Between Friends. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.

      January 1, 1963

      Mom and Dad had another one of their fights. They woke all us kids in the middle of the night, ranting and raving at each other. Lily and Bruce came racing into Susan’s and my bedroom and climbed into bed with us. I don’t know what the fight was about this time. Probably money. Or Dad’s drinking. I wish he didn’t drink so much, but he says a beer or two never hurt anybody. Only it does. It hurts Mom when Dad gets so mean. It frightens Lily and Bruce. They’re too young to understand what’s happening or why Dad gets the way he does. All he cares about is his beer, his Legionnaire friends and watching The Beverly Hillbillies.

      Christmas was awful. Dad got laid off at the mill before Thanksgiving, and we couldn’t afford gifts. Mom wrapped up empty boxes with handwritten promises. She promised me a new pair of shoes and a Beatles album after Dad goes back to work. She promised Susan a perm and Mikey a used bike for his paper route. Joe got a picture of a fire truck and Lily a doll that cries Mama when she’s turned upside down. Bruce didn’t understand why he couldn’t have his big red wagon now. I don’t know what we would have done for Christmas dinner if Catholic Charities hadn’t dropped off the food basket. I’d hate it if anyone at school found out how poor we really are. I’d die before I’d tell Jillian about my pretend gift. Her parents had 22 gifts under the tree for her. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have that many presents.

      They’re so nice, her mom and dad. They always give me something for Christmas—I got this new diary with my name on it, just like last year, and a beautiful blue sweater. I know envy is a sin and Jillian’s my best friend but I wish I had parents like hers.

      I’m sure the nightmare Lily had was caused by Mom and Dad’s argument. She slept with me the rest of the night and woke up sobbing and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Then she clung to me and made me promise I’d never grow up and move away. She wouldn’t stop pestering me until I told her I’d live at home forever, but I crossed my ankles when I said it. I want to leave. I can’t wait to get away from my father. Jillian and I talk about college. Her parents want her to attend Barnard College in New York. Everything’s already been settled for her. She has a big trust fund to pay for college. I pretend there’s a chance I’ll be able to go. But Mom and Dad could never afford to send me. Jillian doesn’t realize how lucky she is.

      Even if we were rich, I don’t think Dad would let me go to college. He told me he didn’t plan on wasting money to educate girls, seeing that we wouldn’t be the ones supporting a family. I wanted to stand up to him and tell him that plenty of girls go to university these days, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. He’d only get mad at what he calls my “smart mouth” and belittle me. I think it’s because he didn’t graduate from high school and is afraid I’ll be smarter than he is.

      Mom said if I continued to get good grades there’s a possibility I might get a scholarship. She said that if I did, she’d do whatever was necessary to find a way for me to attend college, even if that meant taking a second job. I know how much she hates working at the school cafeteria, but Mom said she’d be willing to work there and scrub floors, too, if it meant I could go to college. I wanted to cry I was so happy. Mom was serious, too. I could see it in her eyes. Then she held me against her, tight as could be, and said where there’s a will there’s a way. A hundred gifts under the Christmas tree couldn’t have made me happier than I was at that moment.

      February 20, 1963

      Dear Ann Landers,

      I’ve tried to write this letter a dozen times. Please help me. My husband’s involved with another woman. I pretend I don’t know about her but I do and it’s eating me up inside. We have six children. Don’t tell me to leave him, because I can’t. I feel trapped and miserable, and stupid.

      Dorothy A. from the Seattle area

      March 7th

       English Class

      Les,

      Wanna spend the night on Friday?

      Jillian

      P.S. Why do elephants have trunks? Because they don’t have glove compartments.

      English Class

      Jillian,

      I’ll have to clear it with my mom first, but I think so. Let’s stay up all night and talk, okay? Do you have any new records? Did you notice the new boy at First Friday Mass? He’s cute!

      Lesley

      P.S. Why do elephants climb trees? To hide.

      Jillian’s Diary

      March 10, 1963

      Lesley and I had the best time ever! Mom and Dad were involved in some social function at the Country Club all weekend, so we had the house to ourselves. On Friday we stayed up all night and read Profiles in Courage by John F. Kennedy. We did it for extra credit in Sister Sebastian’s English class, but it was the best book I ever read on purpose about history. First Lesley would read a chapter aloud and then I’d read the next one. We didn’t mean to finish the entire book, but we couldn’t stop reading. Lesley said I look a little bit like Jackie Kennedy. Jackie’s much prettier than I am and so graceful and elegant.

      The only reason Lesley said that is because Jackie and I both have dark hair. It would be like me saying Lesley looks like Marilyn Monroe did (before she died!) because she’s blonde.

      Anyway, after we read, we listened to the radio. My favorite singer is still Roy Orbison and Lesley likes Peter, Paul and Mary. We talked for a long time afterward. Mostly it was about boys and school. I’d rather go to a coed high school, but an all-girl is okay, too. I bet we’d meet more guys, though, if we went to a regular school.

      I wonder what it would be like to fall in love and marry. Lesley insists that she doesn’t want to get married until she’s out of college, but I do. I want a romance just like John and Jackie Kennedy’s. I don’t know anyone I’d want to marry yet. Not even Scott. I asked Mom how she knew Dad was the right man for her and she got a goofy look on her face and said she just knew. That didn’t tell me anything. It was the same way last year when my periods started. Mom hardly explained anything. She seemed embarrassed about it, mumbled a few words and then handed me two safety pins and a pad. If it hadn’t been for Lesley starting first, I wouldn’t have known what to do. In biology class, Sister Mary Clare said that our periods tie in with having babies but I’m still not sure how. It’s like a deep, dark mystery no one wants to talk about. Lesley tried to