Polly & Veronica by ELJ Publications

Polly & Veronica A Novelette by

Phyllis Green

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ÂŠ 2014 Phyllis Green Copyright ÂŠ 2014 Cover Art by Phyllis Green (Photographer: Bruce Green; Assistants: Sharon & Dave Buell) Photo of students on the cover courtesy of the Westvian 1946, West View High School, PA

for Barbara, Jo Etta, D.J., Joanne, Peg, Jane, and Loie

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Thanks to my family, the best ever, and to my editor, Ariana D. Den Bleyker who is an amazing poet and kind-hearted soul. And thanks to my creative writing instructor, Lawrence Hart, at the College of Marin who invited me to join his and Jeanne McGahey's poetry seminar.

Friday, November 16, 1945 Dear Veronica, You probably don’t remember me. I am your 2nd or 3rd cousin twice removed whatever that means. We came to visit you once. I was about 8 and you maybe 10. I thought you looked like Margaret O’Brien with your pretty eyes and dark curly hair. I’m not sure Margaret’s is naturally curly. Do you know who she is? Maybe not since you are always in bed. What is wrong with you anyhow? Margaret O’Brien is a movie star, a child actress. She can cry on command. I read that in a movie magazine. Have you ever seen a movie magazine? Maybe I can send you one of my old ones. I remember two things about our visit. My mother bought us both the same book about wild flowers. You had to cut out a picture and put the right flower in the proper frame. Did you ever finish yours? I got bored with mine. The second thing I remember is that your house reeked of urine. I could hardly stand it. I’m very sensitive to smells. Doesn’t it bother you? Do you wear diapers? Is that the smell? Can’t something be done? Or are you all used to it? You had 3 big brothers. They were cute. Of course you wonder why I’m writing to you and will be doing so every week for 3 months. Punishment! We were in downtown Pittsburgh and my mom thought I was making fun of a beggar. My mom gives dimes and nickels to every beggar on the streets. But I was laughing at him because he mimicked my mom to a T, the careful way she extracts a quarter from her $35 black alligator purse while holding onto it for dear life, and then how she drops the coin, plunk, into his cup. It’s just an idiosyncrasy. My mom is really quite sweet. But he 3

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did such a perfect imitation that I laughed hysterically. So mom said I had to write to you to appreciate people who weren’t as fortunate as ourselves. Don’t take this the wrong way. Until next week, your 2nd or 3rd cousin removed, POLLY P.S. My Mom’s perfume, Shalimar, is sprinkled on the envelope; hold it to your nose when the pee odor gets unbearable. You’re welcome.

POLLY & VERONICA

Friday, Dec. 21, 1945 Dear Veronica, I am in ninth grade which probably doesn’t mean much to you since you have never been to school although I have been told you are really, really smart. Anyway, ninth grade is high school here in Springdale. Two boys in our class are also very smart and they have made a television all by themselves with electrical tubes and stuff. You see live people dancing or singing on a screen in your house. It’s the latest thing. We know a family who has one and they invite us over and they set up lots of chairs in their living room so we can watch it. We don’t have one. Dad says they are a foolish waste of good money so we will probably never get one. I can only tell you I was mortified today. There is this boy, Wade Pepples, I’ve known all through grade school. Today he said to me, “You don’t know how hard it is to be me.” This is a kid who is handsome and knows it. He has always been the smartest kid in grade school. He is a braggart. He is the only 9th grader who plans his own study program. And we all know he knocked up his girlfriend this summer when she was sick and now he’s about to become a father. And he says, “You don’t know how hard it is to be me,” as if I was asking for an explanation! I don’t even speak to him. Well, I just stared at him and made no reply. What would you have said? It is the only sentence he has ever addressed to me and I have known him since first grade! Did you get the movie magazine? Did you like it? What do you think of Farley Granger? I sometimes cut out a star’s picture and pin it 5

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on the wall behind my bed. You could do that too. It helps cover up the boogers I used to put there when I was little and supposed to be napping. You could do that too. Ha. I have bangs and shoulder-length dark straight hair. Sometimes I get a permanent and then I’m a frizz ball. I have blue eyes. A sophomore told me today I looked like an all-American girl. I don’t know what that means but I took it as a compliment. This is the fifth letter I have written to you and have yet to receive a reply. Can’t you write? Are you out of three-cent stamps? Don’t you know you are supposed to answer letters? I feel like I’m writing to a building. You aren’t showing my letters to your mother are you? You shouldn’t. It’s good to have secrets. If you write to me I won’t show your letters to anyone. I mean it, POLLY Merry Xmas

POLLY & VERONICA

1/18/46 Dear Veronica, Thanks for your one-word note. If I was supposed to take offense, I didn’t. S-blank-blank-T is one of my favorite words, especially if I drop something or spill my milk at the dinner table. If you think I know what you meant by it, I don’t. Perhaps it’s what you think of my letters, or life in general, or your life in a bed, or what I should have said to Wade Pepples, or what you just did, or what my mom’s perfume smells like. And where did you learn to write? It looks like you wrote it with your toes. You need more practice. The person who wrote the envelope is not you. Is it your mother? One of your brothers? Who? That’s all for now. I have to twirl my baton. I’m going to try out for majorettes. When I throw the darn thing in the air, it comes down on my nose. In case you don’t know, majorettes march in front of the marching band and wear red sweaters and short skirts, yellow tights, and white boots with tassels. That’s the first year. The older majorettes have white uniforms with gold trim and epaulets and tall, white, furry hats with straps that go under your chin. I really want to be one. Wish me luck, POLLY P.S. One of my friends (Katy) wants me to be chosen and one (Jen) does not but she doesn’t know I know. She thinks I get everything I want and she wants to deny me this. She isn’t going to 7

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vote for me. She told someone that I couldn’t march worth a darn. She is trying to influence other votes too. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Life in the outside world isn’t so rosy.

POLLY & VERONICA

Fri. The 15th of Feb. in the year 1946 Dear Veronica, I received your two-word reply. It is very hard to read but I think it says “Good Luck.” Although it could be something that rhymes with that. I will assume it is good luck and good luck it was as I am now a freshman majorette. My mother is somewhat of a photographer (she had a dark room when she was in high school). That is where you develop film. She has taken some colored photos of me in my red majorette outfit and maybe I can send you one. Why don’t you send me a pic of you? Sometimes I think, “What is it like to be Veronica?” What do you do all day? Do you listen to soap operas? Fibber Magee and Molly? Stella Dallas? Our Gal Sunday? Do you eat regular food? What is your favorite? How do you get a bath? How do you do your hair? Do you ever want to run away? Do you have friends? Are your brothers nice to you? Can you play games? Do you like Milky Ways? Can you sing? Have you noticed that this will be my last letter? Yes, 3 months have passed. You could answer it though if you want. I wouldn’t mind. I will miss writing to you I think. When the weekend comes around I will think, “It’s time to write to Veronica” and then I’ll remember I don’t have to anymore. So have a good life if possible, POLLY P.S. More Shalimar on the envelope. Sniff. Sniff. P.P.S. Photo enclosed. 9

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March 1, 1946 Dear Veronica, Is it going to bore you terribly if I keep writing? You see, you knocked me over with your last reply. I still don’t know if you like candy bars but now if I read your scribbles correctly I know you have a crush on your brother’s friend, Harvey, and you have goo-goo eyes for your doctor????????? Why you two-timing little witch. And you have wicked thoughts about them both? Honestly, tell me more. I would tell you about my boyfriend but I don’t have one. I did have a so-called boyfriend in grade school. Some days he would walk me home from school and carry my books. When I was sick once he sent me chocolate-covered cherries. Don’t ever eat one. They are ghastly. Then he moved away. He came back to visit once and I had grown a foot taller than him. Anyhow he lives far away. I think Texas. There is a hop at my school on Saturday nights. I go with my friend, Martha. She and I dance together because no boys ask us. It is not much fun. I keep bumping into her bosoms. They seem to be everywhere. Oh a strange boy does ask me to dance, in fact he hounds me, but I say “no thanks”. He gives me the creeps. Martha says I should dance with him ‘cause maybe he’ll grow up to be a millionaire. I say I don’t care. Martha is very fair-skinned and she gets hysterical when she sees sunshine. We go to the swimming pool in the summer and she lies beside me completely covered head-to-toe in her green striped beach towel. I am so embarrassed. Did a white slaver ever try to steal you? One tried to take me. I had just come out of an Abbott & Costello movie. I was about 10. 10

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This blond man grabbed me and started to run. I yelled and bit his hand. He screamed then slapped my right cheek so hard I fell to the sidewalk. Luckily he ran away. Then my friends picked me up and we walked home and told my mom. She cried. Then we both prayed and thanked God I wasn’t taken. Do you know what white slavers do? Tell me if you know. All my mom says is “you don’t want to know”. Is Harvey aware that you like him? Answer right away. Best, POLLY

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March 22/46 Dear Veronica, The weirdest thing happened today. In gym class our teacher asked each girl to come up and speak privately with her. When I got there she said, “When is your next period?” I answered, “History with Mr. Haney.” “No,” she said, “your next menstrual period.” I paused trying to figure out what she meant. I mean, Mother had me read a pamphlet but I did not understand it and I was too embarrassed to ask questions. I didn’t even know enough to have a question. I finally said to the gym teacher, who is blond with lots of freckles and she told me once to stop biting my nails in a mean way, “I don’t get a period.” She looked at me as if I was an idiot. When I got home I went to the bathroom and there was blood in my pants. That is a period in case you want to know. Or maybe you already get one. Mom told me (after the 3 hours it took to get up the courage to tell her) that we would call it falling off the roof. That’s what she called it as a girl only they didn’t have pads then. She had to use rags and wash them. Ick. I think it’s annoying. Every month? God help us. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you mad at me? I am a woman, POLLY

POLLY & VERONICA

Sunday, March 24, 1946 Dear Veronica, We didn’t go to church today because all our relatives were coming for dinner at 12 noon. I helped Mom make the mayonnaise for the salad. We cook it on the stove and it is a yellow color. Mom doesn’t like bought mayonnaise. She baked two chickens, one with bread, onion, and celery stuffing and one with oyster stuffing. We had mashed potatoes and gravy, Mom’s canned green beans (last summer she canned 63 quarts of green beans and they are starting to come out our ears), bread and butter of course, and pecan pies with whipped cream for dessert. There were nine relatives here. We had to put the extension on the dining room table. When everyone left we did the dishes then we took our Sunday drive into the countryside. Now my parents are taking a nap. I was going to read but decided to write to you instead. Snow is falling. POLLY

PHYLLIS GREEN

July 21, ’46---Sunday Dear Veronica, I have to write to you even though I have not heard from you in so long. Something terrible has happened. Grandma telephoned a half-hour ago that Grandpa fell out of bed and he’s dead. He is my father’s father so he could be like a great Uncle to you, or something “twice removed”. Mother is ready to go to Grandma’s, but Dad is moving in slow motion. My grandmother has this lump on the floor that used to be my Grandpa and my Dad can’t put his pants on, can’t tie his shoes. My grandmother is waiting, waiting. My father will get there but it may take a decade. Grandpa won’t appear for Sunday dinners anymore. Mom used to say, “He can smell the chicken cooking.” He would take a drive, leaving Grandma’s home, and pop in at our house just as we sat down to dinner. Of course he would join us. What a scamp he was to leave Grandma’s home. Grandpa wears, wore spats. He was dapper. I can’t believe he’s dead. Oh, I hear Mom and Dad leaving now. Poor Grandma. She is 7 years older than Grandpa. She said she was afraid she would not marry so she saw this handsome gent (Grandpa) and chased him until she caught him. Best, POLLY