“That’s very nice, Iris,” said their mother. She turned the flame off from under the coffee pot. “Carlo!” she called. “Your coffee is ready!”
“Now show her that other dance you showed me - the dainty one where you stand on one foot.”
“Oh, that’s an arabesque,” said Iris proudly. With that, she separated her hands, reaching and stretching her left hand forward in front of her and her right hand back behind, forming a line with her arms, as she raised her right leg off the ground and straight behind her, toes pointed, bringing her torso perpendicular to her standing leg.
Auntie Rosa gestured toward Iris. “Look! Look how graceful!” With her eyes glued to Iris, Auntie Rosa bit her bottom lip with her upper front teeth, and shook her head back and forth slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she never imagined that she would ever have the opportunity to see anything quite so beautiful as Iris performing an arabesque in the middle of the kitchen. Or perhaps she was imagining all of the arabesques she herself never had the opportunity to strike. “So graceful,” she whispered to herself. “So graceful.”
“That’s very nice, Iris.” said their mother, placing a cookie on the table in front of Lily. Even though it wasn’t a real Oreo, Lily unscrewed the cookie halves - the way they did on the commercial - and licked the white crème from the center.
“C’mon, Lily,” said Iris. “Let’s go play jacks!” Iris grabbed the blue valise and headed up the stairs. Lily snatched a second cookie from the plate, and followed.
Iris opened the valise and carefully removed her black leotard and pink tights. It was clear that they had been folded with extreme care, as neatly as they had been in their original package. Iris transported them from the valise to her underwear drawer, holding them gently with both hands, as if they were made out of butterflies. Lily could see why Auntie Rosa loved Iris’ gracefulness. Even when she wasn’t dancing, she moved like a swan on a pond, slowly and quietly.
Sometimes when Iris wasn’t around Lily would go into the closet and take out the blue valise and hold it by the handle and look at herself in the mirror. She imagined climbing the winding staircase up to the second floor at Auntie Rosa’s, passing by the lower apartment that had long since been outgrown by the Capotosti clan, and which had been rented by Auntie Rosa to Peggy, Arvella, and their two German schnauzers.
“Good afternoon, Lily!” they would call, as she passed.
“Hello, Peggy! Hello Arvella!” Lily would cheerfully call and wave.
“I’m quite sure your Auntie Rosa will be so happy to see you today!”
“Oh, I’m sure of it!” Lily would chime. “Why, she even gave me this special blue valise for my things!”
“How lovely,” Peggy would say.
“Yes, Lily,” Arvella would say. “Just lovely.”
Even though Lily didn’t completely understand what grace was, she knew she didn’t have any. That’s why she was always dropping things and hitting her head, and why she performed horribly in volleyball during gym class. Competitive sports made her nervous, with so much riding on what you did or how you reacted in the span of a second or two - actions and reactions that you really had very little control over, anyway. Lily discovered that no matter how well she understood the various ways to hit a volleyball, whenever one came flying at her head, she would be more inclined to cover her face and duck than to devise a strategy for hitting it back.
Iris gently closed the dresser drawer and placed the blue valise in the closet. Lily panicked at the thought that she might discover the striped top and soiled turquoise shorts that she had bundled up and stuffed into the corner of the closet after her secret encounter with Henry. When Iris closed the closet without saying anything, Lily was both relieved and disappointed that she did not notice them. Lily knew it was supposed to be a special secret, but it didn’t seem right not to tell Iris about something so important as becoming a woman. After all, she knew Iris’ secret about that menses thing that happened to her. Plus, Iris was reading books about love and Lily was sure that she would be able to tell her what she was doing wrong, since Henry didn’t really act like he loved her at all. Over the past several days, he had lain on top of her two more times, but still he did not become more kind toward her, or do special favors for her, or even act like he remembered anything about it.
“Iris,” Lily whispered. “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, ever.”
“Oooo, a secret!” Iris climbed onto the bed and crossed her legs in front of her, resting her elbows on her knees. “I promise! Tell me, tell me!”
Lily closed the bedroom door and then climbed up next to Iris. She related the story of encountering Henry in the chicken coop and how he lay on top of her and rocked and groaned and told her he loved her. Iris must have been impressed, because her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. Lily expected Iris to throw her arms around her and rejoice in celebration that now they were both women, just in different ways. But the timbre of Iris’ voice hinted not at joy, but horror.
“Oh no, Lily!” she exclaimed. “Did he take off your pants?”
“No,” replied Lily, not sure if that was good or bad. “He tried once.”
“You have to tell Mom.”
“I do? Why?”
“Because he’s not supposed to do that, Lily. It’s not right.”
Lily picked up the bed pillow and clutched it to her chest. “It’s not right? Why not?”
“I dunno,” said Iris. “It’s just not. It sounds like a sin, too, so you should probably go to confession.”
“Why do I have to go to confession?” asked Lily. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Father Delaney says that just because we don’t know we’re doing something wrong, that doesn’t make us innocent,” said Iris. “Maybe you did something wrong but you don’t know it yet. I’m just saying that I would confess it, just to be safe. What if you committed a mortal sin?”
“But what would I say?” said Lily, her throat burning with restrained tears. “How can I confess if I don’t know what commandment I broke?”
“Hmm,” said Iris, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’m not sure - but I could find out - I could ask Auntie Rosa.”
“Noooooo!” cried Lily. “You promised you wouldn’t tell!”
“I could just ask her without telling her it was you - I could tell her it was Alba or someone from school...”
“Please don’t, Iris! She will know it was me, I just know it.”
“Then you have to tell Mom. She’ll know whether it’s a mortal sin.”
The thought of repeating the whole story to their mother scared Lily, made her want to run downstairs, out the door, and into the woods where telling secrets never got you in trouble. Maybe Iris just didn’t like that Lily was so special - maybe she wished Henry had lain on top of her the way that Lily wished she were taking dance lessons. Maybe Lily didn’t have to tell at all.
“Let’s just forget it, OK?” said Lily. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Lily hopped down from the bed, and started leaping around the room. “What I really want is for you to show me how to do that thing you were doing in the kitchen - you know, when you looked like you were flying? It was so pretty!”
“An arabesque?”
“Yeah - that.”
“Well, do you promise me you’re going to tell Mom about that thing with Henry?”
“Do I hafta?” Lily’s ballet improvisation came to a halt with a stomp. “Maybe he’ll just stop - you know, like when the toilet gets clogged and the water gets higher and higher and you think it’s going to overflow, but then at the last second it stops?”
“It’s not the same thing, Lily.” Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t teach you any ballet until you promise me you’ll tell Mom.”
“OK,” said Lily, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I promise.”
“Let me see both your hands,” said Iris.
Lily uncrossed her fingers and showed them to Iris.
“Say it again.”
“I promise,” Lily reluctantly repeated. “Geez Louise - why don’t you believe me?”
“I’m just making sure,” said Iris. She turned toward the dressing mirror and began her instructions. “Well, first of all, you can’t just start out with an arabesque. You have to learn all the ballet positions first.” Iris demonstrated as she moved through each one, with Lily following her reflection. “This is first position... this is second position... this is third position... and this is fourth position.” Iris’ body flowed from one stance to the next, her long arms moving through the air propelled by a force that was something between a gentle sweep and a flail, as though the slightest lapse in concentration would cause her arms to get away from her, and she would lift off the ground and fly away.
“How do you remember all of them?” asked Lily with admiration.
“Well, you have to practice every day. For like twenty minutes or something like that.” Iris tucked her long hair behind her right ear. “Will you practice every day?”
“Yes! Show me, show me!”
“OK, well, first you stand like this.” Iris demonstrated first position, with her legs and heels together, toes of each foot pointing out at opposite forty-five degree angles. Lily mimicked her. “Shoulders down,” said Iris, placing her hands on Lily’s shoulders and making the necessary adjustments. “Chin up! That’s the thing about ballet - you have to look kind of fancy while you’re doing it.” Lily wasn’t sure how to look fancy, but she had seen the ballerinas on PBS, and they always looked as though they were trying to see something that was just off in the distance, over a hill.
“That’s good!” said Iris. “You just did first position! Hey - if you want,” said Iris, “I can teach you what I learn every Saturday - that way it will be like you’re taking lessons, too!”
Lily vowed to herself that she would practice the five positions every day so that she would be ready when Iris came home with new lessons to share.
The next Saturday, while Iris was at her dance lesson, Lily closed herself in the sunroom. She carefully removed the tiara that Jasmine won in the Harvest Queen pageant from its special display in the bookcase, and balanced it tentatively on her head. She selected The Nutcracker Suite from the library of classical music and placed it on the turntable. She repeated the five ballet positions for an hour, accompanied by “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies” and “Waltz of the Flowers.” She imagined herself as a grand ballerina on stage, dancing in a spotlight, twirling and leaping and soaring, lighter than air, tall and graceful and beautiful. Like Iris.
Lily’s mother burst into the sunroom, pushing the door open with her foot.
“Oh, Mommy!” cried Lily. “You scared me!”
Lily’s mother was carrying a watering can in her right hand, and had a red plastic laundry basket full of dirty clothes tucked under her left arm. She looked at the turntable spinning, looked at Lily’s tiara sitting lopsided on her head, and asked, “What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing,” said Lily. “Just practicing.”
“Practicing? Practicing what?”
“My ballet positions. Iris said she is going to teach me all of her ballet moves. I just have to promise to practice twenty minutes every day so I can be sure to remember them all. Mom, did you know that ballerinas have to talk French?”
“They do, huh?”
“Yes - and they are very tall and they are soooo beautiful. I was thinking of becoming a ballerina one day.”
“Well,” said her mother, “Until then, hold this for me.” She passed the laundry basket to Lily, pulled a dust rag from the pocket of her apron, and began to dust the record cabinet. Lily held the basket against her chest with both arms. The familiar odor of sweat and dirt filled her nostrils. Looking down into the basket, she noticed the turquoise shorts, still bunched up as she had left them in the back of her bedroom closet.
Lily was reminded of the kinda-sorta promise she’d made to Iris about telling their mother about what had happened. The only thing worse than her fear of telling was her fear of dying with an unconfessed sin on her soul. It would probably be better to spit it out now than to spend eternity in Purgatory. If she told her mother, then at least then she would know for sure, and she could just focus on practicing her ballet. Lily opened her mouth, but the words got balled up inside her throat - the way puke does just before it comes out - making the skin of her face cool and clammy.
“Lily - what is it?” said her mother. “You look like you’ve just seen Tchaikovsky’s ghost.”
Strains of “The Arabian Dance” filled the room, and with her eyes fixed on the crumpled shorts, layered among play clothes and church clothes and bath towels, Lily steeled herself to say the words, the way she did in school when she was called upon but was not entirely sure she knew the answer.
She blurted, “Henry lays on top of me sometimes.”
Speaking the words was like letting the air out of an overinflated balloon, and a wave of relief passed through her.
“What?” said her mother, the smile wilting on her lips. “What do you mean?”
Lily wished she could grab the words out of the air and shove them back into her mouth. She found herself fighting tears, wishing only for her mother to take her into her arms, tell her it was OK. Maybe even make some chocolate milk, sit at the kitchen table, and talk about it.
“He lays on top of me.” She sought another way to say it, but could find none. “He lays on top of me, in the chicken coop. Then he rocks and he yells a little bit, too.”
Lily’s mother just stared. Lily stared back, searching her memory to find a time when she’d seen this expression of shock and fear on her mother’s face, yet unable to remember ever having seen it before. Lily’s heart pounded. “Iris said I should tell you.”
Reaching over, Lily’s mother straightened the tiara on her daughter’s head, and said, “Don’t allow yourself to be alone with him anymore.”
She then went from the zebra plant to the philodendron, to the ficus tree, pouring water into each pot. She tossed the empty watering can into the laundry basket, and took it from Lily’s arms.
“Do you hear me?” she said.
“Yes, Mommy,” Lily replied.
Before Lily had a chance to ask her what to say in confession, Lily’s mother walked out into the living room, leaving Lily standing alone, her tiara glittering in the afternoon sun.
Friday afternoons at school seemed to drag on forever. All Lily could ever think about was how lovely the wall clock looked when it finally struck three. The walk home on Friday was extra nice, because she had Iris all to herself. Iris would tell her the inside scoop on what was going on with the older kids, and who liked whom and who got in trouble doing what. Iris also knew lots of interesting things about the neighbors on Chestnut Crest, because while Lily’s interest in Auntie Rosa’s coffee visits was purely a matter of confection, holding her interest as long as there were still treats on the table, Iris preferred to linger while the grown-ups talked. Her ability to sit for long periods without speaking or moving enabled her to go largely unnoticed, which caused the grownups to say things in front of her that they normally would never say in front of a child. Lily’s walk with Iris helped her to not think too much about how she would spend the afternoon, or whether Henry might be home, and where she could go and what she could do until suppertime to avoid allowing herself to be alone with him.
The Kinley family lived five doors down and had moved into their home the previous week. Mrs. Kinley was on the front steps, shaking the dust out of a small multicolored braided rug. She paused to wave to the girls.
Iris said to Lily, “That’s Mrs. Kinley. She has a retarded son.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Lily asked, waving back.
“He can’t talk right and he walks all funny. His head has extra water in it or something. His name is Willy.”
“How old i
s he? Will he be in my class?” asked Lily.
“No, he won’t be in your class. Retards have to go to a special school because they can’t read and write and stuff.”
Lily jumped up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Willy through the front window. “How did he get like that, anyway?” Lily asked.
“Auntie Rosa says that retards have something wrong with their brains. Sometimes they got hurt when they were being born, but sometimes God just makes them like that. Auntie Rosa says that maybe their parents did bad stuff and God is punishing them.”
“If the parents did bad stuff,” said Lily, “then why didn’t God put extra water in their heads?”
“I dunno. God can make people whatever way He wants to, I guess. Anyway, you shouldn’t question God like that, Lily.”
“Why not?”
“Cuz. He’s God.”
Lily looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Kinley as she disappeared back into the house. It didn’t quite seem fair, really, that God could just do whatever He wanted, making people like Willy suffer with things like extra water in their heads, or having buck teeth and not being graceful, like Lily. People should have something to say about being poor, or retarded, or ugly, or clumsy. After all, God wasn’t the one who had to listen to people call him “beaver,” and He never had to try to nonchalantly give stupid Mrs. Fish a free lunch slip.
When the girls entered the house, they were surprised to find their mother in the kitchen, with her head buried in the refrigerator, as she engaged in her ritual cleaning out of the leftovers. Methodically, she would peel the blue lid back from each plastic container, sniff it, and then either toss the contents into the garbage, put it back into the refrigerator, or eat it.
Peeking over the top of the refrigerator door, she said, “Lily - go pack some clothes. You’re going with Iris to Auntie Rosa’s tonight.”
“I am?” Lily looked at Iris. Iris shrugged.
“Yes. You’ve been signed up for dance lessons in the morning, so now you’ll be taking the bus into the city with Iris on Fridays.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and handed Lily a quarter. “That’s for your bus fare. Auntie Rosa will bring you both back here tomorrow afternoon.”
The Complete Series Page 29