TTOWB: Too Many Friends
Chapter 6 - The 90s were a wild time to be a teenage girl.
The Tenderness of Wild Beasts
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Chapter 6: Too Many Friends
Surprisingly, my mother’s nutcase act at her seventh birthday party seemed to have attracted Jud’s affection for me. She picked me as her new, exclusive best friend. From Oliver’s point of view, it was undeniably a privilege. Jeez, I think he wet his undies when he learnt about it.
“A chance which doesn’t happen twice in a life, darling, at least in yours,” he said. “Be a good girl.”
The problem is that, by accessing this VIP relationship, I stopped being the kid from the peeling house. I stopped being a good girl. And both the old and the new Lucero learnt it.
Actually, I have never understood what being a good girl meant, but it did not really matter as, obviously, no one else was fully informed either.
When I was 5, I was told that I needed to insist on my personal hygiene as my vulva was apparently precious.
When I was 10, I was told that writing love notes was prompting rape.
When I was 15, I was told that if I was not talking with a high voice, boys would not love me.
When I was 20, I was told that being called a bitch by a man was not necessarily a bad thing.
How could I be a good girl if nobody had a precise definition of the concept?
Being a good friend was no picnic either, especially when your best friend had a temper. Outside of Judith, all I ever had were imaginary friends. None of them was quite the vapid type –just like the main blonde girl in the movie The Village of the Damned. But they had not prepared me for the outgoing, smoothie and possessive demeanors of Judith Lair. She was a funfair ride by herself, and a tiresome one for sure. We would spend full afternoons whispering in the tall grass of our respective gardens, gently running after butterflies, and allowing the sun rays to peacefully caress our little limbs. And out of the blue, Jud would start a tantrum, leaving me alone and puzzled to sulk in a corner, until one adult would come to change her mood. Our fusional relationship was even more blatant in the schoolyard where no other kid could come close to me without exposing themselves to the theatrical jealousy of the little Miss Lair.
Around 1994, I became obsessed with martial arts. A judoka had come to the school for an introduction to his sport and it fascinated me. At Mum’s bookstore, I bought a novel about a girl’s ascent to black belt and it was also the time when movies such as Karate Kid and Three Ninja Kids were released. I knew the lines by heart and I would ape the holds for hours, screaming and jumping in my garden over the sprinkler, the stone pathway, or the traumatized cat, exhilarated by the softness of the setting sun. Moreover, there was some icing on the cake and this was Max Elliott Slade. He was playing Colt, the second of the three ninja kids, with his tanned oval face, golden bowl cut and irresistible dimples. I spent the whole summer nursing my obsession about him. At the start of the new school year, the Lucero Elementary School had a new pupil; a girl that was the exact replica of Max. Obviously, I was her shadow, certain that she was in fact the cross-dressed child actor. To substantiate this outlandish theory, I went as far as inviting myself to one of her pool parties –and of course, it turned out that I was wrong. My deception was nothing compared to Jud’s ire. She stopped talking to me for two weeks, during which I stood in front of the wall between the 101 and my house, training my mind to protect itself from the extraterrestrial powers of my best friend. I had also asked permission to take karate classes, only to discover that my free will had been abolished.
At school, there was a narrow space between two parts of the building that looked like a small, open-air amphitheater. There, kids used to gather for impromptu dance shows. One of the girls was especially talented. The elegance and flexibility with which she moved her tiny body left both her classmates and adult staff in awe. She was mature for her age and, contrary to other girls who picked that musical saw from the Aladdin’s animation movie –that bloody song– she was singing Madonna’s hits along with her choreographies. The explicit lyrics were sounding quite weird in the mouth of an eight-year old girl, until we learnt that she was abused by her stepfather. Jud, with her competitive spirit, was craving to participate and shine too, but the self-established jury was shamefully snubbing and mocking her, for her greatest displeasure. When Virginia Lair decided that her daughter will take dance classes, Oliver seconded that in the minute and I never practised martial arts. And God knows how useful it would later have been.
The evening dance school was located in the gymnasium next to Lucero’s public swimming pool on Vineyard Road, the road to the plant. Our teacher was Jojo, a kooky old maiden with a shady ballerina past. At first, I hated dance; the ridiculous girly outfits, the music Jojo picked and, of course, the competition between girls. My first good memory about it happened one night at the end of the classes. All the other girls were already gone with their parents and Jojo was inside, tidying the room. I was alone in the street, waiting for Oliver to pick me up after his shift. I enjoyed staying in the darkness, to fully admire the incandescent light of street lamps on the wet macadam, probably imagining that I was a spy of some sort. The air was cooled by a soft breeze, bringing spices from the nearby vines as well as the white noise of nocturnal insects. And then I saw him, slightly preceded by the rasping of his claws on concrete. He was rummaging between the cars and the trash cans, guided by his sense of smell, surprisingly unaware of my presence –or rather, indifferent to it. A coyote. He seemed to dance on his scrawny legs, certainly in a better fashion than me during classes. Holding my breath, I was waiting as he was coming in my direction. I could clearly see the patches of red hair on his body, revealed by the electric light. Suddenly, he stopped, hissing with his lolling tongue in the middle of the road. I felt his piercing eyes on me. After a while, he sat, and, giving me a last glance of approval, he produced a kind of greeting song, as if he were reunited with another member of his pack. But before I could join him to run away in the night, the front beam and irritated horn of Oliver’s car reminded me that I had to go home.
This encounter motivated me to come to the classes and even though I never saw my coyote friend there again, I finally started to find some satisfaction in learning choreographies.
Thanks to the evening dance classes, I was even considered for a part in the sixth-grade end of the year’s dance show. “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls was the number one hit in every girl’s heart and the ass-licker organizer had set up an act on it. She wanted me to be Ginger Spice.
She requested, “Tell your mother to remove your dye by that time.”
“My what?”
“Your dye. Red is your true color, isn’t it?”
It left me speechless. Did she really assume that twelve-year old girls were casually dyeing their hair? Also, the red hair question has been a recurring one during all my life and my naive, younger self wondered if my coyote hair was showing. Now, I think that these persons had known you at some point and were unconsciously recognizing some of our common features. Finally, the dance show organizer did not give me the part and I was relieved to have been replaced. I was walking fast at night and even faster during daytime. I sat on the corners of the classroom, never in the front nor in the back. I was not made to be a showgirl, I hated being in the front beam. Judith, on the other hand, was, and as Sporty Spice, she became the overnight center of interest of Bethany Junior High.
Lucero Elementary School used to be a cute socialist utopia in itself, with all the kids living in an innocent harmony of different skin tones, religious beliefs, and a common hope for the future. Bethany Junior High, on the other hand, was a private catholic school preparing solely white privileged kids to enter Stanford one day. I guess you will not ask why the peeling house girl ended up there – Oliver letting me be separated from my Lair BFF: no dice. But maybe you could ask how. Well, he convinced Mum to sell her precious bookstore and to take a job as a librarian at the local public junior high. He truly was the king of irony – and he broke her heart.
When I stumbled on Virginia Lair at her daughter’s wedding party, I was surprised that she was not keeping that sycophant on a leash, walking him around the room like a pet. Strangely, he was not there. Less surprisingly, Chance was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he finally died or simply disappeared one day without someone noticing. A lot of characters tend to vanish in this story, but I am sure you have figured that out already.
“Oh, Mary Jane, what a surprise!” simpered Virginia. “Nice to see you again.”
I twitched. There she was. The last time I had seen her, she was trying to humiliate me in public with that ridiculous Macarena choreography. Wait, I am in denial, it was not the last time… but, well.
“Judith is so overwhelmed by all the friends that have come to congratulate her.”
She must have one hell of a friendship video, eh?
“But I am sure she will find some time to chat with one of her oldest friends. So… what are you up to these days? Some exciting things for sure… oh my god, your hair is so short! This edgy look is so interesting.”
She was still looking good for her age, her nonchalant arrogance elegantly wrapped in a beige kaftan. I guess it was her way to remind the guests about how open-minded she was to have adopted a little arabic girl. At Bethany, Jud certainly did not feel grateful for this act of charity and my so-called “edgy style” was small potatoes compared to her troubled teen’s flamboyance. Let’s face it, those shit-stirring, spoiled brats of Bethany would never consider her white. Yet, Jud tried her best to distract them from that.
During the four years I endured in that school, I witnessed three different phases in her style’s evolution, the third one finally getting the better of my nerves. The first one, I called it “Preppy in Pink”– forget about it. The only thing I kept from that phase is an aversion for Buffalo platform sneakers as well as the soundtrack of the movie Romeo + Juliet she had recorded for me on a tape. I already mentioned to you the second one, the Sporty Spice phase. After her unexpected success at the dance show, Jud decided to capitalize on it. She had hit puberty, becoming taller and slender, so the high ponytail, sport bras and sneakers did not look boyish on her; she adopted them on a daily basis. She wanted our classmates to remember how they had loved her in Sporty Spice and, for this, she never missed an occasion to hang out with the girls who had played Baby and Posh Spice, Esmee and Dawn. Esmee Stevenson had rich yet strict parents she enjoyed driving up the walls with her misconducts.
One day, Jud organized a trip to the movie theater and called our mothers to tell them we were going to see Shakespeare in Love as part of some homework. I was delighted as I had recently discovered the exhilarating power of the St Crispin day speech.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition.”
I guess it talked to the peeling house kid, lost among scornful rich teens. But my unhappy few went to see The Bride of Chucky instead. I liked the bright red, European looking room of the theater, with its fancy glass ceiling. But I disliked Jud, Esmee and Dawn loudly eating pop-corn, and giggling as the two evil dolls were slaughtering a couple caught in a sex act. The pearl-clutching of the Stevensons, learning about Jud’s cinematic swindle, helped her cement her friendship with Esmee, who had apparently been fascinated by the plot of the killing lovers. Jud was ready for her third phase.
I have been a wise kid but a disastrous teenager; Judith elevated it to the rank of art.
The school bus to Bethany High was picking us in front of the car repair shop for a one hour long ride to Carmel. At first, I was spending that time listening to Jud talking about shopping and singing along the radio; it was either “MMMBop”, “I Love You Always Forever” or “Killing Me Softly with His Song”. A journey without her was eerily peaceful, and this happened on the first day of eighth grade.
The school’s doors were not yet open when I saw her. I mean, everyone saw her.
Her hair was fluttering on her shoulders and their cadmium-red color was blazing, outshining by far our navy-blue uniform, which she had altered to accentuate her athletic body. She was a stunner. Within months, she would elaborate her new rock’n’roll appearance. Of course, nothing was truly original, from the brown lipstick and the black nails to the Vivienne Westwood choker and the hairnet stockings –nothing we had not seen in The Craft, and nothing that would measure up to Fairuza Fucking Balk. Plus, Jud was putting on so many mascara her eyelashes were looking like a burnt forest. Esmee and Dawn were also fans of the movie and terribly impressed by my best friend’s bold style. They were doing everything together: getting their ears pierced, then their nose, then their belly button and finally their tongue. Dawn caught a mouth infection.
One day, Judith came to school and we all felt she had done something special. With an air of conspirator, she gathered all the girls in the bathroom. She rolled up her shirt to reveal her lower abdomen, covered with shrink wrap and cream.
She stated, “It is a design inspired by Marylin Manson. I drew it myself, the tattooer was so impressed.”
I shrugged. In the half light of the bathroom, it was merely a hodgepodge of reddish, swollen lines. Manson was her idol, and Columbine did not temper her fanaticism. We were spending most of our free time in a small room, located in a secluded part of the school, where Jud would read aloud crude information she would find on the singer in hard rock magazines. She wrote his name on the walls with dark hearts, while Esmee would practice her favorite smiley, a weird character with a Cheshire cat smile, crazy eyes, a Madhatter hat and, sometimes, a doobie. The blonde had a crush on the local drug dealer, Nahuel. They had met through a message board and it was a matter of time before they would hook up, which was turning Dawn green with envy.
(To be continued.)