This I Know

by Eldonna Edwards

  “C’mon, Lola. You don’t want a tardy slip. One more and you get detention.”

  “I’ll be along. Go ahead.” It’s the only thing she’s said the whole time we’ve been sitting there.

  * * *

  Lola’s seat is empty in history class. As soon as the bell rings I run straight to her locker and wait, but she never comes. After a few minutes the rush of voices and footsteps fade away until it’s just me and Vern Johnson, dragging a piece of toilet paper behind his shoe like a surrender flag. He probably got locked in the bathroom by upperclassmen again or maybe they took his pants and threw them in the girls’ bathroom and he had to retrieve them. I feel sorry for Vern so I smile at him as he walks by. I can tell by the way he sneers at me that he thinks I’m laughing at him rather than being friendly toward him.

  I know where Lola is. It will mean detention for both of us if I skip my next class, but I head for the orchards anyway. It’s a warm spring day so I take off my shoes. As soon as my bare feet hit the grass I feel myself sink into it, the snow of last month just a memory. Halfway up the pathway I spot Lola’s denim pack leaning up against a tree. I recognize the Earth Shoes dangling from her feet. I move under the tree and look up. At least she’s smiling now.

  “You came looking for me?”

  “Of course I did. I was worried. What’s going on, Lola?”

  “My parents, that’s what.” She sits up, swings her bell-bottomed leg over the limb, and drops to the ground. “C’mon. Let’s get some sun,” she says.

  Lola heads over the rise toward our favorite spot. By the time I catch up she’s already naked, stretched out on her back in the soft grass as if she grew there. Nudity is a common thing at Lola’s house. Even her daddy walks around naked, although he covers his privates with a towel when I’m around, for which I’m grateful.

  I pull my shirt over my head. “What about your parents? You have the coolest parents ever, Lola.”

  “You think so? In that case, it must be cool to get divorced.”

  I hear myself gasp before I can stop it. “No! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Why?”

  She retrieves a beach towel from her backpack and spreads it out on the ground. “Here. You’re wasting good rays.”

  I strip down to my bra and panties, painfully aware of my gangly body next to Lola’s voluptuous figure. I lay face down on the towel with my chin propped in my hands. The sun feels as good as anything that’s ever touched me besides Mama’s backrubs.

  “Holy cow, Lola, I can’t believe it. Your parents seem so in love.”

  “My parents are in love with freedom. Turns out that ‘free love’ has a price.”

  Lola tugs a blade of grass and spreads it between her thumbs. She brings it to her lips and blows. Lola is the only person I know who can make a good sound come out of two thumbs and a weed. The way she does it reminds me of a melancholy loon. My attempts sound more like a chicken giving birth to a double-yolked egg.

  Lola rolls to her side and runs the blade of grass along my back. “I knew this was coming,” she says. “I saw my mom with one of her life drawing models. I went out to the studio to get some brushes and I heard them laughing. When I peeked in the window they were naked, painting each other. Not on canvases but actually brushing paint on each other.”

  I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything, although I have to admit that painting your body does sound like fun.

  “I think John’s known about it for a long time. Maybe it was even okay with him. But then he got this job offer in Ann Arbor, so I guess he figures it’s a chance for him to start over. I don’t blame him. He says he’ll visit. I doubt it.”

  I reach behind me and scratch where Lola is tickling my back with the grass. “He loves you guys. He’ll visit. You’ll see.” I turn my head to face her. She’s wearing round sunglasses that make her look like Janis Joplin.

  “It’s terrible to want what you know you won’t ever get,” she says. Her eyes fill with tears again.

  “I’m so sorry, Lola.”

  She starts to sob, then scooches next to me and curls up like a little girl. I roll over to my side and put my arm around her as she cries quietly. After a minute Lola picks up her head and looks straight at me. She gently nudges me onto my back and rests her head on my shoulder.

  “I love you, Grace,” she says.

  “I love you too, Lola.”

  She starts drawing circles with her finger around my belly button.

  “Lola . . . ?” I start to say, but she puts a finger first to her own lips and then to mine.

  “Shhh,” she whispers.

  I don’t know what to do. It feels weird having Lola touch me like this. I want to tell her to stop, but I don’t. She lifts herself up and I know what she’s going to do. She’s going to kiss me. And she does. Her lips are fuller than mine and could completely cover my mouth, but they don’t because Lola barely touches my lips with hers. Like a butterfly, she brushes against my mouth, which I keep closed tight. I feel all funny inside. Lola’s big boobs are mushing up against my nearly flat chest. She presses harder on my mouth; then pushes her tongue through my lips.

  I jerk my face to the side. “Lola, stop it!”

  She pulls back and looks at me, frowning. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

  “Yes. I mean no.”

  “Don’t you love me?”

  “Well, yeah, but not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . . well . . . like I would a boy.”

  Lola giggles. “Of course not, silly. I’m not a boy!”

  “I know, but it’s not right. God wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t what? Want two of His creations to love each other?”

  “But—”

  Lola cuts off my sentence with another kiss. She takes my hand and puts it on her breast. It is the softest thing I have ever felt in my life. She lets out a moan. I pull away from her.

  “That’s enough,” I whisper.

  “Okay,” she whispers back.

  Lola rests her head back on my shoulder and we lay like that so long we both fall asleep until the train whistle blows as it moves slowly through town. We’re both sunburned, me on the front and Lola on her side. On our way back toward the school I finally break the silence.

  “Lola, we can’t. I can’t be . . .”

  “I know. I know, Grace. It’s okay.”

  I struggle with my thoughts before gaining the courage to bring up my question. “Have you done stuff with a girl before? I mean more than what we did?”

  “Once. Last summer at a Joan Baez concert that my parents took me to I met this girl a few years older than me. She played the flute and danced like a goddess. She told me I was beautiful.” Lola sighs.

  “But you are beautiful, Lola.”

  “Well, not to boys.” She laughs. “Thank goodness,” she adds.

  “You really don’t like boys?”

  “Oh, I like ’em just fine. I just don’t want to kiss them. Girls are so much softer.” She reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of her hand. I flinch just a little, but enough that she feels it and pulls her hand away. “Sorry, Grace.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Lola stops walking and looks at me. “You’ve never been kissed before, have you?”

  My face gets hot. I don’t answer.

  “You’re so wholesome. You’ve probably never even masturbated.”

  “It’s a sin,” I say softly.

  Lola groans. “You have got to get a better god.” That laugh again.

  I feel my face turning redder.

  “Hey, don’t worry. I promise I won’t come on to you again. I know it’s just me. I feel lucky that I got to kiss you. You really are lovely.”

  Hearing this I’m relieved, and a little sad at the same time.

  25

  Ms. Pierce always makes us girls line up in the gym for roll call before phys ed so she can check to be sure we’re dressed in the dorky one-piece jumpers we have to w
ear for class. We’ve been standing around for ten minutes waiting when Jill Baker jumps out of line and grabs a basketball from the equipment box and starts bouncing it. She dribbles it to the same rhythm she’s chewing her gum, which we’re not supposed to have in gym class. Jill’s not the type to play by the rules.

  Jill stops and balances the ball on her right hip while she decides which girl to throw it to. She doesn’t even look at me. Holding it out in front of her, she bounces the ball as high as she can and Sherrie Mayfield catches it. Sherrie bounces it to Connie Simmons, who does the same thing. Pretty soon everybody is running all over the place bouncing balls and making lots of noise, except for a couple of the unpopular girls who are still standing in line, holding their hands over their ears.

  I find a spot on the bleachers and watch as the girls in my class get wilder and wilder. Ms. Pierce has never been late and gives us a hard time when one of us is tardy. I don’t join in, partly because I don’t like basketball and partly because I like Ms. Pierce. She’s younger than most of the other teachers and drives a VW Bug with flowers painted on it. She says “Outa sight!” whenever anyone makes a score in our games. And she wears maxi skirts and peasant blouses, unlike the rest of the lady teachers who dress in skirts or pantsuits.

  Nobody notices me get up and walk toward the showers. Ms. Pierce’s office is at the end of the hall just before you get to the bathrooms. I peek inside, but the room appears to be empty.

  “Ms. Pierce?”

  No answer. Photographs line her desk. One of them is of her husband, whose hair is longer than Ms. Pierce’s. They have different last names. She told us she kept her own because she doesn’t think women should go around giving their names away just because they’re married. Probably the same reason she insists on being called Ms. instead of Mrs.

  Ms. Pierce has one of those office chairs you can twirl in and since nobody’s around I can’t resist the temptation to give it a spin. Except when I turn the seat toward me I see a dark red blotch on it. It’s still wet. Several little puddles of what I’m sure is blood dot the chair. I touch the spot, then bring the scent to my nose to be sure.

  I’m sure.

  I follow droplets of blood to the bathroom stall reserved for teachers. Her shoes and legs are visible because she’s sitting on the floor in there.

  “Ms. Pierce?”

  “Grace, is that you?”

  “Yeah. Are you okay in there, Ms. Pierce?”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t think I can hold class, though. I’m not feeling very well.”

  I lean against the cold door of her stall. “You got cramps?”

  She doesn’t answer, just starts crying, and I can tell by the sounds that she’s trying to stop up the sobs with her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I say, but she doesn’t answer. “Can I come in there with you, Ms. Pierce? Maybe I can help you.”

  She cries even harder, but she’s not trying to cover it anymore so I take that as an invitation. Not wanting to trouble her to stand, I crawl under the door. She’s leaning against the toilet, a headband of dried daisies sitting cattywampus in her messy hair. As soon as I get near her a shiver runs through me. I feel a presence, like someone just left but part of them is still hanging around. Ms. Pierce has lost more than just blood.

  “Ms. Pierce?” She lets me take her hand. “Did you . . . did you pass a baby in the toilet?”

  “We’ve been trying to have a child for three years,” she blurts out without looking at me. “I finally tested positive three months ago. I was so hopeful and now it’s gone. It’s probably because of drugs I took in college. I don’t deserve to be a mother.” Ms. Pierce sucks in her bottom lip and chews on it, then turns. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I don’t know why I told you that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Pierce. You don’t have to worry about telling me. Nobody believes half of what I say anyhow.” She smiles at me through her tears. I consider leaving it at that but decide to go ahead and say what I know. “She isn’t gone. I can tell you that.”

  Her smile drops away, replaced by her serious teacher look. “Grace,” she says, gently touching my arm, “I had a miscarriage. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure I do. You lost a baby. But that girl isn’t gone, Ms. Pierce. She’s still in this world. In fact, she’s still in this room.”

  Ms. Pierce pulls her hand away from mine. “Grace, what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Well, it’s kind of hard to explain and I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but—”

  “Wait. You said that girl. Why did you say it was a girl?”

  “Is. She is a girl, leastways this time around. Do you want to know more? I can ask her.”

  “Grace!” Her mouth drops open, then closes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “You want to know more?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”

  “Okay,” I say. “We need to sit real still.”

  I close my eyes and in my head I ask, Why’d you leave? The answer comes in the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard in my head. Almost like bells. When it’s quiet I open my eyes and take Ms. Pierce’s hand again.

  “She says there was something wrong with how she came to be here. After you and her daddy made a place for her, there was a change of plans so she had to leave.”

  Ms. Pierce sobs. “I got angry with Marc because he said I needed to stop thinking about having a baby and just be happy. It’s my fault she left.”

  The bell-like tinkle of the little voice grows louder.

  “No! She says it’s not your fault, just poor timing on her end. She says it happens a lot and you shouldn’t blame yourself. She’s chosen you and your husband to be her parents because she loves you both and she’ll be back.”

  Ms. Pierce smiles through her tears. “Really?”

  “Really. She’s super sure about that part.”

  “I’ve heard things about you, Grace. That you see and hear things the rest of us can’t. I don’t believe in gossip so I didn’t pay much attention to it but . . . you’re for real, aren’t you?”

  “It’s called clairvoyance. Lola looked it up. I call it the Knowing. Folks don’t believe me so I don’t talk about it. Plus it scares people and it’s why I don’t have many friends.”

  “That’s too bad for them,” she says. “I have a feeling you’re a very good friend.”

  Ms. Pierce looks at me and then inside the toilet. “I believe you.” She reaches up to flush the handle and as she does a petal from one of the dried flowers from her hair flutters into the bowl. It twirls around in the bloody water before going down the drain.

  “I should get the school nurse,” I say. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what I know.”

  “I know you won’t, Grace.” She leans back against the stall wall. “And I won’t tell anyone what you know either.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Pierce. People already think I’m weird.”

  She smiles at me through drying tears. “I don’t think you’re weird, Grace.”

  I smile back at her and turn to go.

  “Oh, and, Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can use the door this time.”

  “Right,” I say, and I stand up. Maybe too quickly because a sparkly light plays in front of my eyes, then disappears just as quickly as it came.

  * * *

  The following Sunday I stand in front of the bathroom mirror inspecting my body when Chastity walks in without knocking. I quickly cover myself with a towel because I don’t like her looking at me naked. Compared to her I look like a stick. At twelve Chastity already wears bigger bras and fills them out better than I do. Her round body looks just like those ladies in the old paintings in Joy’s encyclopedias. I can easily picture Chastity surrounded by little cherubs while she swings on a rope hanging from a tree, her dress made from satin.

  “Need a couple of Band-Aids, Grace?”

  “Very funny, Chas. You could knock, yo
u know.”

  “Why?” She grins. “Doesn’t appear you have anything to hide.”

  “C’mon. We’re going to be late for church.”

  We get there late anyway. I don’t think Daddy understands how much Mama used to help move us along. Chas and I meet up with Hope in the church foyer. She got a new set of rollers for her seventeenth birthday and slept all night in them. Half of her hair is curly and the other half is flat because some of the rollers fell out while she was sleeping. Hope likes the way the curls bounce when she jumps so she’s making a big spectacle of herself. To tell the truth, the way she’s grinning almost makes me want to jump up and down with her.

  “Settle down, Hope,” Daddy says. “This is not a circus.”

  “Can I go in now?” Hope asks.

  “Go ahead. But go quietly.”

  Hope turns on her heels and almost trips as she bounds up the stairs toward the auditorium. The last thing I see of her is a fuzzy pink roller bobbing up and down on the back of her head. Guess she forgot one.

  Today’s the day that people go forward to accept baptism. Not to get baptized right there and then, but later this summer in Cherry Lake. You have to be at least twelve to go forward according to our church rules because a child can’t understand the symbolism of baptism until then. Also, Daddy has to approve your baptism. The first time he denied me as punishment after catching me in the closet talking to Isaac for the umpteenth time. I went forward again when I was thirteen and Daddy turned me down again, this time on account of my feeding Lyle. “You’re still not ready,” he said, crushing my hopes once again. I’ve decided not to even ask this time.

  Today’s service is short compared to Daddy’s usual sermons in order to leave room for the Call to Baptism. Daddy quickly tidies up his preaching and then Loretta plays “Just as I Am,” which is the signal. That’s when Daddy steps down from the podium and spreads his hands out and says, “Come unto me,” just like in the picture of Jesus on the wall behind him. Except that Jesus isn’t wearing a polyester suit with a clip-on tie.

  Anita VanDyke stands up first thing and walks down the aisle. I already knew she’d go forward because she’s been bragging about turning twelve for weeks. She’s wearing what Mama would call a “smart” outfit, a lavender jacket and skirt with her purse and shoes dyed to match. I’m wearing one of Joy’s old dresses and scuffed-up shoes, so I suppose I’ve got me a pretty dumb outfit. Mrs. Gardner walks forward next. She moved to Cherry Hill with her four kids after her husband ran off with one of his students at the college where he teaches. She wanted to start over somewhere new. Everyone knows she’s looking for a husband. I say good luck since the widowed women outnumber the single men by three to one around here.