our age. Not many girls. But Joanie didn’t seem to mind. She always seemed comfortable wherever she was.
“So why did he take somebody else’s name?” Joanie asked.
“Maybe he did something wrong,” I offered. “Maybe he knew the guy who died and he had done something bad, so he pretended to be him instead of who he was.”
“How would you do that?” Joanie said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was probably pretty confusing during the war.”
“What do you think he did?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It would have to be pretty bad.”
“How are we going to know?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
EVERY Friday night during the school year, we went to dancing class in the Grange Hall. It was a big old building with some sort of churchlike tower on it. I wasn’t really sure what a grange was, but I knew it had something to do with farmers.
The class was taught by a single lady named Miss Miller who played music on a piano in the corner, and would count for us as we glomped around the floor.
None of us exactly liked dancing class. But they insisted we go, and it was a chance to hang with your friends and dance close with girls. Miss Miller insisted we dress up for class, so the girls mostly wore big skirts and white socks and loafers. On top they usually had sweaters, sometimes with a little dickey under the sweater, and sometimes they’d wear a blouse, usually white, instead of a sweater. When you danced with them, you could feel the sharp push of their bra against your chest. The bras were very hard.
I usually had on gabardine slacks and a brown plaid jacket, and either a maroon or a green rayon shirt, with the collar open and spread out over the neck and lapels of the jacket. Most of the guys wore the same kind of stuff. Some kids wore sweaters instead of suit coats.
We were also supposed to learn manners from Miss Miller. She was always saying “Young gentlemen” this, and “Young ladies” that, and acted as if we would want to be young gentlemen and ladies. Most of the guys, I knew, were not much interested in being young gentlemen. Most of us were interested in sex. We didn’t think that girls were; we thought they were interested in being young ladies. But we might have been wrong.
The problem with being so interested in sex was that we didn’t really know how to express the interest, or what to do about it. Most of us knew the facts of life in a technical sense. We just lacked what you might call hands-on experience. So we made jokes, and talked sort of dirty, and danced as close as we could. And then retreated to our side of the room and huddled among our gender mates.
The Grange Hall had a bad heating system, so it was always too hot or too cold in there. And the real issues of sex and uncertainty that made the air in the Grange Hall thick with intensity was far beneath Miss Miller’s plane of vision. She played her piano and counted for us and talked about “young gentlemen” and “young ladies.” If Miss Miller had ever thought about sex, she seemed to have stopped a long time ago.
Dancing with Joanie was, of course, the most pressure. Neither of us could dance, and as we bumped around the barnlike room, we giggled a lot. But I also smelled her shampoo, and felt the hard pointy bra against my chest, and felt her thighs move. I almost closed my eyes in the effort not to think impure things about her. I didn’t want to have to tell Father Al I’d had impure thoughts about Joanie Gibson…I didn’t want to have them, she was too important to think about like that…I forced any bad feelings back down into the bottom of my soul…Sometimes I said several silent Hail Marys to distract me. They worked. Or it worked. Or something worked. I didn’t have impure thoughts about Joanie, but the effort of not having them was so powerful that sometimes it was difficult for me to talk.
CHAPTER 36
IT was about half past three in the afternoon. School was over for the
“So why did he take somebody else’s name?” Joanie asked.
“Maybe he did something wrong,” I offered. “Maybe he knew the guy who died and he had done something bad, so he pretended to be him instead of who he was.”
“How would you do that?” Joanie said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was probably pretty confusing during the war.”
“What do you think he did?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It would have to be pretty bad.”
“How are we going to know?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
EVERY Friday night during the school year, we went to dancing class in the Grange Hall. It was a big old building with some sort of churchlike tower on it. I wasn’t really sure what a grange was, but I knew it had something to do with farmers.
The class was taught by a single lady named Miss Miller who played music on a piano in the corner, and would count for us as we glomped around the floor.
None of us exactly liked dancing class. But they insisted we go, and it was a chance to hang with your friends and dance close with girls. Miss Miller insisted we dress up for class, so the girls mostly wore big skirts and white socks and loafers. On top they usually had sweaters, sometimes with a little dickey under the sweater, and sometimes they’d wear a blouse, usually white, instead of a sweater. When you danced with them, you could feel the sharp push of their bra against your chest. The bras were very hard.
I usually had on gabardine slacks and a brown plaid jacket, and either a maroon or a green rayon shirt, with the collar open and spread out over the neck and lapels of the jacket. Most of the guys wore the same kind of stuff. Some kids wore sweaters instead of suit coats.
We were also supposed to learn manners from Miss Miller. She was always saying “Young gentlemen” this, and “Young ladies” that, and acted as if we would want to be young gentlemen and ladies. Most of the guys, I knew, were not much interested in being young gentlemen. Most of us were interested in sex. We didn’t think that girls were; we thought they were interested in being young ladies. But we might have been wrong.
The problem with being so interested in sex was that we didn’t really know how to express the interest, or what to do about it. Most of us knew the facts of life in a technical sense. We just lacked what you might call hands-on experience. So we made jokes, and talked sort of dirty, and danced as close as we could. And then retreated to our side of the room and huddled among our gender mates.
The Grange Hall had a bad heating system, so it was always too hot or too cold in there. And the real issues of sex and uncertainty that made the air in the Grange Hall thick with intensity was far beneath Miss Miller’s plane of vision. She played her piano and counted for us and talked about “young gentlemen” and “young ladies.” If Miss Miller had ever thought about sex, she seemed to have stopped a long time ago.
Dancing with Joanie was, of course, the most pressure. Neither of us could dance, and as we bumped around the barnlike room, we giggled a lot. But I also smelled her shampoo, and felt the hard pointy bra against my chest, and felt her thighs move. I almost closed my eyes in the effort not to think impure things about her. I didn’t want to have to tell Father Al I’d had impure thoughts about Joanie Gibson…I didn’t want to have them, she was too important to think about like that…I forced any bad feelings back down into the bottom of my soul…Sometimes I said several silent Hail Marys to distract me. They worked. Or it worked. Or something worked. I didn’t have impure thoughts about Joanie, but the effort of not having them was so powerful that sometimes it was difficult for me to talk.
CHAPTER 36
IT was about half past three in the afternoon. School was over for the
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