Little Miss Strange

by Joanna Rose

  I turned to go back down the stairs, and my hightops squeaked on the floor, wet, snow melting, and Cassandra Wiggins said, “Wait.”

  She stepped back from the doorway, back into all the light.

  “Just for a little bit,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

  She walked over by the couch, looking back at me, and she sat on the arm of the couch. I came in, and I shut the door behind me, and stood right there, still and straight by the door. Cassandra Wiggins crossed one leg over her other leg, her long black jeans, her pointy-toed cowboy boots. She folded her arms over her chest.

  “Sarajean,” she said.

  I leaned back against the door. Folded my arms over my chest.

  “So,” Cassandra Wiggins said. “How you doing?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Everything’s okay?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The Who’s Next face looked in the window behind her.

  “Well,” she said. “I wanted to talk about something important.”

  I put my fists into my jacket pockets, wrapping my cold fingers inside each other.

  She said, “You know what I think is the most important thing there is?”

  She looked at me.

  “Yeah?” I said. “No.”

  “People loving each other,” she said.

  The glass doors of the bookshelf were open.

  She said, “Sometimes people don’t understand about that.”

  One jeweled edge caught the light from somewhere, caught the light and threw it back pink.

  “There are different ways of loving,” she said. “Like, Margo is my best friend. But she’s my special best friend.”

  Her cowboy boot up on one knee jiggled.

  “Sometimes women love each other,” she said.

  I waited.

  She said, “Do you know what I mean?”

  “No,” I said. “Well, kind of.”

  “What do you think I mean?” she said.

  My nose was starting to drip. Thawing out.

  “It’s like this,” she said. “Sometimes two women love each other.”

  She said, “It’s a secret, that’s all. But you can be in on the secret.”

  My toes were going from frozen to wet.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well.”

  I said, “Okay. But I have to go. I have to go find Elle. I told her six.”

  Cassandra Wiggins stood up. She shut one of the glass doors. She shut the other one, and the little latch clicked. She put her hands in her back pockets.

  She said, “So, we’re okay, right? With this secret?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I got to go,” I said.

  “’Bye,” I said.

  Walking fast.

  Some girls in the bathroom were talking about some other girl who was lesbian. They said that. They said she would never have a baby, because lesbians didn’t get periods. But Margo had Elle. And John and Robbie. And there were Tampax tampons in the cabinet over the bathroom sink. Maybe it was just Cassandra Wiggins who was lesbian. Lesbians kissed each other. Instead of ever kissing guys, they just kissed each other. Touched each other’s breasts.

  LADY JANE sang songs in the mornings at our house, little bits of songs from the radio, or songs from the records she played, Jimmy Henry’s records. She never knew all the words, just little bits of words that she sang over and over. Sometimes when I came home at night, Lady Jane was there, singing the same song she had been singing in the morning.

  Her blue sweater with the leather on the elbows was hanging on the back of the chair by the door one morning. The blue sweater never moved after that, or maybe she put it on sometimes and then put it back on the chair. Scarves started to hang from doorknobs. One night there were wet blue kneesocks hanging by the towel in the bathroom. Brown sandalwood soap was in the soapdish by the bathtub. There were long blond hairs mixed in with the brown ones in the hairbrush, long blond hairs, long straight brown hairs, and my long dark curling hairs, all in our hairbrush.

  I kept my Tampax tampons in my dresser drawer, in with my underpants and socks. I kept my money from Someone’s Beloved Threads in there, in with the Tampax tampons.

  I didn’t tell Elle that I started my periods. I didn’t tell Elle that Lady Jane was moving into our house, one piece of stuff at a time. When I saw Elle at school, I didn’t tell her anything. I looked at her without looking at her eyes, at her face, at her neck.

  At lunchtime Elle hung out by the gym door sometimes with the Mexican guys, sometimes Pete, sometimes out in the hall with the other guys who weren’t Mexican, where the eighth-grade girls were sometimes hanging out too. She would lean against the wall and laugh. I saw her from the doorway of the cafeteria when I stood in line there. I heard her laughing when I got my tray and went inside.

  WHEN I got home our house was dark. No Blackbird. I went to the front door, and into the hallway, and there was laughing. From inside the painted apartment, laughing and someone talking. I went to the door and listened. I got down and looked under the door.

  The light of the candle lit up the floor, the mattress. Elle was sitting on the mattress.

  She said, “Don’t.”

  She said, “Come on.”

  She said, “Listen to this.”

  She held up a book. My book. My book Peter Pan, from the shelf in there. She started to read out loud.

  “Fairy dust,” she read.

  Then she started laughing, stopped reading and started laughing.

  Black hightops walked past the candlelight, and a hand reached down and took my book away from Elle and dropped my book on the mattress, and Pete sat down next to her. Pete took Elle’s hair in his hand and he put his face into it, covering his face with Elle’s hair. He wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled, pulling more of her hair, pulling her face to his face.

  Elle said, “Don’t.”

  Pete said, “Don’t what?”

  Elle said, “Don’t do that.”

  Pete took Elle’s hair in both of his hands, and he pulled hard, pulled Elle’s head back, and he put his mouth on her neck.

  Elle whispered, “Don’t.”

  I got up. I couldn’t get the key out of my pocket, couldn’t unbutton my jacket, my fingers wouldn’t work like fingers, and I heard my own breathing. That was all I heard, my own breathing, no laughing, no talking inside, no Elle saying, “Don’t.”

  I went back out on the front porch, slamming the front door behind me, and I ran out to the sidewalk, ran across Eleventh Avenue, across the Safeway parking lot. When I got to Colfax Street I stopped running, and walked down the street through the people there, walked looking at my feet, looking at the sidewalk going by, hearing Elle saying “Don’t,” hearing my own breathing. Hearing my own name.

  Blackbird was at the curb, at a bus stop, and Jimmy Henry leaned across the seat, rolling down the window.

  “Sarajean,” he said. “Sarajean.”

  I stopped and looked at him through the clouds of my own breath.

  “Sarajean,” he said. “Where are you going? Didn’t you hear me?”

  He said, “Hop in.”

  I opened the rusted red door and got in. The heater was on, and I shut the door, shut myself into the warm dark inside of Blackbird.

  “Where are you going so fast?” he said.

  He said, “I’m going over to the Celestial. Want to go?”

  Celestial Tea Palace was noisy and steamy and yellow bright and full of people. Jimmy Henry went to a seat at the counter, and I walked right behind him, sat down next to him. Lulu Bell went by us with four mugs of coffee and she said,

  “Hey. Late rush.”

  She set one of the coffees down in front of Jimmy Henry and she hurried away with the other three. Jimmy Henry looked at me, and then pushed the coffee to in front of me. I poured in milk from the pitcher, poured in sugar from the sugar shaker, stirred the coffee, stirred and stirred, the coffee swirling around in the mug, the
spoon clinking in there.

  Lady Jane came up to the counter in front of us.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’ll be here for a while yet.”

  She leaned across the counter and kissed Jimmy Henry on his nose. She put a coffee mug in front of him, and she poured it full.

  Jimmy Henry said, “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” I said.

  He said, “Want anything?”

  “No,” I said.

  He said, “How’s Constanzia?”

  “She’s all better, pretty much,” I said. “She takes catnaps.”

  Lulu Bell went by again, carrying three plates of sandwiches in one hand, alfalfa sprouts popping out of the sandwiches like little hairs all over the plates, on the floor, and a pot of coffee in her other hand.

  She said, “Hey. Why don’t you guys come over later? We’ll be out of here about eight. We could get a pizza and watch TV.”

  Jimmy Henry said, “You have a TV?”

  “JFK talked me into it,” Lulu Bell said. “He can talk me into anything.”

  His biggest fan.

  She went off with the three plates and the pot of coffee, and Jimmy Henry said, “Want to go? Watch TV and eat pizza?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “So, how come you never took any baby pictures?”

  Jimmy Henry leaned his elbows on the counter, one elbow on each side of his mug, and he rubbed his face.

  “I was in Vietnam when you were a baby,” he said.

  Lady Jane came up to the counter in front of us.

  “So,” she said. “Want to go watch TV with Nancy and JFK?”

  “You mean Lulu?” I said.

  “Well, yeah, Lulu,” Lady Jane said. “That isn’t really her name you know. It’s just kind of a joke. Want to go?”

  Jimmy Henry didn’t look up.

  I said, “Okay.”

  We all got in Blackbird, Jimmy Henry driving, and Lady Jane and Lulu. I rode in back. I sat under the window, under their three heads. We went past Colfax Street and down to Sixth Avenue and stopped at Poretti’s Pizza, and Jimmy Henry went in. I looked at Lady Jane and Lulu through the window. Lady Jane’s long blond hair tied back with a bandanna. Lulu had short curly hair that went into little curls on the back of her neck. She wore gold hoops in her ears.

  When Jimmy Henry came back out with the pizza he handed it to me.

  “Here,” he said. “This will keep you warm back there. Don’t eat it all before we get there.”

  JFK SAT on the couch in their front room, and the TV was on. He wore cutoffs, and no shirt, and no shoes or socks, and the heater hissed steam in the corner.

  “Hey,” Lulu said. “Lord it’s hot in here.”

  “Pizza,” JFK said. “I’m pretending it’s summer.”

  JFK’s ribs poked out, and his hair hung down over his skinny shoulders like it tickled. He climbed over the back of the couch toward the pizza box.

  “Far out,” Lady Jane said. She took off her coat, and she stepped out of her clogs and took off her socks, wiggling her bare toes.

  “What’s on TV?” Lulu said.

  “The Million-Dollar Movie,” JFK said. “It starts right after this stupid Fairy Tale Theater.”

  “What’s on Fairy Tale Theater?” Lulu said.

  “It’s ‘Rapunzel,’” JFK said. “It’s like halfway over.”

  I got a piece of pizza, and I sat on the floor in front of the TV. The prince was climbing up Rapunzel’s hair, which was already cut off by the witch. The long braid hanging out the window of Rapunzel’s tower showed kind of purple on the little TV set. I took off my jacket, and I took off my sweater.

  “Hot, huh?” said Lulu, running her fingers through her short hair. “Maybe we should turn the heat down a little?”

  “Just take off your shoes and socks,” JFK said. “Put on your cutoffs.”

  I lifted my hair off my neck.

  “Lulu,” I said. “Want to cut my hair?”

  “Sure,” Lulu said. “You need your ends trimmed?”

  “No,” I said. “I want it short. Like yours.”

  “Oh, no, honey,” she said. “You have such pretty hair.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want it short. Like your hair.”

  Lady Jane said, “That’s a big decision. Why don’t you think about it?”

  Jimmy Henry was looking at me.

  “What do you think, Jimmy?” Lady Jane said.

  “He doesn’t care,” I said. “It’s my hair.”

  Jimmy Henry said, “She’s never had short hair. It’s always been long.”

  “Well,” Lulu said. “I can do it. Are you sure you want it this short?”

  “Cool,” JFK said. “Guys with long hair. Girls with short hair. Cool.”

  Lulu and I went into the kitchen and she set a chair in the middle of the floor.

  “Stick your head under the faucet,” she said. “Your hair has to be wet.”

  She handed me a towel, and when my hair was soaking wet, I sat in the chair, and she wrapped another towel around my neck. She took a beaded leather pouch out of the drawer.

  “My scissors,” she said.

  The scissors made long smooth sounds, and slick wet clumps of my hair fell on the kitchen floor. Lulu’s hands tickled my head, and she cut, and cut, and cut, and cut my hair all off.

  Finally she stepped back and looked.

  “There’s a mirror in the bedroom,” she said.

  I went through the front room.

  “Wow,” Lady Jane said. “Far out. Short.”

  Jimmy Henry looked.

  The face that looked back from the mirror, looked back out of JFK’s baby pictures, only kind of looked like my face.

  ELLE CAME up to me at my locker.

  “Wow,” she said. “You cut your hair.”

  She said, “Who cut it for you?”

  I said, “You were at my house last night.”

  “It looks pretty cool,” she said. “Kind of a shag.”

  I jammed my afternoon books onto the top shelf.

  “We were waiting for you,” Elle said. “Pete opened the door to that cool apartment.”

  I took out my morning books.

  “What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “So is Pete your new boyfriend?” I said.

  I balanced my books between the side of the locker and my leg, looking up on the shelf for my English folder.

  “What were you doing?” Elle said. “Spying on us?”

  I looked at her and she didn’t look at me. No new hickeys. Her orange hair all around her head. Long orange hair. I slammed my locker door shut, without my English folder.

  “I got to go,” I said, and I walked away, and Elle said, “You said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

  I forgot to ask her about the baggie of marijuana.

  I saw Pete at lunchtime, by the gym door. I looked at him until he looked at me. I kept looking at him, and he came over to where I was, across the hall. He walked slow, and some of the other Mexican boys watched him walking. They were all bigger than Pete. His hair was the longest of all the Mexican boys.

  He said, “I didn’t know that was you at first. You got your hair cut.”

  Smiling.

  I said, “If you ever come to my house again, I’ll tell Jimmy Henry you’re there.”

  His smile kind of stopped right on his face.

  I walked away, into the cafeteria, the back of my neck naked.

  ELLE WAITED for me after school, next to my locker, leaning there.

  I said, “Hi,” and went past her to my locker, opened the lock.

  She said, “Want to do something?”

  “Like what?” I said.

  I stacked up my English book, my biology book, my folders for homework.

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  “Right now?” I said. “I’m going over to Someone’s Beloved Threads.”

  She said, “I’ll walk with you.”

  We went down the long hallway, all the ki
ds hurrying to get out, and me not hurrying, not saying anything to Elle, and my face all stiff with just looking at the door, looking outside, not looking at Elle.

  At the Sixth Avenue gate, kids crowded out in different directions, up Sixth Avenue, down Sixth Avenue, across the street in crowds. Not waiting for the light.

  Elle said, “Are you mad at me?”

  I said, “I just hate it.”

  “What?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I hate those guys, and I hate those hickeys, and I hate those black lines you put on your eyes.”

  “You don’t like my eyeliner?” Elle said. “Why not? And besides, I don’t have any hickeys. See?”

  She pulled down at the neck of her shirt, and I didn’t look.

  She said, “That was just kind of an accident.”

  I said, “Getting hickies is an accident?”

  She said, “Who cut your hair?”

  “JFK’s mom,” I said. “We were eating pizza.”

  Elle said, “JFK?”

  “John Fitzgerald Kennedy Karpinski,” I said.

  “You call him JFK?” she said.

  “His mom works at that place with Lady Jane is all,” I said. “She cut my hair over at their house.”

  “Who all was there?” Elle said.

  “Me and him and Lady Jane,” I said. “And Lulu, or Nancy, or whatever his mom’s name is. And Jimmy Henry.”

  “Does Jimmy Henry like it?” Elle said.

  The slushy snow along Colfax Street was melting into black puddles in the street and trash floating, cigarette butts and French fries.

  “So,” Elle said. “Is Lady Jane going to move into your house you think?”

  A page of newspaper. A tiny mitten with red snowflakes.

  Elle said, “So what if she moves in and everybody’s all happy and your real mom shows up?”

  The light changed, and Elle jumped across the puddle. I walked around the puddle, out into the intersection, and a car beeped at me, like about to run me over. I jumped back onto the curb, and the papers in my English folder scattered out, my new homework, my old homework, all in with the wet trash.

  “Shit,” I said, and I tried to get the wet papers out of the puddle and my biology book dropped right in. Elle grabbed at the papers that were blowing down the street, and I picked up my biology book that looked wrecked. Looked wet in all its pages.

  Elle said, “Here.”