The Cheer Leader

by Jill McCorkle

  “She’s afraid that I’m mad at her,” Red said loudly and hugged me close. I hated him right then. “Isn’t that right?”

  We were stopped in front of my house so I nodded and jumped out quickly. Red had a firm grip on my arm and twisted it when I tried to get away. “You know I’m not mad at you anymore.”

  “Hey, Jo’s home.” Andy parked his bike, ran up on the porch and knocked on the window until Mama came outside.

  “How was the trip?” she yelled, and waved whatever she was knitting.

  “Great! Jo never really got the hang of it, got a little too brave for her first try, had a little accident, but she’s okay. We had a great time, didn’t we?” Red was staring at me so I nodded.

  “Oh yeah, it was a ball.” I ran up to the porch and then turned and waved at Red. I watched him get into the car and then the car got smaller and smaller and it felt good just like being in the moving chair. I felt like I needed to do something big, join a club and become the president of it, rededicate my life or something equivalent, though I had never been a believer in rededications. If everything that they told you when you dedicated the first time was true, then there would be no cause to redo it. People did not give God credit for having good sense, and Red had never given me the credit that I deserved.

  It had been a month since I had seen or talked to Red. He had only called once right after the skiing trip to say that he needed some time to “find himself.” It was very appropriate that he should do that, since finding oneself was as popular as tee shirts bearing the names of rock groups. At first it didn’t faze me; I was almost relieved that the lies had stopped, that the old bathroom, bathrobe thoughts had returned. I was constantly seeking a definition of love since I now had some experience on the subject. I spent a great deal of time reading what others thought of love, looking for that definition. It seemed that roses were of some importance: “A rose is a rose is a rose,” “O my luve’s like a red, red rose,” “It was no more or less, really, than we had expected: rose after rose after rose,” “O Rose, thou art sick!” Too, I discovered that love can be a very depressing thing. It maketh thou heartsick with grief, it maketh thou feel like shit. That’s how I began to feel most of the time but I could not tell anyone; I had to smile like a good Jo Jo because they could not have taken it. They could never have understood.

  My friends said how good it was that I acted normal again, that I seemed so happy like the old Jo. Tricia even had Cindy, Lisa and me to spend the night at her house in my honor. Lisa even baked a cake and wrote in that yellow gel stuff “Welcome Back Jo” as though I had been off somewhere for ages. They were so glad that Red was out of my life, so happy, that I never could have told them the truth, that I missed him, that I did not know what to do without him. I had to find something to do without him, which really wasn’t difficult when I tried.

  I was made co-chairman for making all of the plans for the May Court dance and though I was accused behind my back by several girls in my class of trying to use this all out, pert, winning way of mine to be elected the May Queen, it did not bother me for I knew that the entire role was a disguise, a way to keep myself from ever being exposed again. The truth is that I was elected May Queen; the truth is that that wasn’t enough. It still upset me to even hear R-e-d’s name, to think of him. I tried very hard to control it, especially the day that Beatrice let me know in a subtly blatant way that Red had been down at the lake with Buffy, that he had also been with a real shady girl named Martha who had been married for four weeks and then divorced. I told myself that if he was after scum, that he had no business with me. I told myself that one day, when he was all mangled up and dying, that my name would be the only murmur from his pained sorry lips.

  Still, it bothered me. It bothered me mostly about Buffy because I could see what Red would see in her, what most guys saw in her, what I, had I been a male would never have seen in her because I would have been much too smart for that. Red was not smart enough, not like Bobby, not like Pat Reeves. And, just the thought of Pat Reeves made me feel better. I kept thinking that maybe Pat hadn’t really meant all that he said that night of the Christmas dance, that maybe he had really cared and was just covering up, that maybe he still cared. I had nothing to lose. I wrote him a letter, telling him that Red and I had broken up, that I never should have dated Red in the first place, that it would be nice if we could get together sometime. I must have read that letter a hundred times before ever mailing it, afraid that I would get a note back that said word for word what Pat had said that night outside of the gym. I mailed it on a Monday and Pat called me on Wednesday; he came home that weekend.

  He came home almost every weekend in February and March and we did all of the things that we used to do, went to the movies, played Password with my parents, took long walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes, if Tricia, Cindy and Lisa, or any combination of the three, did not have dates, we would ask them along to go for pizza or to the movies and Pat didn’t even mind. Not once did Lisa ever call him queer; Cindy liked to talk to him because she wanted to find out about college math courses; Tricia simply liked him because he did have those perfect chiseled features, something that I had never even noticed. He even seemed genuinely pleased that I had already been named May Queen. Of course they always named the Queen early so that there would be time to get her picture in the annual. Still, Pat seemed impressed and he didn’t even make any high school cracks. It seemed he thought that I was an exception to any rule, that I was the first and only Queen ever named. Of course, we never made any commitments; we simply dated and he even told me he might date other people at school. I told him that was fine because I knew that he wouldn’t and he didn’t. He just kept writing long letters, appearing at my house on Friday nights, seeing me to the door after a date. There were a couple of times when we kissed, really kissed, and I would have to peek only to find those large hazel eyes staring at me, at which the kiss would turn to a friendly hug, a kiss on the forehead or cheek. I knew those times that if I told him I loved him that he would say the words back to me, that a commitment would be made. There were times when I was tempted but then, I couldn’t do that.

  It had been three months since Red and I broke up and though I tried not to think of it, I was very aware of the time that had passed. I needed to do something. I found an old purple dress that my mother had worn one Halloween and put it on. I teased my hair out, put on red lipstick, black gloves and dug up my mother’s old lizard purse which I carried with me to Parker’s drugstore. I walked all the way, just swinging my purse and taking my time because it was a beautiful Saturday morning. The booths in the fountain area were overflowing with shoppers and salespeople but I managed to find one empty stool at the counter and squeezed right in. I ordered a cherry Mountain Dew and sat there sipping even though I knew that everyone was staring at me. I decided that the only way I could drink my drink without budging from that green vinyl stool was to pretend that I was the only person in town who was normal. It worked and when I walked outside and saw the way that the sun made everything look so sharp and clear, I decided I was going to be that way from then on. No acts, I was Joslyn Marie Spencer and I was no either/or.

  Cars kept stopping to look at me but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered. Why, those people should be ashamed of themselves looking the way that they did; copies, copies, copies. Didn’t they know that they were seeing an original person? Get your eyes full and then fill your pockets!

  “Jo? What are you doing?” Out of the blue day, Red steps out of K-Mart’s auto center. He has gotten a haircut and it looks nice that way, a “nice” cut like Bobby’s, like Pat Reeves. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his shirt and starts walking towards me but I pay him no mind. I just keep walking and swinging my lizard purse behind me. “Hey, wait up!” He runs up and grabs my arm the exact same way that he grabbed it that last day we were together, only this time, it is a softer, more tender grab. His eyes are softer; his hair is short; his clothes are neat except
for the grease splotches. “What’s this? Some kind of initiation?”

  “You could say that.” I smile at him and it doesn’t even hurt me. I don’t even feel my cheeks puff up like a chipmunk and my lips spread, my teeth shine.

  “You look great,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to call you.”

  “So, why didn’t you?” I open my purse to get my red lipstick and put some more on. I can apply it without looking.

  “I was afraid that you would never speak to me again after the way that I hurt you.” He looks down at the toe of his tennis shoe and scuffs it back and forth like a pitiful little boy who has done wrong. Yes, he is trained well. “I’ve been so dumb. I wanted to surprise you, to show you the new me.”

  All work and short hair makes you dull, I think, and I want to say it aloud to test out the sound of that but I’m not ready for such a display. I choose to say, “I see you got a haircut.”

  “Yes, but that’s not all,” he says. “Jo, I realize how foolish I’ve been. I know how you feel about my friends, so many of the things that I do and I see that you’re right. You are the only thing that matters to me.” He takes hold of my hands and pulls me out of the road so that cars won’t have to keep going around me. “Please, let’s start all over.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve been getting along just fine. I’m the May Queen, you know. In just five weeks, I’ll be crowned the May Queen.”

  “I know,” he says and I don’t even get a chance to ask how he knows before he launches into a long speech about how he’s changed, seen the light, the truth will set you free, hallelujah, praise the Lord, and he’s going to prove it to me, to Bobby, my parents, my friends; he knows it won’t be easy, but he’s going to try. Somewhere during that speech I see myself as the winner, the crusader who has saved a fellow man from the shady side, accomplished a mission all by dressing up and going to Parker’s drugstore for a cherry Mountain Dew. Was this what I had been waiting for? Was this an answer? Who knows but I said yes, knowing that if I was wrong that I had mastered the art of pretending that I was the norm, the original, the correct.

  It seems that everything happened so fast. I had forgotten that Pat Reeves was home and that we had a date that night. When he got there, just fifteen minutes before Red was scheduled to arrive, I couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth, which as they say, hurts. Pat Reeves accused me of using him; he accused me of having no interest in him whatsoever. He said that he hoped that I would be very happy with Red, and when he left, he looked at me one good time, as if I might laugh and say it was a joke, tell him that I had changed my mind, and then he turned and left, leaving the front door standing wide open. I had to ignore all of that, pretend that that never happened, tell myself that I had done the right thing no matter what anybody else had to say, believe that Red was sincere, believe that he really did work every night except Friday and Saturday which he quickly adopted as the nights he would eat at my house and watch T.V. That was, he said, the way to win my parents’ confidence. Maybe, he said, he could go running with Bobby when Bobby came home; maybe, he said, he could take Andy out and teach him how to high jump or how to keep his minibike tuned up. He was trained very well and I had the greatest feeling of hope that everything was just fine. I had always heard, “You may shit on me once, but no one gets the chance to do it twice.” I gave Red that second chance, just like Pat Reeves had given me.

  I feel very guilty about not seeing Red on a Friday night but I have to work on the May dance decorations with Tricia, Lisa and Cindy. “Do what you want,” Red says, “if it’s that important to you, I guess I’ll just have to understand.”

  “I really need to,” I say and I have this awful feeling that I am going to cause him to go away again. “Maybe I can see you later.”

  “No, I don’t want you driving down to the lake at night. I’d worry about you.” His voice is filled with concern and this makes me feel much better. “Go and do what you have to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Red,” I say because he is so understanding these days.

  Beatrice stops by the high school for just long enough to run in the tissue paper that she is supposed to bring. “Here, Jo,” she says and hands me the paper even though there are plenty of people closer to her. It always surprises me that Beatrice always, in some small way, helps out with all of the dances and school functions that she makes so much fun of. Sometimes, she acts like she wants to be friends in an odd way or maybe she feels guilty and uncomfortable because I’ve seen her messed up so many times. She is probably afraid that I will talk about her.

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “Aren’t you going to stay and work?”

  “No, I’ve got plans,” she says and puts her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and stretches. I hear a few people laugh but it doesn’t faze Beatrice. “Big plans,” she says loud enough for everyone to hear. “I thought you’d be going to the party, too, Jo, or are you and Red on the outs again?” She stares and her eyes look funny, like they’re crossing again; she has bags under her eyes like she’s been crying.

  “No, we’re fine,” I say though I have to climb up a ladder and adjust the chicken wire planet that we are constructing. “I just needed to be here tonight.”

  “That’s a shame,” she says. “Scott and Wanda throw really good parties. I’m sure Red must have told you that they’re using his place to have it.”

  “Oh yes,” I say and then I watch Beatrice swing down the hall with a confidence that I have never seen in her. I suppose that Mark Fuller has made her that way. All of a sudden, I feel like I have been socked in the stomach, that it is all happening again. Cindy, Tricia and Lisa follow me into the bathroom because I am crying. I have been crying since I crawled down from the top of that ladder without putting one piece of tissue paper into the chicken wire, red paper for Mars. We are constructing the universe; our theme for the dance is about space though I can’t remember the exact words.

  “What is the theme for our dance?” I ask so that they will forget I’m crying.

  “Jo Spencer, look at me!” Lisa says and her voice has that strong but soothing maternal effect. It makes me cry more. “Red has you upset, doesn’t he? That’s been the trouble lately.”

  “Is that true?” Cindy stands back as though I’m contagious and whispers.

  “There weren’t ever problems at home, were there?” Lisa is very persistent like a mother. “All those things that we’ve ever heard about Red are true, aren’t they?”

  “All what things?” I ask and what I really want to know are the exact words about the universe. What are those small words that will forever bind the class of 1975 when aliens dig up a big chicken wire planet?

  “Jo, you know. Don’t act like you don’t!” Lisa swings me around and makes me look in the mirror. “Look at you, your eyes. They’re always puffy from crying.” It is noticeable; I can’t believe that I have not noticed this myself, that my friends have and didn’t tell me.

  “That’s no way for the Queen to look,” Tricia says and tries to get a laugh.

  “And dieting,” Lisa continues. “Look at you, a size seven. I wear elevens, do I look fat?” Lisa steps back and I look at her. No, she doesn’t look fat at all. I shake my head. She is tall and can carry it. I am short and cannot. I can’t carry weight. I look back at myself and it is obvious that I cannot carry my weight. There is simply too much of me; there is way too much.

  “Does Red do that to you, too?” Lisa continues. I have to think about that. Does Red do that to me, too? If it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a girl who doesn’t take care of her body, Red says. Don’t you ever get that way, Jo. No, no, I will never get that way.

  “I just like to watch my weight,” I say.

  “Well, you can watch it without starving yourself,” Cindy says a little bit louder.

  “Really, Jo,” Tricia says and puts her arm around my shoulder. “What have you got to be upset about?”

  “Dump him!�
� Lisa says. “There are loads of guys that want to go out with you, Pat Reeves for one!” That is hard to believe. Pat Reeves doesn’t care about me; he said so one time. They just want me to be without a boyfriend. They don’t know all I know about Red; they don’t know what Red can be like I know.

  “You hate Red, don’t you?” I turn around so that I don’t have to look at myself. “You’ve always hated Red!”

  “It’s not that so much as we hate what he’s doing to you!” Lisa is crying which is dumb. Grown up mother types don’t cry, or do they? Did my mother cry when I told her that I was ugly or did I cry? What are those words about the universe? No, none of that happened and the truth is that I don’t cry, ever, not really. And none of this is true. I can go right down to the lake and everything will be fine.

  “I have to go to the lake,” I say. “Red is expecting me.”

  “Jo, don’t go,” Lisa pleads. She is begging and Cindy is begging. Tricia doesn’t say anything. “You’d have to be crazy to go down there alone,” Lisa says and grabs my arm.

  “But, I told him that I’d go.” Yes, now I have myself together.

  “I’ll go with her,” Tricia says and hands the tissue paper that she has been holding to Cindy. “Let’s go, Jo, before it gets too late.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her and I face Cindy and Lisa whose mouths are wide open. “I’m okay, Y’all. We’ll be careful and we’ll be right back.”

  “Call me,” Lisa says and then looks at Tricia. “Please don’t stay down there long. I may have my nights on occasion but nothing like what goes on at the lake at night.”

  “I hope everything’s okay, Jo,” Cindy whispers and Tricia pulls my arm and I follow her, down the long silent halls of the high school, through the parking lot to her car. It is a silent night and we listen to the radio all the way to the lake. Tricia keeps saying that she is doing this only for me, that she doesn’t think we should be doing it. I listen to her but it doesn’t bother me because I know that Tricia will see the truth, that everything is fine and then, I’ll have a witness.