November 8
It's been one full week since Halloween. It doesn't seem possible that one week could have passed since Michael Myers' escape.
It starts with a dream similar to the one I wrote a couple of mornings ago. Once again, I am Judith at about the same point in time - give or take a few weeks.
II
Judith has just arrived home from the mall with my friend Adele. We have taken a series of buses to Winoker and back, and they come parading into my room with a bunch of bags.
As Judith sorts through my bags, looking for something, Adele talks. "You know the Ancient Egyptians had no problems roaming around in public nude. Especially the lower classes. They did not think about it as obscene. It was more for practical reasons; because Egypt is so hot. And the Egyptians would pluck off every hair on their bodies. Even from their heads."
"Ew," Judith says. "I'd hate that, making myself bald." She finds what she has been looking for, a purple halter top she had lifted from a store and stashed under some clothes she bought from another store.
Adele shrugs. "I could live with it. At least they were clean. The Romans would piss in the streets. And dump all their garbage out their windows. Imagine walking some place and having your neighbor empty their chamber pots onto your head."
Judith shuts the blinds. Then she whips off her top and wrestles on her halter top. Adele is changing into a green top of a similar style. Adele's top fits her very well, but Judith has not quite filled into hers; the top leaves embarrassing gaps through the arms and down the chest.
"Tie it tighter," Adele advises. Judith tries lifting the neck ties, but it raises the breast insets to her collarbone.
"This isn't going to work," Judith says morosely. Maybe the size is too big? No, the polyester around her waist is perfectly snug. Anyway, she has taken the smallest size the store has.
"Hmmm. We could try stuffing it."
Judith is doubtful, but desperate enough to try. Adele leaves the room and returns with a box of Kleenex and a roll of toilet paper.
Judith grabs the toilet paper (because it is sturdier, she knows from past experiments). She unwinds the paper and folds it into long layers. Adele fingers the paper still on the roll.
"You've got the scratchy kind." She giggles. So does Judith.
"It's like butt fiberglass," Judith warns.
Adele laughs so hard, she accidentally tears part of the layers. Undaunted, she sets it aside and folds another layer.
Judith inserts one of the layers, trying to smooth it under the polyester. About five or six layers each, she estimates to herself: her chest does have some shape. There are plenty of girls in her class who were still completely flat. Judith is lucky not to be so deprived. Too bad the clothing manufacturers don't agree.
She fumbles for a safety pin. Some of the tissue stuck out between the straps. She opens her shirt enough to see where she is steering her pin.
Just then, Michael barges into her room.
He had been shrieking something as he plowed through her door, but when he sees what she's doing, he stops. His mouth falls agape. Judith buckles over to hide her chest from her brother's leer.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Judith winces. The pin has punctured her skin. Beside her, Adele races to hide the bags of clothes.
"Are you busy?" Michael finally stammers.
"Yes," Judith says. "I'm busy. Whatever you want, it can wait until I'm not busy. Scram."
Michael glances at Judith, who is still bent over like a constipated dog, and Adele, with her face flushed with humiliation.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting dressed," Judith mutters. Only a spazz like her brother would just stand around asking stupid questions when it's clear to everyone else in the world what she is doing.
"When you're done, can you help me set up the aquarium?" Michael asks.
"No. I'm going to Adele's. Ask Mom to do it."
"But . . ."
"Michael," Judith roars. "Get. Out. Now."
Michael blinks. Then he turns and runs out, tripping over his own feet.
He leaves the door open. Adele lunges over and slams it shut.
"God, what a pervert," Adele comments.
III
Later, after coming back from a nice, normal evening at Adele's place, Judith passes by Michael's room. She hears Michael and her mother talking.
"Judith and Adele were mean to me."
Her mother tries to console him while remaining neutral.
"Judith's at a self conscious age. Sometimes she just wants privacy."
"But Adele was there."
"Well, they're both teenage girls. They have things in common that you might not understand."
"Like what."
Mom falters. "Well, like school. Things that they see going on and you don't."
"So why can't they just tell me?" Michael's voice rises to a hysterical whine.
"Honey it's just the nature of human beings living separate lives. You can't share everything."
"If I had friends, I'd share them with her."
Mom leans over, kisses Michael on the forehead. "I know, sweetie. It's not that Judith isn't willing to share with you. She just needs to have a few aspects of her life for herself."
"Do you?"
"I'm a mother. It's different with mothers."
"But does Judith have to be so mean?" Michael asks. He does not whine this time, just speaks in a low growl. "Can't you punish her?"
"I'll talk to her," Mom promises, "How about you give your sister some space when she has friends over? Is that a deal?"
"OK."
Judith dashes to her room before her mother emerges from the hall. She feels a slight twinge of guilt. Mom has talked to her before about not being so rough on Michael. She has tried, but he could be such a pest.
IIII
I wake up from all of that, and I find I am on the floor. Not just beside the bed because I have just fallen out, but I am tucked just inside my bedroom door.
My closet is open and clothes are strewn all around my room.
IIIII
Joanne calls just after I finish picking up my room. "Mind if I drop by early?" she asks.
"No problem. What do you want to do today?"
She groans. "Stella. The International Exchange Meeting is today."
"It is?" I try to think what this has to do with anything.
"Yes. You said you'd go with me. Unless you're babysitting again."
"I'm not baby-sitting today. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."
"OK. Good," Joanne says, back to her sunny self.
I get ready and go down to the kitchen to greet Mom. I stop in the doorway for a minute, startled because the Mom in the kitchen seems a little different from what I expected. I blame it on the force of last night's dream.
"Joanne and I are going to the school," I tell her. "She wants to go to the International Exchange meeting."
"That's good," Mom says cheerily. "Is that something you would consider? Living abroad for a semester? Think of all the new things you would experience."
"I don't know." I am surprised the idea of living in another country is not as repellent as it used to be. Joanne and I have talked it over so many times, and it's the biggest difference between us. Joanne's ambition is to travel far and wide and get out of Haddonfield as soon as possible. I prefer to stay at home, at least until I graduate and go to college and then Quantico.
"So you would want me to enter the International Exchange?" I ask.
"Of course, if that's what you want to do. It would be an amazing opportunity."
By the time I jam a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster and gobble them up, Joanne pulls up. I call to my mother that I'll be back in a few hours and dash out to the driveway.
Joanne has her radio tuned to "Welcome to the Jungle." "Wake up music," she explains.
"Sounds right," I comment.
Joanne pulls out. We zoom down the street, passing the Myers' house.
I inadvertently glance towards the Myers' house.
Up in one of the windows hangs a scrap of purple polyester fabric.
IIIIII
The cafeteria is milling with students. Joanne and I pick up folders stuffed with pamphlets and forms and join the other students at the cluster of tables.
I survey the room. Richard Connolly is here, and a few of Scott's friends. A bunch of others I recognize from my classes.
Joanne eagerly pores through the pamphlets. "I'm thinking Costa Rica or Israel. A place where I can contribute something good to the world."
"What about Egypt?" I ask absently. I spot a list that contains Egypt as a location.
"Maybe," Joanne considers. "Egypt doesn't have a volunteer program. Is that where you want to go?"
I have not even decided if I am going anywhere yet. "I don't know."
The buzz of the microphone cuts in. Principal Garrick introduces the speaker, John Halifax. Then Mr. Halifax proceeds to explain the particulars about the International Exchange program. Most of it is practical information: when to turn in the applications, what to pack. Everyone pays rapt attention; a few students have brought notepads and jot down the important facts.
I find myself getting caught up in the prospect. Becoming an exchange student is sounding more and more appealing. My eyes drift back to the brightly photographed pamphlets of backpacking students standing in front of famous landmarks. Excitement builds within me. I could be one of those backpackers, I think. I could embark on this new and adventurous program. After all, there's no reason I should stay here anymore . . .
Except there is something keeping me here. Something I hadn't quite finished. I couldn't name what it was, but I have to take care of it.
The presentation ends. Joanne joins the cluster of students who have questions for Mr. Halifax and the other representatives of International Exchange. I gather up my folder and wait by the cafeteria door.
Richard Connolly is waiting outside. "Hey, Stella," he greets me. I smile and return the greeting.
His eyes slope down. He has been somewhat edgy since that outburst. Because that outburst hangs so heavily above us, I ask, "Do you really think what you said in Mrs. Randall's class?"
He shrugs. "I guess I went overboard," he admits. "I just wanted to egg on Darcy." He throws his excuse down carelessly, as if he doesn't expect me to believe him.
He starts to say something else, but before he can, I draw in and kiss him on the mouth.
Our lips press together crushingly hard. I allow mine to open with ease, my tongue caressing ever so lightly on his lips. He returns the action.
I release myself from him. Richard's mouth remains molded into an O shape.
"What was that for?" he asks. On an afterthought, he adds, "Not that I'm complaining."
The question breaks the mild spell of lust. I reply something. I don't remember what; something vague. By then, I spot Joanne by the cafeteria entrance, so I take my leave.
I resist the urge to analyze it.
On the way home, Joanne and I discuss the program's locations. My mind jumps back and forth through several different locations. Egypt enters and exits fleetingly, as does England, Italy, Sweden, and several other countries. The idea is too new for me to make a firm decision yet.
We pass by the Myers place on the way home.