Sadie pulls out the guitar, tunes it and the sister’s warm up their voices. They sing, Go with The Snow, an original song older sister Eve wrote after the death of their grandmother. A harmonious closeness permeates the group.
Everything’s moving in slow motion; I’m paralyzed, until wait… I’m just stoned. Oliver leers at Ky—looking super butch in his green plaid, flannel shirt, and faded patched blue jeans. Ky’s giant boy face with glacier blue eyes sweet with intent and gaiety. Oliver’s burning gaze alerts Ky that he’s hot for some Italian Papa.
Ky leans toward the singers and reels us back to earth.
“Hey, it’s almost dark—hate to be a buzzkill, but Rosie and I have a pain-in-the-ass Semantics test tomorrow. Time to vamoose.” He cocks his head toward the path to the truck. Our squinty, bloodshot eyes blink us back to reality.
Later that night Jack calls, his voice is hesitant and halting with a cold, stilted quality.
“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.
“Someone told me while riding in the Sacred Heart School van this afternoon, they drove by the high school and saw you making out with a hippie guy.”
“Oh, Jack, are you serious? Ky Kerry’s an old grade school friend; we were waiting for the Morgan twins to take them to The River. He poked me in the eye while we were horsing around. Who made up such a blatant lie and why would you believe it?”
Coldness melting, he said, “I didn’t say I believed it, just inquiring.” His voice trails off.
“Whoever told you this, is not a friend. It might’ve looked like we were hugging from a distance. We left right after with the twins. Oliver met the girls, they sang songs and we had a blast.” It angered me that such an innocent act got misinterpreted. One of Fernando Fernandez minions had reported the incident to Jack.
Go with the Snow
go with the snow
go with our Love
look at the sky
the white snow dove
think of the time
and the songs to be sung
in the cold of the winter
in the heat of the sun
fly with your soul
and take you some lovin’
it’ll keep you as warm
as that old bakin’ oven
think of the forest
the wind in the trees
just as sweet as you imagine
as kind as you please
Think of joy—joy
Think of joy—joy
–Eve Morgan
12
Something Extraordinary
I find ecstasy in living; the mere
sense of living is joy enough.
–Emily Dickinson
I attend Marie Noonan’s Humanities class on Thursday afternoons at 3:30 p.m. I ride the 3 miles on my burgundy, Batavus, ten-speed bike. I’m breaking an unwritten rule being the only girl at an all boy’s school. Marie Noonan’s a direct, no-nonsense teacher who makes the rules, if she takes a shine to a local, “townie” girl and wants her in class, so be it.
I arrive a few minutes early and thank Marie. “Please, stay after class so I can go over the material with you,” she said curtly.
“Yes, ma’am.” The bell rings, and the boys file into the last class of the day. They murmur in low tones that I can’t hear. The small plain classroom has ten half-desk chairs arranged in a circle with Marie’s wooden desk in the corner. A row of metal framed windows lines the outer wall facing the open quad where the Gonads play football.
Marie at seventy is an elegant and petite lady with a shock of white, wavy hair. She wears light-colored sweater sets with A-line skirts, plain low-heeled pumps, and a strand of pearls. Her vibrant eyes are full of incessant curiosity and wonder. I sense she’s thrilled to have me in her class.
“Our guest student is Rose Ramirez. Please, when appropriate, introduce yourself. Let’s take out the handouts from yesterday; Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces. I’d like to go over a couple of the quotations. Rose, here’s a copy.” She hands me a mimeographed paper.
“The idea regarding the hero myth: he ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder where fabulous forces encountered, and a decisive victory is won. He returns with power and the incarnation of God himself, and with the energies of eternity. This transcendent force lives in all, in all our profound obeisance,” she reads the quote.
She dramatically pauses and they eagerly wait for her next sentence. “Campbell had a different take on spirituality than Carl Jung. We’ll go deeper once we finish Joseph Campbell’s book and move on to Carl Jung’s teachings. I want you to finish the last chapter of Hero with a Thousand Faces and write a summary of modern-day heroes. This is due by next class.” She returns previous homework assignments, commenting on the outstanding papers, the feedback is all positive.
Class ends, and the nine boys file out. I remain at my desk. Marie asks, “Did you understand what we discussed?” She sits down next to me.
“Yes, it was exhilarating. You don’t talk down to your students,” I said.
“No, but I don’t assume they know what I do.” She says while studying me, I’m uncomfortable and squirm in my chair. I hope Jack’s outside waiting for me.
“How do you define yourself, dear?” She asks with little expression. I’m taken aback.
“I wish to live a creative life and grow into a well-rounded independent person.” I stumble over my words. My blood shifts from a pound to a racing pulse.
“What are your passions? What’s the first thing you think about in the morning and the last thing at night?” Her direct gaze puts me on the spot.
“He’s a student here, Jack Dillon.” My face lights up; I crack a smile.
Marie frowns. “Rose, that’s not acceptable. Do you like to read? She picks up a magazine. Do you write?” She rolls a pen toward me. “I want you to start reading the New York Times, at least the Sunday edition. The public library has it.”
She glides over to her desk and pulls out a leather journal and writes my name inside the cover and places it on my desk, “Please, start keeping a daily journal and write about anything—whatever comes to you. Stretch your mind and improve your analytical skills. Wake up and be aware, lead a life of concentration, rather than sleep-wading through la Vida.” She sits down in the chair and releases a long, extended sigh.
“Girls rely too much on their looks and firm bodies—as they should. Do you realize, you’re at the peak of your beauty? You’re at your best physically that you’ll ever be! But it fades, and wisdom prevails—engage the mind by reading and writing and live a rich, vibrant and exciting life. We all have a creative spirit at work pushing us to evolve, to become better, to make what is rare commonplace. The universe is full of creatures that continue to create and recreate.