The Trouble with Emily Dickinson

by Lyndsey D'Arcangelo

  “Not quite.”

  “She doesn’t like me very much, does she?”

  They were in front of the coffee shop now, lingering on the sidewalk as the night wrapped itself around them.

  “Christine doesn’t know you. That’s all,” said Kendal. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m glad you asked me to come with you tonight.”

  “Me, too,” JJ said, smiling. She reached for the doorknob, but Kendal had grabbed it first. Their hands closed on top of one another’s and remained clasped longer than they needed to be.

  “I was—I wanted to get the door for you,” JJ struggled to explain.

  Kendal laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond. Her hand still burned from JJ’s touch, giving off a sensation she hadn’t recalled ever feeling before. She walked into the coffee shop in a haze, with JJ directly on her heels.

  They sat in the corner near the window, at a secluded table that offered a full view of the stage in the back of the room.

  “What time is the poetry slam?” Kendal asked.

  “I don’t know,” JJ said, hoping the stage would remain empty as long as possible. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of talented poets who lacked stage fright to impress Kendal with their tapestry of words while JJ sat quietly at their table.

  A roving waitress appeared, and both JJ and Kendal ordered hot chocolate before embarking on a spirited conversation that carried on effortlessly over the next couple of hours. They talked about anything and everything they could, and neither of them held back.

  “I have no athletic ability whatsoever,” Kendal confessed. “Once, during a tryout for the 40-yard dash, I tripped over my own two feet and knocked the runner in the lane beside me off the track.”

  JJ laughed. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m quite serious actually. It was so embarrassing. But forget about me, what about you? I can’t believe you were in a beauty pageant.” Kendal shifted in her chair and placed both hands face down on the coffee table in disbelief. “Did you win?”

  “I didn’t even come close. When it came to the talent portion, I panicked and ran off stage.” JJ recalled the day of the pageant, how she’d been dressed in a nice gown and felt so out of place. “It was awkward to say the least. And when I show them the pictures, people who know me as I am now don’t believe that it’s me.”

  “You have pictures?”

  “Sure do. My mom had one framed and it’s still sitting on the fireplace mantle at home. It’s like she’s holding on to something I used to be.”

  “Did you look that different?”

  “Totally different. I wore make-up, and my hair was long. It came down past my shoulders.”

  “Wow. I have to see those pictures.”

  “No, you don’t. I want you to know me as I am now, the real me, not the younger me that was insecure and confused.”

  “Do your parents know about you?”

  “You mean—do they know that I’m gay?” JJ licked her lips. “I told them after my sophomore year at Sampson.”

  “Was that hard?”

  “Incredibly,” said JJ honestly. “It was probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my life so far. It was tough explaining that I was the same person inside that I had always been.”

  “Same? How?”

  “Personality wise, I’m the same. But back then I acted different, and tried to fit in. I was very uncomfortable in my own skin.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  “You?” JJ asked skeptically.

  “What—you think I have it easy?” Kendal straightened up, clearly offended. “I’m so sick of everyone thinking that just because I have a pretty face that I must have it easy in life.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “When I first came here,” Kendal continued, “everyone assumed that I was this pretty girl with no brains. And because I knew that everyone thought that, I became that. I played the role. I played the pretty girl who wasn’t smart.” Kendal sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. “I’m still playing the same role now.”

  “I’m sorry,” JJ offered. “I didn’t know.”

  “You said you felt uncomfortable in your own skin? Sometimes I feel so uncomfortable in mine that I wish I could be someone completely different for a day just to see how it would feel. So what if I’m popular? So what if I was homecoming queen last year? It means nothing to me. I admire you so much because you know who you are and you know what you want out of life. I have no idea who I am. And it’s sad that after three years I don’t feel like I’ve changed at all. I’ll probably go off to college and fit the same mold as I did in high school.”

  “But you are changing,” JJ professed. “There’s so much more to you. You’re so open and willing to put yourself out there. People who are closed-minded are the ones who don’t change. Look at Christine. I bet she’ll be the same person in college as she is now.”

  “Before I met you, I was just like her.”

  “You aren’t anything like her. You’re not only incredibly beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re open-minded and you’re a free spirit. There are so many things about you that amaze me. Things you don’t give yourself enough credit for.”

  It was only after JJ saw the grateful expression on Kendal’s face that she realized what she’d said.

  “You think I’m smart?” Kendal asked, just to be sure.

  “I think you’re smarter than you realize,” JJ told her. “Emily Dickinson would be impressed.”

  “Speaking of Dickinson, you owe me a poem,” Kendal said adamantly.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “I told you a secret.”

  “Which was—”

  “Which was about how I feel like I haven’t changed at all. I’ve never told anyone that before, so that makes it a secret.”

  JJ wasn’t about to argue. She fished out her journal from her backpack and slid it across the table to Kendal, who flipped it open with the bright-eyed anticipation of a kid on Christmas morning.

  “What’s Mother May I about?” Kendal asked, after skimming through the pages.

  JJ rolled her eyes. Of all the poems in her journal, Kendal had to choose that one.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.” JJ paused, and then decided to just let everything spill out all at once. “That’s the poem that I submitted in writing class that my teacher wants me to read out loud because she likes it so much, only I don’t want to read it because of my stage fright issue, and if I don’t read it, then she’s going to lower my grade.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if I helped you?” Kendal asked.

  “How?”

  “You can practice with me. You can read your poem out loud in front of me.”

  “I have to do this by Monday. It’s Friday night. How am I going to get over a lifetime of stage fright in only two days?”

  “We’ll start now,” Kendal motioned to the journal and handed it back to JJ.

  “Not here!” JJ panicked, looking around. The coffee shop was packed with people getting ready to participate in the poetry slam.

  “Then let’s go someplace else.”

  “Don’t you want to stay and watch the poetry slam?”

  “I’d rather help you instead,” said Kendal. “You’ve really opened my eyes to poetry in such a way that I actually enjoy it. I feel like I owe you or something.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Still—I’d like to help you if I can. That is, if you’ll let me.”

  JJ considered the offer. “Okay,” she agreed. “But where can we go? I don’t want to go to back to my dorm or yours. I need someplace private.”

  “I know a place.” Kendal stood up and tugged JJ, almost taking her by the hand. “Come on. You showed me your favorite hangout. Now it’s time for me to show you mine.”

  Just before they left the coffee shop, Kendal
glanced at her cell phone. She was supposed to text Christine, then meet up with her at the soccer party. But here she was with JJ instead. Without saying a word, Kendal slid her cell phone back into her a purse. She smiled eagerly at JJ, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Christine was busy making out with Jason in the dark when Kyan walked right into the dorm room and flipped on the light.

  “I thought you said she was coming tonight,” he said, sounding frustrated. “It’s after ten and she’s not here yet.”

  Christine peeled herself away from Jason, who now glared at Kyan. “Seriously, dude?” he grumbled. “You’ve got issues.”

  “I’ve got issues?” Kyan shot back. “No way. This girl is crazy. She ditched an invite-only soccer party.” He turned to Christine. “Who does that?”

  The invite-only soccer party was considered the highlight of the fall semester, aside from winter formal. The soccer wing was lit up with white lights for extra ambiance. There were fresh cut roses in vases in every room, and all of the soccer guys got dressed up in their best attire. For Kyan that meant wearing black slacks, a dark-blue button-down shirt and a blue and white striped tie. Apparently, he had gotten all dressed up for nothing.

  “I don’t know where she is,” said Christine, and she scrolled through her text messages on her iPhone. “She hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

  “How late was that poetry thing supposed to go?” Kyan pressed.

  “Why don’t you go find out,” Jason offered, impatiently. He was still sitting on the couch, waiting for Kyan to leave so he could get back to kissing his girlfriend.

  “She should be here with me. That’s how this whole thing was supposed to turn out. I’m the best looking guy on campus. What gives?”

  Christine held up her hands. “I don’t know. She’s been acting so strange lately. I swear… if she doesn’t come tonight, she’s going to regret it.”

  “I’m going to regret it,” said Kyan. “I wasted thirty bucks on this tie!”

  Jason had heard enough. He stood up. “She’s probably on her way here right now,” he said, as he nudged Kyan out of the room.

  “Let me try and call her,” said Christine, as she held up her iPhone. But before she could hit the “send” button, Jason plucked it from her hands and tossed it on the bed. “Would you two relax? If she wants to come, she’ll come.” He raised an eyebrow at Kyan, who finally took the hint.

  “I’ll go wait for her on the front steps,” Kyan said miserably, and closed the door behind him.

  Jason turned the light off and resumed his position next to Christine on the couch. But she clearly was distracted, and stood up instantly to look out the window.

  “If you don’t come tonight, Kendal, I’ll tell the whole school that you’re a lesbian,” she whispered under her breath.

  “What did you say?” Jason asked.

  “Never mind.”

  CHAPTER 22

  JJ and Kendal left the coffee shop, with Kendal leading the way across the school campus to the soccer field. They huddled together, appearing as one shadow instead of two in the dim street lighting that led their way.

  Kendal crept under the bleachers, urging JJ to follow. And follow she did. They ducked their heads and crouched along to the opposite end of the bleachers where the scorers’ box was attached. Perched up high on a platform, the scorers’ box was supported by tall beams enclosed with a tarp tied around them on three sides, the side to the bleachers being left open. JJ and Kendal were able to sneak under the scorers’ box through the bleachers, and were completely hidden by the tarp. A worn wool blanket had been shoved in between the metal bars, keeping it off the grass so that it wouldn’t get wet. Kendal grabbed the blanket, unfolded and spread it out. In the middle of the blanket, she’d stuffed a flashlight. She turned it on, illuminating the spot.

  “Come here often?” JJ asked, eyeing the flashlight.

  “Until it gets too cold,” Kendal told her. “I found this spot during my freshman year, in the spring after I had made the cheerleading squad. Everyone on the team was pulling these wild and crazy pranks on the new girls. I was so scared every time I walked across campus.”

  She sat down on the blanket and crossed her legs. JJ sat down beside her.

  “Christine told me that they grabbed her coming out of the library late one night, took her to the soccer dorm and made her do all of their laundry. She said it was the most disgusting thing she ever had to do in her entire life. I didn’t want that happening to me.”

  “So you hid here?”

  “For practically the entire spring semester of school.” Kendal sighed, as if she were reminiscing about a childhood tree house. “I’d come here right after eating at the dining hall, and after classes to read or do homework. I even slept out here once or twice.”

  “Really? I never imagined you as the type of girl who could rough it.”

  “I’m full of surprises. See, the rule was that they couldn’t grab us in public places with teachers and adults around. That included the library, dining hall, and classroom buildings. They couldn’t keep us from going to class either. But as soon as we were finished with classes for the day and walked outside, we were fair game. So, they’d watch us go into some place, wait until we came out, and grab us. No one ever found me here.”

  “That’s pretty clever,” said JJ.

  “This hiding spot was so good, that it got to the point where they’d all eat with me in the dining hall so that they could grab me as soon as I walked outside. But that never worked either. I’d just sit in the dining hall until they left or I’d exit out the side door. I had all my routes mapped carefully.”

  “I can’t believe you went through all that just to be a part of the cheerleading squad.”

  Kendal waved her hand nonchalantly in the air. “It was fun at the time,” she said.

  “Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

  “Oh, come on,” Kendal argued. “You’re telling me that you weren’t hazed as a freshman on the basketball team?”

  JJ pondered the question, even though she already knew the answer. Yes, she’d gone through hazing. Especially the time she was forced to carry a ball everywhere she went across campus, and if any of the older players saw her without the ball then she was forced to do sprints, push-ups and sit-ups on the spot.

  “Okay, you got me there,” JJ admitted. “But at least it wasn’t so bad that I had to find a hiding spot.”

  Kendal glowered at her, and then laughed because she wasn’t able to keep a straight face.

  “You aren’t at all what I thought you were,” said JJ.

  “You keep saying that. I’m hoping it’s a good thing.”

  “Trust me. It is.”

  Kendal played with her fingers, a nervous habit over which she’d little control. “Are we going to talk about your poem, or what?”

  JJ blinked twice, as if she suddenly remembered the reason why they were there in the first place. She took out her journal and marked the page that contained the poem. “How am I supposed to do this again?”

  “Stand up over there,” Kendal ordered. “And read it to me as if you were in class.”

  JJ reluctantly stood up and walked about five feet away. She cleared her throat, opened her mouth wide and said, “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “I can’t—I can’t read it.”

  “Why not? You read a couple of lines from Emily Dickinson out loud when we first met.”

  “Yeah, but that was different.”

  “Why?”

  JJ’s shoulders slumped forward, “Because I was trying to make a point. I wouldn’t have done that if anyone else had been around. And that was Dickinson’s poem. It’s twice as hard reading my own stuff.”

  “What is holding you back?”

  “I don’t know—the fear of rejection from the crowd?” JJ knew she sounded like a bratty five-year-old at that moment, but she didn’t care. “I feel stupid. C
an’t we just talk instead?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “I don’t know—maybe if I talk for a little bit, I’ll feel comfortable enough to read this.” JJ pointed to the poem as she spoke. “I just feel incredibly nervous for some reason.”

  “We can do whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

  “Good.” JJ gladly rejoined Kendal on the blanket, relieved to be out of the spotlight.

  “Let’s talk about the poem,” Kendal said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, for starters, what are you so nervous about? Your writing is good. Are you afraid to share it because it’s personal?”

  “That’s a ridiculous question.”

  “How come?”

  “Because there’s no getting around that. Poetry is personal. It has to be, because you’re putting your emotions out there whenever you write a poem.”

  “So how does revealing something personal make you feel?”

  “What are you, my therapist?” JJ snorted.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help here,” Kendal replied. “It’s obvious you have some insecurity about sharing something personal about yourself.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m being honest. That’s not the problem. It’s not about revealing something personal about myself. I’m honest and upfront about myself. You know that.”

  “Then what is it? Insecurity about your writing?”

  “Bingo,” JJ said, and fell over on her back. “I’m more afraid of what people are going to think than anything else.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Kendal maintained. “Your writing is amazing. And it can’t be any more difficult than coming out to people. Even though you maybe had a fear of rejection, you still did it. Look how comfortable you are with yourself now.”

  “Wow,” said JJ as if a light bulb had just lit up in her head. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “It’s the same principal. Some people may not respond in the best way, but it sounds like most people in your life have been supportive. It’s the same with your writing. Some people may not like it, but I bet most people will.”