Drinking Coffee Elsewhere (3 page)

“C’mon everybody,” Arnetta said after Mrs. Margolin left. “Time for us to wash up.”

Everyone watched Mrs. Hedy closely, wondering whether she would insist on coming with us since it was night, making a fight
with Troop 909 nearly impossible. Troop 909 would soon be in the bathroom, washing their faces, brushing their teeth—completely unsuspecting of our ambush.

“We won’t be long,” Arnetta said. “We’re old enough to go to the restrooms by ourselves.”

Ms. Hedy pursed her lips at this dilemma. “Well, I guess you Brownies are almost Girl Scouts, right?”

“Right!”

“Just one more badge,” Drema said.

“And about,” Octavia droned, “a million more cookies to sell.” Octavia looked at all of us,
Now’s our chance,
her face seemed to say, but our chance to do
what,
I didn’t exactly know.

Finally, Mrs. Hedy walked to the doorway where Octavia stood dutifully waiting to say goodbye but looking bored doing it. Mrs. Hedy held Octavia’s chin. “You’ll be good?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And remember to pray for me and your father? If I’m asleep when you get back?”

“Yes, Mama.”

W
HEN THE
other girls had finished getting their toothbrushes and washcloths and flashlights for the group restroom trip, I was drawing pictures of tiny birds with too many feathers. Daphne was sitting on her sleeping bag, reading.

“You’re not going to come?” Octavia asked.

Daphne shook her head.

“I’m gonna stay, too,” I said. “I’ll go to the restroom when Daphne and Mrs. Hedy go.”

Arnetta leaned down toward me and whispered so that Mrs. Hedy, who’d taken over Mrs. Margolin’s task of counting Popsicle sticks, couldn’t hear. “No, Snot. If we get in trouble, you’re going to get in trouble with the rest of us.”

W
E MADE
our way through the darkness by flashlight. The tree branches that had shaded us just hours earlier, along the same path, now looked like arms sprouting menacing hands. The stars sprinkled the sky like spilled salt. They seemed fastened to the darkness, high up and holy, their places fixed and definite as we stirred beneath them.

Some, like me, were quiet because we were afraid of the dark; others were talking like crazy for the same reason.

“Wow!” Drema said, looking up. “Why are all the stars out here? I never see stars back on Oneida Street.”

“It’s a camping trip, that’s why,” Octavia said. “You’re supposed to see stars on camping trips.”

Janice said, “This place smells like my mother’s air freshener.”

“These woods are
pine,”
Elise said. “Your mother probably uses
pine
air freshener.”

Janice mouthed an exaggerated “Oh,” nodding her head as though she just then understood one of the world’s great secrets.

No one talked about fighting. Everyone was afraid enough just walking through the infinite deep of the woods. Even though I didn’t fight to fight, was afraid of fighting, I felt I was part of the rest of the troop; like I was defending something. We trudged against the slight incline of the path, Arnetta leading the way.

“You know,” I said, “their leader will be there. Or they won’t
even be there. It’s dark already. Last night the sun was still in the sky. I’m sure they’re already finished.”

Arnetta acted as if she hadn’t heard me. I followed her gaze with my flashlight, and that’s when I saw the squares of light in the darkness. The bathroom was just ahead.

B
UT THE
girls were there. We could hear them before we could see them.

“Octavia and I will go in first so they’ll think there’s just two of us, then wait till I say, ‘We’re gonna teach you a lesson,’” Arnetta said. “Then, bust in. That’ll surprise them.”

“That’s what I was supposed to say,” Janice said.

Arnetta went inside, Octavia next to her. Janice followed, and the rest of us waited outside.

They were in there for what seemed like whole minutes, but something was wrong. Arnetta hadn’t given the signal yet. I was with the girls outside when I heard one of the Troop 909 girls say, “NO. That did NOT happen!”

That was to be expected, that they’d deny the whole thing. What I hadn’t expected was
the voice
in which the denial was said. The girl sounded as though her tongue were caught in her mouth. “That’s a BAD word!” the girl continued. “We don’t say BAD words!”

“Let’s go in,” Elise said.

“No,” Drema said, “I don’t want to. What if we get beat up?”

“Snot?” Elise turned to me, her flashlight blinding. It was the first time anyone had asked my opinion, though I knew they were just asking because they were afraid.

“I say we go inside, just to see what’s going on.”

“But Arnetta didn’t give us the signal,” Drema said. “She’s supposed to say, ‘We’re gonna teach you a lesson,’ and I didn’t hear her say it.”

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s just go in.”

We went inside. There we found the white girls—about five girls huddled up next to one big girl. I instantly knew she was the owner of the voice we’d heard. Arnetta and Octavia inched toward us as soon as we entered.

“Where’s Janice?” Elise asked, then we heard a flush. “Oh.”

“I think,” Octavia said, whispering to Elise, “they’re retarded.”

“We ARE NOT retarded!” the big girl said, though it was obvious that she was. That they all were. The girls around her began to whimper.

“They’re just pretending,” Arnetta said, trying to convince herself. “I know they are.”

Octavia turned to Arnetta. “Arnetta. Let’s just leave.”

Janice came out of a stall, happy and relieved, then she suddenly remembered her line, pointed to the big girl, and said, “We’re gonna teach you a lesson.”

“Shut up, Janice,” Octavia said, but her heart was not in it. Arnetta’s face was set in a lost, deep scowl. Octavia turned to the big girl and said loudly, slowly, as if they were all deaf, “We’re going to leave. It was nice meeting you, O.K.? You don’t have to tell anyone that we were here. O.K.?”

“Why not?” said the big girl, like a taunt. When she spoke, her lips did not meet, her mouth did not close. Her tongue grazed the roof of her mouth, like a little pink fish. “You’ll get in trouble. I know.
I
know.”

Arnetta got back her old cunning. “If you said anything, then you’d be a tattletale.”

The girl looked sad for a moment, then perked up quickly. A flash of genius crossed her face. “I
like
tattletale.”

“I
T’S ALL
right, girls. It’s gonna be all right!” the 909 troop leader said. All of Troop 909 burst into tears. It was as though some one had instructed them all to cry at once. The troop leader had girls under her arm, and all the rest of the girls crowded about her. It reminded me of a hog I’d seen on a field trip, where all the little hogs gathered about the mother at feeding time, latching onto her teats. The 909 troop leader had come into the bathroom, shortly after the big girl had threatened to tell. Then the ranger came, then, once the ranger had radioed the station, Mrs. Margolin arrived with Daphne in tow.

The ranger had left the restroom area, but everyone else was huddled just outside, swatting mosquitoes.

“Oh. They
will
apologize,” Mrs. Margolin said to the 909 troop leader, but she said this so angrily, I knew she was speaking more to us than to the other troop leader. “When their parents find out, every one a them will be on punishment.”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” the 909 troop leader reassured Mrs. Margolin. Her voice lilted in the same way it had when addressing the girls. She smiled the whole time she talked. She was like one of those TV-cooking-show women who talk and dice onions and smile all at the same time.

“See. It could have happened. I’m not calling your girls fibbers or anything.” She shook her head ferociously from side to side, her Egyptian-style pageboy flapping against her cheeks like heavy drapes. “It
could
have happened. See. Our girls are
not
retarded. They are
delayed
learners.” She said this in a syrupy instructional voice, as
though our troop might be delayed learners as well. “We’re from the Decatur Children’s Academy. Many of them just have special needs.”

“Now we won’t be able to walk to the bathroom by ourselves!” the big girl said.

“Yes you will,” the troop leader said, “but maybe we’ll wait till we get back to Decatur—”

“I don’t want to wait!” the girl said. “I want my Independence badge!”

The girls in my troop were entirely speechless. Arnetta looked stoic, as though she were soon to be tortured but was determined not to appear weak. Mrs. Margolin pursed her lips solemnly and said, “Bless them, Lord. Bless them.”

In contrast, the Troop 909 leader was full of words and energy. “Some of our girls are echolalic—” She smiled and happily presented one of the girls hanging onto her, but the girl widened her eyes in horror, and violently withdrew herself from the center of attention, sensing she was being sacrificed for the village sins. “Echolalic,” the troop leader continued. “That means they will say whatever they hear, like an echo—that’s where the word comes from. It comes from ‘echo.’” She ducked her head apologetically, “I mean, not all of them have the most
progressive
of parents, so if they heard a bad word, they might have repeated it. But I guarantee it would not have been
intentional.
”

Arnetta spoke. “I saw her say the word. I heard her.” She pointed to a small girl, smaller than any of us, wearing an oversized T-shirt that read: “Eat Bertha’s Mussels.”

The troop leader shook her head and smiled, “That’s impossible. She doesn’t speak. She can, but she doesn’t.”

Arnetta furrowed her brow. “No. It wasn’t her. That’s right. It was
her.
”

The girl Arnetta pointed to grinned as though she’d been paid a compliment. She was the only one from either troop actually wearing a full uniform: the mocha-colored Α-line shift, the orange ascot, the sash covered with badges, though all the same one—the Try-It patch. She took a few steps toward Arnetta and made a grand sweeping gesture toward the sash. “See,” she said, full of self-importance, “I’m a Brownie.” I had a hard time imagining this girl calling anyone a “nigger”; the girl looked perpetually delighted, as though she would have cuddled up with a grizzly if someone had let her.

O
N THE
fourth morning, we boarded the bus to go home.

The previous day had been spent building miniature churches from Popsicle sticks. We hardly left the cabin. Mrs. Margolin and Mrs. Hedy guarded us so closely, almost no one talked for the entire day.

Even on the day of departure from Camp Crescendo, all was serious and silent. The bus ride began quietly enough. Arnetta had to sit beside Mrs. Margolin; Octavia had to sit beside her mother. I sat beside Daphne, who gave me her prize journal without a word of explanation.

“You don’t want it?”

She shook her head no. It was empty.

Then Mrs. Hedy began to weep. “Octavia,” Mrs. Hedy said to her daughter without looking at her, “I’m going to sit with Mrs. Margolin. All right?”

Arnetta exchanged seats with Mrs. Hedy. With the two women up front, Elise felt it safe to speak. “Hey,” she said, then she set her face into a placid, vacant stare, trying to imitate that of a Troop 909
girl. Emboldened, Arnetta made a gesture of mock pride toward an imaginary sash, the way the girl in full uniform had done. Then they all made a game of it, trying to do the most exaggerated imitations of the Troop 909 girls, all without speaking, all without laughing loud enough to catch the women’s attention.

Daphne looked down at her shoes, white with sneaker polish. I opened the journal she’d given me. I looked out the window, trying to decide what to write, searching for lines, but nothing could compare with what Daphne had written,
“My father, the veteran,”
my favorite line of all time. It replayed itself in my head, and I gave up trying to write.

By then, it seemed that the rest of the troop had given up making fun of the girls in Troop 909. They were now quietly gossiping about who had passed notes to whom in school. For a moment the gossiping fell off, and all I heard was the hum of the bus as we sped down the road and the muffled sounds of Mrs. Hedy and Mrs. Margolin talking about serious things.

“You know,” Octavia whispered, “why did
we
have to be stuck at a camp with retarded girls? You know?”

“
You
know why,” Arnetta answered. She narrowed her eyes like a cat. “My mama and I were in the mall in Buckhead, and this white lady just kept looking at us. I mean, like we were foreign or something. Like we were from China.”

“What did the woman say?” Elise asked.

“Nothing,” Arnetta said. “She didn’t say nothing.”

A few girls quietly nodded their heads.

“There was this time,” I said, “when my father and I were in the mall and—”

“Oh shut up, Snot,” Octavia said.

I stared at Octavia, then rolled my eyes from her to the window. As I watched the trees blur, I wanted nothing more than to be through with it all: the bus ride, the troop, school—all of it. But we were going home. I’d see the same girls in school the next day. We were on a bus, and there was nowhere else to go.

“Go on, Laurel,” Daphne said to me. It seemed like the first time she’d spoken the whole trip, and she’d said my name. I turned to her and smiled weakly so as not to cry, hoping she’d remember when I’d tried to be her friend, thinking maybe that her gift of the journal was an invitation of friendship. But she didn’t smile back. All she said was, “What happened?”

I studied the girls, waiting for Octavia to tell me to shut up again before I even had a chance to utter another word, but everyone was amazed that Daphne had spoken. The bus was silent. I gathered my voice. “Well,” I said. “My father and I were in this mall, but
I
was the one doing the staring.” I stopped and glanced from face to face. I continued. “There were these white people dressed like Puritans or something, but they weren’t Puritans. They were Mennonites. They’re these people who, if you ask them to do a favor, like paint your porch or something, they have to do it. It’s in their rules.”