The Black Cat principal sources of pleasure.

To those who have cherished an

affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the
by Edgar Allan Poe trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification
thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-
(published 1845) sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him
who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and
FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to
expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence.
Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow
I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition
I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose
not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic
is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without
pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most
comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences,
agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small
these events have terrified -- have tortured -- have destroyed me. Yet
monkey, and a cat.
I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little
but Horror -- to many they will seem less terrible than barroques.
Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce
This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely
my phantasm to the common-place -- some intellect more calm,
black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his
more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will
intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with
perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than
superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion,
an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.
which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she
was ever serious upon this point -- and I mention the matter at all for
no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.
From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my
disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to
make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of
Pluto -- this was the cat's name -- was my favorite pet and
animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of
playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went
pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as
about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him
when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew
from following me through the streets.
with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my
 Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during
which my general temperament and character -- through the
instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance -- had (I blush to confess
it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day,
more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of
others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At
length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course,
were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected,
but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient
regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of
maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by
accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease
grew upon me -- for what disease is like Alcohol ! -- and at length
even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently
somewhat peevish -- even Pluto began to experience the effects of
my ill temper.
One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my
haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I
seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight
wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly
possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at
once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish
malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took
from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor
beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the
socket ! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.
When reason returned with the morning -- when I had slept off the
fumes of the night's debauch -- I experienced a sentiment half of
horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but
it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained
untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine
all memory of the deed.
In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost
eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer
appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but,
as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so
much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident
dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But
this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my
final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of
this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that
my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive
impulses of the human heart -- one of the indivisible primary
faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of
Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a
vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he
should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our
best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we
understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to
my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to
vex itself -- to offer violence to its own nature -- to do wrong for the
wrong's sake only -- that urged me to continue and finally to
consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute.
One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and
hung it to the limb of a tree; -- hung it with the tears streaming from
my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; -- hung it
because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given
me no reason of offence; -- hung it because I knew that in so doing I
was committing a sin -- a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my
immortal soul as to place it -- if such a thing were possible -- even
beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and
Most Terrible God.
On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was
aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in
flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty
that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the
conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly
wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to
despair.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of
cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am
detailing a chain of facts -- and wish not to leave even a possible
link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins.
The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was
found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the
middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my
bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of
the fire -- a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread.
About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons
seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute
and eager attention. The words "strange!" "singular!" and other
similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as
if graven in bas relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic
cat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous.
There was a rope about the animal's neck.
When I first beheld this apparition -- for I could scarcely regard it
as less -- my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length
reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in
a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden
had been immediately filled by the crowd -- by some one of whom
the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an
open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with
the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had
compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the
freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the
ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as
I saw it.
Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether
to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the
less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I
could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this
period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed,
but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal,
and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually
frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat
similar appearance, with which to supply its place.
For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me.
This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but -- I know not
how or why it was -- its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted
One night as I sat, half stupified, in a den of more than infamy,
and annoyed. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and
my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing
annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a
upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum,
certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of
which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been
cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for
looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and
some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it; but gradually --
what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner
very gradually -- I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing,
perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with
and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a
my hand. It was a black cat -- a very large one -- fully as large as
pestilence.
Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto
had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a
large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the
What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the
whole region of the breast.
discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it
also had been deprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance,
however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said,
Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly,
possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once
rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice.
been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest
This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once
and purest pleasures.
offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim
to it -- knew nothing of it -- had never seen it before.
With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself
seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity
I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the
which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend.
animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do
Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon
so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it
my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to
reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became
walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down,
immediately a great favorite with my wife.
or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this
manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it
with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory
of my former crime, but chiefly -- let me confess it at once -- by
absolute dread of the beast.
This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil -- and yet I
should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed
to own -- yes, even in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own -
- that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had
been heightened by one of the merest chimæras it would be possible
to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the
character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and
which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange
beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that
this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but,
by slow degrees -- degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a
long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful -- it had, at
length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the
representation of an object that I shudder to name -- and for this,
above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the
monster had I dared -- it was now, I say, the image of a hideous -- of
a ghastly thing -- of the GALLOWS ! -- oh, mournful and terrible
engine of Horror and of Crime -- of Agony and of Death !
And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere
Humanity. And a brute beast -- whose fellow I had contemptuously
destroyed -- a brute beast to work out for me -- for me a man,
fashioned in the image of the High God -- so much of insufferable
wo! Alas! neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest
any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone;
and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear,
to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight -
- an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off --
incumbent eternally upon my heart !
Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant
of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole
intimates -- the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of
my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind;
while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a
fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining
wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.
One day she accompanied me, upon some household errand, into
the cellar of the old building which our poverty compelled us to
inhabit. The cat followed me down the steep stairs, and, nearly
throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an
axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had
hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal which, of
course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended as I
wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded,
by the interference, into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew
my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead
upon the spot, without a groan.
 body against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while, with
little trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally stood.
This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith, and
Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible
with entire deliberation, to the task of concealing the body. I knew
precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished
that I could not remove it from the house, either by day or by night,
from the old, and with this I very carefully went over the new brick-
without the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects
work. When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right. The
entered my mind. At one period I thought of cutting the corpse into
wall did not present the slightest appearance of having been
minute fragments, and destroying them by fire. At another, I
disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest
resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I
care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself -- "Here at
deliberated about casting it in the well in the yard -- about packing it
least, then, my labor has not been in vain."
in a box, as if merchandize, with the usual arrangements, and so
getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I
considered a far better expedient than either of these. I determined to
My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause
wall it up in the cellar -- as the monks of the middle ages are
of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length, firmly resolved to put
recorded to have walled up their victims.
it to death. Had I been able to meet with it, at the moment, there
could have been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty
animal had been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and
For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls
forebore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to
were loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout
describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which
with a rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had
the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did
prevented from hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a
not make its appearance during the night -- and thus for one night at
projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been
least, since its introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly
filled up, and made to resemble the rest of the cellar. I made no
slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul!
doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the
corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could detect
any thing suspicious.
The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came
not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had
fled the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness
And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crow-
was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little.
bar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the
Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily
answered. Even a search had been instituted -- but of course nothing
was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured.
But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-
Fiend ! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into
silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb! -- by
Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police
a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and
came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to
then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream,
make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the
utterly anomalous and inhuman -- a howl -- a wailing shriek, half of
inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment
horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of
whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search.
hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of
They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or
the demons that exult in the damnation.
fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a
muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in
innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms
Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to
upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were
the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained
thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart
motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a
was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by
dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse,
way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my
already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the
guiltlessness.
eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and
solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced
me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the
"Gentlemen," I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, "I
hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!
delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a
little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this -- this is a very well
constructed house." (In the rabid desire to say something easily, I
scarcely knew what I uttered at all.) -- "I may say an excellently well
constructed house. These walls -- are you going, gentlemen? -- these
walls are solidly put together;" and here, through the mere phrenzy
of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand,
upon that very portion of the brick-work behind which stood the
corpse of the wife of my bosom.
 look her best. At stoplights, Grandma turns to the car next to her and
gives her best smile. Mom says it's the cigarettes that make
Going for the Orange Julius Grandma's teeth yellow.

Myla Goldberg First thing in the morning, Grandma wakes me up and we go to her
beauty chamber. Grandma puts her face on first, then mine. It's
easier to look at Grandma once she's drawn in her eyebrows. When I
ask why Mom doesn't shave her eyebrows too, Grandma says it's
because Mom doesn't care enough to make the best out of what she
It's not only about looking good. If you're just looking good, you'll
has, which is why she can't keep a man and lives in a dump. Unless
probably be able to get a cone or a soft pretzel, but definitely not an
you watch Grandma put on her make-up, you won't know that the
Orange Julius.
beauty mark above her lip isn't real. She says that when I'm older I'll
have to pick a permanent place to put my beauty mark, but for now
"Carrie," Grandma says to me as we walk into the mall, "are you
she lets me pick a different place every time. I have to hold very still
feeling like a lady?" The ceiling of the mall when you first walk in
when Grandma does my face. Sometimes the eyeliner brush tickles,
has mirrors on it, so you can look up and see yourself and whoever
but if I squirm it messes her up and we have to start all over again.
you're with.
I'm allowed to put on my own lipstick, which is pink instead of red
like Grandma's because some things just aren't appropriate.
"Yeah, Grandma," I say back. "I'm feeling like a lady."
At McDonald's, I get hot cakes and hash browns and Grandma gets
Then we both look up at the ceiling so we can see each other and
coffee, which she drinks with extra milk to keep her complexion
Grandma says,
creamy. Before we get back in the car, we go to the ladies room to
refresh our make-up. I have a purse to carry my own make-up. In the
"Well, here we are, two ladies going out to see the world."
beginning I lost the purse a lot, but I am much more mature now.
Grandma only wears real gold and keeps her cigarettes in a genuine
Grandma's favorite store is Lord & Taylor's, which she says if I ever
leather cigarette pack holder. She always wears dresses and panty
manage not to walk like a cripple for a whole day she will buy me a
hose and heels high enough to show she's got class and low enough
present from, which is something I haven't managed to do yet. When
to show she's no tramp. When we go out in her Caddy she lets me sit
we walk in, we go right to the perfume ladies, who squeeze their
in front, which is one of the things I don't tell Mom. Grandma never
hands together and say,
wears a seat belt, but she always makes me wear one, which I
pretend bothers me but which I don't really mind. With Grandma it's
air conditioning and no open windows because a lady must always
"Why if it isn't Eleanor and her granddaughter, Carrie. How long has
it been since we saw you last, Carrie?" and I tell them,
"A month," which I'm not really sure is true, but which is about how
often Mom needs a break and calls Grandma to do the trade-off.
"Any longer and I don't know if I could undo the damage," Grandma
says, which I wish she wouldn't say, but the perfume ladies laugh
like it's a big joke so I pretend that it is.
The perfume ladies are extremely nice. Their hair is always perfect
and their faces are on exactly right. I've never seen their feet, but I
bet they wear heels the same height as Grandma's. Grandma won't
buy me heels because I'm pigeon-toed and she's afraid I'll fall all
over myself in heels. When we walk anywhere together I have to
concentrate on walking toes pointed out. It's hard to walk just right,
most of the time I am either walking like a cripple or like I'm
wearing a diaper according to Grandma, who knows these things.
The perfume ladies spritz me with something that smells like baby
powder, which I definitely like better than smelling like flowers but
not as much as smelling like peppermint.
We get to the Food Court around 2, after the serious lunch-eaters
have gone because Grandma says it's important to make clear that
this is not about being hungry. She always makes sure I eat really
good before she sends me off so that it's the lady in me talking and
not my stomach because guys can always tell the difference. Today I
get the number #3 special at China Wok. I try to get my mouth
around the egg roll in a way that won't mess up my lipstick but
Grandma makes me stop because she says it makes me look like a
tramp.
When Grandma is driving, she puts her hand on my knee and says
My knee. If I disagree she squeezes tighter and explains it really is
her knee because I'm part of Mom and Mom is part of her, so I'm
part of her too. When things get to be too much for Mom, she calls
Grandma and they meet half-way for the trade-off at Howard
Johnson's and I go from Mom's sticky seats to Grandma's cushy red
leather.
We're sitting at the far corner of the Food Court by the Roy Rogers
because that's where the best view is. The Food Court tables are on a
raised platform with fake potted plants. The platform has six sides
and reminds me of a musical jewelry box I have with a ballerina that
spins when you open the lid. Grandma says the music they play in
the Food Court is trashy. The Food Court plays Journey, Air Supply,
Billy Joel, and Hall & Oates. I pretend the songs have been picked
especially for me. That way, it's like the whole Food Court is rooting
for me.
Grandma's Caddy has electric locks with master switches by the
front seats that let you lock and unlock any door you want. I'm not
allowed to play with the locks because what if I'm leaning against
the door and it flies open or what if we're driving through a dark
neighborhood and someone sees us and gets ideas? For a long time I
thought dark meant no streetlights.
After I finish eating, I throw out my tray except for the soda and
then I go to the bathroom to check my face. Grandma used to come
with me, but now checking my face by myself is part of the whole
thing. The Food Court bathroom isn't cleaned very often and smells
like smoke. When I walk in, the girl from Candy World pretends
like she's tucking her hair into her visor when the bag of jumbo
malted milk balls is sitting right on top of her purse and her fingers
have melted chocolate all over them. I can tell she's waiting for me
to go, but when I don't she finally picks up her purse and leaves.
Even though I don't think I have to pee I make myself try because
going to the bathroom in the middle of sitting with a guy is a signal
and Grandma would get mad if I did it only because I had to pee.
Since the Candy World girl is gone, I can turn on the water in the
sinks, which helps. Grandma doesn't like me to sit on public toilet
seats, so I don't because I know she's going to ask me when I come
out and she can always tell when I'm lying. I do my best not to
sprinkle, but it's hard and, besides, there was some there already.
To check my face, first I stand really close to the mirror and then I
back up three steps. Close for the details and further away for the
full effect. I have to stand on a toilet with the stall door open to see
my whole reflection, which is another reason why I waited for the
Candy World girl to go. Today everything looks pretty good except
for my lipstick, which is smeared because of the egg roll. Just to be
safe, I also spray on a little more hair spray, which I do using
Grandma's special method which she says is one of the dividing
lines between ladies and tramps. Only tramps spray hair spray
directly onto their heads, which gloms the hair together. Glommed
hair is one thing guys notice without knowing they're noticing it
when they first peg a girl for a tramp. So, I spray the hairspray next
to my head and then step into it, sort of like I'm stepping into the
shower. That way all the hairspray molecules settle evenly around
my head and hold my hair without a single glommy spot.
Grandma says my skin is clear enough that I don't need to use
foundation yet, but she's bought me my own bottle so that it'll be
there for me when I'm ready. Grandma uses one a little darker than
her own skin to make her look sun-kissed, but she never puts it on
her neck, which makes her face a different color than the rest of her.
When I walk out of the bathroom and go back to the table, Grandma
is waiting. She says,
"Are you ready?" in the same voice she uses when I've picked
something to wear that she doesn't like. Except for one time,
Grandma has always found something that needs fixing when I
come out of the bathroom. Letting Grandma look me over and
knowing she's going to find a mistake is the hardest part, harder than
actually going up to a guy.
"I think so," I say, trying to sound all calm and sure of myself.
It's like Grandma is the sun through the magnifying glass and I'm the
bug. The side of my head will burn a little and Grandma will tell me
that my barrette is out of place, or my cheek will burn and Grandma
will say that my blush is uneven. Even though she never says it, I
know Grandma is doing all this so that I can do better in life than
Mom, who can't keep a man and lives in a dump.
At Howard Johnson's I always get fried clam strips with French fries
and extra tartar sauce and bubble gum ice cream for dessert. The
great thing about bubble gum ice cream is saving the gum balls in
your mouth until the ice cream is all gone and then chewing the
gum, which there's so much of by then that it takes up your whole
mouth. Grandma says that gum chewing is not lady-like and makes
me look like a cow.
Sometimes Mom eats with us at the Howard Johnson's. I like it
better when she doesn't because it's easier for me to think of her
being a part of Grandma when they're not sitting across a table from
each other not talking.
"Your blouse isn't tucked in right," Grandma says, and I look and it's
true. "Show me how a lady's blouse should be tucked in," she says.
I re-tuck in my blouse so that the creases are slanting down in front.
Grandma once described it as the creases coming toward each other
like roads converging at the Promised Land. I say,
"Is that better?" and she looks me over again and says,
"Much better," and I know that it's time to get started.
Grandma has taught me that the right way to put on a bra is to place
each bosom inside the cup like you're scooping up a baby chick.
Mine are so small that it's impossible scoop anything up yet, so what
I do is I pretend there is something to scoop, which Grandma says I
do so well she can almost see my young bosoms. Grandma is the
only person I know who says bosom, which for a long time I didn't
know was the same as titty. I have matching bras and undies that
Grandma keeps special for me in a drawer at her house that I can
only wear when we're going out to see the world.
Grandma starts looking for my assignment, and we both sip our
sodas like we're taking a break from shopping. Love is a Battlefield,
by Pat Benetar, is coming through the Food Court speakers, which
makes me feel totally prepared and like the songs really aren't a tape
that plays over and over. I sip my soda by holding my cup with one
hand and casually putting my lips just at the very tip of the straw
and sucking on the straw until only the slightest bit of soda comes
up and then taking the straw out of my mouth and starting all over
again. Grandma and I are experts at looking around the Food Court
like we're not looking at anything in particular when we're really
noticing everything.
At first glance it seems like there are a lot of ladies around, but
mostly the Food Court is full of tramps. I can tell a tramp by their
make-up or their clothes, or by the way they eat their food. Even
when I think I've found a lady, Grandma usually points out
something I've missed that makes her a tramp, like the way she
wears her hair, or the kind of purse she has. It's incredibly difficult
to be a lady. I don't really blame Mom for not being able to do it.
Mom always asks me when I come back from Grandma's, How was
your stay and I always say Fine. Then she says Don't let her turn you
into something you're not, and I say Okay. Once, I forgot to take off
my nails with the fake tips and Mom started crying in the Howard
Johnson's parking lot and saying She's only a baby and You
promised you wouldn't do this to her and Grandma said I'm not
doing anything, it was only a little manicure and Mom made me peel
the nails off before getting into her car. I knew after that it would be
better not to tell about the matching bras and undies. Or about
Grandma showing me how, when I got hair down there, it should be
a nice, neat triangle with no Goody Trail, which is the hairs that lead
from under the belly button to the Promised Land.
I'm watching the girl at Candy World and counting up all her tramp
qualities when Grandma says,
"There's someone who looks like he could use the presence of a
lady," and she's pointing at a guy in line for China Wok. When I first
started out, Grandma would only assign me guys my age, but now
that I'm more advanced, she sometimes gives me guys a little older.
I was really shy at first about going to older ones, but they usually
end up being easier because they have more money. This guy looks
maybe three years older than me and I'm surprised that he's the one
Grandma picked because he's wearing parachute pants, which
Grandma says are trashy. I actually have a pair of parachute pants
that I never take to Grandma's because she would throw them away.
Then I realize that Grandma might not be able to tell they're
parachute pants because they're black and China Wok is all the way
across the Food Court.
Grandma says that in order to keep a man it's important to act
interested and to give him a little taste and that the reason Mom can't
keep a man is because she gives him the whole seven course meal,
but I never see Grandma using her advice on Grandpa who's always
watching golf in his recliner with the volume turned up really loud.
Grandpa has the hairiest arms I've ever seen, which I'm glad for that
reason he's not the hugging type. He and Grandma say as little to
each other as Mom and Grandma, which makes me think that Mom
must have had the quietest childhood in childhood history.
Grandpa used to be a doctor but he had to retire early on account of
his heart. When Grandma picked him, he was only fifteen and the
son of a grocer who drank too much, but Grandma says she could
tell by the way he carried himself that he had motivation. She got
him to notice her and the rest, she says, is history. Grandpa has a
Cadillac with brown seats that aren't soft like Grandma's. Every time
we drive to dinner at the Italian restaurant he shows me the doctor's
card clipped to his sun visor that proves he's got more important
things to do than stop for a damn red light. Then Grandma says
Watch your language, I'm bringing someone up to be a lady and
Grandpa says Aw, shut up, what do you know about being a lady?
which makes Grandma's lips crinkle like she's just sucked on
something sour. If my knee is Grandma's, then I guess a part of me
has to be Grandpa's too.
Instead of going in a straight line from our table to China Wok, I
walk around the outside of the whole platform so it will look more
like I found the guy in the parachute pants by accident and not like I
have set plans. By the time I get to China Wok, he's actually leaving
with his tray, so I follow him to where the napkins and plastic forks
are.
I stand next to the guy in the parachute pants while he's getting
napkins and pretend I'm waiting for a napkin while I look straight at
him. When he looks at me, I look away but not until after we've
looked at each other for a split second.
"Hi," he says, which makes him at least soda material because a lot
of the time, I'm the one who has to talk first. I relax then, because
chances are I'm going to get it on my first try and Grandma won't
have to find me another one.
"Hi," I say back and this time I look straight at him without turning
away. He's pretty okay looking and I understand now why Grandma
picked him. I haven't seen pictures of Grandpa before he got old, but
I'm pretty sure he'd look a lot like this guy. This guy has Grandpa's
dark hair although, lucky for me, not on his arms, and also maybe
Grandpa's nose. He's also built kind of big like Grandpa – not fat,
but with big shoulders and arms and I bet he plays football. So that's
what I ask him next,
"Do you play football?" I say, because they like it when you ask
them questions about themselves.
"Yeah," he says, "I'm the only sophomore on varsity," which makes
him just the third high school guy I've done this with, which makes
me a little nervous but also excited because it means I can definitely
skip gum or candy or a soft pretzel.
"Do you go to Larchdale," the guy says, "'cause I ain't seen you at
Pulaski." When I nod he says,
"You look a little young for high school," but with a grin that means
he doesn't really mind. He's done getting his napkins and his
plasticware now, but he hasn't made a move to walk away or
anything, so we're both just standing there. I happen to be standing
under an air conditioning vent, so there's a breeze blowing my hair
back in this really cool way that I couldn't have planned even if I
tried.
"Yeah," I say. "I skipped kindergarten, so I guess I'm a little young."
Grandma says that being smart or stupid doesn't matter as much as
motivation, meaning how hard will you work to get what you want,
which it seems to me that being on varsity when you're only a
sophomore is a pretty good sign of that so I say,
"Look, you want to buy me some fries?" because I can tell he's the
kind of guy who likes to get to the point. He just smiles then, he
doesn't even need to say anything, and when he turns around with
his tray I know we're heading to Boardwalk Fries.
I'm not ever supposed to ask for lunch, even if the guy looks like he
can handle it. With lunch comes obligations, Grandma says, and I'm
too young for that. Like, for instance, I know this guy with the
parachute pants would have bought me a turkey club. This is a guy
who if I ask for a turkey club, he's going to buy it just so I won't
think that he can't. And guys like that make me want to push them,
just a little bit, just a little bit further than they were thinking they
were going to go.
We get to Boardwalk Fries and before I even tell him what size I
want he orders me a large, which is really huge, and more fries than
I could eat even if I was hungry, which I'm not. I know that
Grandma is watching the whole thing and that as soon as she sees
the size of the fries she's going to get peeved because I'm only ever
supposed to ask for a small because 1) it's unattractive to eat too
much and 2) I'm too young to ask for any one item costing more
than $2.50 or multiple items costing more than $5.00. And a large
fries costs $3.75, which messes up my plan because after the fries I
was going to ask for an Orange Julius, which costs $2.50 and is my
trademark drink.
The guy's tray is already full with his stuff from China Wok, but he
insists on putting the fries on his tray too, and a couple of fries fall
into his wonton soup.
"Your fries just fell into my soup," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
"I think that's a pretty good sign," and I giggle because I know I'm
supposed to.
At home, I have guys who are friends and who I would never let buy
me anything. In fact, when we go to the arcade, we make fun of the
girls who giggle at everything and wear pink all the time and are
always changing their lip-gloss. But it worries me because I look at
Mom and our dump of a house and at how unhappy she is all the
time and I know I don't want to be like that when I get old.
"Why don't we get a table?" I say and lead the guy up to the
platform so that Grandma can see everything. I can't sit too close to
Grandma or I'll get distracted. So instead I pick a table right in the
middle of the platform, where she can see me but where I won't be
able to tell how she's reacting to everything. I make sure to sit not
facing her so that I don't start looking at Grandma instead of this
guy, who's supposed to be the center of my universe.
I know that because of the large fries, Grandma's going to be paying
close attention to make sure this guy doesn't get fresh and that I don't
do anything trampy. I'm extra-careful to bite the fries in a way that
doesn't mess up my lipstick, which means eating them one at a time
and biting into them with my front teeth only and with my lips kind
of raised up like I'm growling. The guy doesn't eat his food at all
while I'm doing this, he just stares and I get scared that I'm doing
something wrong, so I peek over at Grandma to see if I can tell what
she's thinking, but her face is totally blank and I realize she's not
going to give me any hints.
"Babe, you eat those fries sexier than any girl I've ever seen," the
guy says, which makes me blush real hard which I know Grandma is
going to notice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say. "All girls eat fries
like this."
"Not where I come from," the guy says and he laughs this low, heh-
heh laugh that sounds a lot older than I thought he was and which
makes me wonder if he's been a sophomore more than once.
"So, you play video games?" I ask, because it's good to find
something you have in common and it's a subject I'm pretty good at.
"Nah," he says, sucking up a lo mein noodle real slow, "video games
are for dorks."
"Yeah," I say.
"You ever play poker?" he says. The song coming through the
speakers is Maneater, by Hall & Oates, which I use to remind
myself to be brave.
"All the time," I say, trying to come up with another way to eat my
fries.
"You should come over to my house and play poker with me and my
friends some time," he says. "They would like you a lot," he says,
"but don't worry. They'd know that you were with me and they
wouldn't mess with you."
I can't eat any more fries because I can't think of another way to eat
them without messing up my make-up. The guy reaches under the
table and touches my knee.
If they touch me, I'm supposed to say I have to go to the bathroom
and wait in there until Grandma comes in to tell me they're gone.
Instead I move my knee away and say,
"Buy me an Orange Julius," and he says,
"Sure thing, babe," but takes a few sips of his soup before getting
up.
I know if I looked over at Grandma now, we could get out of the casually put my lips just at the very tip of the straw and suck on the
Food Court and into her Caddy before the guy in the parachute pants straw until only the slightest bit of it comes up. The guy puts his
had any idea what was going on. We would laugh like we do hand on my knee under the table. I want to say,
sometimes when a guy gets too fresh. Grandma would say, What a
scoundrel he was! and I would say Oh, yes, a real scoundrel, and we "My knee," but I know that it's not.
would go back to Grandma's house and get changed for dinner and
by the time we got to the Italian restaurant, it would be like nothing
had happened. But I know if I did that today, Grandma would blame
me for the fries. Even if I told her that I hadn't asked for a large, she
would tell me I must have asked somehow because why else would
a guy buy that many fries? But with the Orange Julius, which is my
trademark, she'll know that everything went okay despite the fries.
She might even decide I'm ready for lunches, because from where
Grandma's sitting there's no way she could have seen under the
table. So instead of looking at Grandma, I fix my lipstick, which I
do so well and so fast that my mouth is perfect by the time the guy
in the parachute pants gets back with an extra-large cup.

If I'd thought about it I probably could have guessed he'd get the
extra-large, but my eyes get a little wide when I see the cup. Then
the guy gives the heh-heh smile and says,

"Only the best for you, babe," and there's no way I'm going to be
able to drink all that. He puts it in front of me and sits down and
pushes his own tray away and says,

"Show me how you drink through a straw," which makes me blush

real hard again.

By now, the Food Court is playing Hot Blooded, by Foreigner, and I

know I've got to do this, at least sip a little of it because the Orange
Julius is my trademark drink. I hold the cup with one hand and