1M
JANE MAYHALL
grade. Wow, and some of them - my god! The hairy wonders."
Sophomoric, weird and strange. Could it have happened any–
where else? I suppose so, the group impulse; just enough and not too
much. A few others had started to talk, gaiety presiding. He'd set a
terrific precedent, and examples stood out and always followed the
given theme. Nobody really meant it, and all just acting silly. From
the wells of memory, some hair-encrusted female. O'Leary came
up with a sudden Gaelic backlog, including a "loathsome Irish lass"
with hair from knees to thighs. The table screamed and snickered,
and nearly applauded. Meantime, the Author
W/aS
laughing behind
his half-cupped palm. I didn't know how he did
it.
But I perceived
the chameleon flashes. It was very close to successful writing. The
strangling of reality for the fine, twisted phrase....
Saying a thing, not because it's true, but for the attention
it
brings.
Sometimes
it
isn't possible to record adult behavior. People just
get carried away. And the preposterous as it happens, to them, seems
ordinary. Afterwards, nobody thinks anything irrational occurred.
Though what was being said was really nuts. I couldn't share their
fun. It all seemed false and wrong. Still, mundane comparisons took
over. I had no stake in the game. I was, in fact, reasonably non–
hirsute (as "hairless as an Allegheny cockroach," my mind went
flailing out on purging clauses) and what the hell difference did
it make?
I, too, like the Author, remembered girls at school. They were
Irish, German, Italian. I grew up in an industrial city.
As
far
as
malicious commentary goes, what does it ever matter? Some of the
girls I used to know had hair on arms,
and they weren't obnoxious.
They were young, nice human persons. But, I couldn't say this out
loud. Nor, of the mind traversed to other connecting planes. I
reo
membered a boy I was in love with once (we must have
all
been
about fourteen) - I accidentally saw him caress another girl's skin.
She was Irish, and had long black lashes; her eyes were a green-type
blue. And the dark down of her arms - was to him alluring. Could
such facts be exposed at this table? Of course, they couldn't. We live
in an age of prosecuting sickness. I was jealous, and I saw how he
liked her. It killed me, but I did. She was a darling, bright, sexy
little kid.
