Good Girls

Chapter One: The Anthem

The most exciting thing to ever happen in my neighborhood was when Micah ran into the “No Outlet” sign and we stuffed him into the back of my sister’s Honda. The act of stuffing Micah into the trunk of my sister’s Honda wasn’t all that exciting; what made the event so exciting was the fact that it brought the cops.

Only one cop car came. His lights weren’t even flashing but my mother was still fuming. The cop came and knocked on the door while my younger sisters and I watched through the window.

“Why aren’t his light’s flashing?” Eva wanted to know.

“Where’s the ‘woo-ooh, woo-ooh!’?” Erica asked me.

“You don’t want there to be lights or a siren, stupid,” Ethel popped in. “That means they’re going to arrest somebody. Do you want them to arrest someone?”

“I wish someone would arrest you,” Eva said, pushing Ethel.

“Don’t push me!”

“Well, stop acting like you know everything.”

“Oh shut up, all of you,” I said, leaving to find out more.

My father had opened the door to the cop’s knock.

“Can I help you with something Officer?”

“Well, I hope so, sir. I’m Officer Martin and I’m responding to a call I got a little bit ago.”

I slunk back into my hiding spot as I saw my mother approaching the front door.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked.

“Sherry, this is Officer Martin,” my dad explained. “He says he’s responding to a call he got. But can I ask you, officer, what’s the call got to do with our house?”

“Well you see, sir, a woman told me she saw some kids stuffing someone into the trunk of a blue Honda Accord.”

My stomach was engaging in a complex series of gymnastic feats the rest of my body would never be capable of.

“That’s our daughter’s car.” My parents looked first at each other, then at the cop, then to each other again. I knew what was coming.

“EILEEN!”

I slunk even deeper into my hiding space. The hallway that opened up into our front room also had a side that dropped off into steps leading to the basement before reaching the kitchen. On occasions like this one I would watch from the edge of the hall and when I sensed danger I would edge myself down the steps.

I knew Eileen was in for the worst when my parents assured the cop that they would handle the situation.

The yelling was worse than any punishment, I always thought. It was worse than any assigning of extra chores or banishment from the television. Dad didn’t yell that much, mom did most of the yelling. I waited for it to subside. I knew the pattern. First Eileen would try to explain and then Eliza would come to her aid. Things always cooled down a bit whenever Eliza talked. She knew how to play to people. I always admired Eliza for this talent but I had a hard time trusting her.

“We were just making a video, mom. Eileen needed it for class. Micah was in the trunk for two seconds. Emeline can tell you.”

I’d been wondering how and when I was going to be brought into this.

“EMELINE!”

Reluctantly, I emerged from my hiding space.

Trials in my household held you guilty unless proven innocent. Witnesses such as myself were called to the stand by request of the defense.

It was my turn to testify. “We were only goofing off. We thought it’d be funny. Micah was ok with it.”

“What the hell was this video for class on? Your first criminal offense?” My mother’s voice was getting closer and closer that frightening tone; the tone that had the same frequency as the growl of a demonic dog.

“No. It was on tornadoes. What not to do. Get in the car was obviously on that list, duh. We couldn’t not include it. We just thought we’d… you know, spice it up a bit.”

“That’s quite enough of your teenage back-talk, Eliza. Anyway, why the hell would you do it in our neighborhood? You know how nosey our neighbors are.”

My sisters and I looked at each other.

“Well –” we all started. None of us were sure how to put it delicately. “The ‘No Outlet’ sign was the only sign low enough for Micah to be able to convincingly run into it.”

Micah was about a year older than me and about a head shorter. At that age, most people were shorter than me, but Micah stood shorter than most. He was extremely sensitive about his height so we always tried not to mention it or any words referring to height or measurement or short.

Micah Kettering lived across the street and to the left from us. He had four brothers and for a while, growing up, we O'Malley girls had an unspoken rivalry with them. That was until Eileen had started dating the eldest. Then we became friends. When Eileen started dating Jake, I was eleven. I was old enough to start liking boys but young enough to still deny that I did. I liked Jake for a time. But I was stubborn. I worked hard to put the silly crush out of my mind and eventually almost forgot all about it.

“Good God,” my mother said. “Just – do extra chores, all three of you, and Eileen, no driving that pretty blue Honda of yours for a week.”

“But mom, this is stupid!”

“Well maybe you’ll stop doing stupid things in your car. I don’t know why you’re even doing a video on tornadoes. When was the last time we had a tornado around here?”

“Last spring, when you refused to bring yourself and Rex into the basement,” I supplied.

“Yes well, Rex doesn’t like the stairs. And that dog’s afraid of storms.” We all knew that. One particularly stormy winter not long ago our family had been putting up our Christmas tree all the while drinking hot cocoa, ignoring the storm outside, and listening grudgingly to the usual Mel Torme Christmas tape. Suddenly there was a particularly loud clap of thunder and our golden retriever-collie mix, Rex, dove underneath the nearest thing to him. This happened to be the tree.

We all started to try and coax him out from under the tree.

“Rex,” we called. “Here boy.” We tried everything, bribing him with treats and with his rubber pork chop. We even tried threatening him. But Rex wouldn’t budge. Aside from his shaking he didn’t move at all until the next clap of thunder when he must have decided that our fake Christmas tree wasn’t a good enough shelter. He bolted out from underneath the Christmas tree and ran under the couch instead.

This had caused the already unstable fake tree, held together by duct tape and rubber bands, to collapse. Right on top of poor Erica. That was the year we decided a new fake tree was a good idea.

Mom got a mean look on her face. “I wasn’t going to leave that poor dog up here on his own last spring. Besides, that wasn’t a tornado, Emeline.”

“Yes it was. Mr. Kettering told me he saw the funnel clouds.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was. What about that tree that landed right on top of Mrs. Coomb’s porch? And that barn that had beams landing five miles away?”

“Go to your room.”

Later on, Eliza told me that Mom had gotten so mad because of Mrs. Taylor.
"Mrs. Taylor," Dad told me once, "is your mother's spy." According to Dad, Mom was only friends with Mrs. Taylor for gossip purposes. Mom had said it was because, "She's the closest thing to human out of all the rest of those women at Sacred Heart of Mary's parish."

Eliza had once tried to explain to me the politics of our parish. It hadn't gone over well, and I left her room confused.

Even though I didn't understand the political motives of our parish, I had once heard Mrs. Taylor say to Mom, "You know, Sherry Sue," my mom hated being called Sherry Sue, "I really look up to you as a mother. All nine of those girls and you know, I'd never hear anything bad about them because they're good girls, ya know?"

According to Eliza, that had been the worst thing anyone could have said to mother because that added fuel to the fire of her anthem.

My mother's anthem was simple. "You'll never be models, you're not pretty enough. Keep your head down, work hard, be a good girl, and go to college."

College was imminent; I was going to go there whether I wanted to or not. Unlike some of my sisters, I didn't mind. I was smart and I liked school. Everyone agreed that I would do well. I was eager for college. By the time I was sixteen I'd had enough of high school.