The Revelation of Joan

Chapter 8 Joan's Latest Mission

"Glynis, please come visit -- Friedmann"

That Email was the first I had heard from my friends in nearly a week. Strange how everybody scattered once school was out. Last year, of course, we stuck together because we wanted to know what happened to Joan after she fainted during the closing ceremony. This year we simply flew about as if propelled by a repulsive force.

Individually the departures made sense. Luke didn't want to deal with me because he was all over Grace now, and I was his former girl. Grace didn't want to deal with me for the same reason, plus she probably remembered that rude remark I made last winter about having a figurative stick up her butt. I seldom dealt with Joan one-on-one, she was just too weird. And Adam, for reasons unclear to me, currently seemed to be on dismal terms with everybody.

The result was that, when I got that Email, I decided to comply.

The front door was unlocked. That was odd; everybody in the town had been careful of security since the unsolved attacks on the two places of worship. I went in. I had, after all, been here as a guest before. "Friedmann? It's Glynis."

"In here," came a voice from Friedmann's bedroom.

Concerned now -- could Friedmann be ill? -- I walked through the house to the room. He was sitting on his bed. He didn't look ill, but he did look weird. He was wearing a gym suit. If he had had a lot of muscles it would have made him look sexy; as it was, he just looked stupid. "Hi. You wanted me?"

"Yeah." He patted the bed. "Let's make out."

"What!"

He mistook my astonishment for incomprehension. "You know -- do some hooking-up. Make the beast with two backs."

"I know all the metaphors. You're talking about sex."

"Yeah."

"Four years we've known each other, and throughout it you've always implied that you liked me from my mind, not my --" I couldn't say the word, not when talking to a horny boy. "Any bimbo can have sex. Friedmann, what's gotten into you?" It was a colloquialism, but suddenly I realized that it might be literally true. "You're high on something."

"Yeah." He gestured toward the bedside table, on which an unlabelled jar of pills was sitting. "Have some. Make you more agreeable."

"No thanks." An aphrodisiac, bluntly known nowadays as a date rape drug. I backed toward the door. Friedmann in his right mind would never force himself on a girl, but I didn't know what to make of this Friedmann. Once in the hallway I made a dash for the front door -- then hesitated.

Friedmann was my best friend, and he needed help. But I was frightened to deal with him one-on-one; I needed backup. But which of my teen friends was mature enough to deal with the situation? Luke was the only one I could think of, but I hadn't really dealt with him for months. How about a grown-up? Definitely not Price, or dry-as-a-bone Driesbach. How about Mrs. Girardi? No, she was married to a cop who might arrest Friedmann. Miss Lischak?

As if in answer to a prayer, I actually spotted one of my friends on the sidewalk -- but it was Joan Girardi, the weirdest kid in our group except for Adam. She was talking to a very cute guy of our own age. Great; Joan gets the hunks, and I get propositioned by Friedmann.

But they didn't seem to be talking romance; the cute guy was waving at the Friedmann house, and Joan didn't seem too happy with what he was saying. Finally he left, with another wave. Joan squared her shoulders, and started toward the door.

I emerged and blocked the way. "You can't come in," I said.

Joan stared, obviously wondering why I was standing guard at somebody else's house. "But I need to see Friedmann."

"You can't." I declared. Then, realizing that needed some explanation, I added, "He's not himself."

"Well, maybe I ought to see who he is," said Joan, trying to circle me.

"Wait!" I said. "He's -- he's high on some drug, Joan. Out of his mind."

"Oh, my -- so THAT's the mission," said Joan, apparently to herself, since the statement meant nothing to me. She walked to the door.

Having utterly failed to protect Joan from an awkward situation, I thought the best that I could do was stand guard in a different way: stand in the hallway, out of Friedmann's sight, and be ready to charge in if Joan needed help. In the meantime I could hear their two voices plainly.

JOAN: Hi, Friedmann. I, um, thought you'd like company.

FRIEDMANN: Yeah (pause) Let's make out.

JOAN: Make out

FRIEDMANN: You know -- do some hooking-up. Make the beast with two backs.

Pain shot through me as I recognized the exchange word-for-word. Though I had resented being propositioned, I could take some pride in being desired. Now I realized that Friedmann was just addressing some generic Girl. Joan, or Glynis, or Miss Whatever.

Joan, to do her credit, recovered quicker than me, though of course she had gotten some warning.

JOAN: Don't be silly, Friedmann. I went with Adam for a year and a half without going all the way; you think three words are going to change my mind? For Judith, you were willing to memorize all of HAMLET.

FRIEDMANN (dejected): Yeah. But it didn't mean anything. She's dead.

JOAN: Um, yeah, but you still I have one of the greatest plays in English tucked away in your brain.

FRIEDMANN: It tells me the same thing. Hamlet and the Yorick's skull. 'Now get you to my lady's chamber and tell her, to this favour so must come. Make her laugh at that'.

JOAN: You're missing the point. You've got BRAINS, Friedmann. And you're risking ruining them.

FRIEDMANN: Who cares?

I suddenly realized that I did.

JOAN: Let me tell you a secret. I think I'm going to be great some day. A hero, like Joan of Arc. And you have more promise than I do, because you have more brains. Things mean something. We may not know what, because we don't have a God's-eye view of things, but they do. Search for the meaning, instead of wallowing in self-pity. Judith isn't -- wouldn't do that.

I was listening with admiration. Joan was more perceptive than I had ever given her credit for. Within a few minutes she had arrived at Friedmann's essential problem, the loss of Judith, and found a possible remedy, appealing to his pride in his intellect.

FRIEDMANN: What good is it to develop my brains, if I could get snuffed out tomorrow? Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. Making out helps too. Even if it's not the girl you really love. That's what I told Adam--

JOAN (shocked) You -- told -- Adam -- what?

FRIEDMANN: He was all wrapped up in a girl named Jane, who wouldn't go all the way with him. So I told him to find a girl who would.

Friedmann must have been too addled to remember that "Jane" was Adam's pet name for Joan. Joan charged out of the room a second later, in tears. "I can't go on with this--"

"I'll take over," I said. "You've given me the clues."

She got to the front door and hesitated. "Helping Friedmann is supposed to be my job--"

I didn't know what she meant by "job", but I said, "You're helping me help him. Isn't that enough?"

"I guess."

"Go." On impulse, I gave her a kiss in gratitude.

She went out of the house, and I steeled myself to help Friedmann.