By Any Other Name

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  Until the Friday of the following week.

  We were rushing around, getting ready for school, and I needed to get into the bathroom. Rose had been in there an inordinate amount of time so I banged on the door for her to hurry. “C’mon, Rose. I need time in there, too.”

  Half a second later, she opened the door and I pushed my way in but skidded to a stop. “My gosh, Rose. What are you doing?”

  In the sink, floating in pinkish-red water, was a pile of rags—squares of cotton cloth. I looked at Rose with complete bewilderment. “Rose, what is that stuff? It looks horrible. And it stinks.”

  Rose shrugged and her cheeks got pink. She looked embarrassed and kind of ashamed at the same time. “Th-they’re my period rags,” she whispered.

  “Your what?”

  “M-my rags…you know…for when my period comes. When-when, you know…”

  “Your period?” Then I caught on and almost fell into the bathtub in the process. “Oh, m’god! That’s disgusting. You wear rags when you’re having your period? Th-that’s obscene.”

  I guess I was saying all this pretty loudly because just at that moment Mom stuck her head into the bathroom and frowned. “Girls, stop all the fussing and get ready for school.” She spied the sink full of bloody rags and her face did a somersault, which would’ve been extremely funny if I hadn’t been so wound up. “What is that?”

  I crossed my arms and grimaced. “You’ll never in a million years figure it out, Mother. That,” I pointed, “is what Rose calls her period rags. Her period rags. Mom, she wears folded rags during her periods.”

  Mom’s face did another double take then light dawned on Marblehead. Her face suddenly softened and she got all teary eyed. “Oh, honey…sweetheart…” she murmured like an idiot. “Oh, Rose, honey. Sit down for a minute. Let me explain something to you.” She motioned for Rose to lower the toilet lid and sit while she perched on the edge of the tub. Then she remembered I was there and waved me away. “Leave us alone for minute, will you, hon? I want to talk to Rose privately about this. Okay?”

  I nodded and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I was really peeved, and because I knew I had no right to be, it peeved me even more. It’s not that I wanted to stay and hear Mom’s little talk on personal hygiene, either. Lord, that would be the last thing I’d want to do. But, to be told to leave so she—my own mother—could have a frank little discussion with an almost perfect stranger on “becoming a woman” was like a slap in the face.

  A good ten minutes later they came downstairs. I was almost beside myself because it was getting late, and I didn’t want to miss the bus. And besides, I was still ticked off about being left out. I glared at Mom. “We’re going to miss the bus, Mom, and Rose hasn’t even had any breakfast.”

  Of course my mother just smiled. “Don’t worry, Kate. I’ll drive you to school. Rose has time to eat a bowl of oatmeal.” She wrinkled her nose in a poor imitation of Samantha Stevens on Bewitched and turned her attention to helping Jimmy-John carry his dirty dishes to the dishwasher. I was most effectively silenced. That irked me even more.

  * * * *

  That afternoon, after school, Rose and I hurried off the bus, literally dragging Jimmy-John behind us. Turned out to be a glorious day. A sort of winter heat wave had swept through our area and all the dirty snow and slush had melted away. It looked as though spring might make an early appearance.

  I’d kind of ignored Rose all day. So now I felt like a royal jerk. I mean, it hadn’t been her fault she didn’t know what to do with her period. They probably hadn’t any money to spend on sanitary napkins or tampons. Rose, of course, treated me as though I hadn’t behaved like an old witch. So, feeling good about the sun and it being Friday, I told Rose I wanted to ride my bike and get some good old-fashioned exercise in the fresh dry air—while it lasted.

  I thought my idea of riding bikes was a great one and hoped she’d forgiven me and would want to come along, but Rose just stared at me. Swallowing the curt thing I’d been tempted to say, I tried to be pleasant. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to ride bikes with me? I mean, if it’s about this morning, I’m sor—”

  Rose made a little face and shrugged. “Oh, no…forget this morning. I understand. Your mom was very sweet, and, well…yes, I would very much like to ride bikes with you. It’s just…well, I don’t know how to.”

  “What? You’re kidding.” I blurted then bit my tongue. Of course she’d never ridden a bike before. She used rags during her period, for crying out loud. She’d been living in the Dark Ages. Why did I keep forgetting? I forced a nonchalance. “Okay. So, I guess I’ll just have to teach you. It’s no big deal, really. All you need is a little coordination, and I’m pretty sure you have that. Piece of cake.”

  Famous last words.

  It took the entire afternoon and up until dark just to get her on the seat without tipping over. The whole endeavor was like a nightmare. I mean, who can’t learn to ride a bike?

  I was determined, though, now that I’d started the whole stupid project. Dad even came out the next day and helped. It took almost all of Saturday to teach her but we did it. By dinner time I was feeling rather smug and saw myself as another Annie Sullivan.

  After church on Sunday we rode bikes.

  Rose rode an extra bike we had that had been Mom’s, but which she seldom used. She’d originally bought it for exercise, declaring with unbridled enthusiasm how good riding a bike can be for a body but grew tired of it after only two weeks. A riot. Anyway, Rose of course was thrilled to use it, and the time and effort it took to teach her how to ride faded with her unbridled joy. Who could stay annoyed with someone who appreciated so little?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Rose moved into my room on January 31st. My double bed had been dismantled and new twin beds put up in its place. I hated giving up my quilt and everything but didn’t make too bad a fuss. I’d had to take things like tennis rackets and scrapbooks and my vintage record collection out of my closet and put them in the basement to give Rose space for her clothes. An old dresser that had been in the attic was brought down, cleaned up, and put in my room. It didn’t match my furniture and was scratched and old, but I didn’t mind too much and Rose certainly didn’t. To her it was the most awesome thing of all—her very own dresser. Crazy, but she was actually thrilled to have an old junky dresser to call her own.

  Half of me was intrigued with the whole bizarre idea of Rose bunking with me, and inwardly I had to laugh at what I imagined my friends would’ve said had they known the circumstances. Like I said, crazy.

  January left in an arctic blast and February marched in. More snow arrived and decided to stay on the ground until mid-February and then we experienced a thaw. Even though spring wasn’t right around the corner, the streets and roads were free of the encumbering snow and slush once again, and everyone made good use of the respite. Rose and I had lots of afternoons for riding the bikes. A lame activity, maybe, but I love the feel of wind in my hair and the exhilaration of flying down the country road. We had people passing in cars, honking or waving and we waved back for the shear pleasure of doing it. Sometimes we got so hysterical that we’d have to stop on the side of the road until we got our act together.

  Dad had gone to Wal-Mart and gotten a small bicycle complete with training wheels for Jimmy-John. When he was shown his new bike, he brought his small hands up and covered his mouth and stared, all big-eyed. Hilarious. Then, with a loud whoop, he’d thrown himself onto my dad with such force that Dad had nearly fallen backwards.

  Often Dad and Jimmy-John hopped on their bikes and pedaled all over the neighborhood, down the long country roads, and everywhere in between. After only a month, we saw a tremendous change in the boy. He no longer looked the lost, starved waif, the wizened old man in a kid’s body. He now had some weight on him and color in his once pale cheeks. He turned into a non-stop chatterer, too. We enjoyed listening to him prattle on and on and on about school, his bike, cartoons on TV—especial
ly Barney—and what he wanted to be when he grew up. Listening to him reminded me of my cousin Peter on the farm. When I mentioned this to Mom, she agreed. It was decided then and there that a weekend visit to the farm was in order. You should’ve seen Jimmy-John’s face when they told him where we all were going. Beyond hilarious.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The weekend at the farm was like this major epiphany for Rose and Jimmy-John. They’d never been to a farm before and were bonkers with everything it had to offer. Rose followed Grams around like a shadow, reveling in the mundane kitchen and household chores. I couldn’t laugh because I was the same way. For some reason, doing chores on the farm was a whole lot more fun than doing them at home. Go figure.

  Jimmy-John was in his element just following Gramps and Uncle Matt around as they went about taking care of the animals and the farm in general. I divided my time between staying inside with Grams, messing around with my aunt, and joining the guys outside. Rose? She didn’t leave Grams’s side for one minute. I think she was making up for lost time by trying to learn how to cook, bake, and take care of a house all on one weekend. I guess you could say, more power to her.

  The two days were packed with one surprise after another for the Coughlins. Their acute appreciation really gave me something to think about. I realized all over again how much I’d taken the farm and everybody on it, for granted. I saw it through different eyes.

  I’d always known I loved the farm, my grandparents, and my uncle and aunt and little cousins, but now I was struck with the realization that it was a like this huge precious gift that desperately needed to be cherished and held onto. Sheepishly, I thanked God as I got ready for bed. Yeah, I had a lot to be thankful for.

  * * * *

  We were all keyed-up by the time we drove up to the house late Sunday evening. Mom insisted Rose and I at least bathe and get ready for bed even though we weren’t ready to hit the sack yet. We didn’t argue. We’d had a big weekend and the thought of a hot shower really did sound good. Dad filled his and Mom’s bathtub with a ton of bubbles, threw in some rubber dinosaurs, and plopped Jimmy-John into it—practically losing him under the foam. He played for thirty minutes while Rose and I took turns in the main bathroom.

  After bath and showers, we trouped downstairs to the living room and begged to play a family game before turning in. Mom and Dad agreed on one condition—that since it was a school night Jimmy-John be content with only one game of Chutes and Ladders and then go right up to bed. The little boy promised happily so Rose and I played the game with him while Mom prepared cups of hot cocoa and Dad made up a plate of hot cheese toast for a snack. They were ready to play Trivial Pursuit with us by the time we’d finished our game with Jimmy-John.

  As soon as Jimmy-John had his snack and put the game away, Dad hunched down so the little boy could climb onto his back. Then, kissed soundly by Mom and Rose, and hugged by me, he was carried upstairs to bed, giggling and squealing like mad. Three minutes later, Dad returned to the living room where we’d already set up our game. Mom looked up at him quizzically.

  “That was quick. Didn’t you hear his prayers, John?”

  “Well, I tried. The little monkey was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. We barely made it through the teeth brushing.” Dad laughed.

  We played the game until 11:30, which was past my usual school night bedtime, seeing that I had to get up so early. My parents were not batting an eye at this because of Rose. She’d opened up like the flower she was named for. Quiet at first and terribly reticent about making moves or giving answers, as soon as she got the hang of it, she started answering the questions tossed her way like a contestant on Jeopardy. It amazed me how much she actually knew about stuff. The quiet “nobody” who’d sat in the back of the classroom since the beginning of time, the student who’d never raised her hand or uttered a single word, had stored up a lot of knowledge over the past years. She had to be a virtual sponge. I wondered what kind of grades Rose had been getting. All these years—if I’d thought about it all—I’d just taken it for granted that Rose was as stupid as she’d looked.

  Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed and the house was as quiet as a school on Sunday, I lay on my back just staring at my ceiling through the veil of darkness. I replayed the events of the past weeks, especially the weekend at the farm, and found myself smiling in total disbelief. The craziest thing. I was actually liked Rose Coughlin. Rose Coughlin. Freaky.

  We’d had a lot of fun riding bikes these past few weeks, and Rose actually talked to me—carried on real conversations—stuff about boys, and clothes, and what she’d like to do when she grew up, just like Nancy used to do. Rose gave her opinions about who she thought were studs, and which boys she thought were totally gross. Buddy Bigelow was top of that list, hands down. We’d laughed like crazy when Uncle Matt and Dad relayed stories of the antics of the three brothers. Rose acted as if she enjoyed hearing about the pranks the rambunctious Merrick boys had played on their parents, their teachers, and one another.

  And tonight. Tonight had been a blast. Rose answered several questions that stumped even Dad, who prided himself as a trivia buff. She’d taken the playful punches and hugs my family doles out when we get embroiled in a game like she was a relative or something. The change in Rose was beyond amazing. It was downright miraculous.

  I thought back to that day in early December when I’d had to sit with the Coughlins on the bus, and how repulsed I’d been, and writhed with shame. If only I’d known who they were underneath all that filth. If only I’d realized they were just people, too. The whole concept made me feel like I was shrinking. I suddenly felt half the person I used to be. Me. Kate Merrick. Big shot in the making, wasn’t the hot number she’d imagined she was. That thought made me burrow deeper into my blankets.

  What a pig I’d been. What a conceited little pig. Of course they were people—human beings—and the fact that I never thought of them like that made me sick to my stomach. Right then and there, I asked God to forgive me. I kind of doubted He would. I mean, could I forgive me?

  I must’ve moaned or something—made some kind of noise—because suddenly, out of the darkness, Rose spoke. “Kate?”

  I tuned onto my side and peered through the semi-darkness to see her face. “Yeah?”

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing…except you were moaning. I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well or something.”

  “No. I’m feeling okay…I guess.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I sat up in bed and brought my knees up. “Rose?”

  She sat up, too, and wrapped her arms around her drawn up knees. “Yes?”

  “I’m an imbecile.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m an imbecile…and a total and complete asshole.”

  “Kate!”

  “Sorry. I know it’s not ladylike and Mom really hates it when I talk what she calls crude talk. But, my gosh. Sometimes it’s the only way to really voice what you’re thinking…and feeling.”

  “What’s upsetting you so much? Is it something I’ve done?” Rose’s voice had a tremor in it that made me wince.

  “No. It’s nothing you’ve done. Gosh, Rose. You’ve been a trouper throughout this whole stinking mess. It’s what I’ve done to you that’s making me feel so crummy.”

  “What you’ve done…to me? I don’t understand. You’ve given me so much…so much, Kate. Why, you’re the first person who ever even looked at me…talked to me…treated me like…like a real person.”

  “But, don’t you see? That’s what I’m talking about. For like a hundred years—since first grade, anyway—I’ve treated you like dirt. I’ve made fun of you, I-I’ve laughed at you, I’ve ignored you, I’ve—”

  “Kate.”

  “I’ve bullied you, I’ve—”

  “Kate.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kate, that’s all in the past. Yesterday. Forgotten.
All I know is that you’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life. You and your parents, I mean. Look at me. I’m a different person.”

  I sighed and nodded. “Yeah. You sure are.”

  Rose rested her chin on her knees. “I used to be in pretty bad shape, didn’t I?”

  I nodded then winced.

  Rose smiled tremulously. “I know—now—that I was awful. But w-we didn’t have a lot of things in the house.” She sighed.

  “I understand, Rose. Really. I saw your house. I met your dad. And I don’t mean to speak badly about the dead but, well, your dad wasn’t too hot.”

  Rose nodded. “No, he wasn’t.”

  “He was a jerk.”

  “I used to dream…to pray. But…”

  “Yeah. I suppose you did.”

  “Your dad. He’s nice.”

  “Yeah, Dad’s pretty okay.” I chuckled. “I mean, there are times when he drives me nuts, but—”

  “No.”

  Her outburst startled me and I leaned toward Rose to make out the expression on her face. “What? What’s the matter?”

  Rose pressed her face against her knees. “Nothing.” Her voice was muffled.

  “Gotta be something for you to practically yell at me. I mean, I know my dad’s a great dad. It’s just that sometimes he gets on my nerves.”

  “Oh, Kate.” Rose raised her head and looked at me.

  I could tell she was upset. Just about to say something silly, a hideous thought struck me. So obscene that I wanted to erase it from my mind, but I decided to be bold and come right out and say it. “Rose? Did, uh, did your father ever, well, you know…touch you?” As soon as I’d said it, I wished I hadn’t. Even in the darkness, I could tell I’d hit the bull’s eye. Rose had buried her face again. “Oh, Rose…Rose. Oh, God.” I didn’t know what to say. You hear about stuff like this, but in my world, you don’t actually come face to face with it. “Oh, Rose.”