Hazing Meri Sugarman

by M. Apostolina

  “Oh my God, you really, really ­didn’t have to.”

  “Um, yes, I did.”

  “I swear I’ll keep it clean from now on. I double swear.”

  I swallowed, gathered my oats. “You’d better. Because if you ­don’t, I’ll move to another dorm room.”

  That stopped her cold. She just stared at me for a moment, like she was trying to read my face.

  “This is good. I need this. I deserve this. This could help me.” Then she smiled wistfully, as if the loveliest thought had just popped into her head. “I was a very obstinate little baby, or so I’ve been told, and when I was two years old, or maybe three—”

  I stopped her (kind of boldly). I told her I had my own problems and issues to deal with. Oops. Big mistake.

  “Oh, tell me,” she gasped. “I can help. I want to help.”

  Maybe I was just tired from all the cleaning, or maybe I needed to tell someone, so I told her all about the Smoker and my dashed hopes of becoming a sorority sister, and the fact that I had been labeled a “little bow-wow” by Gloria Daily, along with my admiration for Meri Sugarman. Oops. Bigger mistake.

  “Meri? Oh my God, you ­can’t be serious. Tell me ­you’re not serious!”

  It seems that Patty met Meri once before when she visited her older brother on campus during Alpha Beta Delta’s Breast Cancer Charity fund-raiser. She grabbed her DSM-IV, flipped it open.

  “Here it is. ‘Histrionic Personality Disorder.’ HPD. Meri’s got it. Look. ‘Extreme discomfort in situations in which they are not the center of attention,’ ‘a grandiose sense of self-importance,’ ‘exploitation of others to achieve personal goals.’ I think she’s Borderline, too. And Pathological. This is bad, Cindy. Oh my God, you gotta stay away from her. Promise me you will.”

  It was easy to tell her that I would. After all, with my hopes of becoming a sorority girl gone, why would Meri have anything to do with me? Somehow, though, my promise prompted Patty to segue once more into a very long discussion of her problems and all of her psychological ailments. I nodded off for a moment, and when I woke up, she was still going strong, discussing her early elementary school years, her rivalry with her sisters, and her absolute certainty that the abuse and neglect inflicted upon her by others had somehow damaged her “core,” which was the cause of her many afflictions (which she again noted were “fascinating” in a clinical sense).

  Then she ripped open a pack of Hostess Ho Hos. And threw the wrapper on the floor.

  August 27

  Dear Diary:

  The phone rang early this morning. It must have been before seven o’clock, because my alarm clock ­hadn’t even gone off yet.

  “On behalf of Alpha Beta Delta, I’d like to formally invite you to pledge. Be at the house today at three ­o’clock. Do not be late.”

  Click. Then a dial tone. I bolted up out of bed. Did I just dream that? Was it a prank call? Patty mumbled from her bed.

  “Mmm. Too early for phone calls. Very inconsiderate. Thoughtless of others.”

  I sat trembling. Okay, it ­wasn’t a dream. It really happened.

  “On behalf of Alpha Beta Delta, I’d like to formally invite you to pledge.”

  In a daze I stepped from the bed—luckily just missing a half-empty tin of nacho cheese dip hurled on the floor—staggered into the bathroom, closed the door, ran the water to wash my face, and caught my bewildered expression in the mirror.

  “On behalf of Alpha Beta Delta, I’d like to formally invite you to pledge.”

  I covered my mouth in shock. This was one of those moments—one of those small, simple moments when you know everything in your life is about to change for the better. Only this time it was happening to me. Me!

  For the rest of the morning, I was the target of stares and whispers. And I know why. It was slowly building up inside of me: pure, unadulterated joy. It must have been showing on my face. In fact, I know it was. I ­couldn’t stop smiling. I must have looked like a complete cheeseball. And in Professor Scott’s class, out of nowhere, I chuckled. Loudly.

  “Is there something about the life of Ivan Denisovich that strikes you as funny, Ms. Bixby?”

  “No, sir, not at all,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s really so sad. And touching, too.”

  Then I burst into giggles. I ­couldn’t stop. Students were whispering behind me. Professor Scott was infuriated. Luckily, the class was just ending. Saved by the bell, I guess, though I ­didn’t even hear it. At lunch I ate outside on the school’s Great Lawn. Guys were playing Frisbee, a few couples were making out (I’ve come to realize that couples are very show-offy that way at RU), and at the far end, Bud, Nester, and Randy were hacking (none of them are very good at it, by the way). Everything was the same, but it looked magical, freshly hatched. So this is what it’s like to feel good. This is what it’s like to have hope. It started raining, just lightly, and most of the people scattered away. But I stayed, allowing the droplets to fall on my head and trickle down my cheeks. I laughed, too. Maybe I was even crying, I’m not sure.

  I flew home. I ­didn’t have much time. I took a shower, changed clothes (I made sure to put on something nice this time), grabbed an umbrella, and walked to Alpha Beta Delta. The sky darkened. Thunder rumbled. Rain was pouring heavier than before. Then it happened again, just like before: My heart began racing when I saw the house. A feeling of absolute dread washed over me. Gloria called me a “little bow-wow” at the Blackballing session. And Meri laughed. Was this a setup? Was I about to be ambushed? Why were they asking me to pledge? And then I thought, So what? Who cares? No matter what their reasons, at least I get a chance! At least I can try to show them that I’m worthy, and even though I sort of ­don’t feel like I am (I’m still smarting from Bethany’s nasty little snort), I put those thoughts behind me when I stepped into the house.

  A lighter suddenly clicked. A big, fat cigar puffed. I recognized the smell immediately: It was a Grand Torpedo Magnum Wrap 54 ring (these are very special cigars, and Dad’s favorite, because ­they’ve been cured in aged Cognac). What the heck was Dad doing at the Alpha Beta Delta sorority house? Completely confused, I looked up. Angrily stomping down the stairs and puffing a Grand Torpedo, Keith Ryder, RU’s supercute star quarterback (I’ve always found the combination of dark hair and blue eyes so incredibly dreamy).

  “Good riddance to you, too,” called out Meri from upstairs, though I ­couldn’t see her. I ­couldn’t believe how angry she sounded. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

  “Oh yeah? How could I?” bellowed Keith, who then loudly proclaimed so that all the gathered pledges could hear, “Hey, you guys know about Meri, ­don’t you? She ­doesn’t have a vagina, it’s an ATM swipe.”

  Everyone gasped, including me. I think one of the girls even squealed. Then Keith charged for the door, and he might have made a very smooth exit if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was standing in his way like a ding-dong and fumbling with my umbrella. He crashed right into me. Ka-boom. My umbrella popped back open. I shrieked. Then he lifted me in his arms (He’s so strong, I thought fleetingly), plopped me to the side, and stomped out. I attempted to collapse my umbrella, finally closing it with a snap—revealing Meri standing right before me. I nearly screamed.

  ­“You’re forty-two seconds late,” she said stonily. “I’m docking you points.”

  Minutes later in the living room, I gathered with all the pledges, including Bethany, who ­wouldn’t even look at me or meet my eyes. Oh, I hate Bethany. It was deathly quiet as Shanna-Francine and Gloria passed out copies of Alpha Beta Delta’s coveted and secret pledge book. It almost felt like it was burning in my hands. Here I was, one of seven lucky girls, and only three among us would be chosen to join the house. Meri stood before us, running her hand through her thick raven hair.

  “The demands I make on myself are absolutely fantastic.”

  Believe me, I ­don’t think there was anyone in the room who ­didn’t believe her.

  “I e
xpect perfection. And I get it, on rare occasions—but ­they’re too rare. I expect perfection from all of you, too. That’s why ­you’re here. That’s why ­you’re going to be tested. Remember our motto?”

  “Seek the Noblest!” piped up Bethany.

  Oh, what a little suck-up she is. And it ­didn’t work. Ha. Apparently, Meri does not appreciate being interrupted. She jerked her head in Bethany’s direction.

  “Who just spoke?”

  Bethany nervously raised her hand.

  “Stand up, Pledge. Position yourself directly before me.”

  Bethany obeyed. Meri looked her in the eye and whispered softly.

  “If I slapped you right now, it would hurt you very deeply. Do you think I should slap you? Do you deserve to be slapped? Think carefully before you answer.”

  The rest of us in the room sat stock-still. From the corner of my eye, I saw lightning strike the spire of the RU church steeple. Bethany was obviously weighing the ramifications of her answer to Meri’s question and no doubt wondering if she was about to be slapped. I’m not a mean person, or a vengeful one, and like I’ve said, I so ­don’t like violence, but I’ll admit I felt a teensy little woo-hoo at the prospect of seeing Bethany slapped. After what seemed like an eternity, Bethany spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I deserve to be slapped.”

  Then she winced, bracing herself. Oh, slap her, I thought, slap her silly.

  ­“You’re right, you do,” said Meri, half-smiling. “Sit down. And ­don’t ever interrupt me again.”

  Bethany sank into the couch. Meri held up a pledge book.

  “The opening four chapters. Memorize them. They outline all the rules of conduct ­you’ll be expected to fulfill as pledges. Pledge Week formally starts the day after Labor Day. If I were you, I’d enjoy your freedom while it lasts, because during Pledge Week, we own you. Period. End of sentence. Understand? If you have any questions, ­don’t ask me. You can, if you like, ask Gloria, or Shanna-Francine. However, if your question is deemed stupid or redundant or obvious, ­you’ll be docked points. It’s all about points, girls. Those with the most points by the end of Pledge Week will be invited to join Alpha Beta Delta. Some of you will crack under the pressure and elect to disqualify yourselves. If you have doubts about your stamina, I encourage you to disqualify yourself now.”

  Then she swept out of the room and up the stairs. Poof. She was gone. All of us just sat there, unsure of what to do next.

  “Okay, you can go now,” blurted Shanna-Francine, cheerfully smiling.

  When I stepped out of the house, I noticed that the clouds were receding, and shafts of bright sunlight dappled my face. Okay, so I’m not a sister yet, but I have a chance. A real chance! That’s more than I had before.

  August 28

  Dear Diary:

  Wow! So many rules and regulations! Every moment I had today, I read and reread the opening four chapters of the pledge book. I’ll probably read it again before I go to bed. There are so many things I have to remember. The first few rules are fairly simple do’s and ­don’ts, like:

  “Rule #6: During Pledge Week, pledges are to remain absolutely silent unless directly addressed by an Alpha Beta Delta sister.”

  But then it gets more complex:

  “Rule #14: During Pledge Week, pledges are required to wear the following uniform: a plain white blouse with Peter Pan collar and leg-of-mutton sleeves; navy blue knife-pleat skirt; plain white cotton panties and bra; plain white hose; black patent-leather one-bar shoes. Points will be deducted for any deviation, uncleanliness, faulty ironing, or loose pleats, with all decisions and deducted points at the discretion of Alpha Beta Delta sisters.”

  And this one is a doozy:

  “Rule #32: During Pledge Week, pledges are required to carry a large, light brown, bottom-fold portfolio briefcase. The contents of the briefcase must contain the following items, as Alpha Beta Delta sisters may at any time ask for them:

  Altoids, both mint and cinnamon, along with selected gums and hard candies (points added or subtracted at discretion of sister upon inspection of selection).

  Pocket shoeshine kit with soft-bristled shoe brush, black polish, chamois leather buffing cloth.

  Pocket manicure set with cuticle pusher, eyebrow tweezers, nail file and shaper, cuticle scissors and nippers, and toenail scissors.

  Makeup supplies (all Chanel unless specified): pressed powder compact, powder blush compact with mirror, lip brush, lipliners in nude and rose, lipstick in rose, liquid eyeliner, lash comb, eyelash curler, small natural sponge.

  Hairbrushes: flat-back brush, quill brush with wooden handle, pitchform comb, teaser comb.

  Smoking supplies: two unopened packs of Marlboro Mediums, two unopened packs of Salem Light 100s; four plastic-wrapped, unopened Bic minilighters (pink only).

  A selection of DVDs (extra points for new releases not yet available on market).

  A selection of music CDs (points added or subtracted at discretion of sister upon inspection of selection).

  Additional products: Motrin Extra Strength, Neutrogena Sunless Tanning Spray (Deep), Aveda Oil-Free Hydraderm, Xanax (.5 only).

  Homemade facial masks in plain white eight-ounce containers in the following varieties made fresh daily: cucumber, lemon, lettuce, and egg whites beaten with a jigger of rum, all slightly thickened with baby powder.

  There are seventy-two rules and regulations in all, including one that had me totally stumped at first:

  “Rule #66: During Pledge Week, pledges are required to wear a fresh white carnation at all times. The slightest evidence of pink in the carnation will result in points subtracted. Carnations must be purchased daily. If even minor wilting is in evidence as the day progresses, the pledge is strongly advised to replace it immediately.”

  I had to think about that one for a moment. Most of my classes start at eight a.m. There’s only one local flower shop that I know of, and it ­doesn’t open until ten a.m. Then I remembered. There is a farmer’s market in Camoville, which is about twenty miles or so from campus. Patty’s been there (I think that’s where she buys her spinach for “Patty’s Wilted Spinach Salad”). I called information, found their number, called them, and found out that they open daily at six a.m. Then I went online to look at the bus schedule. It looks like I’ll be waking up at four a.m. every morning during Pledge Week and taking a five a.m. bus, which will give me time to get to the market, buy the carnation, and then ride the bus back in order to make it to my first class, though I’ll be cutting it close, since it looks like the bus stops at practically every street corner between here and Camoville. Tomorrow’s Friday. I should probably make a trial run in the morning just to see how it goes, because come Tuesday morning after Labor Day, I’ve got to have everything down. Like clockwork.

  Oh, I know I can do this! If I ­don’t make it into Alpha Beta Delta, it ­won’t be because I ­haven’t followed the rules. I’ll make sure of that.

  August 29

  Dear Diary:

  It was still dark when my alarm went off at four a.m. But I practically leaped out of bed. This is it, I thought. This was the start of a whole new day—a whole new future! I ­didn’t even mind when I accidentally stepped on a half-eaten microwave tray of cheese and bean enchiladas. Patty mumbled, half-asleep, “Mmm. Alarm too early. Very inconsiderate of others.”