Portion of the Sea (12 page)

Ava

I knew I should be sleeping but I couldn’t. I felt too inspired, so I walked down the hall, quietly passing a room of men sitting in the smoke of Cuban cigars. I stole my own whiff, then opened the front door and stepped outside. I walked to the beach, thinking the entire way about how badly I wanted to become a fiction writer.

And when I kicked off my slippers and set foot in the sand, I was aware that my mother and father would lock me up had they known their young lady was walking on the beach alone and at night. But by the time my toes touched the warm water, it also became clear to me what I didn’t want for my life—a husband. Boys—all but the one who had prayed in the periwinkles for my daddy—were ugly, rude and dirty. Stewart was a good daddy, but the way my
mama glared at him whenever he walked into the room taught me one thing: A man doesn’t make a woman happy. Quite the contraire! I wanted happiness. I wanted a world where girls grow up to be happy ladies. And besides, having a husband would mean having babies and I didn’t want to risk dying during childbirth like so many women had been doing.

When I looked up at the stars, I missed my friends back in Kentucky. I could only hope they too might reach these revelations. There was no way for me to share my new worldly views with them. Before moving to Florida, we shared books and lunches, and the basic, primitive belief that boys were nasty and that we’d rather swallow a raw shrimp than kiss the lips of any boy. We never took it any further than that. By no means had we ever said we’d never marry. And we never shared our ambitions. I had no idea what my friends back home dreamed of doing one day or whether they’d given it any thought.

But as I stood alone, ankle-high in the water with the moon beaming down, it was time for me to act on behalf of them and all the girls of the world, and I had to imagine that herds of them would be standing here with me, if they could.

Lydia

“Here,” I answered without looking up from the journal when the civics teacher called my name on the attendance roster. “I am most definitely present with you, Ava,” I muttered under my breath.

Only physically was my body sinking lower into the wooden desk at school, for my mind was standing beside Ava, ankle-high in the water way past dark with the moon beaming down on me. And I couldn’t stop reading, not now.

Ava

I stood there with my toes sinking into the sand. I was just one girl in a large world, but I stood there for us all, for all the girls who believe what I
do. Yes, I stood there as president of the unladylike club, and I could almost hear others from around the world and throughout the past and future ages cheering me on. I bent down and scooped up seashells in my hand. I didn’t know what they looked like, for it was too dark.

“I will not behave according to rules set forth by men,” I murmured as I dropped one shell. “I will never do what a lady is supposed to do but what I want to do,” I whispered as I threw another out to sea. “I will pursue my own dreams,” I said louder as I tossed one further than the last. I felt bold and courageous as I threw the entire handful of shells in my hand and then waited to hear them make their splashes. “I declare I will never marry a man!” I shouted at the top of my lungs with arms raised and head hung back and eyes wide open toward the moon. None of what I did was for the rudimentary purpose of childish rebellion, nor dramatic art, however one might interpret it, but for the advancement of womankind.

Lydia

I sat with the journal wedged between the pages of my home economics book. My mouth hung open. I had never in all my life heard such things coming from the lips of a girl. I didn’t know such girls existed in the world, at least not where I lived.

“And Mary Beth,” I heard Mrs. Fields say, glancing three seats behind me.

“What do you envision for yourself?”

“To be a happy homemaker, Mrs. Fields,” Mary Beth answered in her perky voice. “Although I’m horrible at ironing business shirts. My mother wants me to learn, but I’ve burnt three of my father’s necklines.”

“It’s okay to admit that,” Mrs. Fields said with a warm smile. “We’re going to spend an entire week on laundry. And there’s still plenty of time to master it before you get married.”

“How about you, Judy? What are your aspirations?”

Judy sat two seats behind me, and that meant Mrs. Fields was working her way up my row. I could feel my breathing becoming shallow, as if
I were standing on a humidity-ridden beach. When I closed my eyes, my thoughts soared across the sea and I never knew how large the sea was, and then I saw stars scattered throughout my mind like options I never knew I had and they were infinite. But when I opened my eyes, I was still in class, and the reality of the world in which I lived.

“Maintaining a perfect home and keeping my husband happy,” Judy two rows back answered in her soft, dainty voice. “But after that, I may want to become a nurse,” she added.

“Don’t forget the children, Judy,” said Mrs. Fields. “It takes a lot of time to create the ideal home life. We’re up to Suzie.”

“Marriage,” she answered from the desk behind me.

I closed my eyes again and joined Ava on the beach. I, like her, may be just one girl in the world, but one plus one equals two girls and two girls can make a difference. I wanted more than anything to join her unladylike club, to be one of its official members. So, quickly, I opened my eyes and the journal at the same time and found the part where she bent down to pick up seashells.

There were no seashells on my wooden flip-top desk, but there were erasers. I had an entire collection of pencil erasers, and I scooped them up into my hands.

“Marriage,” said Mrs. Fields “is the highest achievement. We’re up to you, Lydia Isleworth. Lydia?”

“I will not behave according to rules set forth by men,” I read softly, dropping one eraser to the floor. “I will never do what a lady is supposed to do, but rather, what I want to do,” I murmured as I threw another out into the aisle. “I will set and pursue my own dreams,” I said louder as I tossed one toward the front of the room. I felt bold and courageous as I threw the entire handful of erasers in my hand and then waited to hear them smack against the chalkboard. “I declare I will never marry a man!” I shouted at the top of my lungs with my arms raised overhead and my head hung back and my eyes wide open toward the moon, or maybe it was the fluorescent light above me.

VIII

“LYDIA!” I HEARD MRS
. Fields yell. “In God’s name! In the name of patriotism.”

It was then that I realized what I had done. Girls were flapping about their seats like fish jumping up from the water and their eyes were bulging with fear. I heard one with her head out the door yelling, “Help us, someone help us. Lydia’s going insane.”

“Girl! Get a hold of yourself!” Mrs. Fields took hold of my shoulders, and as she glanced around at the panic-stricken girls, I had just enough time to break free from her grip and tuck the journal into the waist of my skirt.

“Order! Order!” Mr. Smith demanded as he tapped my desk with a ruler. That’s when the pandemonium settled and the girls returned to their seats.

“What were you thinking?” he asked me.

I hadn’t meant to shout out the words of Ava, but they came rattling out of my mouth like venom I couldn’t contain. When I didn’t answer, Mr. Smith took hold of the sleeve of my blouse and pulled me out of my desk and toward the door. I could hear girls snickering and Mrs. Fields saying to them, “Girls who express masculine characteristics and behaviors as Lydia just did will not achieve any form of satisfaction in their adult lives, most especially personal fulfillment as wives and mothers.”

Still in the grip of the principal, I managed to cast Mrs. Fields a look before leaving the door. And as our eyes were hooked, I blurted out in a voice that wasn’t at all mine, and one that sounded the way I imagined Ava’s to sound, “I beg to differ, Mrs. Fields.”

I sat in the principal’s office all afternoon as Mrs. Cross, his secretary, repeatedly rang for Lloyd at work. She still had the blue iris sitting on her desk, I noticed.

“It’s an important day at the bank,” I said to her. “I don’t think my father will have time for this.”

“Oh, I think he’ll find time once we inform him of what happened today in civics class,” she said, putting down the receiver and looking at me. “Do you really mean what you said? Because anyone who does not embrace marriage and parenthood risks being perceived as perverted, immoral, unpatriotic, and pathological.”

Then, she shifted in her seat, her voice softening. “I’ve known you since you first started school here, Lydia. You’re not any of those, are you? Do you know what all those words mean?”

“Just because a girl has her own plans for life doesn’t mean she’s a deviant,” I said. “And besides, why would any girl want to get married? Why would she want to enter into a contract where she must serve and obey a man? If you ask me, it’s a form of master and servant.”

Mrs. Cross didn’t answer. She stood up and walked out of the room and left me alone. A few minutes later I heard Mr. Smith and my father talking in the hallway outside the door. Mr. Smith had one of those voices that carry. It had always amused me that successfully whispering hadn’t been a prerequisite for him getting a job as principal. I heard every word he spoke to my father in the hall and I’m sure the nearby classrooms did as well.

“I’m mostly concerned about deviance,” Mr. Smith announced. “The disturbed, hostile, and rebellious child is a danger to herself and to the community and a poor risk as a future citizen.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” said Lloyd. “I do believe that the great task of parents is to see that their child’s individuality develops naturally without
harm to himself or society. I am aware that Lydia is going through a phase in which she wants to express her individuality and she’s testing authority and boundaries in an effort to feel secure. I will discipline her accordingly. But I know my daughter. And she is not disturbed, hostile, or rebellious.

She’s a respectful, charming young lady.”

“I had always thought that, too, but there’s apparently another side to her. She wasn’t so charming when she used a Southern accent and told Mrs. Fields that she ‘begs to differ.’”

“A Southern accent?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“I don’t get it,” said Lloyd. “I’m horribly confused. I’m distraught, I’m beside myself.”

“I don’t want to overstep my boundary, but I’m wondering about your home life.”

“Our home life? That girl has everything she needs and more.”

“But she doesn’t have a mother,” said Mr. Smith.

“No, but she has nannies and helpers and …”

“Do they do everything for her? Do they let her do anything domestic?

Does she wash dishes or help with laundry?”

“There’s no need. I pay for it to be done.”

“That’s my point. A girl, from the time she is little, finds it exciting and challenging to be like her mother,” Mr. Smith said. “In caring for her dolls, she takes that attitude and tone of voice of her mother. She absorbs her mother’s point of view toward men and boys. Observing a mother is a major way for a daughter to accept the distinction between a man’s role and a girl’s.”

There was a pause. “Maybe I should have remarried. I should have found a mother for Lydia years ago,” said Lloyd. “But I became so entrenched at work. I don’t have time to …”

“Have her help with dishes. You’ve got too many nannies, maybe. They’re doing everything domestic for her, and in that, you risk the possibility of raising a social misfit.”

“She’s never washed a dish in her life.”

“That’s concerning. She must learn to appreciate the distinctions between men and women and to think and act as members of her own sex are expected to think and act in marriage. There are books and articles I can give you. They’ll help put it into perspective.”

I could hardly listen any more, and when tears of shame began pouring down my cheeks, I opened the door and ran into my father’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to make you leave work and come here like this. I’m sorry.”

“Lydia,” said Lloyd. “I love you and I’m going to correct your unhappiness.”

“You’re going to work less and stay home with me more?”

He looked up at Mr. Smith, who shook his head sadly and walked away.

“You’re my number one most important asset, Lydia. I’m taking the rest of the day off, and you and I are going home. And we’re going to spend all evening together.”

“Can we stop for ice cream?”

“No,” he said. “Maybe,” he added, analyzing my unhappy face. “Okay.”

The ride to the soda parlor was taking so long in traffic that I felt as if I were aging by an entire year. That’s how limousine rides made me feel, like the world was passing by through those windows and I was passively watching it go.

I unrolled my window. At least I could then feel the breeze outside. But there were so many cars honking that it sounded like wild animals outside my window.

The ride wouldn’t have been so bad if Lloyd and I spent the time talking, but instead, he chose to read. It looked at first as if he had opened the newspaper, but I caught a glimpse of what he was really reading, an article Mr. Smith must have given him called, “Raise Your Girl to be a Wife.”