By Any Other Name

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  Leaving the gym in a rush for my next period, I let myself be ensnared by several classmates, bubbling over with excited chatter and laughter. We were sashaying across the quad when I happened to catch a glimpse of a slouching figure following at a discrete distance. A lonely girl wearing a never-been-ironed cotton dress, and a saggy orange and magenta sweater. Rose Coughlin. Heading for the cafeteria like the rest of us.

  Focusing on getting there, I followed my friends as they squeezed through the cafeteria’s double doors and jostled for places in line. One by one, each of us grabbed a tray and waited while Kitty Espinosa heaped a glob of congealed noodles on her tray, examined fruit cups for what, I can’t guess, and accepted two helpings of bread. No one hassled her since everybody was in pretty high spirits because of winter break coming up. We prattled on and on about nothing, happy just being together.

  The lunchroom was always crowded, even though there were four lunch periods, and it was imperative that you laid claim to a table at the beginning of the year and staked out your territory. Grabbing a tray, I hustled after Jenny and Molly, helping myself to milk, chips, and a mystery-meat burger. Luckily we could multi-task because we were all laughing and joking and arguing non-stop until we plopped down at our usual corner table by the windows.

  “What did you get on the quiz from yesterday?” Molly asked as she struggled to open her milk carton.

  “A lousy C,” Jenny moaned. “How ’bout you, Kate?”

  I heard her but took a moment to reply. My attention was on the girl sitting alone at the last table by the kitchen door. Only two other students occupied the table with her, although at the opposite end. Bruce Wilcox, who was slow and whose face was covered in acne, and Bryan Adamski, who stuttered and had a facial tic. Rose Coughlin sat with her back to the boys, hunched over a piece of newspaper that held a ‘sandwich’ consisting of two slices of limp white bread. There didn’t appear to be much of anything in between but yellow mustard.

  “Kate!” Jenny waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth calling Kate.”

  “What’s the matter?” Julia Whitney asked, her eyebrows raised. Julia had short curly black hair, which she refused to straighten, declaring it a gift from her African American heritage, and gorgeous almond-shaped brown eyes. She was forever in tune with people’s feelings so we’d dubbed her the ‘guardian angel’ of the group and meant it. Everybody liked Julia.

  I blinked and snapped to attention. “Oh. Jeez, I’m sorry. I guess my mind was wandering.” Lame.

  “I know why,” Molly giggled. “You were thinking about David Greene, weren’t you?” she teased.

  I felt my cheeks flush, but didn’t contradict her. Better to have them all think I was pining away for David-the-basketball-jock than wondering about what Rose Coughlin was or wasn’t eating for lunch.

  * * * *

  At twenty-three minutes after three, I stood at my locker, stuffing books into my tote bag. I didn’t carry the usual backpack, opting for a colorful tote with the Cape Hattaras lighthouse printed on both sides. Rather cumbersome to carry sometimes, but I preferred the message it sent out. I was cool, calm, and collected; didn’t follow the norm, and was someone who enjoyed traveling.

  I slammed the locker shut then wove through the crowd of students, milling in the hallways and spilling onto the front lawn. I ran toward the bus, infinitely relieved that the day was over. I couldn’t wait to escape to my own bedroom, call Nancy, and unload.

  I mounted the bus steps and flopped onto my seat. The loud voices of kids around me, and the friendly jostling and wrestling over seats didn’t divert my attention. I buried my nose in my lit book and reread a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It wasn’t until I caught a whiff of a familiar woolly, doggy smell, tainted with a sickeningly sweet ‘unmentionable’ odor that I roused from my reading, turned around in the seat, and stared up into the face of Rose Coughlin. Expecting to sit in Nancy’s spot for the ride home.

  Duh.

  THREE

  For an eternity I stared vacantly up at the creature in front of me. Then, realizing a million eyes were watching, I coughed, shut my book with an audible snap and scooted over as close to the window as was physically possible. Staring straight ahead, I writhed in an agony of resentment and swelling anger. Again! I had to endure this insane embarrassment again. I couldn’t believe it. Why it hadn’t occurred to me that of course the Coughlins would ride home in the same seats they’d sat in that morning, I don’t know. It just hadn’t. I guess I’d been a little naïve thinking the ordeal was over, and I could begin to recoup.

  The agonizing stop at the elementary school seemed to take longer this afternoon than ever before. One by one, the little kids boarded the bus. Last but not least, Jimmy-John, still with a runny nose, still with the flushed, chapped cheeks, still staring dully ahead, got on to join his sister, and then we were finally off. The ride to the Coughlin Place actually took only a few minutes although it seemed to me like it went on forever. Mr. Benedict liked to reverse the route going home unlike other drivers, and since they were the last stop in the morning, they were the first stop in the afternoon, which wasn’t fair as that meant I had to remain on the bus for eons.

  When the bus pulled to a grinding halt at their driveway, I allowed myself to take in slow, deep breaths since I’d been practically holding my breath the whole time. I was feeling a little light-headed by the time we reached their place, but the alternative would’ve been worse. Whenever I took a whiff of the girl beside me, I gagged.

  Keeping my hand across my nose and mouth and leaning my elbow on the edge of the window, I watched Rose and Jimmy-John stagger down the short aisle and clomp down the steps. I was a little surprised to see Jimmy-John still held his sister’s hand—so tightly his knuckles were white. What was wrong with him? I wondered. A normal little boy would run ahead, grab handfuls of snow, throw it at his sister, or do something obnoxious. My cousin Steve always did crazy stuff like that to get his older sister’s goat. He’d even tried it on me when we were together. Why didn’t Jimmy-John act like a normal little kid? The whole family was just too, too weird.

  Forgetting my repugnance, I watched in fascination as Rose opened the front door to the warped little house then paused on the sagging porch with Jimmy-John glued to her backside like a burr. For a full minute they just stood there not going any farther. Finally Mr. Benedict leaned on the horn, and they jerked around like startled deer. The bus driver gave one more staccato toot and they rushed inside. The door slammed shut like an exclamation point.

  For the remainder of the journey I was so lost in thought that I was actually surprised when the bus reached my stop. I had to grab my stuff and hurry off so I didn’t get Mr. Benedict in a fit. I didn’t even bother to say good-bye to anyone but pushed ahead of the four others who also got off at this stop. I crossed the icy walk as fast as gravity would allow and dashed into the house. Wonderful savory smells of homemade bread and turkey soup wafted from the kitchen. My mother called out her usual cheery greeting.

  “Kate, sweetie, I’m in the kitchen. Come in before you go upstairs,” she invited.

  I tossed my tote bag on the first step of the staircase, shrugged out of my coat and carried it by two fingers into the cheerful kitchen done in mom’s favorite colors of cherry red and lemon yellow.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said in a voice just short of a whine. My mother was a pretty woman with blonde hair brushing her shoulders. I used to think she looked like a princess when I was little. Now, busily slicing carrots for soup, she just looked like a housewife. She glanced at me and knotted her eyebrows.

  “What’s up? Your tone of voice sounds a tad petulant. Bad day at school?”

  I threw the coat on the floor, kicked at it and then fell into a chair. “Oh, Mom, it was horrible. Remember, I had to sit next to Rose Coughlin on the bus. That’s why I wanted you to drive me. Nancy’s absence left the seat vacant and the vacuous Mr. Benedict—”

  “Kate,” Mom interrupted with disapproval
written all over her face. “That sounds childish.”

  “Well, I begged you and Dad to drive me to school but no, you couldn’t find the time. I could ride the bus, you said. No problem, you said. Well, see what happened?”

  “Kate—”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that, well gosh, Mom, Rose smells. Her sweater smells like a wet dog—one who hasn’t had a bath in a while, mind you—and there’s this totally disgusting odor that literally envelopes her. I think she was having her period and hadn’t changed her pad. Oh, gosh, it was disgusting. And she kept leaning up against me—those seats are so narrow—and her sleeve kept touching my sleeve, and now my good coat smells like her sweater. It’s positively nauseating. And her little brother’s nose was running. Mom, he kept wiping it on his sleeve and—” I knew I was really going out on a limb but couldn’t stop my tirade. Too late.

  “Oh, Kate, stop being so dramatic. You’re acting like a spoiled child. I seriously doubt your coat smells like her sweater. So she smells a little? So what? I think you’re overreacting a bit, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. But, gosh, Mom. Put yourself in my place. Having to sit next to a Coughlin is like—like sitting next to a leper. She should carry a bell and ring it often and say, ‘unclean, unclean.’”

  Mom splashed the last of the carrots into a large pot on the stove, her forehead puckered in one of her serious frowns. “You know, Kate, you should have more compassion for the Coughlins. They are so needy. Rose Coughlin has been in your class since grade school. Why don’t you befriend her? Ask her to join your circle—”

  “Mom, you can’t be serious. I could never do that. I’d lose all my friends. Every last one of them.” I was aghast that she’d even suggest such a thing. Clearly she wasn’t exhibiting any empathy. I don’t think my parents had any.

  “Nancy would still be your friend. Why, you and Nancy have been inseparable since kindergarten. And how about that lovely girl you all call your guardian angel, Jill—”

  “Julia,” I muttered.

  “Yes, Julia. Such a beautiful, sweet girl. She would still be your friend. In fact, she would probably encourage you to befriend Rose. You girls could make it a project of sorts.”

  I bent over and reached for my coat. I didn’t know whether my mother was naïve or just plain simple. ‘Project’, she said. Right. I could just visualize my telling the others what our pet project was going to be.

  Sniffing the left sleeve of my coat, I had to wince, then caught my mother’s eye. “Well, smell it for yourself. I don’t care what you think, I’m sticking the blasted thing in the washer.” I jumped up. “Here, smell it. You tell me if it doesn’t stink to high heaven.”

  Mom just waved the coat aside. “No, Kate, I don’t want to smell it. Why don’t you spray it with that fabric stuff that freshens clothing and upholstery? See if that doesn’t do the trick, okay?”

  I willed myself to remain calm and not snap back. I didn’t want another “grow up and count your blessings” lecture so I nodded and took my coat into the laundry room. Liberally spraying the entire coat with freshener, I left it hanging to dry overnight. Back in the kitchen I grabbed an apple then excused myself to dash up to my room to phone Nancy. She’d be a sympathetic ear at least.

  Nancy answered on the second ring. “Ohmigod, where have you been?” she squealed into the phone. “I thought you’d never call. What happened at school? Anything exciting? Did Mrs. Abrams still yap on an on about the gift-giving rigmarole? Did we have a quiz today in science? When—”

  “Whoa, girl,” I interrupted. “Breathe, girl, breathe.”

  “Well, I’m bored. I hate missing school. I feel like I’ve been out simply ages.”

  “Nan, you’ve only missed one day. A dull, boring Monday, no less. You know nothing much happens on a Monday—even the teachers are tired and down on Mondays,” I laughed but then sobered. “But, something did happen to me. I’m still so sick about it that I don’t know whether I can even get the words out.”

  Nancy was all sympathetic ears. “Mr. Wilcox humiliated you in front of the class,” she guessed. “What a droll, chubby little man.”

  “Well, yes and no. He did say a few sarcastic things—twice, in fact—but that’s not what was so horrible.” I paused for effect. “Because you were absent, your seat on the bus was empty—”

  “So?” Nancy prompted.

  “Don’t you get it? Who sits in seats that are vacant, I wonder? Hmmm?” My voice rose.

  “Oh, god! She didn’t. You didn’t.” Nancy gasped, properly horrified.

  “I did. I mean, she did. Rose Coughlin sat in your seat and that meant I had to sit next to her going and coming. It was so inconceivably horrid, I can’t put it into words. Her sweater stunk to high heaven and—oh, my gosh, you won’t believe this—she was having her period and very obviously hadn’t, well, let’s just say she wasn’t practicing what Ms. Abernathy calls good hygiene.”

  “Oh, god, Kate, that’s disgusting.”

  “You’re telling me. And, Jimmy-John’s nose was running all over the place with him rubbing his sleeve in it and—”

  “Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t be absent again. Well, at least, I’ll make a sincere attempt not to be,” Nancy sympathized. “God, what did Jenny say? And Molly, and the others?”

  “I didn’t tell them. I figured the story would get around on its own. I just pretended the whole thing hadn’t bothered me and tried to remain blasé. But, you can imagine how freaked I was. And, what was even more frustrating, our intrepid Ms. Wayne chose that momentous moment in time to walk down the hall and see me standing there, with Rose practically clinging to my arm like some pathetic waif. She looked totally disgusted—Ms. Wayne I mean—and I about died from humiliation right there on the spot. Oh, Nancy, Ms. Wayne probably thinks that Rose and I are friends. Can you think of anything more repugnant?” My voice broke.

  Nancy dove right in. “Oh, no she doesn’t, Kate. Don’t worry about it. Ms. Wayne is far too intelligent and sophisticated to think anything remotely like that. She knows your parents—who you are in the community. She knows your people wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of the Coughlins.”

  Nancy always had the knack of making anything and everything seem perfectly reasonable. So I felt good about changing the subject. For the next half-hour, we prattled on about which guys in our class were studs and which were major losers, when we’d get our driver’s licenses, and what we’d wear this week, then said reluctant good-byes and hung up.

  Somewhat mollified, I closed my phone, tossed it aside and stared at my tote bag. Even though homework was the farthest thing from my mind, I dragged it to my desk, made an attempt to review for an upcoming test, but couldn’t focus. Mental pictures of Rose and Jimmy-John Coughlin flitted through my mind. I’d read over a couple of vocabulary words, then one would trigger a memory that brought me right back to the Coughlins.

  Frustrated, I closed the book with a resounding snap and flopped down on my bed. Grabbing my pillow, I buried my face in its sweet-smelling softness. The fabric softener mom used lingered, and I breathed in hungry gulps of the light floral scent that carried me back to summer vacations on my grandparents’ farm. The memory of lilacs and roses and Grams’s garden flooded my senses. I loved my visits to the farm where Dad had grown up. I loved helping my grandmother do laundry, hanging the sheets out on the line to dry in the warm, fragrant sunshine—something we never did at home. It was old-fashioned and silly, but I enjoyed it.

  Rolling onto my back, I let out a long sigh. For some stupid, illogical reason, I wondered whether Rose Coughlin had sweet-smelling sheets on her bed. Did she even have a bed? The thought was nearing the don’t-go-there zone so I tried to think of something else. I thought of the winter break coming up, of Christmas. I thought about secret pals, and parties, and David Greene. But I couldn’t shake the vision of Rose Coughlin and her silly, shame-faced little half-smile. The horrid creature was haunting me.

  After
dinner, I watched TV then attempted to do some more homework. I was barely able to finish the algebra assignment and read the next world history chapter before my eyes drooped. No use. Exhausted from my horrendous ordeal, I plain needed some sleep. Tomorrow would be a better day. Tomorrow I’d resume my normal routine and think only of the coming holiday. No more Rose Coughlin. I’d absolutely not think any more about her and her shriveled up little brother, Jimmy-John.

  FOUR

  I entered the school building in a daze. I didn’t drink alcohol—never tried it—but if I did, I know I’d feel like this. The bright fluorescent lights gave me a headache. The floor undulated like a rippling sea. I had to blink several times because the bright light hurt my eyes. Looking around in desperation, I tried to find someone I knew, but the only person I saw was Mr. Spanovick, a tenth grade teacher who monitored the halls like a prison guard. He stared at me, and I looked down at what I was wearing, afraid I was unbuttoned.

  To my mortification, I saw that, although fully clothed and buttoned, my feet were without stockings and shoes. My pink toes with the brightly painted toenails were as bare as a summer day at the beach. Suddenly, the hall over-flowed with jostling students and teachers and even the principal, Mr. Franklin. They lined both sides of the hallway and began laughing and pointing at me. Humiliated, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t even think. Nowhere to hide.

  Then I spied Jenny and Molly in the crowd and cried out to them. They ignored me. Instead, they looped arms with someone in an orange and magenta sweater, and sauntered down the hall singing, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my.” leaving me mortified.

  “No,” I screamed.