting!”

“I think it’s amusing”, Mom said. “What’s wrong with Brian’s observation? It was quite imaginative.”

I give up. I really do. Mom thinks a good healthy imagination excuses any excesses. That’s a healthy imagination? Unless of course, I had said it, then probably the ceiling would fall down on my head.

ME, LAST YEAR; 5th Installment

“Well, Jennifer…. Aren’t you going to tell your friends?”

“You tell them. They asked you. After all", I said snappishly “You’re the one who brought it up. You said you’re a woman.”

“Hah! I thought so! You haven’t started yet”, she chortled. “That means I’m the only one who has. Too bad, girls. You still have to wait to grow up.”

I could've smacked her. She turned her back to me and began to tell the other girls all about it. I could feel my face turn red. The idiot-ass!

“I was so surprised when I got up this morning and found, guess what! On my panties. Well, like, I wasn’t so surprised. I knew it would be soon. I feel so grown up. And I’ve had everything prepared for a while. This morning was the big deal and now”, she lowered her voice, shifting her eyes around to see that everyone heard, “I’m wearing a sanitary napkin!”

“Oh!” said dumb Donna. “Is it uncomfortable? Can you walk all right?”

“It’s comfortable all right. Next time I’m going to try Tampons.”

“What’re they?”

“They’re little things you wear”, and she paused for effect: “inside!”

“Inside what?" Asked Donna Dumb ass.

“INSIDE, stupid! What do you think?” And Donna blushed this time, and shut up. Big deal.

After school me and Laura walked home together and she said what did I think of what Sally’d said.

“I don’t know. Why do I have to think about it? Are you? I mean, thinking about it?”

“Yes. I don’t want to get it. I don’t want to bleed and get cramps and everything. I’d rather not have anything like that. I wish you could stop it.”

“Well you can’t, you know. All women get it. You might not get cramps though, not everyone does. I prob’ly will because my mother always did - does. You might not. Don’t think about it, Laura.”

“Everyone calls it the curse. It sounds horrible.”

“That’s stupid. It’s not a curse. My mother says it’s nature preparing us to bear children. Anyway, you know all about that. Laura, if you get to thinking it’s horrible, it will be horrible. You’ve got to not think about it, or just to accept it. It can’t be helped.”

“I don’t want to wear a dirty bloody bandage between my legs. How can you walk without everyone knowing what’s there?”

“ I know it sounds creepy, but I’m sure it’s not so bad. Have you ever noticed anyone walking funny, like what you think?”

“No, but I’m sure I would. Ugh.”

And when I got home, I asked Mom how old she was when she first got her period.

“Why, I don’t remember”, she said, looking at me, surprised. Probably because I rarely talk about things like that and Mom thinks I’m too up-tight about them. Whenever she starts talking, I always get kind of fidgety. “I must have been about thirteen, perhaps closer to fourteen. Why do you ask, Dear?”

I could almost see the gears going round in Mom’s head, the way she was looking at me, as though anticipating that I had something important to tell her.

“Oh, no special reason. Just wondering.”

“You’re not feeling poorly, are you Dear?” She hedged, not wanting to come right out with it. She’s awfully transparent sometimes, when she thinks she’s being cautious and I don’t know what she’s thinking. I guess it’s something like when she surprises me when she knows what I’m thinking.

“No, Mom. I’m fine. And I haven’t begun my period or anything. I’ll tell you when I do, don’t worry.”

“Whatever makes you think I’m worried? I just don’t want you to be. I want you to be relaxed about it, to think of it as perfectly natural.” There she goes again. Like, she gets so agitated whenever she talks about it, that I wonder how she imagines I can be casual about it, anyway.

“Sally bragged at school today that she’s got her period”, I told her.

“Sally, that’s the mouthy little blonde girl isn’t it?” As though she doesn’t know, the way I’m always talking about her. “What on Earth is she bragging about?”

“She thinks it’s a big deal. Wants us all to worship her for getting over the hurdle, I guess.”

“Do you really talk about things like that with your friends, Jen?”

“Not me, Mom. Not usually, anyway. It’s not all that interesting, after all. Sally brought it up, then me and Laura had a little talk on the way home from school. She’s ‘scared. Laura, I mean. I told her not to be. Am I late getting my period, Mom? I mean, should I have had it already?”

“No Jen, not necessarily. You’re only thirteen, for heaven’s sake. Some girls have it early, some late. If you take after me, and I think you do, it’s too early for you. Are you in a hurry? You needn’t be, believe me. You’ll have it a long, long time. And although it’s true it’s a perfectly natural function, it is also a damned nuisance. Your time will come, fear not.” And she laughed and rushed over to hug me. I kind of like it when she does things like that, but it makes me feel funny, like shy.

ME, LAST YEAR; 4th Installment

Mom would never let me, anyway. Like the time I asked her about eye makeup. Well, I didn’t really ask her, I just mentioned it, but she must have known what I wanted to say.

“Mom”, I’d said. “What do you think about the girls at school wearing eye makeup?”

“I’d meant to mention it to you, Jen”, she said. “I don’t recall seeing the girls at your other school dressing in such bizarre clothing and wearing makeup as they do here. I think they look like little tarts.”

“What’s a tart?” I asked, although I was fairly certain I knew.

“A prostitute”, she answered, shortly.

“That’s not fair, Mom! You’re labelling people by the way they look and dress and you tell us all the time not to do that.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there. I’m not saying that’s what they are. I’m saying that they look cheap.”

“Everyone does it.”

“Who’s everyone? And just because a majority of the kids do something, it hardly justifies your doing likewise.”

“Who, me? Who said anything about me?”

“Jen, you’d never have raised the issue of makeup if you hadn’t been toying with the idea of using it yourself. Right, or not?”

“Maybe, a little bit”, I said, feeling kind of sheepish.

“You’re almost fourteen”, Mom said. “If you want to wear lipstick, that’s up to you, but I wouldn’t like you to wear mascara or eye shadow or anything like blush on your cheeks. It’s unsightly and I think it’s unhealthy. You have a good natural complexion and you’d end up spoiling it by using makeup.”

“I don’t think it looks so bad”, I objected. “But I don’t want to wear lipstick. I thought maybe just a little bit of eye shadow…?”

“No.” that’s all, just no. Nothing like being reasonable. But I thought I’d better forget it. When Mom says ‘no’ in that quiet voice, it means drop the subject.

So me and Laura are just about the only kids - oh yeah - Jennifer too - we’re the only kids in our class - girls, that is - who don’t wear eye makeup. We’re like from the dark ages.

Sometimes Mom is just ridiculously unreasonable. She keeps looking at me all the time to see if I’m ‘maturing’. That means, getting breasts. She makes me so nervous. She bought me two sets of matching stretch bras and panties and she thinks I’m going to wear them. I won’t. I mean, I hate them. Like they’re stupid and I won’t wear them. Besides, I’m glad to say I’m flat as a board. Almost. It’s only because I’m plump (fat) that I’m not absolutely flat.

Laura’s flat, but she’s skinny so that’s all right. And you might have guessed that Sally’s got a figure. I mean like a girl’s figure. And the other day at school, when we were standing around outside at recess talking, she dropped a bombshell.

“Girls”, she said loftily, “You are in the company of a woman.”

We all looked around, trying to see the woman she was talking about, but there was just us.

“Stupid!” she said in her unbeatable way. “Me, it’s me. I’m the woman!” And she smirked at us. Really sickening.

Well, Sally may have some bumps and she tries to look grown-up like with her clunky shoes that she’s always tripping over things with, and those silly frilly jumpers and the mascara, but she doesn’t look like any woman. She looks like a little boy in drag. Like that, huh? I learned about that yesterday. From Larry.

How it happened that he told me was, I heard him talking on the telephone in Mom and Dad’s bedroom the other night to a friend. Boy, for a kid who’s so devoted to music he sure spends a lot of time on the telephone. More even than me. Anyway, when he got off finally, I asked him. Larry, what’s drag? He wasn’t very nice at first. As usual, called me nosy. But then he got nicer, in his way.

“I suppose”, he said, “I should see it as my duty to educate my dumb little sister”.

I almost told him to shove it, he’s so superior, (like Mom says). He’s insufferable sometimes, but she says it’s because of his age, (kind of like my puberty I guess), so I did a slow inside burn and waited for him to tell me. What he said was, drag is kind of like a kid, a guy, dressing up for fun in queen’s clothes, like long dresses, stuff like that. I guess it’s called drag because the dresses are so long and they kind of drag along on the ground. Guys are nuts anyway, even girls don’t wear long dresses. Much.

Anyway, I’m sure she thought she was looking mysterious - Sally. Batting her mascara-crusty eyelashes at us, hands on her hips. “I am a woman today”, she repeated, not very discreetly. Boy, she must think we’re pretty stupid. Big deal. I knew before she told us she had her period. What else?

“I am men-stru-ating”, she said, chucking up her pointed witch-chin.

Donna and Diane were all agog. “Really!” They almost screamed. Then they lowered their voices and came closer. “What’s it like?”

I mean really, what a dumb question! Even Sally must've thought it was dumb. She just looked at them. Then she looked at Laura and me.

“Jenn-I-fer”, she said in a mealy voice. “You’re the oldest of us. I suppose you’ve already begun men-stru-ating. Why don’t you tell them what it’s like?”

The bitch-witch! I’m only a month older than Laura, two months older than her and a little more than that older than the others. So what if I haven’t started yet? So big deal. Who wants to, anyway?”

ME, LAST YEAR; 3rd Installment

So I got used to seeing Mom around the library three afternoons a week and that kind of kept her a little more busy. She’s been writing short stories too, in her spare time, and been sending them off to magazines. It must be awful to be old and to think you’ve got to do something worthwhile. I wish I had more time to do the things I want to do, worthwhile or not. You wouldn’t catch me looking for more things to do.

Me and Laura have been going bicycle riding after school around the subdivision. Sometimes Sally and Jennifer come along too. Laura has a crush on Billy McLaren and she found out where he lives, so we keep going up and down his street if there’s just the two of us. She’s hoping he’ll come out sometime and notice her. Once he did come out of his house as we were going by, but he just ignored us, the snot!

There’s going to be a dance at the school next Friday night. Half the kids in the school are going, even some of the grade sixes. Nancy Goren and Michelline Lachute have been asked to go. Like, I mean, some guys have asked them. On dates, you know. The rest of the kids are going themselves. I mean, without dates. Me and Laura aren ’t going. Who wants to go to a school dance anyway and see the same old kids you see every day bouncing around. They’re a bunch of halfwits anyway, half of them.

Some of them are so stuck-up. They won’t talk to you at all. They flirt with the boys, and yesterday in the library I saw Bruce McLeod pull Rosemary Brown’s brassiere strap. I’ve seen Rosemary Brown get her behind smacked too, by Ted Pinter, and she just laughed. Laura doesn’t believe me, but I saw it. Rosemary Brown’s got a bad reputation, but I won’t add to it. I didn’t tell anyone but Laura and she doesn’t believe me anyway.

When I got home from school this afternoon, Mom was just getting back from the GlenAyr Public Library, through the park. She volunteers there one afternoon a week. She told me that one of her friends is worried about her daughter.

“Isn’t Debra Pointer in your class, Dear?” she asked me.

“Not in my class, Mom. She’s in grade seven. I see her sometimes in the area though. Why?”

“Her mother tells me that she’s really depressed. Debra, that is. She says she has no friends. Her only friend moved away last month and she hasn’t made another. And she’s unhappy because she says all the girls in her class have been asked to go to a school dance, but she hadn’t been. I told her that you never go to the dances. That you don’t want to. She doesn’t know what to do with her daughter. Could you talk to her at school?”

“Oh, Mom! I can’t. We don’t have the same classes or anything. She’ll adjust.”

But I felt kind of bad about Debra, she’s a nice girl, quiet and pleasant what I’ve seen of her, so I told Mom I was going out bicycle riding. I was glad to go anyway because Larry was blasting away on that damn horn, driving me crazy.

I rode over to Debra’s place ‘way over the other side of the subdivision, where the newer houses are, and I invited her out bicycling. Then I told her to come over after dinner for a while and her mother said she could. When I got back home I told Mom what I had done and she was so happy. That’s kind of funny. She hugged me and said I was so sensitive. Boy, that’s not that she calls me when we have an argument.

When Debra came over I introduced her to Mom who said she looks just like her mother. Then I introduced Deb to Grumpkin and Munchkin, my two adorable Guinea Pigs. We took one apiece outside and fooled around on the grass in the backyard with them for a while. They kept trying to get through the cedar hedges to next door. Stupid things! There’s a sneaky cat on one side and a yappy dog on the other. You’d think they’d stay home where they’d be safe. Well, we had balls of fun with the pigs, then we went upstairs to my bedroom.

We had to shut the door because Larry was piping away on his recorders behind his shut door. He’s so inconsiderate sometimes. He could have gone downstairs to the recreation room. But it’s impossible to tell him something like that. He just says, so nicely, drop dead.

I let Deb pick some bead colours she liked, then I showed her how to make a ring. While she was doing it, I talked with her about the dances.

“You mean”, she said, “you don’t ever go to the dances?”

“No”, I said. “What for? Do you like to dance?”

”No”, she said slowly. “I don’t even know how to. But everyone goes. I’m almost the only one in my class that doesn’t.”

“Do you like all the kids that go? Is that why you want to go?”

“No, I don’t really like them all that much. I thought that that was what everyone wanted to do. Don’t you?”

“No, why should I? If they’re a bunch of drips in class, they’re the same at a dance. If they ignore you at school, what makes you think it’ll be any different at a dance? Only it’ll be worse then, because you’re there to dance and have fun and how can you if everyone ignores you? You’ve got to be one of the crowd to really have fun and I’m not. Are you?”

“I’m not one of any crowd. My only best friend moved away and I don’t seem to fit in anywhere.”

“Well, look Deb, don’t worry about the dances. They’re not important. The kids just think they are. If there were a bunch of kids you liked and wanted to be with you could have fun there, but most of them just go to show off and they want to be admired for the clothes they wear and the way they behave. It’s not important.”

I don’t know if I convinced her by the time she went home, but she was smiling more than when she had come over. Really, I can’t figure it out myself, whether I’d like to go to the dances, but when I think of the kids who go to them, I don’t think I do.