by Carrie Pack
I’m trying to hide my frustration with Bennett, but a sigh escapes.
“Not that I think Jackie would cheat on you or anything. I’m just saying it would make me nervous.”
“I’m not worried.”
“That’s good,” Bennett says. She presses her lips together into a taut smile. “I bet they don’t even sleep in real beds on tour, right?”
I nod. Her words barely register amid the sounds of cars passing. I try to block it all out and focus on my feet. One step at a time.
“There’s not much trash,” Bennett says. “I thought there’d be more.”
“We still have to do the other side,” I tell her. “We’ll cross up there by the sign.” I gesture with my stick at a sign that says “40 miles to Rockford” and I wonder what Jackie is doing. They’re probably in the middle of sound check right now.
I can’t believe I yelled at my mom. She’ll never let me go on tour now. The pressing sting of tears burns my eyes, and I blink to clear them.
“You okay, Tabitha?” Bennett asks.
I sniff. “Yeah. The sun’s bothering my eyes is all. I should have brought sunglasses.”
“We’ll have to remember that for next time,” she says, smiling. She’s a sweet girl, even if she does talk too much.
I smile back at her and clear my throat. “So, tell me about this boyfriend of yours. What’s his name?”
Bennett giggles and bounces on the balls of her feet. “His name is Geoffrey, but spelled with a G.”
“Sounds like a classy guy,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, he is,” she gushes.
I let Bennett ramble on about Geoffrey and try not to think about Jackie or my fight with my mom. It doesn’t work.
Chapter 17
I feel so lost without Cherie, Marty and Venus… even Kate. I didn’t realize how quickly I became attached to the sisterhood of being a Riot Grrrl. Our meetings have fizzled; it’s usually only me and a couple other girls on any given Tuesday. Bennett does most of the talking, and I sit in silence. I miss the days when we’d run out of chairs because we were stuffed into Marty’s basement. The rec center seems too big. Or maybe I feel too small.
I am completely untethered without Jackie. It only takes a few days before I start noticing, really noticing, how monochromatic Decker is. It’s not only the racial whiteness, although I notice that too, but it’s as if I’m living in grayscale. The finer details are missing. There is a serious lack of contrast, and now so is my only link to something bigger and better than this—Jackie.
On my way home from work, I buy a tub of Manic Panic. I figure if I’m craving color and life, why not create some of my own. An hour later, my hair is purple, and I’ve cut myself some blunt, baby bangs. It’s not the greatest haircut ever, but it’s not half bad for self-styling. I turn and admire my new punk hair in the mirror. “Well, it’s an improvement,” I say to my reflection.
The bathroom, however, isn’t looking so good. Along with some pretty heinous stains on the tiled countertop, purple-splotched towels litter the bathroom floor. Mom is going to kill me if I don’t get this cleaned up.
When I’m throwing the towels—and a ton of bleach—in the washing machine, the phone rings. I have to run to catch it before the machine picks up, so I pick up the handset in the kitchen. The cordless is still upstairs in my room.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” My hands shake when I realize it’s Jackie.
“Hey, yourself,” I say. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” She sounds wistful. Maybe our break is over.
“So what’s going on?” I’m still breathless from my run from the laundry room, or maybe it’s the surprise. She sounds older, wiser—or maybe that’s just me romanticizing things. I miss her so damn much. Hearing Jackie’s voice after a few days apart makes my chest burn with anxiety. I want to see her so badly. I bite my lip as I try to hold back tears.
“Well, the band is off doing sound check for tonight’s show, so I thought I’d call. How are things in the hotbed of activity known as Decker?”
“Dull as hell,” I say. I twist the phone cord around my fingers and hop up on the kitchen counter. My breath is starting to even out, and the tears have been contained for now. So I try to have a normal conversation with Jackie. “I um, dyed my hair.”
“Really?” She sounds excited. “How’d it come out?”
“Purple,” I say. “Very, very purple.” I hold my breath. She’s always saying how much she likes my hair. Maybe she wouldn’t want me to change it.
“I bet it looks hot.” Now I know I’m not imagining things. She’s flirting again.
I let out a shaky breath. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I was worried she’d called to break up with me. “Well, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Jackie sighs. It’s wistful and a little sad. “Wish you were here, babe.”
“Me too.” I kick my legs against the lower cabinets. “But the tour will be over before we know it, and then you’ll be back here and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
Silence. Did we get disconnected?
“Jacks, are you there?”
“I’m here,” she says. Her voice is low and it’s lost the ebullient tone of moments before. My heart beats faster.
“Is something wrong?” I hold my breath and wait for her response.
“I’m not sure I’m coming back to Decker.”
My stomach drops to my feet, and my heart flutters wildly. Is this what a panic attack feels like?
“What do you mean? You have to come back.”
“I won’t have any place to live,” she says.
“But what about Venus’s house? You can get a job, and they’ll let you stay if you pay rent.”
“They’re moving,” she says. “Now that Vee has graduated, they’re buying a condo in Florida.”
“But Venus… the band!” I can’t get out more than a word or two at a time. Forget forming sentences. Jackie may not be coming back to Decker. How can this be happening?
“Vee starts college in the fall. The band knows. We were talking about it on the way to Milwaukee.”
Tears splash my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them. “Where will you go?” I ask.
“I’ve got family in Chicago still. A cousin I could hit up for a place to crash. I’ll figure it out.”
“Jackie, you can’t leave me here.”
“You can come with me.”
“I’ve still got two years of high school left. And I doubt my mom would let me pack up and move in with my girlfriend. She’s accepting, but that’s a stretch even for her.”
“Yeah.” Jackie sniffs. Is she crying too?
Silence stretches between us. How will I survive my junior year if Jackie isn’t here with me? There has to be something we can do.
“Jackie, have you thought about calling your parents?”
“No, Tabitha. No way. I’m not doing that. I can’t do that.”
“But—”
“I said no. Now drop it.”
“I just want you to come home.”
“I know.”
She’s quiet again. And then, “So tell me more about this sexy new look of yours.”
Through the tears, I manage to laugh. As I explain my new style, I resolve to figure out a way to get Jackie back in Decker for good, no matter what it takes.
If Jackie isn’t coming home, I’ll have to go to her.
When I walk into work the next day, Teresa’s jaw drops. She pulls in a sharp breath through her teeth. She points at me and then crooks her finger for me to follow her. Teresa leads me to the back room and closes the door behind us.
“Tabitha, what did you do to your hair?” she asks.
Ignoring the ridiculousness of her question I reply, “I colored i
t. Do you like it?” I turn around and mess it up to get more volume.
“It doesn’t matter what I like,” she says. “The Place’s employee handbook says no unnatural hair colors. You’re going to have to change it back.” She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for me to speak.
“I don’t want to change it back. I like it.”
Teresa purses her lips and exhales loudly through her nose. “Well, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.” She holds out her hand. “Name tag, please.”
“What?” I think she’s joking. I almost laugh, but she glares at me. She’s serious. When I don’t comply, she raises her eyebrows and taps her foot. She’s still holding out her hand. “Teresa, come on. No one cares what color my hair is!”
“Obviously they do or it wouldn’t be in the handbook, which you agreed to, by the way. You signed an agreement when you accepted this job and you’re in violation. If you’re not going to change your hair back to a natural shade, then you can’t work here. It’s as simple as that.”
I unpin my name tag from my shirt and drop it in her open palm.
“I’m really sorry about this, Tabitha,” she says. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I say. I shove the door to the store open and let it slam behind me. “I hated working here anyway!” My voice carries through the store, and a woman near the fitting rooms stares at me open-mouthed. “What are you looking at?”
She lowers her eyes and pretends to be interested in the skirt she’s holding.
Teresa’s voice behind me is cool but threatening. “Please leave before I call security,” she says.
“Whatever.” I stomp out of the store and walk all the way home instead of taking the bus.
I go to bed early and I’m still there when Mom leaves for work in the morning.
She calls out from the hallway, “Everything okay, Tabitha? I thought you were working today.” She pushes my door open.
“I’m not feeling very well, Mom. I think I’m going to hang out here today.”
“Are you running a fever?” She places a hand on my forehead. “You’re not warm.”
“It’s just a headache,” I lie. “I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.”
“Are you sure? I could cancel my morning.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “But call me if you need anything.”
When she’s gone, the house grows overwhelmingly silent. I need to get out.
I take Sparky for a walk, but my heart’s not in it. Jackie should be here. I let the dog off his leash at the park and sit on our bench. It’s too hot to be outside, but I don’t care. The burn of the sun is better than the torture of being home with my thoughts.
No girlfriend and fired from my job. I’m such a winner.
When Mom comes home, I’m back in bed, but she thinks I’ve been there all day.
“You’ll feel better if you get out of bed. Come on downstairs, and I’ll make something for dinner.”
I raise an eyebrow. My mom is actually a pretty good cook, but lately we’ve been ordering out. When we’re both home, that is.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I still remember how to cook. Now get your lazy butt out of that bed.” She swats at my foot. I laugh and snuggle deeper into my covers.
It’s the smell emanating from our kitchen that finally pulls me from the comfort of my bed. Something garlicky and sweet is sizzling away on the stove, and there’s something in the oven.
“Smells good,” I say, leaning on the counter. “Need any help?”
“How about you set the table,” she says.
Because it’s only the two of us, it only takes me a couple of minutes to grab plates and utensils, so I sit in a kitchen chair and watch her work. The dark circles that had taken up residence under Mom’s eyes have faded, and she’s looking more like her old self. I wish there was a way to screw Dan over the way he did Mom.
“How’s your headache?” Mom says as she tosses a pinch of salt in one of the pans. “Did you take something for it?”
“I’m feeling better.” I don’t elaborate.
“Where are your friends? I haven’t seen Jackie or Cherie around much lately. And you haven’t mentioned Kate or Marty in weeks.”
She seems to have forgotten our argument about Jackie, so I don’t mention it.
“They’re on tour,” I say. “Their band got asked to open for Cherie’s boyfriend’s band. I thought I told you.”
Mom shrugs. “Maybe you did. I’ve been kind of out of it lately.”
“Jackie went with them.”
Mom pauses but doesn’t look up. “I see.”
I pop a carrot in my mouth from the salad bowl. “I miss her like crazy.” I hold my breath and wait for Mom’s reaction.
“Maybe it will be good for you girls to have a break from each other.”
I let my breath out in a huff. “That’s what Jackie said.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Mom’s mouth. “Smart girl.”
“Why don’t you like her?”
She drops the spoon in the pan and turns to face me. “Tabitha, I never said I don’t like her. I worry about you. A lot has changed for you this year, and I’m your mother. It’s my job to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”
“I am.” I lock eyes with her. It’s as if we both understand the challenge there. Whoever blinks first, loses.
I raise my eyebrows, and Mom turns back to the stove. “All right. I’m sorry I overreacted. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I might,” I say, thinking of what Jackie said about us having the power to hurt each other deeply. “But that’s what love is, right? You give your heart to someone and trust that they’ll handle it with care. I trust Jackie.”
“I trusted Dan,” she says. “And I think you’d agree, I put my trust in the wrong person.”
“Well, you have to trust that I didn’t.”
I see her breath catch, and her lip quivers. I picture her sitting in the tub, crying, and I know where her fears are coming from. I step around the counter and rest my head on her shoulder. She strokes my hair.
“I’m trying, kid.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and holds me while she stirs. “Now why don’t you tell me the real reason you stayed home from work today.”
Chubby Bunny No. 3
I’m Not a Specimen
I don’t think we talk nearly enough about how much it sucks to be a teenage girl. Not only do you have all the normal teenage problems, but you’re also female, which affects how everyone sees and treats you.
I’m also walking around with my girlfriend on my arm. (Not a girl who’s a friend but a GIRLfriend.) So we get rude comments and stares and glares and we also get catcalled and whistled at. None of that is cool, man. None of it. But it happens. And I’m sure it happens to a lot of you too.
I also get called fat, ugly, a bitch. Why can’t I just BE?
Why do I need a label?
Meanwhile I label myself: bisexual, female, Riot Grrrl, punk, Tabitha.
I need these labels. They are mine.
But I refuse to be labeled by men. I refuse to be labeled by society and I REFUSE to be labeled by anyone but me.
I’m Spent a poem
by Tabitha Denton
I spend my spare time folding shirts at the mall;
I’d rather be making out with my girlfriend.
I spend the money I make folding shirts on new CDs;
I’d rather be moshing in the pit to a grrrl band.
I spend years trying to be invisible;
I’d rather be someone else.
I spend years running from myself;
I’d rather be somewhere else.
I spend hours daydreaming abou
t my girlfriend;
I’d rather be hers than invisible.
I spend too much time fighting;
I’d like to be me.
Chapter 18
Once Mom knows why I’m sitting around the house, she works pretty hard to make sure I don’t spend the rest of my summer in bed eating. She leaves me a list of chores that fills an entire sheet of notebook paper. It was our trade-off for letting me go to the last of Shut Up’s shows in Chicago.
I haven’t told Jackie yet because I want it to be a surprise, and I’d like to get through at least half the list to make sure it’s doable. The first thing on the list is cleaning out the garage. We have a stack of boxes that dates back to before I was born. Holiday decorations and family heirlooms are mixed in with clothes that no longer fit or are no longer in style. It takes me the better part of the day to get through it all, but when I do I have a hefty load for donation and several bags of trash at the street. The remaining stuff has been sorted and labeled for my mom to store. The only thing I keep for myself is a picture of me and Dad. I look about six years old and I’m sitting on his knee. He’s smiling at the camera, but I’m grinning up in adoration at my daddy. I don’t remember it being taken but I remember that feeling. Why do the people I love always have to leave?
“Hey, stranger.”
I look up, half-expecting it to be my dad, but it’s Mike. He’s dyed his hair too, only his is electric blue, and instead of dangling a cigarette from his mouth, he’s chewing gum. “Nice hair,” I say, unable to think of anything else.
“You too,” he says. “Purple’s a good color for you.”
I nod, and he kicks at a crack in the driveway.
“Why are you here, Mike?”
When he looks up, his eyes sparkle with tears. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Okay?”
“I have a confession,” he says, flipping his blue hair out of his eyes. “I’ve been reading your zine.”
I raise my eyebrows. I’ve only got a few subscribers, and Mike isn’t one of them.
“I get it through an exchange,” he says. “I didn’t want you to know.”