Soul Selecta

by Gill McKnight

  “He’s not your boyfriend at all, is he?” she said, her voice flat. Bette smiled in that cool way Jesse now recognized meant she felt challenged and was ready for a fight.

  “Yes, he is,” Bette said. “He’s the kind every girl should have, an actual friend. But yeah, we’re both gay if that’s what you mean.”

  Jesse stared at her for a moment wondering why she was not more surprised. Then she nodded. It all made sense; Jimmy and Bette using each other as camouflage. It was a game within a game, but she’d rather have it that way than Bette making a fool out of him.

  “It’s funny,” she said, and allowed herself a small smile. “It’s so clear now, but before I hadn’t a clue.”

  “Ah.” Bette leaned back in her chair. She looked more relaxed. “You’ve expanded your terms of reference,” she said. “Maybe you’ve even plugged in your gaydar?” Her eyes flashed and she motioned turning a dial. “Bling, bling, bling…”

  Jesse laughed. “Only you could have a radar that goes bling instead of bleep.”

  “It’s gaydar not radar. And soon you’ll be blinging, too. All over the place.”

  The conversation was still on Jesse’s mind when she stumbled onto the Lesbian and Gay section on the bookstore’s top floor. There were at least thirty fiction books mixed in with gender studies. This bookstore was the place where the local intelligentsia could cruise interesting bookshelves, and possibly each other. She felt like she’d uncovered a really cool secret society, and it fired her imagination. Jesse pulled out book after book, reading the back cover blurbs on romances, sci-fi, thrillers, fantasy, and was soon lost to this strange, new world.

  She found Jimmy on the ground floor at the Sports section with Bette just across from him checking out language study aids. Jesse looked around surreptitiously before approaching the checkout. She was lining up to pay when Bette’s voice came over her shoulder and made her jump.

  “I have that one.” She indicated the book in Jesse’s hand. “It’s a classic. If you want I can lend you mine?”

  Jesse’s ears glowed. She took a deep breath and said in what she hoped was a casual voice, “Thanks, but I think I’ll buy it anyway.”

  Bette moved away to continue browsing. Jesse watched her go, then it was her turn at the cash register. I’m buying my first lesbian novel. What the hell is going on with me?

  Chapter Eight

  The lane to the farmhouse was not much more than the score of tractor tires in dirt. Norrie had to walk on the grass verges to keep her school shoes clean. Over the hedgerow, she could see the sheep, heavy with lamb, grazing in the home field. The pregnant ewes were kept closer to the house near their birthing time so her brothers, Michael and Cathal, could keep an eye on them. The bleating hung plaintively in the air mixing in with the drone of a tractor in a far off field.

  Peat smoke drifted from the farmhouse chimney and scratched at her nose. She wanted to get out of the chill and into the kitchen where dinner would be simmering on the stove and her mother would be scolding one or other of her brothers about muddy boots. The late afternoon was fading away. Around her, dusk washed the granite hills and dry stone walls a gentle lavender. In the lowering light, the back fields were a patchwork of soft greens and yellows as the afternoon vibrancy faded to warmer, earthen hues like leaves passing through the seasons.

  Her great-grandfather built his house from the same stone as the hills, replacing the crofter’s cottage he’d been born in. The house stood sturdy and squat, organic in the landscape, as much a part of the hillside as the elm trees that flanked its eastern side and protected against Atlantic storms. As Norrie came down the lane, a lamp lit the parlor window. The yellow oblong of light brought the house to life as if it had smiled at her. The thought filled her with cheer. It meant so many things. It was a welcome home after a long school day. It meant her mother was bustling through the house warding off the dark. Or her father was back from the fields.

  She quickened her pace. The mud splashed her stockings and the cold seeped through the soles of her shoes, but it didn’t matter. A homespun ballad had been knotted in her head for days. Now it began to unravel. The notes floating through her thoughts fell into musical order. The song was a conduit to the lore surrounding her. Norrie had grown up with stories of giants and Little People in a land where banshees stole the dying and gold lay under the hills. The dolmens, cairns, and castle ruins that studded the mountains and fields surrounding her resonated in the notes forming in her head. She could see them dancing across the countryside.

  Her family and her music were all Norrie knew and needed in her small village life. Unlike other girls her age, she was content with that. Fashion, makeup, and boys did not enthrall her. She had no anxiety for the future or exasperation with the present. Her ambivalence was seen as boring by her school friends. Her perceived lack of imagination, combined with her exceptional musical talent, set Norrie adrift from her peers and their pressure to conform. She couldn’t indulge in their tastes, their fads, their music. She felt a certain sadness at her loneliness, at being the odd one out, but on some intuitive level was sure her heart would always be well cared for. Norrie knew she was loved and supported by her family, and beyond that, she dreamed of another waiting for her, her soul mate, her lover of many lifetimes. She could feel it in her bones; she believed in such things. If she believed giants once walked these hills and gold was buried under them then why shouldn’t she believe in an everlasting, recurring love?

  She knew beyond all doubt that somewhere in the world there was another young woman looking for her. At sixteen, Norrie had already realized her sexual orientation and that her soul mate would doubtless be a woman. Perhaps this woman was already dreaming of her, too? She could be nearby, or maybe a million miles away, but wherever she was she would always be Norrie’s for the taking.

  Chapter Nine

  Jesse went to her room, excusing herself from the dinner table early in order to study. Instead, she snuggled down with an anthology of lesbian erotica. Bette had loaned her several lesbian themed novels, and Jesse’s understanding of this new subculture was expanding rapidly through its literature. Her appetite was insatiable. She was reading everything she could get her hands on, fiction, nonfiction, history, gender studies, politics, everything. It was as if she had lifted the tissue paper off a layer of chocolates and every flavor was her new favorite and she wanted to taste them all.

  She flipped through a few pages, and soon her free hand began the slow slide down her belly. Hot and flushed, she began to self-pleasure, only this time with knowing, practiced fingers.

  The discovery of lesbian erotica had been cataclysmic. Her understanding of her own sexuality had gone off tilt; it spun wildly, a gyroscope whirling this way and that. Was she, wasn’t she? But she dared not express these feelings, not yet, not even to Bette. Especially not Bette.

  *

  Jesse’s discovery of lesbian erotica was cataclysmic for Norrie’s Home Economics class.

  “Norullah Bernadette Therese Maguire! What on earth is wrong with you, girl?” Sister Martha Paul bellowed. Norrie lay stunned on the parquet flooring. She stared up wordlessly at the stainless steel light fittings and a gob of chewing gum stuck to the underside of her school bench. Disgusting. Who did that? Then Theresa Daley’s face was peering down at her.

  “Are you all right, Norrie?” she asked. “You keeled over like a sack of spuds.”

  Norrie sat up brushing the dust off her school skirt. She was thoroughly embarrassed and, with Theresa’s help, staggered to her feet. Her cheeks blazed at the stifled giggling all around her. Norrie was mortified. She had squeaked like a scalded hamster then fallen headlong off her stool.

  Halfway through class, she had started heating up like a pressure cooker until she’d simply exploded. She couldn’t stop it. Her belly was still in knots and her heart was pounding so hard it hurt her breastbone. I wonder if it’s some sort of miracle? Maybe I’ve been blessed like that girl at Fátima?

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sp; One glance at Sister Martha Paul told her she was far from blessed. The sweat running between her shoulder blades started to cool unpleasantly. She smoothed her crumpled school skirt with shaking hands and stooped to retrieve the books she’d taken along with her on her rapid descent. Theresa scrabbled around beside her helping to tidy up.

  “What in hell’s name happened?” she asked, wide-eyed, “I thought ya’d had a feckin’ heart attack.”

  “I sort of fainted or something,” Norrie said. Maybe I’ve an allergy?

  “Do you need the nurse?” Theresa asked hopefully. “Sure, wouldn’t it be great to get out of here and dodge class.”

  “No, I’m fine. Honest.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Ah, come on now,” Theresa wheedled her. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near Butcher Brennan. My head can fall off first.” Norrie was adamant. She was as terrified of the school nurse as the rest of them.

  She hunched under her desk to crawl after a wayward pencil, all the time conscious of the dampness in her underwear. This new evidence of her body’s strange behavior distressed her even further. In the name of every saint out there, what was wrong with her?

  *

  In soul selecting terms, this was what Soul Selector called a bit of a short circuit. The orgasmic connection between Jesse and Norrie was only meant to happen once. Once was all that was needed. It was unfortunate for them to have a repeat performance. She decided to check out the wiring diagram. It was probably a minor problem a little tweak here and there would resolve. After all, this was a prototype. It was obvious she had done the best she could in the circumstances. No one could blame her. Norrie and Jesse were extraordinarily awkward soul mates.

  Chapter Ten

  Things didn’t improve. Soul Selector checked and rechecked but found nothing wrong with the prototype. She tried turning it off and on again. That didn’t work. She disconnected it completely, but that didn’t disconnect them. The subjects were obviously defective and had ruined her experiment. She couldn’t stop the orgasmic connection, and Jesse’s reading material didn’t help matters. The discovery of lesbian erotica nearly ruined her revision timetable. Fortunately, Jesse had enough self-discipline to save her illicit reading, and its associated activities to the late hours after her schoolwork was done.

  Babes in Bondage gave Norrie a hot flash that would do a menopausal woman proud. She gave a wavery cry and dropped the vase she was dusting. The cost came out of her savings.

  The Survival Guide to Cunnilingus propelled Norrie into her first wet dream. She woke up with a carnal grunt that could grace a courting pig.

  Watching Bette bend over to retrieve a hair tie from the locker room floor gave Jesse such an illicit rush that Norrie walked straight into a lamppost.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Why are you hanging out with them, Jesse? They’re a bunch of fucking freaks.” Val slammed her locker door. She was pissed. The midterm exams had come and gone and Jesse hadn’t returned to her old gang and her old ways. True, she always turned up for sports practice and hung out afterward with the team just like before. But she knew she was walking a tightrope, trying to keep her school activities and all her new friendships balanced.

  “Everybody says they’re queer. Even Jimmy Maaser. He’s a big faggot. They say he’s got a boyfriend over at Trinity.”

  “What’s Jimmy Maaser got to do with anything?” Jesse balled up her gear and flung it into her gym bag. She wanted to leave quickly before any more vile gossip was lobbed her way. She used to think Val was cool. How had she missed her homophobia? Now she realized it had always been there camouflaged in humor and an insatiable addiction to scandal and other people’s misery.

  “I care when one of my friends is mixed up with them.”

  “What, like you don’t have any gay friends? What about the team? Half of them are gay.”

  “They’re not friends. Okay, so we play together and go for drinks after the game, but I don’t think of them as friends.”

  Jesse was finding this side of Val harder and harder to handle. It had been present in some shape or form for several weeks since she started studying with Bette. To Jesse it felt like she and Val had grown apart and very rapidly. Or perhaps, more likely they had outgrown each other?

  “What it means,” Val continued her tirade, not noticing Jesse was trying to withdraw from the conversation. “What it means is if Pansy Maaser is a queer then what’s up with the girlfriend?” She turned and glared at Jesse. “Don’t you get it? Bette Harrison is a front. She’s a freakin’ fag hag, a beard, or whatever they call it. In fact, there’s even a rumor that she’s into pussy.” Val paused for emphasis. Jesse didn’t respond so Val went on regardless. “Don’t you see? She’s a queer. A lezzie!” She paused to allow this vital information to sink into Jesse’s skull.

  “And I give a damn because…?” Jesse finished packing her gear.

  “Well, don’t you think it’s ironic they call everyone else names when they’re all fags themselves?” Val scowled; the conversation was obviously not going the way she had intended. “You need to be careful, Jesse.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because people are talking.”

  “And what are they saying?” Jesse stood up, shouldered her bag, and looked squarely at Val.

  “They’re saying you’re too familiar with her…with them.” Val bristled.

  “And what exactly does too familiar mean?” Jesse pushed on though she knew where this was going.

  “How the fuck do I know! I’m just telling you what I’m hearing. I’m your friend here, Jesse. I’m on your side.” Val suddenly deflated and backed down. Jesse regarded her for a moment, studying the mean glint in her eye, before turning for the exit. She was almost loath to turn her back on Val; the menace was palpable.

  “Thanks, but I decide who I want to be familiar with.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Jesse,” Val called after her. “Get real. People are saying you’re queer, too.”

  Her words echoed in the empty locker room and followed Jesse into the corridor before the swinging door shut them out.

  Chapter Twelve

  How can I be queer when I haven’t done anything except jerk off over a dirty book? Jesse was angry. Angry with Val, with Bette, and with Lorrie and Jimmy, and anyone else who was hiding behind fear and lies. This was the rumor mill in action. The conjecture machine Bette had warned her about, and now she was caught up in its cogs. It was clear Val was jealous that she was still spending time with Bette now that exams were over. Jesse preferred Bette’s company and her mature conversation to hanging at the mall or the burger bar with Val and her gang.

  Queer. She tried the word on for fit. It was a label, that’s all. But was it her label? Did it give her a sense of identity? Well, no. It didn’t. It made her worry what her family would think. It didn’t make her feel like she belonged to any other family either, because in truth she didn’t belong, not really. She hadn’t done the dirty deed. She hadn’t kissed a girl or touched a breast or stroked a thigh and…other stuff. Maybe I’m a theoretical lesbian?

  The thought of being with a girl gave her a thrill. Jesse sighed. She was a million miles from doing what Bette and Lorrie did. Her ears still glowed when she thought of what they did. And she felt a little spike of something other than base arousal. She was jealous. She freely admitted it and had the intelligence to understand it was only normal. Bette had become a close friend, close enough for her to form an attachment. She was her first gay friend.

  Through this friendship a glimpse of a possible future had opened up. She had seen a tiny sliver of the bigger picture. A world where she could get out of this claustrophobic town and go to study in a major city. There she would make new friends, and some of them would be like Bette and Lorrie and Jimmy. That was the way it was going to be. She couldn’t live small town life forever. Already she felt boxed in.
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br />   “Hey, wait up.” The shout brought Jesse up short. Had Val followed her?

  Lorrie Regallia strolled up.

  “Hi, Lorrie.” Jesse was truly pleased to see her. She was a great alternative to Val. Lorrie was not as close a friend as Bette. They hung out from time to time because of the social overlap and were always cordial to each other.

  “Why are you stomping around with a face like the plague?” Lorrie asked.

  “I’m not. I’ve just finished volleyball practice and I’m heading home.”

  Lorrie fell into step beside her. “I just got kicked out of the library. Didn’t realize how late it was until they came around rapping on the tables.”

  They walked outside to the campus gates. Lorrie asked again, “So? What’s up? I can see something’s bugging you.”

  Jesse shrugged. “Nothing.” She struggled to shake off the black mood.

  “Uh huh.” Lorrie wasn’t buying it. “I got my mom’s car. Want a ride home?”

  Jesse looked over at her. “It’s not exactly on your way.” Lorrie had a fancy address over on the west side while Jesse’s family lived out by the rail station.

  “It’s up to you. I’ve got the car and I’m offering.”

  It took barely a second for Jesse to agree. It was late and it had started to rain, and she was still pissed off over the confrontation with Val. A long walk home did not appeal right now. She could wait for the bus, but it was at least a twenty-minute wait. Val would probably catch the same bus, too, and Jesse couldn’t stand any more of her petulant glares.

  “Okay,” she said, glad of the alternative.

  Lorrie’s little runaround turned out to be fancier than Jesse’s father’s car. They slid into the front seats just as the heavens opened and a downpour began. Rain pounded the roof, and they were soon cocooned in a world of window mist and nothing more. It felt intimate and cozy.