Chapter 5
jeannie over the line

June 8 – Dear Jesus, Things are out of control all over again, and it’s making me feel twitchy. First of all, they’ve got some weapons called Titan nuclear missiles near Tucson, Arizona. Daddy is up in arms about them; he’s going ballistic even though he thinks they’re a good idea. Do we really need these? This nuclear bomb talk is scarring me for life, not to mention all the children in my class who are bruising themselves as they fly under their desks in a panic whenever that siren starts to blow. And now Mother is prejudiced against me. She sticks on Jeannie’s side whenever we disagree. I don’t mean to quarrel, but I try to keep myself from living in a pig sty! Jeannie immediately tattles: “Mother! Annie took my Peds off the fan and did something with them!” So Mother calls me in. I haven’t the slightest about her Peds!!! And then, she tries to chop me low by telling EVERYONE in a loud voice WHAT I AM DOING AND WHERE I AM DOING IT. SO YOU SEE, HARDLY ANYTHING IS PRIVATE. EVEN MY WRITING IN THIS DIARY. I AM YELLING!

Now that Daddy didn’t have to work at the U.S. Navy anymore, we were all recruited into helping him get customers. First of all, he decided to quit smoking his pipes because the American Heart Association said smoking is bad. But the important thing is, while he was quitting smoking and deciding to retire, he bought an American Motors dealership. Therefore, we had to help him send out “Under New Management” announcements. He didn’t own the dealership yet—they were waiting for the paperwork to go through—but Daddy said it would be a good time to introduce himself. So Daddy and Mom and the older kids sat around the dining room table on a Saturday afternoon, putting cards in envelopes—hundreds of envelopes —boxes of envelopes—for Daddy’s new job.

There was all this sickening talk about John-the-Blimp’s unexpected “vocation” and how glad God in heaven must be. I sat there, forced to listen to it while my hands quickly moved over the post cards. You could tell Mother and Daddy were just bursting with pride, and John-the-Blimp wallowed in it like a sparrow in a birdbath on a hot day. He had just turned sixteen, and with this announcement he’d get to be up on the altar for all the special Masses and holidays, with everyone whispering and smiling approvingly. He was even allowed to take his cassock home.

It wasn’t like his personality would change now that he was going to be a priest. For instance, he was still fat, and he still held the record as the quickest one to snitch anything edible. This morning the idea that he was now going to be a priest didn’t stop him from hiding my geography book as I tore through the house looking everywhere for it, while the whole family waited in the idling car, late for school. It didn’t stop him from saying, “Annie, are you having a geography test today? Would you be missing your book by any chance? It’s right here!” in front of everybody. Then, producing the book, it didn’t stop him from gloating (“If it was a bear, it woulda bit you!”) then smacking me on the back of the head as I climbed into the bus.

So now he makes this dramatic entrance wearing his cassock as we sit around the dining room table stacking envelopes.

You think you’re God’s best buddy now? You’re still John-the-Blimp! There’s no way I’m going to confession to you: you need to ask God’s forgiveness for all the harassment you do to us All. The. Time.

“John, would you do all of us the honor of opening this gathering with a prayer to Almighty God?” Daddy asked him. Like we need his blessing to stuff envelopes! John opened his arms like he was up on the altar. I felt like I was going to suffocate.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said quickly, before he could get started, and ran down the hall and up the stairs to my room, slamming the door. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I just wanted to get out of there and catch my breath. And have some privacy for once. If I had to say anything it would be this: Leave me alone. Let me be. Clara and Madcap were so lucky to have their own rooms. I went down the hall to Clara’s room, hoping she’d let me sit there. Sometimes she was in a philosophical mood and she’d say things about her exciting life as a teenager or let me try on her clothes or use her nail polish while we listened to her clock radio.

I knocked on her door at the end of the hall. Her bed was neatly made and there were three yearbooks next to her bed. I opened one from 1960 when she was a freshman, looking for her picture. The girls in the black and white photos were so grown up. High school was so daring. There was a club for everything I wanted to do but knew I would never be able to do in real life because it was probably bad for your soul. Like drama. Which ultimately would lead to Hollywood, a “den of iniquity,” according to Mother and Daddy. At St. Andrew’s High there was a drama club with 25 girls! A singing club. Even a dance club. Those were things I really wanted to do, but they were absolutely useless in terms of getting ahead in the world and making points in heaven. I closed the book, more irritated than ever. I went to my bedroom to find my diary, because writing down how I was feeling would at least make me feel better.

In the bedroom, the first thing I noticed was Jeannie’s bed creeping over the line again by about a foot! She does this on purpose, so she can have more space. Her little kingdom around her bed is so perfect. I could hear her in the closet, the hangers making little tinny sounds against each other. Why isn’t she downstairs stuffing envelopes like the rest of us? Mother probably gave her a dispensation for helping in the kitchen. Mother always favors her. So now Jeannie stepped out of the closet with my new dress on that I just made! The dark blue shift with the bib around the neck. I worked so hard on that one. The one I wanted to wear to Candy Kohler’s pool party.

“Take off my shift!” I accused her.

“You said I could try it on.” I pushed her bed back to her side of the room, right on the line we drew on the floor. Something crashed to the ground. I didn’t care.

“And keep your bed on your side of the room!” I yelled. Finally, some satisfaction. Jeannie went over to the crashed shards.

“Now you’ve done it,” she accused me. “It’s my statue of the Sacred Heart that Mother gave me! Look what you’ve done! It’s all broken!”

“Well, don’t put it on your bedstead that’s a foot over the line next time!” Yeah, that felt good. She walked over to a small shelf above my bed with my collection of porcelain penguins. She took the Daddy penguin and threw it to the ground and stomped on it. It splintered under her sneaker.

“There!” she screamed triumphantly.

That’s it! The one thing Mother gives me, and Jeannie deliberately breaks it. I rushed over to her, yanking on her hair. She still had my dress on, so I started unzipping it off her back. She swung around and pushed me away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Take my dress off!”

“Make me!” My arm went back to smack her face, but she was already in action, lunging at me. We both toppled to the ground, socking and pinching and straining. If I’m wiry, Jeannie is strong, but I couldn’t seem to get a grip on her as we rolled over each other. My legs flailed under her; I felt a sharp pain on my arm near my elbow, like glass stabbing me.

“Owww, Jeannie!” She leaned across me, her arm just within reach of my mouth. I opened and chomped down. She screamed and walloped me across the face. The floor around my arm was wet. We both sobbed, and I twisted my whole body with a great effort to topple Jeannie. When I rolled over, it was Daddy, pulling her up.

“She broke my statue, and then she bit me!” Jeannie blurted in short breaths, her chest heaving.

“She deliberately smashed my penguin!” I blubbered. Blood dripped off my arm. “And she’s wearing my new dress without permission.”

“You said I could try it.”

“I did not!”

“Did!”

“Did not!”

“It’s my new dress! I’d never let you wear it, you big ape!”

“Pipe down kids!” Daddy’s bellowing voice shut us right up.

“What are you doing up here, fighting?” he asked. “While the rest of us are downstairs, working hard to put the food on the table, you’re up here bickering over a dress?”

“Look at my Sacred Heart!” Jeannie knelt down to assemble the pieces, which by now were swimming in my blood. “She broke it!”

“Annie, that’s a statue of the Sacred Heart. How could you go to Mass with me on First Fridays and then break the very statue of the Sacred Heart?”

“Her bed was over the line!”

“This is not Christian behavior.”

“It was accidental!”

“It was not!”

“I was pushing your bed back over the line! Where it belongs!”

“Annie, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Like it was all my fault!!!!! Like Jeannie is Miss Perfect. Holy Moley. Holy Moley, Holy Moley I said over and over in my head. Then Daddy launched into a poem, directed mostly at me. As if eloquence was of any use at this particular moment.

Here lies the body of William J.

Who died maintaining his right of way

He was right, dead right as he sped along

But he’s just as dead as if he were wrong.

Daddy stood there like the ref at a boxing match. We held our corners, sweating and breathing our way to our next move.

“You’re both going to get the glue out and put that statue back together, one piece at a time.” I held my elbow, dripping with blood, but even that wasn’t enough to make him notice my suffering.

“You’re not coming out of this room until you’ve apologized to each other.” As he walked out the door, his shoes crunched on my broken penguin. But of course, what’s a penguin statue compared to the Sacred Heart?

Their theory was, “Don’t let the sun go down upon your anger.” The sun wasn’t even close to going down, but saying you’re sorry when you’re not is like eating cold vegetables—it makes you want to throw up. “I’m sorry,” I quipped sarcastically and slammed the door. I didn’t even wait for her feeble squeak. As I was going out the door I turned back into the room for the phony “Will you please forgive me?” and I saw her, pushing her bed back over the line.

I am not sorry! And this is not the end of this.