I don’t want a bra because I don’t want anyone looking at that part of my body, or thinking about that part of my body, or acknowledging that part of my body, even my mother. Because yes, I want to be a woman someday, but not now. Because I don’t want to have to worry about any of it. Because it just isn’t fair.
There were lots of reasons I didn’t want a bra, even if I didn’t know many of them until that minute. And even if I wasn’t about to say any of them out loud.
So I shrugged. Mom got even more exasperated.
“Winnie, this is getting old,” she said.
“Then let’s go home,” I said. I strode out of the “girls’ intimates” section and ran smack into the last person in the world I would have chosen to see at that terrible moment: Gail Grayson, examining a blue sequined prom dress.
“Gail,” I said without meaning to.
“Winnie,” she said. First she looked surprised, and then displeased, because that’s how she always looked when it came to me. Like she smelled something sour.
My brain went into overdrive. How long had she been here? What had she heard?
“If you get that one, you’ll have to get a strapless,” Gail’s mom said, appearing by the rack. She had platinum hair and gold hoop earrings. “Although possibly your black bra from Paris Houghton might work. Isn’t it the one with removable straps?”
“Mom, this is Winnie,” Gail said with zero enthusiasm. “Winnie, this is my mom.”
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m Ellen,” Mom said, joining us and stepping forward to shake Mrs. Grayson’s hand.
“So nice to meet you,” Mrs. Grayson said. “I’m Noreen.” She smiled a wide wrecking-ball smile, ready to knock down anything in its path. She must have been to a tanning salon, because she was midsummer bronzed and it was still the middle of spring.
“Gail’s going to her cousin’s Sweet Sixteen,” Mrs. Grayson said. “The theme is Las Vegas.”
“Mom, they don’t care,” Gail said.
“Forty thousand dollars,” Mrs. Grayson confided. “That’s what Kiki’s daddy is paying for this shindig. Can you believe it?”
“That’s more than my wedding,” Mom said.
Mrs. Grayson bark-laughed. “I know! It’s crazy!”
Gail’s cheeks colored, unless I imagined it.
“So what are you two wild women shopping for?” Mrs. Grayson asked, referring, apparently, to me and Mom.
“Oh,” Mom said. “Well . . .”
Don’t, I begged her silently. I got that pre-diarrhea feeling of desperation, because Gail would be the worst person in the universe—the worst—to know I was bra shopping.
“I dragged Winnie to check out the spring shoe sale, actually, ” Mom said. “We figured we’d check out the junior department while we were here.”
“How fun,” Mrs. Grayson said. “Don’t you just love shopping with your daughter? Don’t you wish you could fit in these darling fashions?”
Gail looked behind me at the intimates section, then back at me, her expression craftily innocent. “I thought you were shopping for a bra,” she said.
“We figured we’d take a peek,” Mom said smoothly.
“I thought you didn’t believe in bras,” Gail went on. She was referring to a remark I’d made on the playground once, the time she was mean to Dinah.
“Don’t believe in bras?” Mrs. Grayson said. She blinked her overmascaraed eyes. “Now listen. You girls think you’ll stay young and firm forever, but you won’t. You have to wear a bra, or you’ll sag.”
“I don’t think Winnie has to worry about that yet,” Gail said.
“Oh yes she does,” Mrs. Grayson said. She zeroed in on me. “You most certainly do, Wendy. It’s never too early to start caring about your appearance.”
“It’s Winnie,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s Winnie. Not Wendy.”
Gail smirked. I got the sense she thought her mom and I were stupid, both. I was filled with a dislike for her that swirled and mixed with my embarrassment.
Mom’s hand tightened on the handle of her Neiman Marcus bag. “Well, we’ve got to get going. Winnie? You ready?”
We walked right out of Macy’s, and then we continued through the mall and into the parking lot, where I climbed mutely into the car with Mom. The air conditioner kicked on at full blast when she turned on the engine. Neither of us mentioned the fact that we were leaving without what we’d come for.
“I didn’t like that girl,” Mom said after merging into the afternoon traffic. “She’s pretty on the outside, but I have a feeling she isn’t very pretty on the inside.” She glanced at me. “Am I right?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“She’s not going to have any friends if that’s the way she acts.”
“She only acts that way to certain people,” I said. “She has lots of friends.”
“Hmmph,” Mom said. She flicked her blinker and scooted into the far right lane. “That makes me like her even less.”
In the end, I got three bras—one white, one black, one tan— at Target. The tan one was gross and I didn’t want it, but Mom said that was the only color that wouldn’t show under white clothes. She called it “nude,” not tan. I thought to myself how much there was to learn about being a woman, most of it kind of silly.
Mom seemed more relaxed at Target than at Macy’s, commenting that Target had “surprisingly good” lingerie. I felt more relaxed, too. I felt safe there with its bright wide aisles and displays of random items, like Sno-Kone machines. Mom let me get one as an impulse buy, along with a set of four fancy plastic cups with matching spoons and a three-pack of flavored syrups.
“It’ll be perfect for summer,” I said, eager to get home and try it out.
“Will you share with Ty?” Mom asked, acting motherish and in-control-of-the-purse-strings even though the Sno-Kone box was already in the cart.
“Yes,” I said. “And Sandra. I’ll be the one to make them, but I’ll let them pick which flavor.” The box almost, but not entirely, obscured the limp collection of bras, but I wasn’t so worried about them anymore, even though anyone looking would have known exactly what they were. I don’t know why—they just no longer seemed so important.
That evening, over strawberry-kiwi Sno-Kones, I told Ty about the special escalator at Target that was just for shopping carts.
“The people go up one escalator, and the carts go up another,” I said. “It’s so cool.”
“I know,” Ty said.
“It’s like a conveyor belt, lifting the carts up-up-up,” I said.
“I know,” Ty said.
“He knows,” Sandra said. “We all know, because we’ve all been to Target, including you. Why are you suddenly so fascinated with the stupid escalators?”
“Sandra said ‘stupid,’ ” Ty tattled.
“Sandra,” Mom warned. “We don’t use that word, remember? ”
“I don’t know, I just like them,” I said. “Nobody else has them, not even the mall. Not even Kmart or Wal-Mart.”
“Because at the mall you don’t use shopping carts,” Sandra said in a duh-voice. “And Kmart and Wal-Mart aren’t two stories.”
“They built that particular Target in a part of the city that was already developed, so they had limited space to work with,” Dad said. “That’s why it’s two stories.”
I scooped up a slurp of shaved ice, reliving the escalator moment in my head. “I was like, ‘Bye-bye, Sno-Kone machine! Bye, syrups! See you in a minute!’ ”
“Oh my God,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes. She stood up and took her cup to the counter. “I’ve got homework to do.”
“And I want to read the paper,” Dad announced. I noticed he hadn’t finished his Sno-Kone, but he dumped it in the sink before I could alert him. “Ellen, would you care to join me?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said. She rose from the table. “Winnie? Remember your promise?”
She meant the Sno-Kone
machine and how it was my responsibility to clean it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “You kids go on. Enjoy yourselves.”
She laughed and messed up my hair as she left the room. I was glad things were normal between us again. I hated it when they weren’t, even when I was the one causing the problem. Especially if I was the one causing the problem.
“So,” I said when it was just Ty and me.
He tilted his cup to get the dregs of his Sno-Kone. The skin around his mouth was red. “I told Taffy about the boy with the steel head,” he said.
“What?” I said.
“What you told me, about how he probably grew up to be a criminal.”
Uh-oh, my stomach told me. Thank goodness no one else was in the kitchen.
"I told her about the steel plate, too,” Ty said.
“And . . . what did she say?”
“That I could have the rest of her pizza.”
“Oh.”
“I turned the pizza sauce into spit and spitted it into my milk carton.”
“Ewww. Did you pour it on anyone?”
Ty looked intrigued, which told me he hadn’t.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “So . . . are you and Taffy friends now?”
Ty considered. “She is not my friend, but she’s not my enemy.”
“Huh.” That sounded pretty good, actually. I was impressed.
“Can I see your new bras?” he asked.
“I’ve got to clean up the kitchen,” I said.
“But after?”
“I suppose.”
“And can I try one on?”
“Sure,” I said, feeling generous. “We’ll try them on together.”
June
GRADUATION, GRADUATION, GRADUATION. By the last week of school, that was all anyone could talk about. Our ceremony was this coming Friday, and we were all going to dress up, and there’d be musical numbers and speeches and a PowerPoint presentation called “Then and Now,” which the office lady, Pam, put together each year. I knew the format from other graduations, although this year we’d be the ones whose cute little baby pictures would be shown, followed by pictures of us in our sixth-grade glory. I wondered what songs Pam would choose for the sound track. Last year, one of the background songs was “Sing a song. Make it simple, to last your whole life long!” At the la-la-la-la-la part, everyone in the auditorium joined in. It made my heart swell, even though I wasn’t one of the kids moving on.
This year, I was. Bye bye, elementary school; hello, junior high. Yikes—I wasn’t ready to think about that. So I didn’t. I filed into the gym with the rest of Mr. Hutchinson’s class for a special Tuesday-morning assembly, and we took our seats up front with the other sixth graders, facing out toward the rest of the students.
Mrs. Daly, our principal, asked for everyone’s attention. As she spoke, I looked at the scramble of cross-legged younger kids, searching for Ty. There sure was a lot of squirming going on. Had we been that squirmy when we were in the lower grades? Some of us were, no doubt. Alex Plotkin, who was even now sneakily trying to pick his nose with the old “it’s just an itch” technique, had definitely been a squirmer.
I found Ty with the rest of the kindergartners. He waved shyly, as if he was in awe of me and my singled-out, sixth-grade status. I felt tender toward him. My own kindergarten year was impossibly distant, as distant in one direction as college was in the other.
This was what was real, this moment right now, even though it had a feeling of unrealness. We were on the verge of something big. It was coming whether we wanted it to or not.
“And now,” said Mrs. Daly, “we’d like to carve out some time to honor our very special sixth graders, who will be graduating in three days.”
Hoots and whistles filled the air. Mrs. Daly made a settle-down motion, but in a good-humored way. “Each sixth grader will be asked to stand up, and the rest of you will have a chance to share memories about that particular student. Let’s keep it to three memories per person so that we have time for everybody. Louise, let’s start with you.”
Louise, who was sitting on the far left of the semicircle, stood up looking embarrassed, but I knew it was just because she was the first one to go. Her eyes flew hopefully to the audience.
A third grader raised her hand. “I remember that Louise won the spelling bee two years in a row,” she said. “She is a very good speller.”
Louise beamed.
“I remember Louise for always using me as an armrest,” said a fourth grader named Terrence. Everyone laughed, because that was Louise in a nutshell. She was always using people as armrests.
“How about one more,” Mrs. Daly said. She scanned the group. “Yes, Karen?”
“I remember Louise for being a good friend,” Karen said, her voice trembling over the words. Someone always said that about each sixth grader, usually his or her best friend. It was boring, but sweet. Louise leaned over and hugged Karen, who was teary, and everyone went “Awww.”
Next Karen stood up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. People remembered her for giggling a lot, which made her giggle, and for loving chocolate milk, which also made her giggle. Louise remembered her for being a good friend, and once again came the chorus of “Awwww.”
Alex Plotkin was remembered for being obsessed with udders, which was an extremely strange comment and one I didn’t care to contemplate. Sheila Murphy was remembered for giving a fifth grader a Native American dreamcatcher. Maxine Rubenstein was remembered for being a good book partner, only not really, because the first grader who said it meant it about Sheila instead. So then a bonus person was called on for Maxine, who said that Maxine once lent her a pen. Well whoop-de-do, I thought. I sure hoped I’d be remembered for more than loaning out pens.
“Winnie,” Mrs. Daly said when it was my turn. She regarded me kindly. I knew she liked me, because she liked all the kids.
I rose from my chair. I tried to look pleasant and modest.
A second grader named Cody raised his hand. I had no idea what he was going to say, because I barely knew him.
“Yes, Cody? What do you remember about Winnie?” Mrs. Daly asked.
“One time I fell on the playground and I got hurt and she helped me,” he said. “And I felt better after that.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” someone said. Amanda, of all people. She was sitting five seats down, and when our eyes met, she smiled. Surprised warmth spread through me.
“She is the fastest in the whole school at climbing to the top of the swing set,” said a fifth grader named Anna. Why yes, I am, I thought. I didn’t know anyone had noticed.
Dinah raised her hand. “I will always remember Winnie, because she is the very best friend in the whole entire universe, ” she said proudly.
“Awww,” said everyone.
I gave her a hug, and I meant it, but I wished the remembrances could have gone on and on. I wished they hadn’t stopped at three.
For the rest of the day, everyone was in high spirits.
“See what happens when we say nice things about each other?” Mr. Hutchinson said, once we were back in our classroom. “This is how to achieve world peace. Just get everyone together and be kind to one another!”
“I agree,” said Dinah, who’d been praised for being an expert at Chinese jump rope and for making up cool dance moves, as well as for being a good friend to a certain Winifred S. Perry. When I said it out loud, it was like, Well, here goes nothing. And then it didn’t turn out to be as hard as I’d thought.
“Blessed are the cheese makers—I mean peace makers,” Mr. Hutchinson said, making one of his random corny jokes. “And now, on with life. Take out your math books, please, and get to work on your fractions.”
On the playground, everyone continued to be nice. Even Gail was less eye-rolly than normal when Dinah said how much she was going to miss the teachers because they were so full of love.
“The whole school is full of love,” Dinah proclaimed with a painfully earnest expression.
<
br /> A month ago, a remark like that would have meant instant ridicule. The whole school is full of love? But after graduation everyone was going their separate ways, and we knew it. I would start seventh grade at Westminster, as would Amanda and Dinah and Louise. And—ugh—Gail. But Maxine and Sheila would be going to Pace Academy, and Chantelle and Cara were going to Lovett. And Karen, Louise’s best friend, was moving to Alaska, which meant we’d probably never see her again.
How crazy, to know someone and go to school with her, and then have her be gone from your life forever.
Maxine started sniffling. “I’m not sure I want to graduate, ” she said.
“Me neither,” said Chantelle. “I’m going to miss everyone so much!”
“And the teachers!” Dinah said.
“And the playground!” Cara said.
“And the water fountain where Robert almost kissed me!” Amanda said.
“I don’t want to move!” wailed Karen. “Even if I do get to have moose in my backyard!”
“People, people!” I cried. I pulled great clumps of my hair. “Will the madness never end?!”
It made everyone laugh, which was my goal, because it was either that or cry. I noticed that Amanda looked especially amused, and at the same time I noticed myself noticing. Sometime over the last couple of months, I’d fallen out of the habit of seeking her attention, but here I was doing it again. Was it because of her “how sweet” remark during the morning assembly?
She grinned at me, like you loon. And before Mr. Hutchinson called us in for Spanish, she ran over and pulled me away from the crowd.
“Hey,” she said, “are you busy tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”
“There’s this lady coming to my house to talk about summer camp. We’re having, like, a tea for her. Want to come?”
“Uh . . . sure,” I said. “I mean, I’ll have to check. But sure.” Why was I suddenly so tongue-tied?
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