When they came out of the bathroom Laura’s face was as red as Freddy’s and I thought that was pretty funny for a girl who goes behind the A&P with boys.
Laura called her number very softly. “Seven,” she said.
Philip Leroy stood up and smiled at the boys. He pushed his hair off his face and walked to the bathroom with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I kept thinking that if he really liked her he’d call her number back and the two of them would be in the bathroom together for the rest of the party.
When they came out Philip was still smiling but Laura wasn’t. Nancy poked me and gave me her knowing look. I was so busy watching Laura that I didn’t hear Philip call number twelve.
“Who’s twelve?” Philip asked. “Somebody must be twelve.”
“Did you say twelve?” I asked. “That’s me.”
“Well, come on, Margaret.”
I stood up knowing I’d never be able to make it across the recreation room to the bathroom, where Philip Leroy was waiting to kiss me. I saw Janie, Gretchen and Nancy smiling at me. But I couldn’t smile back. I don’t know how I got to the bathroom. All I know is I stepped in and Philip shut the door. It was hard to see anything.
“Hi, Margaret,” he said.
“Hi, Philip,” I whispered. Then I started to giggle.
“I can’t kiss you if you don’t stop laughing,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because your mouth is open when you laugh.”
“You’re going to kiss me on the mouth?”
“You know a better place?”
I stopped laughing. I wished I could remember what Nancy said that day she showed me how to kiss her pillow.
“Stand still, Margaret,” Philip told me.
I stood still.
He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned close. Then he kissed me. A really fast kiss! Not the kind you see in the movies where the boy and girl cling together for a long time. While I was thinking about it, Philip kissed me again. Then he opened the bathroom door and walked back to his place.
“Call a number, Margaret,” Norman said. “Hurry up.”
I couldn’t even think of a number. I wanted to call Philip Leroy’s number. But I couldn’t remember it. So I called number nine and got Norman Fishbein!
He was really proud. Like I’d picked him on purpose. Ha! He practically ran to the bathroom.
After he closed the door he said, “I really like you, Margaret. How do you want me to kiss you?”
“On the cheek and fast,” I said.
He did it just that way and I quickly opened the door and walked away from the bathroom. And that was it!
Later, at my house, Nancy told me she thought I was the luckiest girl in the world and maybe it was fate that brought me and Philip Leroy together.
“Did he kiss good?” she asked.
“Pretty good,” I said.
“How many times?” she asked.
“About five. I lost count,” I told her.
“Did he say anything?”
“Nothing much.”
“Do you still like him?”
“Of course!”
“Me too.”
“Good night, Nancy.”
“Good night, Margaret.”
15
I went to Christmas Eve services with the Wheelers, at the United Methodist Church of Farbrook. I asked Nancy if I had to meet the minister.
“Are you kidding!” she said. “The place will be mobbed. He doesn’t even know my name.”
I relaxed after that and enjoyed most of the service, especially since there wasn’t any sermon. The choir sang for forty-five minutes instead.
I got home close to midnight. I was so tired my parents didn’t question me. I fell into bed without brushing my teeth.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I just came home from church. I loved the choir—the songs were so beautiful. Still, I didn’t really feel you God. I’m more confused than ever. I’m trying hard to understand but I wish you’d help me a little. If only you could give me a hint God. Which religion should I be? Sometimes I wish I’d been born one way or the other.
Grandma came back from her cruise in time to pack up and head for Florida. She said New York had nothing to offer since I was gone. She sent me two postcards a week, called every Friday night and promised to be home before Easter.
Our phone conversations were always the same. I talked first: “Hello, Grandma.… Yes, I’m fine.… They’re fine.… School’s fine.… I miss you too.”
Then my father talked: “Hello, Mother.… Yes, we’re fine.… How’s the weather down there?… Well, it’s bound to come out sooner or later. That’s why they call it the Sunshine State.”
Then my mother talked: “Hello, Sylvia.… Yes, Margaret’s really fine.… Of course I’m sure.… Okay—and you take care too.”
Then I talked a second time: “Bye, Grandma. See you soon.”
During the second week in January Mr. Benedict announced that the sixth-grade girls were going to see a movie on Friday afternoon. The sixth-grade boys were not going to see the movie. At that time they would have a discussion with the boy’s gym teacher from the junior high.
Nancy passed me a note. It said, Here we go—the big deal sex movie.
When I asked her about it she told me the PTA sponsors it and it’s called What Every Girl Should Know.
When I went home I told my mother. “We’re going to see a movie in school on Friday.”
“I know,” my mother said. “I got a letter in the mail. It’s about menstruation.”
“I already know all about that.”
“I know you know,” my mother said. “But it’s important for all the girls to see it in case their mothers haven’t told them the facts.”
“Oh.”
On Friday morning there was a lot of giggling. Finally, at two o’clock, the girls lined up and went to the auditorium. We took up the first three rows of seats. There was a lady on the stage, dressed in a gray suit. She had a big behind. Also, she wore a hat.
“Hello, girls,” she said. She clutched a hanky which she waved at us sometimes. “I’m here today to tell you about What Every Girl Should Know, brought to you as a courtesy of the Private Lady Company. We’ll talk some more after the film.” Her voice was smooth, like a radio announcer’s.
Then the lights went out and we saw the movie. The narrator of the film pronounced it menstroo-ation. “Remember,” the voice said, “it’s menstroo-ation.” Gretchen, who was next to me, gave me a kick and I kicked Nancy on the other side. We held our hands over our mouths so we wouldn’t laugh.
The film told us about the ovaries and explained why girls menstroo-ate. But it didn’t tell us how it feels, except to say that it is not painful, which we knew anyway. Also, it didn’t really show a girl getting it. It just said how wonderful nature was and how we would soon become women and all that. After the film the lady in the gray suit asked if there were any questions.
Nancy raised her hand and when Gray Suit called on her Nancy said, “How about Tampax?”
Gray Suit coughed into her hanky and said, “We don’t advise internal protection until you are considerably older.”
Then Gray Suit came down from the stage and passed out booklets called What Every Girl Should Know. The booklet recommended that we use Private Lady sanitary supplies. It was like one big commercial. I made a mental note never to buy Private Lady things when and if I ever needed them.
For days after that whenever I looked at Gretchen, Janie or Nancy we’d pretend to be saying menstroo-ation. We laughed a lot. Mr. Benedict told us we’d have to settle down since we had a lot to learn before we’d be ready for seventh grade.
One week later Gretchen got it. We had a special PTS meeting that afternoon.
“I got it last night. Can you tell?” she asked us.
“Oh, Gretchen! You lucky!” Nancy shrieked. “I was sure I’d be first. I’ve got more than you!”
“Well, that doesn
’t mean much,” Gretchen said, knowingly.
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“Well, I was sitting there eating my supper when I felt like something was dripping from me.”
“Go on—go on,” Nancy said.
“Well, I ran to the bathroom, and when I saw what it was I called my mother.”
“And?” I asked.
“She yelled that she was eating.”
“And?” Janie said.
“Well, I yelled back that it was important.”
“So—so—” Nancy prompted.
“So … uh … she came and I showed her,” Gretchen said.
“Then what?” Janie asked.
“Well, she didn’t have any stuff in the house. She uses Tampax herself—so she had to call the drugstore and order some pads.”
“What’d you do in the meantime?” Janie asked.
“Kept a wash cloth in my pants,” Gretchen said.
“Oh—you didn’t!” Nancy said, laughing.
“Well, I had to,” Gretchen said.
“Okay—so then what?” I asked.
“Well … in about an hour the stuff came from the drugstore.”
“Then what?” Nancy asked.
“My mother showed me how to attach the pad to my underpants. Oh … you know …”
Nancy was mad. “Look Gretchen, did we or did we not make a deal to tell each other absolutely everything about getting it?”
“I’m telling you, aren’t I?” Gretchen asked.
“Not enough,” Nancy said. “What’s it feel like?”
“Mostly I don’t feel anything. Sometimes it feels like it’s dripping. It doesn’t hurt coming out—but I had some cramps last night.”
“Bad ones?” Janie asked.
“Not bad. Just different,” Gretchen said. “Lower down, and across my back.”
“Does it make you feel older?” I asked.
“Naturally,” Gretchen answered. “My mother said now I’ll really have to watch what I eat because I’ve gained too much weight this year. And she said to wash my face well from now on—with soap.”
“And that’s it?” Nancy said. “The whole story?”
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Nancy. But really, that’s all there is to tell. Oh, one thing I forgot. My mother said I may not get it every month yet. Sometimes it takes a while to get regular.”
“Are you using that Private Lady stuff?” I asked.
“No, the drugstore sent Teenage Softies.”
“Well, I guess I’ll be next,” Nancy said.
Janie and I looked at each other. We guessed so too.
When I went home I told my mother. “Gretchen Potter got her period.”
“Did she really?” my mother asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I guess you’ll begin soon too.”
“How old were you Mom—when you got it?”
“Uh … I think I was fourteen.”
“Fourteen! That’s crazy. I’m not waiting until I’m fourteen.”
“I’m afraid there’s not much you can do about it, Margaret. Some girls menstruate earlier than others. I had a cousin who was sixteen before she started.”
“Do you suppose that could happen to me? I’ll die if it does!”
“If you don’t start by the time you’re fourteen I’ll take you to the doctor. Now stop worrying!”
“How can I stop worrying when I don’t know if I’m going to turn out normal?”
“I promise, you’ll turn out normal.”
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. Gretchen, my friend, got her period. I’m so jealous God. I hate myself for being so jealous, but I am. I wish you’d help me just a little. Nancy’s sure she’s going to get it soon, too. And if I’m last I don’t know what I’ll do. Oh please God. I just want to be normal.
Nancy and her family went to Washington over Lincoln’s birthday weekend. I got a postcard from her before she got back which means she must have mailed it the second she got there. It only had three words on it.
I GOT IT!!!
I ripped the card into tiny shreds and ran to my room. There was something wrong with me. I just knew it. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I flopped onto my bed and cried. Next week Nancy would want to tell me all about her period and about how grown up she was. Well, I didn’t want to hear her good news!
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. Life is getting worse every day. I’m going to be the only one who doesn’t get it. I know it God. Just like I’m the only one without a religion. Why can’t you help me? Haven’t I always done what you wanted? Please … let me be like everybody else.
16
My mother took me to Lincoln Center twice. We used Grandma’s subscription tickets. It wasn’t as much fun as with Grandma, because number one, I didn’t get to ride the bus alone, and number two, my mother thought the concert itself was more important than looking at the people. I wrote Grandma a letter.
Dear Grandma,
I miss you. Florida sure sounds like fun. School is fine. So are Mom and Dad. I am fine too. I’ve only had one cold so far and two viruses. One was the throwing up kind. I forgot to tell you this over the phone, but when we went to Lincoln Center there was slush all over the place so I couldn’t sit by the fountain. I had to wear boots too, and my feet sweated during the concert. Mom wouldn’t let me take them off, the way you do. It snowed again yesterday. I’ll bet you don’t miss that, do you! But snow is more fun in New Jersey than in New York. For one thing, it’s cleaner.
Love,
Margaret
Grandma wrote back:
Dear Margaret,
I miss you too. Thank you for your nice letter. I hope when you were sick your mother took you to a good doctor. If I had been home I would have asked Dr. Cohen who he recommends in New Jersey. There must be one or two good doctors there. You probably caught cold because you kept your boots on at Lincoln Center. Your mother should know better! From now on, take off your boots the way we always do—no matter what your mother says! Only don’t tell her I said so. I met a very nice man at my hotel. His name is Mr. Binamin. He comes from New York too. We have dinner together and sometimes see a show. He is a widower with three children (all married). They think he should get married again. He thinks he should get married again. But I’m not saying anything! I hope your mother and father will let you come stay with me during spring vacation. Would you like that? I’m writing a letter to ask their permission.
Be careful and dress warmly! Write to me again.
All my love,
Grandma
Dear Grandma,
Mom and Dad say I can probably visit you during spring vacation, but that it’s too soon to make definite plans. I’m so excited I could die! I’m counting the days already. I’ve never been on a plane, as you know. And Florida sounds like so much fun! Also, I want to see what’s going on with you and that Mr. Binamin. You never tell us a thing when you call! I am fine. The snow melted. Mom is painting a new picture. This one is of apricots, grapes and ivy leaves. Did I tell you my friends Nancy and Gretchen got their periods?
See you soon, I hope.
Love and kisses,
Margaret
17
On the first Sunday in March Nancy invited me to spend the day in New York with her family. Evan brought Moose. It was pretty exciting riding all the way to the city with Moose Freed in the same car, except the Wheelers used their station wagon. The boys sat in the back and Nancy and I were in the middle, so if I wanted to see Moose I had to turn around and if I ride looking backwards like that I get car sick.
We went to Radio City Music Hall. Grandma used to take me there when I was little. My parents always say it’s strictly for the tourists. I wanted to sit next to Moose but he and Evan found two seats off by themselves.
After the show the Wheelers took us to the Steak Place for dinner. Nancy and I ordered, then excused ourselves to go to the ladies’ room. We were the only two in th
ere, which was lucky for us because there were only two toilets and we both had to go pretty bad. Just as I finished up I heard Nancy moan.
“Oh no—oh no—”
“What is it, Nancy?” I asked.
“Oh please—oh no—”
“Are you okay?” I banged on the wall separating us.
“Get my mother—quick!” she whispered.
I stood in front of her booth then. “What’s wrong?” I tried the door but it was locked. “Let me in.”
Nancy started to cry. “Please get my mother.”
“Okay. I’m going. I’ll be right back.”
I raced to our table in the dining room, hoping Nancy wouldn’t faint or anything like that before I got back with her mother.
I whispered to Mrs. Wheeler, “Nancy’s sick. She’s in the bathroom crying and she wants you.”
Mrs. Wheeler jumped up and followed me back to the ladies’ room. I could hear Nancy sobbing.
“Nancy?” Mrs. Wheeler called, trying the door.
“Oh Mom—I’m so scared! Help me—please.”
“The door’s locked, Nancy. I can’t get in,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “You’ve got to unlock it.”
“I can’t—I can’t—” Nancy cried.
“I could crawl under and open it from the other side,” I suggested. “Should I?” I asked Mrs. Wheeler.
She nodded.
I gathered my skirt around my legs so it wouldn’t drag on the floor and crawled under the door. Nancy’s face was buried in her hands. I unlocked the door for Mrs. Wheeler, then waited outside by the sinks. I wondered if Nancy would have to go to the hospital or what. I hoped she didn’t have anything catching.
In a few minutes Mrs. Wheeler opened the door a crack and handed me some change. “Margaret,” she said, “would you get us a sanitary napkin, please?” I must have given her a strange look because she said, “From the dispenser on the wall, dear. Nancy’s menstruating.”
“Does she always act like that?”
“It’s her first time,” Mrs. Wheeler explained. “She’s frightened.” Nancy was still crying and there was a lot of whispering going on.