September 1965

Her name was Georgia Edith. She was born early in the morning on the 25th of October. It was nearly Halloween.

But in that environment, you wouldnt know the difference. Nevermind the fact that childbirth is just plain ghory, but it was

childbirth within the walls of a prison. Lucky for Georgia, her mom wasnt frail- no c-section or special medical attention

necessary to speed along the process. Her first glimpse of the world was the inner walls of a prison cell, but it wasnt for long.

Maybe it was just the times, but prison staff werent all that adequate at noticing things; especially when it was the same old, sad

people in the same old, sad place. But, it was a total of two days before Georgia Edith was taken from Vera Edith.

The first time her grandmother told Georgia the story, she wasnt traumatized, or surprised. She was just

uncomfortable, because it seemed like a story that happened to someone else. She didnt want to talk about her mother. She

didnt know her mother, and she was fine with that. Her life was comfortable. She loved her grandmother, Eleanor. She was

nice, even when she yelled. She was strict, and always left Georgia alone when she wanted to be. And just like Georgia, she

didnt mention her mother much, and Georgia was just fine with that. It was different when she was little. She made much more

noise when she was little, or so Georgia was told. But she always wondered if that was true. Babies cry. Mothers dont even like

that.

In health class, she read an article once about mothers killing their babies. They cried, and the moms got frustrated. It

went on for days and days, and the Moms got so fed up that they did bad things. Georgia remembered thinking how maybe she

might get frustrated too. Not frustrated enough to kill a baby though. But if they cried that loud, and that often, how did her

mom keep her there? How was it possible? She didnt like to think about it.

But it was all forgotten about in the light of day. Only in private did Georgia and her grandmother think about those

things. They moved to the neighboring town of Verona, where they could escape the gossip of the Edith Scandal. There, they

didnt talk or point fingers in the streets. Mothers didnt pull their children away with furtive glances, skeptical of their

innocence, like an entire family could be polluted by the crime of one. Eleanor took little Georgia away before she could

experience the full blown extent of their resentment.

It was August of 1981, and Georgia was going into her Junior year. She was a modern girl, and for that reason, was

persistent enough to sway her grandmother into withdrawing her from her boring old secondary school. They wore uniforms, had

flat ponytails, and a sexist regime that only Georgia thought she took notice of. Or perhaps, the other girls did notice, they just

didnt mind. Eleanor was more open to Georgias ideas than she was with her own daughter. It was a purposeful, and difficult
shift that she tried to make. She did blame herself for how Vera turned out. And she could see the striking resemblance in

Georgia. The strength and determination. The initiative. But unlike Georgia, Vera was subject to a marred youth. Eleanor

blamed herself for not taking the time to smoothe the canvas. Instead Vera kept falling into the cracks.

What Vera and Georgia had in common also, was their inability to make friends. Georgia had never had a very good

friend. Her grandmother had assumed it was partially due to the environment. Nobody wanted to be friends with the Edith girl.

The children in the neighborhood grew up hearing the stories, the urban legends about their family. It wasnt as if they were

otherwise interesting. It wasnt like Grey Gardens, with a big house, and eccentric recluses. Apart from Vera, they were

otherwise normal. But I guess that triple homicide isnt exactly the most normal thing to happen, even if it isnt a familial trend.

But after they moved, Eleanor expected things to be different, for things to be normal for Georgia for once. She was her second

chance at getting it right. But she didnt play with the other kids in the sandbox. She didnt talk about any of the other children.

It was only her and Eleanor, and that was just the way she liked it.

Thats why it was so surprising that she made friends when she moved schools. She was more stoic than the other kids.

Even at the all-girls-school. Georgia was more centered, serious; she held herself with a quiet dignity beyond her age. Eleanor

didnt know whether she did it to keep herself mysterious or she just found the adolescent facade tiresome. Her name was Katie

Preston. She was a senior, and was ecstatic to be leaving soon.

I want to get into a good college, you know? She told Georgia one afternoon in their typing class. They were seated

together. Georgia thought that was a curious thing to say. Of course she would want to get into a good college. Doesnt

everyone? Nobody wants to be sent to their second choice of school. Thats why it was the second choice. But she just nodded

in acknowledgement. Ive been typing my essay, she pointed at the screen. Im just learning to get a hang of this thing, its

taking ages.

Yeah, I know what you mean, Georgia said. My grandmother started me off on her old typewriter just to get me

prepared for this. But its not really the same at all, is it?

What do you mean? Katie asked.

I dont know. Its just different, Georgia shrugged.

Good different? Georgia paused to think.

Good different.

Georgia walked home. She always had. It would take her a while to learn the route back, so she figured thered be no

point in wasting today by asking her grandmother to pick her up. It wasnt as close as her old school, but she didnt mind. Shed
be just in time for dinner now. She kicked at the autumn leaves starting to fall. There were only a spare few. It was just the

beginning of the season after all, when summer is on the cusp of change. She liked it. She liked how the two merged. She

walked on the sidewalk, alongside the other kids. They were talking to each other boisterously. She listened in. Maggie, a girl

with red hair and a nose ring was talking animatedly to a tall black girl with long earrings. She was complaining about the

amount of homework bestowed upon them already in the first week. The other girl looked tired, but continued listening. Behind

them were a group of boys. They had on baggy jeans and letterman jackets. Football players, she figured; the ones whod just

made it onto the team. The underclassmen who couldnt drive. She could see it in the weight they carried in their cheeks, the

softness in their eyes.

She liked how youth looked. Not up close. Up close it was messy, and nasty, and the kids reeked of puberty. Gross. It

definitely wasnt her favorite. But she could understand from an objective point of view how it might be viewed as beautiful. A

necessary evil on the one-way-track to, ironically, growing up. Objectively, it was innocence. Up close, it was her. And she

didnt know in her heart and mind that she felt that innocent. She thought about Katie. She seemed the prime example. Not that

she was too innocent; she had a certain streak of mischief laden behind her big blue eyes. More like naivity. It peaked through in

her curious hyperactivity, her curiosity and interest. Adults, Georgia thought, tended to lose those things. She saw that, in turn in

her grandmother. She was tired, which made sense, she was an old woman. But the gradual depression of those things were

evident. She saw it in herself. She wondered if thats why she had never had good friendships; because she didnt want them

enough.

Thats why she and Katie got along. At first it was weird. Georgia didnt know how to act. She and Katie sat in the

back of the class. Katie had long blonde hair that she usually tied back in a ponytail. She was loud, and boisterous, and didnt

much care who she was saying things to as long as she got to say them. Georgia didnt get to say much, and she didnt mind

much. She also didnt mind that Katie was older than her. She was older, and she wasnt yet cynical. It amazed her. They were

getting better at typing, and Georgia could tell, because their notes back and forth were more frequent. She had more to say. And

though her silence was a significant dynamic of their starting friendship, she began to like to hear her own voice. Katie, she

could tell, liked it too.