by Carrie Pack
“Miss Davidson, quiet please,” says Mr. Bennett.
I finish my rambling soliloquy and take my seat. Heather snickers, and Molly stage-whispers. “You’ve got a booger hanging out of your nose.”
I reach up before my brain catches up with my actions. There’s nothing there, but by the time I realize it, Heather and Molly are giggling so hard, Mr. Bennett has to smack a paperweight on his desk to shut them up.
“If you two can’t be quiet, I’m docking you each one letter grade on your final.”
Heather’s laughter sputters to a halt but Molly is shaking as she tries to control hers. I’m so glad to be finished with this school year. When the bell rings, I practically run down the hall and into the overcast afternoon.
I cut through the 7-Eleven parking lot because it’s shorter and I don’t want to get caught in the rain. Unfortunately, Mike is a creature of habit and he’s still smoking his menthols behind the dumpster. When he sees me, he smiles and waves.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says.
I can tell he’s trying to sound tough but I can see in his eyes he’s actually excited to see me. So much for caring the least. Even though I’m over my misguided crush, I can’t help the feeling of butterflies in my gut as I walk toward him. I square my shoulders and try to act normal.
“I can’t stay,” I tell him.
His face falls. “Not even for old time’s sake?”
“Sorry. I—” His defeated expression makes me stop mid-sentence. I look up at the gray sky and consider the odds that I can still beat the rain home. “I suppose I could stay for a few minutes.”
Triumphant, he lights a second cigarette and hands it to me.
“I’d given up on you,” he says with a wink.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve been… busy.” I take a reluctant drag on the cigarette, and it makes me cough. I drop it on the ground and stub it out.
Mike’s jaw drops. “Jesus, Tabitha, don’t waste my smokes.”
“Sorry,” I snap. “But it’s not like I asked for it. You just handed it to me.”
“It’s called a friendly gesture,” Mike says. “But maybe you forgot that we’re friends.”
“I didn’t forget. But I think you did when you tried to kiss me.”
I’m not even sure it was an attempt. But the sour taste his comment left was reminiscent of the stunt Brad pulled. They both felt like violations. As if someone had changed the rules without telling me. My stomach rolls as I swallow back bile. The nausea only lasts for a moment, but as soon as it wanes, I want to go the fuck home, and stupid Mike is standing in my way. “Move,” I demand through clenched teeth.
He stands firm. “Who pissed on your corn flakes this morning? I don’t see you for weeks and you finally show up and you’re a total…” Mike’s lip curls in disgust. “Bitch.”
I glare at him and clench my hands into fists. I want to punch him. He’s never called a girl a bitch, and now he chooses to direct it at me? I know if I stay I’m going to do something I can’t take back, so I turn and stomp through the parking lot.
Mike calls after me, “I’m sorry! Tabitha, come back. I’m sorry!”
I feel hot tears on my cheeks, but I’m angry, not sad. “Fuck off!” I shout. And as I give him an angry salute with my middle finger, the tears turn into a cheek-splitting smile. My first thought is, “I have to tell Jackie.”
Chubby Bunny No. 1
Dear jerk on the corner cat-calling yet another grrrl,
We don’t owe you anything because girls don’t owe guys a minute of their time. It’s OUR choice if we want to talk to you or kiss you or have sex with you. OUR choice. Not yours. I am so sick and tired of guys thinking that women are their property just because we exist. Hundreds of years of history of men subjugating women and all I can think of is flipping you off. All of you. You take our innocence and femininity and chew it up and spit it out. Sometimes under the guise of friendship. Sometimes under the mantra of “you just need a man.”
I am sick and tired of this bullshit. I am fed up. I think from now on I’m only going to date girls because all the guys I know are fuckups and assholes. I’m sorry, they just are. Maybe all guys aren’t like that, but in my experience, they’re just not worth the hassle.
My friend Jackie is a lesbian. (Don’t worry. I got her permission to say that… I’d never out a friend). She doesn’t dress to entice the male gaze. She’s butch. She’s proud. I want to be more like her. I want to not care what people think. I want to scream from the rooftops that I LIKE GIRLS!
That doesn’t mean I hate guys, but I gotta tell you, if guys don’t start shaping up, I might just have to start.
Sincerely and with much anger,
Tabitha
PS: I secretly wish I’d get cat-called even though I know it’s misogynistic. I worry that makes me a bad feminist. But sometimes being fat is just depressing and I want to be noticed and called pretty. I hate that I feel that way. I hate that society has made me feel that way. Don’t cat-call me. But maybe do.
FAT GIRLS HAVE FEELINGS TOO
I eat.
I sleep.
I dream.
I wake.
I’m fat.
She eats.
She sleeps.
She dreams.
She wakes.
She’s thin.
We are both human beings.
We have breasts and stomachs and legs and hundreds of other parts in common.
We have to eat to live.
But all you see is size.
And you tell me:
I’m fat because I’m lazy.
I’m fat because I eat too much.
I’m fat because I don’t care about my appearance.
Well, fuck you.
We’re both beautiful.
And we don’t need you anyway.
Chapter 8
“Monique doesn’t think we should go to the Riot Grrrl meetings anymore.”
Jackie and I are lying on my bed watching TV when she drops this bombshell.
“You can’t,” I say, realizing as the words leave my lips how much like a child I sound.
“I think you guys talk about important stuff, but it’s just not our thing, man.” Jackie has one slender arm behind her head and is staring at my ceiling. I can’t read her expression.
“What do you mean?” I ask, muting the TV.
She rolls on her side, and I can see in her eyes that she’s serious. “Y’all mean well, but I can’t ignore that me, Venus and Monique are the only black girls there. And it’s not just you guys. The whole damn scene is so white. Did you see the crowd at Spring Fest? If you don’t count Venus and Cherie, who were onstage for all of ten minutes, I was the only non-white person there.”
“That’s just Decker,” I say. “There’s not a lot of diversity, but it’s not like we’re all racist or anything.”
Jackie laughs, but I don’t understand what is so funny.
“You’re cute, Tabitha, but incredibly naïve.” She taps the tip of my nose with her index finger.
“I’m cute?” I say. I choose to ignore the naïve part, especially because I still don’t know why she thinks what I said is funny. I’d rather encourage the flirtatious glint in her eyes than decipher her meaning.
Jackie turns away from me and grabs a pillow. She hits me with it; it’s a light tap, with no force behind it. It’s playful. Her laughter is loud and boisterous, nothing like my bumbling, donkey-like guffaw. How could she possibly think I’m cute? She’s just being nice.
Jackie stops mid-swipe with her pillow and asks, “Hey, do you want to go to Great America with me and Venus next weekend after graduation?”
“Great America? With you? Uh…” I stand there staring at her as if I’ve been struck dumb. Does she really mean it? I close my mouth to
keep from looking like a deranged goldfish.
“You know, Six Flags…” She grins and tosses the pillow in the air. “Roller coasters…” She catches it and then flies it around my room the way my mom used to do with a spoonful of peas when I refused to eat. “We can ride the Demon until we puke.” She mimics a barfing noise and doubles over in mock pain. “Then we’ll ride some other shit until we’ve recovered enough to do that old wooden one. You know the big, scary one with two tracks?”
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to hide my smirk. “Sounds pretty boring to me.”
Jackie stops her theatrics and stares at me. “Boring? Are you crazy?”
“Gotcha,” I say as my pillow makes contact with her face.
As I erupt into giggles, she tackles me to the bed and wallops me with her pillow. I cover my face with my hands to deflect the blows, though they don’t hurt.
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”
I crack open one eye to see my mom standing in the doorway. She looks pissed.
I sit up, and Jackie jumps down from the bed. “Jackie and I were just goofing around, Mom.” I try to smooth my hair down, but it’s no use. We worked up some static during the pillow fight, and my mousy brown hair is standing on end.
Jackie snorts as she tries to hold in a laugh, which sends me into a fit of giggles. We give each other sidelong glances, and Jackie winks at me. My heart races; I almost forget Mom’s in the room. My face is stuck in a big, goofy grin.
My mom clears her throat. “I’ve ordered some takeout,” she says. “I didn’t know you had a friend over, but there’s probably enough.”
“You want to stay for dinner?” I ask.
Jackie looks from me to my mom and back to me. “Are you sure?”
“As long as you don’t try to make it sound like you’re murdering Tabitha during dinner,” Mom says. She laughs when we both look at her. “You two were screaming bloody murder up here. I thought someone had broken in.”
“Nobody here but us queers,” I say with a laugh. I can feel Jackie’s eyes on me, but I simply smile at my mom. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
“I’m going to get changed. Can you girls set the table?”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
When she’s gone, Jackie looks at me in wonderment. “Your mom knows you’re bi?”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a lesbian, but yeah. She figured it out when I was ‘going out’ with Kate.” I use air quotes around “going out,” but if Jackie notices, she doesn’t react.
“And she doesn’t care?”
“I’m sure she’d prefer it if I were straight, but she hasn’t disowned me or anything. We don’t really talk about it.”
Jackie scrubs a hand across her face.
“What about you?” I ask. “Does your family know?”
She sucks in a sharp breath and nods grimly. “Yeah, they know.”
“And?”
Jackie scoffs. “Well, there’s a reason I’m sleeping on Vee’s couch and it’s not because I like those hideous orange throw pillows.”
“Your parents kicked you out?” I can’t imagine anyone being able to throw their son or daughter out on the street. My mom may not be perfect, but she’d never kick me out for something I have no control over.
“More or less.”
“God, Jack, that’s awful.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away. Tears pool around her dark eyes and wet her long lashes.
“I’ll live,” she says. “I don’t need that kind of shit in my life.”
Now I know where Jackie’s tough façade comes from. And I don’t blame her.
I stand and throw my arm around her. “Why don’t we go downstairs and drown our sorrows in whatever junk food my mom has waiting for us? And then on Sunday, we’ll ride roller coasters until we puke. Think you can handle that?”
She smiles at me and wipes away a lone tear. “Oh, I can handle it. The question is, can you?”
“Ten bucks says you scream louder than me on the first drop.”
“Deal.”
We shake on it and go downstairs.
On a roller coaster, the first hill is always the biggest, and it’s kind of like that with Jackie, too. After she tells me about her mom, she opens up more. We tell each other our secrets and laugh at private jokes. We mostly hang at my house, but sometimes we sit on her “bed” at Venus’s house and watch cheesy horror movies. Jackie likes the buckets of fake blood. I’m more a fan of the bad acting.
“Oh, come on! Don’t go down the stairs!” Jackie gestures toward the TV as if she’s trying to make sure I’m watching.
I roll my eyes, but I love it when she shouts at the TV. We throw popcorn at the screen when the movie ends badly. It’s easy being with Jackie.
When the tape ends and we’re left with static, the screen lights our faces eerily and flickers tentatively in the shadows.
“Janae would have loved that movie,” Jackie says quietly.
“Who’s Janae?”
“My baby sister.” Jackie pauses and takes a deep breath. “I missed her birthday.”
I place my hand on Jackie’s shoulder and wait until she looks like she can speak without crying. “How old is she?”
Jackie attempts a smile. “She just turned twelve.”
“Rough age.” I remember being twelve. Even though Heather and I were still friends back then, I struggled to feel that I belonged, and puberty had given me boobs overnight. Suddenly I didn’t look like the other girls, and everyone took notice. Was Jackie’s experience similar? “You really miss her, huh?”
Jackie nods. “Leaving Janae was the worst part about moving out. That little girl followed me everywhere—just like a puppy. I used to hate it, but now I wonder all the time what she’s up to. Who’s she following around now?” Jackie sighs. “Sometimes I call the house and hope she answers just so I can hear her voice.”
“Have you talked to her?”
Jackie’s eyes glisten. “No. Jerome usually answers the phone, and he won’t tell her that I called.”
“Is that your brother?”
She nods. “He’s fifteen and he—” Jackie cuts herself off with a sob. “Shit. I hate crying.”
I rub comforting circles on her back—at least I hope it’s comforting. We’ve never established what kind of touching is okay. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I know I don’t, but I want to. Just give me a minute.”
I sit back against the outdated velvet throw pillows and wait. Jackie seems to be working up to something.
“I told you about my mom, but I didn’t tell you the whole story. She didn’t kick me out, not really.”
“But you said—”
She shakes her head. “You assumed. I never corrected you.”
I’m embarrassed, but I try not to let it show. How could I be so dumb, assuming things about Jackie yet again? I take a calming breath and ask, “Okay, so what did happen?”
“When I came out, Mom wasn’t surprised. I think she kind of knew. I mean, look at me.” Jackie gestures at her faded jeans and her short hair. “I dress like a dude; I cut my hair like a dude.” She takes a steadying breath. “But she didn’t really say much. Jerome, though, he just kept picking and picking and picking. At first I thought he was just giving me shit, you know? But then a guy from school started yelling stuff at me about how I was a dyke and was going to hell; Jerome just stood there and let it happen. He didn’t say anything. And when I told the principal about what had happened, Jerome said I made the whole thing up.”
“What an asshole.”
Jackie’s lips quirk into a half smile that fades as quickly as it appears. “Hey, he’s still family.”
“Family or not, he has no right to treat you that way.”
Jackie shrugs. “A
nyway, I was eighteen already so I moved out. Vee’s parents let me crash here.”
Her response is so nonchalant, it’s as if she’s just told me she’s having pizza for dinner. I can’t imagine living near my mom and not talking to her. How can Jackie be okay with this? Tentatively, I lay my hand on top of hers. “What about the rest of your family?”
“My baby brother, Jackson, doesn’t really understand, and I think Mom was hurt that I moved out, but Jerome just dumped all my clothes in the front yard.”
“Jack, that’s awful.” I grip her hand tightly and she squeezes back. We’re silent for a while, letting the white noise of the VCR lull us into half-sleep.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“Me too.”
“Can I ask you one thing?”
Jackie turns her head so she’s facing me and nods.
“What’s your mom’s name?” I ask.
She raises a single eyebrow at me. “Deborah. Why?”
“Not Judy or Janet… or maybe Justine?”
“Shut up.” She swats at my arm and then sighs. “I know, it’s dumb. She gave us all names that start with J. She always liked the name Jacqueline and I think it sort of got out of hand after that.”
“So your dad’s not a Jason or a Jeremiah?”
She rolls her eyes, but I know she’s not mad at me because she’s grinning. She gets up to switch out the tape out for the next movie.
“It’s not dumb. I like that you all have ‘J’ names.”
“It is dumb. And I thought you would be on my side, since you were named after a cheesy TV witch.”
She flings herself at the couch but manages to land softly—like a dancer. Of course, when I nudge her with my knee, it jostles the popcorn bowl. Completely anti-graceful. The few kernels in the bottom skitter around before coming to rest again. That’s how I feel talking to Jackie. Gentle nudges followed by random loops and spins before we settle into quiet comfort again.
“I think I would like it more if there were more ‘witches’ in the family,” I say. “If I had an Uncle Arthur, or if my dad’s name was Darrin. Then it would make sense.”