Slap Your Sides by M. E. Kerr

Please?”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œMy father didn’t even want it to leave our house!”
    She put the postcard and the V-mail back into her pocketbook.
    â€œThanks for showing it to me,” I said.
    â€œDo you know why I did?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “I showed it to you because the one thing I don’t like about you is the way you defend Bud.”
    I looked at her, amazed. “Did you think that letter would change my mind?”
    â€œI think it’s not fair for Danny to have to go through that when certain others get out of it…when certain others won’t even volunteer to be medics!”
    â€œWe’ve talked about this before. I’m not going to argue with you.”
    I could have. Something had been happening to me since I’d been to New York. Maybe seeing how Bud chose to live his life made me want mine to count for something. I’d also been reading back copies of The Catholic Worker , a pacifist newspaper published by Dorothy Day, and some pamphlets Bud had given me. I knew for sure now that when it came my turn, I wanted to witness. Bud had said not to choose 4E just because he had. Either I wouldn’t stick with it, or else I’d be miserable. But I’d begun to believe it was the only way I could register for the draft and have any respect for myself. The more I prayed about it, the surer I was.
    On the train ride home from New York I kept thinking how excited Bud was about his work at Shenandoah. It didn’t even seem to bother him thatalthough he received a salary as a hospital attendant, it was automatically forwarded to the federal government. He didn’t see a nickel of it. That would bother me . But Bud was full of praise for the new superintendent. There were plans afoot for a front-yard sign that said “Hospital,” not “Asylum.” This new man wanted all the attendants to call patients Mr. or Mrs. or Miss as a start to restoring their dignity. No more meals on the floor with drinks from the hose.
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    After Daria’s voice lesson I rode Baby Boy and she rode Quinn. We went up into the Chester Hills. It was a warm May afternoon with the sun shining down on us.
    When we reached Chester Park, the highest point, we got off our horses to take in the view.
    â€œI don’t mean to be hard on you, Jubal,” she said. “I shouldn’t hold you responsible for what Bud does.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I said. “I’m proud of what he’s doing.”
    She let that go by. “I never had a knack for making friends. I was always with Danny or Dean. By the time they went off to war, it was too late.” She turned and smiled. “You’re my best friend.”
    â€œI guess you’re my best friend, too.”
    â€œYou guess ? Do you have a lot of friends at school?”
    â€œI think of you sometimes as more than a friend.”
    Hot face again; I wished I could quit that!
    Daria didn’t say anything, so I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to spoil things with a big pronouncement of any kind.”
    She gave me one of her slanted smiles. “If you want to kiss me, come to the Catholic Armed Forces Day next Saturday. I’m in the Kissing Booth. Ten cents a kiss, Jubal.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œBecause the money goes to the war?”
    â€œNot only that. When I kiss someone, I want her to want it as much as I do.”
    She smiled up at me. “‘Come slowly—Eden!’”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œâ€˜Come slowly—Eden!…As the fainting bee—Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums.’ It was written by this old maid who wrote poetry I could swoon over. She was a recluse who never left her family home in Amherst, Massachusetts. I guess she took life too slowly.”
    â€œWhat poet is that?”
    â€œEmily Dickinson,” said Daria.
    â€œI don’t