“Why didn’t you tell one of the boys to set the table?” I asked her.
“What difference does it make? It doesn’t take long to do.”
“You’re always talking about equality and how the boys should do what the girls do and stuff like that, so how come you don’t practise what you preach? The boys should do stuff too, not like if I’m not around to do something, you do it and don’t tell them to.”
“They’re busy with their homework.”
“That’s just an excuse, Mom.”
“Is it? Well then, tell me young lady, who is it who usually wipes the dishes. You?”
“Well no, but that’s because Daddy’s always at it. He always says he wants to dry while you wash.”
“That’s right my dear, so don’t the sexes both get to do things at home? You and your brothers have a good example, haven’t you?”
Who’s she kidding? Apart from drying the dishes after dinner, she does everything and never asks the boys to do anything. Some people will believe anything they want to. Talk about unfair!
“I had my purse gone into at the school today?" Mom told me.
“How do you know?”
“A five-dollar bill was missing from my wallet. Other than that, nothing else was gone.”
“That’s awful, Mom! Here you go into the school all the time giving them your time and work and someone steals money from you. That’s terrible!”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain I know who it was.”
“Who?”
But she wouldn’t tell me. The next day we were told that no one was allowed in the library office from now on without permission, and we found out that some things were going missing from the office. Like, there was a tape recorder and two film projectors missing too, and no one could find them anywhere. Boy, it sure takes all kinds!
I’ve been taking my flute to my Monday evening recorder lessons. Bianca looked at my flute and said it was a really good one. She tried it, too. She plays flute and she takes lessons from one of the flautists with the Civic Symphony. She has offered to give me fifteen minutes of instruction before everyone else gets to recorders and she gave me a fingering chart, and told me what method book to get. She says she hasn’t got the time to give me private lessons and anyway, she doesn’t think she’s good enough on the flute yet, she said, but she’ll be on the lookout for a teacher, and let me know.
Bianca’s really nice, and she’s not very old but I don’t know how old she is. She wears her long hair loose like I want to, but hers never gets messy like mine. She wears caftans and Indian dresses and stuff like that and they look great on her. She plays recorders and flute and viola da gamba and she has a Syrian drum and she’s really good in music. She teaches a group of about twelve kids - I’m one of them - on Monday night, and almost every other night she has different groups. There’s an adult group too, and then there’s the group Larry’s with, and they play Saturday mornings. They’re really good, and they get to play Krumhorn too, and all of them play another instrument and sometimes two, besides recorders. I wish she would let me join the Saturday group. Maybe when I get a teacher and start to do something really good with the flute she’ll let me transfer.
A friend of Larry’s, Brent Cantnor from the Saturday morning group comes over sometimes on the weekend to play duets with Larry. Brent plays the oboe too, and he’s really good. Sometimes they play oboe and viola and sometimes recorder duets. If Larry’s in a real good mood he’ll let me play recorder with them. And because Bianca helped me, I’ve learned how to blow my flute properly and my fingering is better so I can play Mozart’s Turkish Rondo pretty good.
Last week when Brent was over, Larry let me play with them Brent played the soprano recorder, Larry played tenor and I played bass. Their timing is much better than mine, and Larry gets really impatient with me. I hate for him to yell at me and it’s much worse when Brent is over, but I like to be with them.
“Look F -- I mean Jen, will you please count your timing a little better!”
“Okay, okay, I’m trying!”
“Don’t try, do it”, he said, almost gritting his teeth, re-setting the metronome, getting it clacking away. He’s not very patient or kind, not at all.
And it’s all right when they fool around and get stupid like, but I’m not supposed to. Sometimes they tell each other Monty Python jokes and then laugh like crazy, and me too. But then when we start to play again I think of the jokes and can’t help laughing, so I’m laughing instead of playing, and then Larry gets mad and when he gets mad he kind of forgets himself.
“That’s enough!” he yells. “If you want to play with us you’ve got to control yourself, or just get out!”
And when he yells at me like that I just won’t stay I mean, I’ve got some dignity too, haven’t I? So I walk out and hope he’ll call me back, but crap! He never does.
Brent calls him a lot on the telephone and if I answer downstairs and yell upstairs for Larry to answer the telephone I don’t hang up and instead I listen in on what’s going on. If Larry ever knew he’d kill me. I think Brent is much nicer than Larry. He’s kind of cute, too. Oh, I wish I could get into that Saturday morning group!
Sally got another whole new outfit, and you should see her prancing around at school, it’s really sickening. But if she’s wearing something that’s really nice I tell her I like it, and she hardly ever says thank you.
One of these days she’s going to break her neck because she keeps getting shoes that’re higher and higher, just like the in-group crowd. And she’s wearing more make-up than ever.
Mom let me wear one of her sweaters to school today, and I really like it. Jennifer T liked it and some of the other girls said it was really nice, like they do when I get something nice that’s new. It’s all patchwork, really cute. Sally noticed it too, but she didn’t say to me that it was nice.
“Ohh”, she said, “look at poor Jenny (I hate that name and it’s not even mine), “she’s so poor she can’t even afford to wear a whole sweater. Look at that rag she’s wearing, all made out of pieces.”
“It just happens to be the style of the sweater”, I said, trying to sound as cool as I could.
“Are you absolutely certain you didn’t get it at a second-hand shop?” she asked. Boy, she’s just looking for trouble.
“I happen to think it’s really cute”, Jennifer T said, coming to my rescue.
“That figures”, Sally said…the beast. “You’ve as poor taste as your friend. All the more reason to stick together; two of a kind, and all that….”
And during math class today I kind of asked Mr. Bryant to slow down again, because I’m getting behind again and I’m afraid next time we have a test, which is going to be pretty soon because we get them regular as clock-work, I’ll flub again. So he was pretty annoyed with me, as if I’m the only one who doesn’t get the stuff he’s saying, only no one else bothers to say anything.
“Miss Feldman”, he said, not at all friendly: “Are you at it again?”
“Sir?” I said, although I knew damn - uh - darn well what he meant.
“Are you, Miss Feldman, whining again? Cannot you pay strict attention to the matter at hand?”
“Oh Sir, I am”, I said, so nicely. “It’s just that you’re going so fast I can hardly understand what’s going on. And Mr. Bryant, I’m not whining. And I’m not the only one who doesn’t really understand, it’s just that I seem to be the only one saying something about it!”
“Really?” he said, sarcastically. Crap; he used to be so nice, I wish his wife would stop burning his toast, or something. “Class, I’d like to see a show of hands, please. All those who are perfectly clear on today’s lesson.”
So wouldn’t you know it, almost the whole class sticks their hands in the air like they’re grabbing goodies.
“Hmmm, just as I suspected”, Mr. Sherlock - I mean Mr. Bryant said. I felt like sinking into the floor and all that, like really bad.
“All right now, will those few who are confused kindly raise their hands?” And crap, half the kids in the class raised their hands. I don’t get it.
“This is most confusing”, Mr. Bryant said. Very intelligent of him. “It would appear that there are a goodly number of you students who appear to be uncertain as to which category you belong in. Why, pray tell, have none of you informed me of this before?” And sure, no one had anything to say, we just all sat there like a bunch of nummies. I felt like smirking, but I didn’t.
“Henceforth”, Mr. Bryant announced, “I will hold classes every Wednesday afternoon from 3:40 to 4:10 for those students who feel individual assistance and remedial work would be of benefit to them”. I heard a kind of low groan from close by, and it didn't take much imagination to know who that came from. Then he turned to me. “And, Miss Feldman, I expect to see you there each and every week. I will accept no excuses, none whatever.”
I just nodded my head 'yes'. It didn’t look like he expected an answer, but I would have loved to say, but Sir, Wednesday afternoons me and Jennifer T go skating over at the rink. Crap! Why does everything have to turn out like that?
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