both blue. When I put them on, I barely recognized my own body, the
way it narrowed and curved. I took them off immediately, feeling that
somehow they were immodest. They weren’t, not technically, but I
knew why I wanted them—for my body, so it would be noticed—and
that seemed immodest even if the clothes were not.
The next afternoon, when the crew had finished for the day, I ran to
the house. I showered, blasting away the dirt, then I laid the new
clothes on my bed and stared at them. After several minutes, I put
them on and was again shocked by the sight of myself. There wasn’t
time to change so I wore a jacket even though it was a warm evening,
and at some point, though I can’t say when or why, I decided that I
didn’t need the jacket after all. For the rest of the night, I didn’t have to
remember to be Shannon; I talked and laughed without pretending at
all.
Charles and I spent every evening together that week. We haunted
public parks and ice cream shops, burger joints and gas stations. I took
him to Stokes, because I loved it there, and because the assistant
manager would always give me the unsold doughnuts from the bakery.
We talked about music—about bands I’d never heard of and about how
he wanted to be a musician and travel the world. We never talked
about us—about whether we were friends or something else. I wished
he would bring it up but he didn’t. I wished he would let me know
some other way—by gently taking my hand or putting an arm around
me—but he didn’t do that, either.
On Friday we stayed out late, and when I came home the house was
dark. Mother’s computer was on, the screen saver casting a green light
over the living room. I sat down and mechanically checked BYU’s
website. Grades had been posted. I’d passed. More than passed. I’d
earned A’s in every subject except Western Civ. I would get a
scholarship for half of my tuition. I could go back.
Charles and I spent the next afternoon in the park, rocking lazily in
tire swings. I told him about the scholarship. I’d meant it as a brag, but
for some reason my fears came out with it. I said I shouldn’t even be in
college, that I should be made to finish high school first. Or to at least
start it.
Charles sat quietly while I talked and didn’t say anything for a long
time after. Then he said, “Are you angry your parents didn’t put you in
school?”