Note: The persons referred to in this story are actually based on my own life experiences. These events are a blend of fact and fiction.
by Paisley Swan Stewart (Dust~Goose~Apple Pie)
It was September 6, 1971-the first day of the eighth grade. Stephanie had barely slept the night before and woke up with a start as the alarm buzzed loudly. Rolling over, she punched the ‘off’ button and bounded up out of bed, then headed to her door for the bathroom.
Just as she was about to wash her face, she heard her mother call from down the hall, “Steph, are you up?”
“Yeah, Mom…I’m up!”
“Okay!” her mother replied. The bus will be here in 45 minutes, so don’t take hours with your hair!”
Grimacing at the mirror, Stephanie quickly combed through her tangles, wishing she had gotten up a little earlier. As she waited for the curling iron to heat up, she scrubbed her face, put on her zit lotion and applied what little make-up her mother had given her permission to wear. Dipping her hairbrush into the hot stream of water, she rinsed off dried hairspray and dust from the bristles, then began the frustrating task of straightening her hair, sighing in frustration when it refused to style the way she wanted it to. It seemed that no matter what she did, Stephanie could never get her hair to fit the current fad. It was simply too curly and too fine for the straight look parted in the middle that all the girls were wearing that year.
That morning she had chosen to wear the brown tights, her rust colored dirndl skirt, her white long sleeved blouse with the pointed collar, and an argyle sweater vest, and she was certain that her new outfit, although cute, was not quite right either.
Stephanie rushed down the stairs and plopped herself at the turquoise and green kitchen table where she quickly ate the bowl of cereal and toast her mother set out for her. Her mother was still in her bathrobe, slippers and curlers, puttering about the kitchen as Folders Coffee brewed in the pot.
“Are you excited about the new school, honey?” her mother asked brightly.
“I guess so.” Stephanie replied not looking up from her bowl of Coco Puffs.
“You don’t sound it, sweetie. Are you nervous?”
She didn’t want her mother to know, but Stephanie was very nervous. She worried that she wouldn’t fit in at this new school. Their family’s move over the summer meant that none of her old friends would be there, and she was terrified of making new ones. She had never been one of the popular girls in grade school and had managed only one or two girlfriends at a time. She tended toward shyness and felt awkward when in unfamiliar places and situations.
“Don’t worry, honey.” her mother tried to assure her. “You’ll fit in just fine once the kids get to know you.”
No I won’t. Stephanie grumbled to herself as she took the last sip of orange juice.
On her way out the door, her mother handed her a paper bag and said brightly, “Here’s your lunch. I put in a slice of last night’s apple pie. Have a good day, honey. You look adorable in that new outfit!”
“Really, Mom? I think I look like a dork!” Stephanie said, feeling utterly insecure.
“No you don’t, you silly goose!” her mother said, giving her daughter an affectionate squeeze. “You look adorable-like I said. Now stop talking badly about yourself, and remember; I’ll be there at 3:00 to take you to your dentist appointment.”
Ten minutes later, Stephanie found herself stepping up into the bus and bit her lip as she searched for an empty seat. Apparently hers was one of the last stops on the route, because there were no empty seats at all. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she made her way to a seat that still had room for 2 more. She couldn’t help but notice as she sat down, that the girl next to her rolled her eyes then scooted closer toward the window.
With her notebook and pee chee held tightly in her lap, she avoided curious eyes. She felt her cheeks turn hot as a boy across the row said something rude about her crooked teeth, and was relieved when one of the girls told him to shut up.
The chatter continued as the bus curved up the hill through lush nursery land and Christmas tree farms. Stephanie tried her best not to notice if anyone was looking at her, and it was only when the bus made its final stop that she raised her eyes and looked ahead. She watched somewhat in fascination and somewhat in shock as a strange little girl came on board. Stephanie had never seen anyone who quite looked like this girl. Although she was certainly at least thirteen years of age, she was more the size of an eight year old than a teenager. She was very thin with fine whitish-blondish hair, and as she stepped up onto the bus, a wave of whistles and rude comments followed her down the aisle. Stephanie noticed that the girl’s face bore a pinched expression and she kept her head bent low as she looked for a seat. Her skin seemed quite thin. You could almost see the veins through it’s odd blue tinge, and there was a green cast around the lips she kept tightly pursed together.
As the girl approached seat after seat, she was rebuffed from sitting down. “No way!” one boy taunted. “You aren’t sitting here. I don’t want to catch your pickle germs!”
This comment was echoed with laughter and more insults, but the little girl said nothing as she desperately tried to find someone who would let her sit next to them.
The girls treated her no better, and as she gave Stephanie a wilted expression, obviously hoping to sit down next to her, Stephanie reluctantly scooted over, then immediately felt ashamed of herself for not wanting to be associated with this odd little girl.
*****
The first period bell rang and Stephanie made her way nervously to her first class. Taking a desk toward the back, she set her books and purse down, then flicked her eyes around the nondescript classroom. She was glad to know that she wasn’t the only one who was stupid when it came to math, but couldn’t stop her stomach from churning as more kids filed in.
The boys seemed to out number the girls, and this only added to Stephanie’s uneasiness as she sat down at her desk and tried to shrink low into the chair. The new teacher busily wrote on the chalkboard, seeming to ignore the boys who jostled with each other and made rude comments back and forth. Stephanie then turned her head toward the door as the little shriveled girl shuffled in. Standing up along side several other students her age, she seemed even smaller than she had on the bus, and Stephanie couldn’t help but wonder at her odd appearance.
The little girl kept her eyes glued to the floor as she made her way to her desk, offering no comment when the girl seated at the desk next to her got up from her chair, picked up her books and supplies and moved to a different desk. Stephanie watched in growing discomfort as rude comments were traded. Then when the teacher stepped out for a moment, one of the boys called out quite loudly, “No one wants to sit next to the sour pickle!”
Laughter followed his comment, and then others chimed in with even worse insults, “Don’t touch the pickle or you’ll turn green!”
Stephanie tried not to look, but snapped her head around to see what the little girl would do. In the absence of the teacher, one of the boys walked over to the girl’s desk and knocked her purse to the floor. Stephanie watched as the little girl’s pale face turned a light purple color, and although one could clearly see that she was angry, she said nothing as she bent over and picked up her things.
Finally, the second bell rang and the teacher returned. The kids settled down, the boys took their seats, and the little girl stared down at her desk. Stephanie fidgeted with her pencil as the teacher moved around to the front of the room.
“Good morning class. I’m Mrs. Muchow. Please open your book to....”
Stephanie struggled with her fractions as the lowest math class droned on for twenty minutes. As always, she was angry at herself for not being on the same level as most kids her age, and she felt stupid as she glanced up at the clock, wishing the math class to be over. A quiz having been handed out, heads dropped and pencils moved across the lined notebook paper. From the corner of her eye, Stephanie watched the little pickle girl, who quietly raised her hand for assistance from Mrs. Muchow. The rest of the class went on with their lesson, as Mrs. Muchow bent over the little girl’s desk and whispered her instructions, then turned away and walked back to her desk. While the teacher’s back was still turned, one of the boys whispered under his breath with a smirk, “She’s so stupid! Everyone knows pickles don’t have brains!”
Stephanie froze in her chair and waited for some sort of reprimand from the teacher, but all Mrs. Muchow did in response was to turn her head with a glare at the boy. She did nothing…said nothing in the little girl’s defense, and Stephanie felt tears sting her eyes as more insulting whispers were directed to the little pickle girl who seemed to disappear into the olive green plastic of her seat.
For the remainder of the class, Stephanie found it difficult to concentrate on her work and when the bell finally rang, she anxiously gathered up her supplies. Mrs. Muchow collected quiz pages, students chattered and filed out of the classroom, and the little girl hung back at her desk, so Stephanie waited and watched as she slowly scooped up her books and shuffled toward the door. Just then, one of the boys pushed his way right in front of the girl, and as the teacher’s back was turned once again, he knocked a book out of the girl’s arms with a nasty laugh.
Stephanie stood there wondering what to do. The little girl was now clearly beginning to cry, but if she were to assist the girl in some way, Stephanie feared that they would turn on her as well. She was, after all, new to the school and had already been a target of mean comments and snickering in the hall, but she just couldn’t let the little girl stand there and cry as the boy continued to tease and bully her.
“Why do you look like a pickle? Why are you all shriveled up like that?” he taunted with not an ounce of sincerity in his question. Stephanie had actually wondered the same thing. She wondered what was wrong, that the little girl looked so ill.
“None of your beeswax!” the girl answered back angrily, which only accentuated the green cast around her pinched little mouth.
“Oh, so it can talk!” the boy laughed as he brushed passed her.
Surprised by the girl’s tart reply, Stephanie bent down and picked up the book, handing it to her with a shy smile.
“Hi, I’m Stephanie. I’m new this year. What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl made a funny face then answered with a voice as thin as her arms, “Beverly.”
“I’m sorry the kids are so mean.” Stephanie kept the conversation going as the girls moved out into the hallway.
“It’s no big deal. They do it all the time.” Beverly answered quietly.
Trying not to stare , Stephanie stayed by Beverly’s side and asked, “What’s your next class?”
“I have art, ” she said.
Hugging her books to her chest, Stephanie answered enthusiastically, “Oh, me too! Can I walk with you?”
“Ok,” said Beverly, who immediately dropped her head as a boy behind them cackled, “Make way for the Pickle!”
“Don’t listen to them, Beverly, they’re just jerks,” Stephanie advised.
As the first bell rang, the girls entered the art room, and Stephanie sat down right next to her new friend at one of the colorful tables.
******
June 15, 1981
Stephanie opened the class of 1974 Alumni information packet with bittersweet smile. She recalled her school days with a pang of regret for all she had not accomplished, and for the dreams she had not pursued. She also regretted the friends she had lost touch with since graduation. Most of them had gone off to college, while she had stayed in town and taken a job at the mall. She wondered what had had become of her very best friend Ann, her other good friends Brenda and Janet…and many others whom she had let quietly slip out of her life.
Despite these regrets, or perhaps because of them, she and her husband had decided to attend her 10 year reunion. She was hoping to see these old friends, and was also excited to read about the details of the reunion agenda. She read that there would be a cocktail party on Saturday night with a live band, dancing and awards, and the next day, a picnic where children would be invited to attend with their families. Included with the weekend’s printed out agenda, the envelope also contained a booklet that listed all the graduates; where they lived and their accomplishments over the last 10 years. For over an hour, Stephanie looked up the names of all her friends and buddies, with fond memories of those days squeezing at her heart.
There was one particular name she was interested in as she thumbed through to the S page, and she whispered Beverly’s name to herself, hoping to find out what had happened to the girl. Was she married? Was she still in the area? The last time Stephanie had seen her was at graduation, when upon receiving her diploma, Stephanie and a handful of girls were the only ones to applaud for Beverly in room full of graduates and families.
Her eyes scanned the page, but there was no information listed, and there was an asterisk beside Beverly’s name. Glancing down at the bottom of the page, Stephanie read the words: * additional information about this student located on page 35.
Turning to the last page of the little booklet, Stephanie sucked in her breath and tears immediately welled up in her eyes as she read down the list of those students who were now deceased. There were only 3: two had died in car accidents, and one, of heart disease.
*Beverly Ann Schultz: died of congenital heart disease on December 27th 1976.
by Paisley Swan Stewart (Dust~Goose~Apple Pie)
It was September 6, 1971-the first day of the eighth grade. Stephanie had barely slept the night before and woke up with a start as the alarm buzzed loudly. Rolling over, she punched the ‘off’ button and bounded up out of bed, then headed to her door for the bathroom.
Just as she was about to wash her face, she heard her mother call from down the hall, “Steph, are you up?”
“Yeah, Mom…I’m up!”
“Okay!” her mother replied. The bus will be here in 45 minutes, so don’t take hours with your hair!”
Grimacing at the mirror, Stephanie quickly combed through her tangles, wishing she had gotten up a little earlier. As she waited for the curling iron to heat up, she scrubbed her face, put on her zit lotion and applied what little make-up her mother had given her permission to wear. Dipping her hairbrush into the hot stream of water, she rinsed off dried hairspray and dust from the bristles, then began the frustrating task of straightening her hair, sighing in frustration when it refused to style the way she wanted it to. It seemed that no matter what she did, Stephanie could never get her hair to fit the current fad. It was simply too curly and too fine for the straight look parted in the middle that all the girls were wearing that year.
That morning she had chosen to wear the brown tights, her rust colored dirndl skirt, her white long sleeved blouse with the pointed collar, and an argyle sweater vest, and she was certain that her new outfit, although cute, was not quite right either.
Stephanie rushed down the stairs and plopped herself at the turquoise and green kitchen table where she quickly ate the bowl of cereal and toast her mother set out for her. Her mother was still in her bathrobe, slippers and curlers, puttering about the kitchen as Folders Coffee brewed in the pot.
“Are you excited about the new school, honey?” her mother asked brightly.
“I guess so.” Stephanie replied not looking up from her bowl of Coco Puffs.
“You don’t sound it, sweetie. Are you nervous?”
She didn’t want her mother to know, but Stephanie was very nervous. She worried that she wouldn’t fit in at this new school. Their family’s move over the summer meant that none of her old friends would be there, and she was terrified of making new ones. She had never been one of the popular girls in grade school and had managed only one or two girlfriends at a time. She tended toward shyness and felt awkward when in unfamiliar places and situations.
“Don’t worry, honey.” her mother tried to assure her. “You’ll fit in just fine once the kids get to know you.”
No I won’t. Stephanie grumbled to herself as she took the last sip of orange juice.
On her way out the door, her mother handed her a paper bag and said brightly, “Here’s your lunch. I put in a slice of last night’s apple pie. Have a good day, honey. You look adorable in that new outfit!”
“Really, Mom? I think I look like a dork!” Stephanie said, feeling utterly insecure.
“No you don’t, you silly goose!” her mother said, giving her daughter an affectionate squeeze. “You look adorable-like I said. Now stop talking badly about yourself, and remember; I’ll be there at 3:00 to take you to your dentist appointment.”
Ten minutes later, Stephanie found herself stepping up into the bus and bit her lip as she searched for an empty seat. Apparently hers was one of the last stops on the route, because there were no empty seats at all. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she made her way to a seat that still had room for 2 more. She couldn’t help but notice as she sat down, that the girl next to her rolled her eyes then scooted closer toward the window.
With her notebook and pee chee held tightly in her lap, she avoided curious eyes. She felt her cheeks turn hot as a boy across the row said something rude about her crooked teeth, and was relieved when one of the girls told him to shut up.
The chatter continued as the bus curved up the hill through lush nursery land and Christmas tree farms. Stephanie tried her best not to notice if anyone was looking at her, and it was only when the bus made its final stop that she raised her eyes and looked ahead. She watched somewhat in fascination and somewhat in shock as a strange little girl came on board. Stephanie had never seen anyone who quite looked like this girl. Although she was certainly at least thirteen years of age, she was more the size of an eight year old than a teenager. She was very thin with fine whitish-blondish hair, and as she stepped up onto the bus, a wave of whistles and rude comments followed her down the aisle. Stephanie noticed that the girl’s face bore a pinched expression and she kept her head bent low as she looked for a seat. Her skin seemed quite thin. You could almost see the veins through it’s odd blue tinge, and there was a green cast around the lips she kept tightly pursed together.
As the girl approached seat after seat, she was rebuffed from sitting down. “No way!” one boy taunted. “You aren’t sitting here. I don’t want to catch your pickle germs!”
This comment was echoed with laughter and more insults, but the little girl said nothing as she desperately tried to find someone who would let her sit next to them.
The girls treated her no better, and as she gave Stephanie a wilted expression, obviously hoping to sit down next to her, Stephanie reluctantly scooted over, then immediately felt ashamed of herself for not wanting to be associated with this odd little girl.
*****
The first period bell rang and Stephanie made her way nervously to her first class. Taking a desk toward the back, she set her books and purse down, then flicked her eyes around the nondescript classroom. She was glad to know that she wasn’t the only one who was stupid when it came to math, but couldn’t stop her stomach from churning as more kids filed in.
The boys seemed to out number the girls, and this only added to Stephanie’s uneasiness as she sat down at her desk and tried to shrink low into the chair. The new teacher busily wrote on the chalkboard, seeming to ignore the boys who jostled with each other and made rude comments back and forth. Stephanie then turned her head toward the door as the little shriveled girl shuffled in. Standing up along side several other students her age, she seemed even smaller than she had on the bus, and Stephanie couldn’t help but wonder at her odd appearance.
The little girl kept her eyes glued to the floor as she made her way to her desk, offering no comment when the girl seated at the desk next to her got up from her chair, picked up her books and supplies and moved to a different desk. Stephanie watched in growing discomfort as rude comments were traded. Then when the teacher stepped out for a moment, one of the boys called out quite loudly, “No one wants to sit next to the sour pickle!”
Laughter followed his comment, and then others chimed in with even worse insults, “Don’t touch the pickle or you’ll turn green!”
Stephanie tried not to look, but snapped her head around to see what the little girl would do. In the absence of the teacher, one of the boys walked over to the girl’s desk and knocked her purse to the floor. Stephanie watched as the little girl’s pale face turned a light purple color, and although one could clearly see that she was angry, she said nothing as she bent over and picked up her things.
Finally, the second bell rang and the teacher returned. The kids settled down, the boys took their seats, and the little girl stared down at her desk. Stephanie fidgeted with her pencil as the teacher moved around to the front of the room.
“Good morning class. I’m Mrs. Muchow. Please open your book to....”
Stephanie struggled with her fractions as the lowest math class droned on for twenty minutes. As always, she was angry at herself for not being on the same level as most kids her age, and she felt stupid as she glanced up at the clock, wishing the math class to be over. A quiz having been handed out, heads dropped and pencils moved across the lined notebook paper. From the corner of her eye, Stephanie watched the little pickle girl, who quietly raised her hand for assistance from Mrs. Muchow. The rest of the class went on with their lesson, as Mrs. Muchow bent over the little girl’s desk and whispered her instructions, then turned away and walked back to her desk. While the teacher’s back was still turned, one of the boys whispered under his breath with a smirk, “She’s so stupid! Everyone knows pickles don’t have brains!”
Stephanie froze in her chair and waited for some sort of reprimand from the teacher, but all Mrs. Muchow did in response was to turn her head with a glare at the boy. She did nothing…said nothing in the little girl’s defense, and Stephanie felt tears sting her eyes as more insulting whispers were directed to the little pickle girl who seemed to disappear into the olive green plastic of her seat.
For the remainder of the class, Stephanie found it difficult to concentrate on her work and when the bell finally rang, she anxiously gathered up her supplies. Mrs. Muchow collected quiz pages, students chattered and filed out of the classroom, and the little girl hung back at her desk, so Stephanie waited and watched as she slowly scooped up her books and shuffled toward the door. Just then, one of the boys pushed his way right in front of the girl, and as the teacher’s back was turned once again, he knocked a book out of the girl’s arms with a nasty laugh.
Stephanie stood there wondering what to do. The little girl was now clearly beginning to cry, but if she were to assist the girl in some way, Stephanie feared that they would turn on her as well. She was, after all, new to the school and had already been a target of mean comments and snickering in the hall, but she just couldn’t let the little girl stand there and cry as the boy continued to tease and bully her.
“Why do you look like a pickle? Why are you all shriveled up like that?” he taunted with not an ounce of sincerity in his question. Stephanie had actually wondered the same thing. She wondered what was wrong, that the little girl looked so ill.
“None of your beeswax!” the girl answered back angrily, which only accentuated the green cast around her pinched little mouth.
“Oh, so it can talk!” the boy laughed as he brushed passed her.
Surprised by the girl’s tart reply, Stephanie bent down and picked up the book, handing it to her with a shy smile.
“Hi, I’m Stephanie. I’m new this year. What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl made a funny face then answered with a voice as thin as her arms, “Beverly.”
“I’m sorry the kids are so mean.” Stephanie kept the conversation going as the girls moved out into the hallway.
“It’s no big deal. They do it all the time.” Beverly answered quietly.
Trying not to stare , Stephanie stayed by Beverly’s side and asked, “What’s your next class?”
“I have art, ” she said.
Hugging her books to her chest, Stephanie answered enthusiastically, “Oh, me too! Can I walk with you?”
“Ok,” said Beverly, who immediately dropped her head as a boy behind them cackled, “Make way for the Pickle!”
“Don’t listen to them, Beverly, they’re just jerks,” Stephanie advised.
As the first bell rang, the girls entered the art room, and Stephanie sat down right next to her new friend at one of the colorful tables.
******
June 15, 1981
Stephanie opened the class of 1974 Alumni information packet with bittersweet smile. She recalled her school days with a pang of regret for all she had not accomplished, and for the dreams she had not pursued. She also regretted the friends she had lost touch with since graduation. Most of them had gone off to college, while she had stayed in town and taken a job at the mall. She wondered what had had become of her very best friend Ann, her other good friends Brenda and Janet…and many others whom she had let quietly slip out of her life.
Despite these regrets, or perhaps because of them, she and her husband had decided to attend her 10 year reunion. She was hoping to see these old friends, and was also excited to read about the details of the reunion agenda. She read that there would be a cocktail party on Saturday night with a live band, dancing and awards, and the next day, a picnic where children would be invited to attend with their families. Included with the weekend’s printed out agenda, the envelope also contained a booklet that listed all the graduates; where they lived and their accomplishments over the last 10 years. For over an hour, Stephanie looked up the names of all her friends and buddies, with fond memories of those days squeezing at her heart.
There was one particular name she was interested in as she thumbed through to the S page, and she whispered Beverly’s name to herself, hoping to find out what had happened to the girl. Was she married? Was she still in the area? The last time Stephanie had seen her was at graduation, when upon receiving her diploma, Stephanie and a handful of girls were the only ones to applaud for Beverly in room full of graduates and families.
Her eyes scanned the page, but there was no information listed, and there was an asterisk beside Beverly’s name. Glancing down at the bottom of the page, Stephanie read the words: * additional information about this student located on page 35.
Turning to the last page of the little booklet, Stephanie sucked in her breath and tears immediately welled up in her eyes as she read down the list of those students who were now deceased. There were only 3: two had died in car accidents, and one, of heart disease.
*Beverly Ann Schultz: died of congenital heart disease on December 27th 1976.