I still am not completely comfortable with the word “okay.” But combined with the look on this girl’s face and the intimacy of our recent hand touch, I think I understand.
“Absolutely.”
She smiles.
From Emelia, then, “Positively!”
And at the same time, “Companions!” And we both chuckle in the most companionable way.
Chapter 27: Dax Has an Idea
It’s been about a week and a half since we started reading The Crucible for English. Ms. S. keeps reminding us that it’s meant to be historical fiction—not exactly what happened, but a version of it that works literarily. Of course, not all the juniors in Jefferson County have a teacher like Ms. Schell, so who knows what they’re making of the play. Hillary, in Ms. Janson’s class, apparently has the notion that Miller totally made this story up, and what happened at the real Salem Witch trials was something altogether different. Luckily, she doesn’t actually care that much about the entire assignment, except to bug me to death about Mariah.
After school, we’re walking to the local thrift store along with Dax, and Hill feels compelled to bring up Mariah again.
“Dax, tell me what you think. Honestly. One of the young girls in the Salem Witch Trials was named Mary Warren. Mary Warren—Mariah Warren. She’s from Salem. Before she changed her look, her hair looked just like the hair in the photos from productions of the play. And the bit about not knowing current pop culture…”
I open my mouth to interrupt, but Hillary holds up a warning hand. “No, Emelia—let me finish. We need an additional opinion.” And she nods her head toward Dax. “Yeah, I know she’s on Facebook, but even that looks weird, like she doesn’t have any life outside of high school, and not much substance to that!”
This time I succeed in speaking up. “Hill, that’s not fair. She’s an orphan, living in a foster home. She probably wants to keep her outside life private. I’d be embarrassed, wouldn’t you? And I did see her in person once when we met at Papa John’s…”
Hillary’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?! You didn’t tell me. How did it go?”
I can’t straight out lie to Hillary. “Well, there were a few…problems. But I don’t really want to talk about it yet. I need to think it over, Hill.”
By this time, we’re at the Goodwill, where Dax wants to look for vintage T-shirts. He has a lame idea that this will become his “signature” look and will make him more popular.
As we follow Dax through the aisles, Hill and I continue the discussion. Dax is apparently keeping his opinion to himself while he rummages through the shirts.
“Well, I don’t care what you guys think, anyway,” I say. Hillary gives me a hurt look, but I continue. “There’s something about her I like, and I’m going to follow my heart, as they say.”
“Whatever. Follow your heart, you romantic fool. And, because I am your BF, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces when she stomps on it and leaves you in a heap of tears.”
I have to laugh at this. Dax must’ve heard this speech, as he’s now chuckling, too. I don’t really care that Dax has some idea I’m “playing for the other team.”
Dax finds two shirts he’s happy with, and we proceed up to the counter.
“You know what else, Hill?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“I’m going to ask Mariah to meet us at her school to see that showing of The Crucible next Tuesday night. Ms. Schell offered us extra credit to go and do a review of it. Are you going?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I certainly wouldn’t miss being a witness to your date with Weirdo Girl. I don’t know how we’d get there, though. Tuesday Mama goes to play Bunko and takes the car as soon as Pop gets home.”
“Yeah, that’s a problem. Aunt Penny has late clients on Tuesday.” As we head back out onto the sidewalk, Dax offers, “Hey, why don’t you ask Charity to go with? I know she drives a lot because of helping with Portia; I’ll bet her dad would let the three of you go together.”
I impulsively grab the kid in a hug, from which he makes a performance of escaping.
“I’ll call her tonight before I ask Mariah.”
Hill rolls her eyes. Then: “Dax, you never did say anything about Mariah and the Witch trials—you know—what do you think? I mean, the more I look at the list of characters, and the plot, I feel something kind of creepy.”
“Well, you’re not gonna like it. But I’ll tell you if you want…”
I feel like strangling him now instead of hugging him.
We walk a ways in silence, until I can’t stand it any longer.
“What? What?”
“In my humble opinion, there’s something to the matching up of facts. I don’t know—yet—exactly what the explanation is, but there’s enough weirdness to make me feel safer about Em if you and Charity go with her. And it is a big public place—lots of kids and teachers’ll be all around. Em, just promise me you won’t be alone with her.”
We both look at Dax as if he’s lost his mind. “What? Is she gonna bite Em or something?”
We’re in front of the Neville house now, and Dax turns to go up the walkway. “Only if she’s a vampire.”
Hill and I both crack up laughing. “Oh, right, Dax. There’s a vampire living in Jeffersontown, Kentucky and flirting with Emelia so she can bite her neck.” Honestly, adding up the odd things about this girl, maybe Dax isn’t so funny.
Dax isn’t laughing either. “Hey, you asked my opinion—I gave it to you. Like I said, go to the movie, but just don’t be alone with her until you know more.” And with that, he goes inside, leaving Hill and I to stare at each other in astonishment.
Chapter 28: Runaway Date
This afternoon, which is a Thursday, I have a computer letter from Emelia. She explains that there’s a movie at my school next Tuesday night, and she would like me to go with her. Another meeting in person! I am elated and terrified all at once. I am so frightened that I will say or do something wrong, something that reveals more about my true self than I want this girl to know. But I cannot resist the temptation to see and talk to her again without the barrier of the computer machine.
I have learned so much from listening to the school kids here in Kentucky, and from the internet as well. I know about dating (although that wasn’t something that existed in colonial Salem Village) and I know about movies. I’m excited to see one on a large screen like in the movie Annie, which I watched on the computer one Friday when no one but Mr. Perry was around. It’s almost a bit frightening to imagine how large the people will look.
Of course, the movie part is secondary to being with Emelia. I’m discovering that, at least in some places in this time, two women or two men having a date and falling in love is acceptable. No hiding and pretending like Lily and I did in Boston. I suppose I will need to start thinking of myself as gay or lesbian, and learn to accept this part of myself. You would think that being a vampire would be harder to accept, but at least I don’t blame myself for this condition. I never actually chose to be made, although I felt I had no other recourse. Perhaps I did not choose Tituba either, but I must admit that I did choose to be with Lily in my second awakened period; in fact, I loved Lily. I want to be in love again. Could it be possible? I asked Santina about this movie, as Emelia said that all the students in her grade were reading the same book, and this is a movie version of that book. Unfortunately, Santina knew nothing about the assignment, as she’s not in that grade. I have told Emelia that I am a senior, too. That way, she won’t expect me to have read the book.
The day of our meeting at this movie, I wash thoroughly in the restroom. It’s much easier now that my hair is short; I no longer need any pins or clasps. I don’t have any cosmetics, but I learned—also from the computer—that many lesbians stay away from what we used to call face paint. I’m relieved about that.
Wearing my best trousers and a clean black shirt, I’m hoping I will look ‘normal’ to Emelia and her friends. She has shared with
me in our letter-writing that her friend Hillary doesn’t approve of our friendship. I plan to be as courteous and pleasant as possible to Hillary and their other friend Charity. I walk over to the auditorium, which is huge and crowded with many kids. There are some yellow school buses, too, which must mean kids have come from other schools. As I open the double doors and enter, my stomach is in knots and my hands are even colder than usual. I put them in my pockets to try and warm them up.
“Hey, over here!” someone calls. It’s Hillary, also dressed in jeans, with one long braid down her back. Standing next to her is a slim dark-skinned girl wearing a short skirt and sweater, both a soft pink. She’s very pretty, especially when she smiles at me in welcome. But the one I’ve come to see is not in sight. Hillary must have noticed my disappointment.
“Don’t worry, Mariah—Em just went to the ladies’ room. She’ll be back any minute.”
And just as Hillary says this, my vision of pure pleasure and beauty walks in and joins the group. She smiles at me, and touches me on the shoulder, which sends a tingling feeling like tiny spiders all along my arm. When I look down at her hand, she moves it away quickly and says to the group, “How much of the play have you guys read? I just finished it last night, but I need to look back at it again before class.”
The girl called Charity says, “Emelia, what is wrong with you? You make the rest of us look like slackers. I just started Act Three. And I admit I’m having trouble following who’s been accused.”
“Accused of what?” I ask innocently. I have no notion what play they refer to, or if it was even written earlier than this twenty-first century.
“Witchcraft, you know—the play is about the Salem Witch Trials in the 17th Century.”
The knot in my stomach tightens up even more. I swallow hard and remain silent.
Emelia says to me, “It’s Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. I mentioned it to you last week—remember? We get extra credit for coming to the film version and writing a review of it.”
At this point, all the students are starting to go through the second set of doors into the main room. I am struck totally speechless, so I just follow the other three and stay close to Emelia without talking. In the press of the crowd, she takes my cold hand for a few minutes to keep us together. How could I have let this happen? I think I was so focused on the idea of going somewhere with Emelia that I didn’t think clearly about what this movie date might involve. Yes, I am with Emelia, and it is indeed wonderful. But how can I watch my own pain and confusion portrayed by an actor on this large movie screen and not, as the kids say, freak out?
We find seats: Charity, then Hillary, then Emelia with me on her left. I don’t dare touch Emelia, except to let my arm rest on the barrier between our seats along with hers.
The movie begins. As soon as I see the buildings and places of Old Salem, larger than life and looking so close to my own personal memories, I realize this will be more than difficult. I see little Betty Parris sick in her bed, and actors portraying so many people I knew well, right in front of me on the screen. Of course, I know they are only actors, but they look and speak almost as I remember. The accent of their speech is a bit different, but close enough to make me feel as if I am part of the scene—I begin to feel a bit ill. When the girl acting as me, Mary Warren, appears, only the presence of my Emelia next to me could keep me from bolting back to my hiding place.
Tituba, Abigail, and all of “us” are dancing in the woods. Hillary leans in and says something to Emelia, but I hear her, too, “I think those girls were just playing with the idea of spells and stuff, you know?”
Emelia nods her head and motions to her friend to be quiet. Before I realize it, words have slipped from my tongue, “I thought Tituba knew what to do…”
Em looks at me a bit curiously, but answers quietly, “That is what the girls thought, I’ll bet. They were just children, really.”
I nod just as Emelia did before, and turn my eyes back to the screen. One by one, various people are accused and arrested. When the girls, including Mary, join Tituba in naming “witches,” my tongue again betrays me, “Abigail—we had to…” I feel as though I might start to cry, although I’ve been told that vampires have no tears. My eyes burn—I want to leave, but then Emelia takes my hand and holds it between the seats. I am uncomfortably trapped by this girl I so desperately wanted to be with! We come to the scene in which Mary gives Goody Procter the poppet she stitched in court. The actress does an excellent job of acting the way I behaved: pompous and authoritative about “assisting” in the trials. I know now that those trials were a farce, a veritable parade of lies and treachery. My cheeks are burning with disgust at what I remember of my behavior then. “Too much pride,” I whisper. Emelia squeezes my hand.
Thankfully, there is a pause in the showing of the movie, and most of the kids leave the large film room. Charity and Hillary are chatting away about the movie; they ask us if we want any snacks. I know this means food and drink. I say I need to go to the ladies’ room, so that perhaps I can avoid the eating issue again. What they will offer here isn’t the food I eat.
When I return, the other two girls have gone back into the darkened room. Emelia is waiting with a paper cup in her hand. “We can share, Mariah. It’s diet.” I take the cup, fairly sure that “diet” means no sugar. I think it will be safe for my body to ingest just a bit of this substance, which tastes almost like water. I hand the cup back to Emelia and open the door for her; we return to our seats just as the second part of the movie begins.
The girl portraying Abigail Williams plays the part well. We all hated Abigail by the time she disappeared with Mercy Lewis, presumably for Barbados. This dark-haired actor seems just as vicious and sly as the real Abigail. I wonder how we could ever have let her lead us? I’m thinking these thoughts as I feel Emelia’s shoulder lean into mine. Though my skin is always cold, my emotions are warm, and I find my feelings for Emelia growing.
We sit quietly and watch—Emelia seems almost as fascinated by the story as I am. I’ve come to know that she is very competent with language and likes to write; I admire that so much. Maybe someday she will write a love poem for me…
The movie is coming to its climax, and I am shocked at how well this film has captured the frenzy and panic of those long-ago events. As I see Abigail on the screen leading the other girls in mocking everything Mary Warren says, the scene returns in my head so strongly that I panic just like Mary on the screen. I have to escape.
I rush into the outer part of the building, and then through a side door out into the fresh air. Breathing heavily, I sit on the stone-like steps and hold my buzzing head in my hands. Without tears, the eyes of this terrified vampire burn like two glowing coals. As soon as I’m able, I plan to run back to my home in the earth. I have no place in Emelia’s life here and now. I must leave her alone.
Suddenly, I feel the rush of air as the door opens behind me. It is Emelia, and she comes to my side. She sits next to me on the steps and holds me in her arms. In spite of the vow I made only seconds before, I cannot let her go just yet.
As I feel her slim arms about my body, I say, “I’m so sorry, Emelia.”
She lets me go just a bit to look at my face. I imagine I look like some wraith from the underworld—which is, in fact, what I am. I shake my head to try and clear the buzzing and calm the burning in my eyes.
She replies in a whisper, “No, it’s okay, Mariah—whatever it is. Just don’t run away from me, please.” And with that, she kisses my lips; my first kiss from a mortal ever in my existence. Mary Warren was an innocent, and my first kiss was the one that made me into what I now am. Even while I luxuriate in the feel of this kiss, I think again that I have no right to invade this girl’s simple, normal life.
I kiss her a moment longer, satisfying for an instant my longing to touch her cinnamon hair. Then I say again, “I’m so sorry.” And I rise before she can stop me, running away toward my evil and lonely hole, where I belong. I hear Em behin
d me, calling my name. But I run on, as fast as I can. So fast, I feel my physical presence fade into the night.
Chapter 29: Closer to the Truth
I’m in the car with Charity and Hillary on the way home from Jeffersontown. I feel a bit light-headed and my heart is pounding like crazy, but I try to act normal until I get home. Although I know Hillary is dying to know what happened with Mariah, and even Charity is looking at me with curiosity, what little sense I have at the moment tells me to keep my mouth shut. I need to process all the elements of this crazy evening by myself—how I wish Mr. Strange were here in Shively to sit on my tummy and make “biscuits” while I try to sort it all out! But I’m on my own with this one…
During the drive, Hill and Charity talk about the film, the play, the assignment for school, how to write a review, and various kids they recognized from Butler. In other words, they never shut up. Finally, Charity pulls her dad’s car up in front of Penny’s house.
“Okay, girls, goodnight. And thanks again for driving us, Charity. See you in school.”
Instead of saying some similar standard good-bye, Hillary leans out the window and grabs my arm as I walk past. “Em, what the heck? You’re not gonna say anything at all about Mariah?”
I pry her fingers from my arm one by one. Then I give her the most withering look I can summon through my hazy state of mind.
“Not now, Hill. There’s not that much to tell anyway. It can wait.”‘ And I motion with my head toward Charity.
“Oh, well…yeah…tomorrow then. Or call me.” And then to Charity, “Just some extra info Em was thinking of getting from Mariah—she used to live in Salem.”
Another look from me. What is Hillary’s major problem? Yes, I’m starting to think back on more strange things about Mariah, like not eating regular food and not ever talking about her family. But tonight is not the time. “Hill, enough—goodnight.”
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