by Lierre Keith
(first ten pages)
My name's Skyler Gabriel and I'm the bass player. The band's called Minor Disturbance. Amy thought that up. She's the lead singer.
Everybody wants to know where I got a name like mine. My mom, I shrug. Yeah, so I like being quick, but it's also true. My mother's from Schulyer County, which is in upstate New York. Same pronunciation, different spelling. That's what she wanted to name her first child. Of course she expected it to be a boy, but it wasn't. It was me. She gave me the name anyway. I guess she decided that, realistically, one child was gonna be it. That's noteworthy because my mother's not usually big on reality. She's too big on cheap bourbon.
The Gabriel part was originally Gabrella, but it got anglicized when my great-grandfather immigrated from Italy. I always picture Ellis Island like a kind of giant pasta machine: this big, lumpy mass goes in, and uniform, white lines come out. With a name like Gabriel I was a shoo-in for the angel part in the church Christmas pageant. Catholic church, need I add. Besides the Italian, there's Irish and a little Polish in my family, but the common denominator is definitely Catholic.
Anyway, I met Amy at 911, which is a mixed club in Cambridge. She was singing for this slightly interesting, alternative-type band, Amy being the slight interest. I liked how she sang. She was thin the way boys want women these days, with long legs and thick, dark hair, and I bet the guys in her band wanted her to gyrate around in stupid little outfits, but she didn't. She just sang. She could have gotten brownie points, but went for self-respect. I liked her for it.
I saw her later, leaning up against the wall by herself, looking bored.
"Do you like singing with those guys?" I asked point-blank.
She laughed but still looked bored. "Why?" she asked. I knew what she meant, but I answered another question.
"Because girls kiss better." I don't know what got into me.
She laughed again. Had she already figured me out? A lot of times people can't tell if I'm a boy or a girl. Straight people, anyway: I'm a little too tall, and not the
skinny kind like Amy and my hair's short 'cause I like looking like a lesbian.
"I know," she said. The way she smiled, I believed her.
"Good. We're looking for a singer. I play bass, and I've got a guitarist and a drummer. But none of us wanna sing. Not lead, anyway. Wanna come try?"
So she did, and we all liked each other, and thus our band was born.
We even wrote a song together at that first rehearsal. We were all on a roll about whiny white boy music and what the hell did they have to complain about anyway and I started thinking about how those three guys raped me in high school, but I didn't want to get into it. I wondered if Jaye was thinking about her step dad and what Katie had heard on the hotline that week and how much we all still loved our music and our lives. The song came easy.
"What do we call this masterpiece?" Jaye asked from behind her drum kit. Jaye's my roommate. I think she's really cute. Something about her year-round black canvas high-tops, which, in Boston, is no mean feat. No pun intended.
"I Don't Care," Amy suggested. "That's how the refrain should go."
She started singing it perfect. Just the right combination of "fuck you" and "fuck you if you can't take a joke." We couldn't stop laughing.
"So, Amy," said Katie, all soft Southern vowels, and always slow enough to make you wonder what was coming next. "I'll be up front. I think the question is, Are you a lesbian?"
The room got serious though we all tried to keep smiling
" I don't know," Amy answered with a sigh. "I un
derstand it's important."
There was a second of friendly silence while we all thought about it.
"Oh, I'm gonna be," Amy added, in this resigned, giddy kind of way. "I wanna be with women, but it's not the sex, it's ... the everything. You wouldn't believe,” hervoice dropped to a stage whisper, for added drama, “how different it is singing with the three of you.” She sighed and looked at us one by one.
“Can you give me a chance?"
She wasn't begging, either. It was an honest queslion with that same self-respect. Yeah, she could be a dyke.
Me and Jaye and Katie all looked at each other for confirmation.
"I think we can," I answered. "Right?"
Jaye and Katie both nodded, and then we all jumped for joy.
The night it all started was about a year later. We had a great gig lined up at Freerun Farm, which is lesbian land out near Northampton. They had a small music festival every spring and they asked us to play.
"So, like, Skyler," asked Amy, her fingers drumming a bored, random beat on the steering wheel. "What's going on with you and Judith?" She had on her Who, me? expression, which no one would believe for a second.
I stared out the window, feeling sick and ecstatic and stupid. Face it, Gabriel, it's called love. A red Camaro passed us easily on the right, then cut in front of us with no warning. Amy hit the horn twice but nothing happened. Her car's a really old Chevy--named Evie, of course--with four doors and a huge trunk. It gets about ten feet to the gallon but her grandma gave it to her, so she can't complain. Plus there's room for lots of sound equipment or seven women easy, whichever is more important at the moment. Today it was equipment. Katie and Jaye were in Jaye's car.
Amy gave up on the horn and tilted her head toward the open window.
"Fuck you!" she yelled good-naturedly, then sat back with a contented sigh. I tried not to move, hoping she'd forget about me.
"So?" she asked again after a minute. The thing about Amy is, she may act like life is one long, boring effort, but it's all show. She doesn't miss a thing.
"Nothing," I shrugged, but I didn't look at her.
"Yeah, right," Amy muttered. Just then the speed limit switched from fifty-five to sixty-five and all her concentration shifted to her car.
"Come on, Evie," she coaxed, her face straining as if her whole body, and not just her foot, was doing all the work. "Evie," she moaned. The sound was so pained I almost believed it.
I could have joined in, but it wouldn't have been a game. Not at the moment. I'd fallen in love and I didn't know how and in exactly one hour I'd be with her again. This wasn't like anything else. It was like my heart was some fruit that got peeled, piece by piece, and it could never be undone. Now it lay open and soft, all raw and so easily bruised into pulp. And I had no idea if she could love me back.
Evie had made it to sixty-five. Amy relaxed back and waved vaguely toward the radio.
"Make yourself useful and find me something I can sing.”
She was letting me go easy and we both knew it. I clicked on the radio, happy to oblige, happy for the music and the distraction of noise. I made it loud and Amy laughed and whooped and we both started singing. I unrolled my window to feel the warm spring air. In one hour, I'd see Judith.
"You girls sound great," cheered Star from way back. We'd just finished our sound check. The barn was huge, with massive old beams that you could see the ax marks in. The floor was wide, polished boards and I imagined how it would look tonight when we'd send out the beat and women would start moving.
Star's one of the land dykes. She's about fifty and her hair's really short and from what I hear she used to make a point of rinsing her natural menstrual sponge in public bathrooms while singing a song called "Moon Blood Wimmin." Now she talks about menopause as loud as she can whenever she's in line at the bank.
"Well, thank you," said Katie, who never forgets her manners.
"You do sound great," said someone behind me. It was Tanya, another of the land dykes, and beside her was Judith.
"Hi," I stuttered and felt totally stupid. My band began to evaporate. Jaye smirked at me while Amy winked over Judith's shoulder and I began to wish I didn't have friends.
"I've never heard you play before," Judith smiled. A sweet, sweet smile that sank in like soft rain, like something necessary and hoped for. She had on this deep blue shirt that looked so soft. She always wore things like that, teal green or crimson red or chocolate brown, and there was always silver on her wrists and ears.
"Let's go outside," she said, her small hand dosing gently around my arm.
She led me out and down a shady brick path. Everything was still damp from yesterday's rain. In the distance I could hear the sound of falling water. I didn't want to talk. It was so quiet now, just the green things making small, small sounds. I wanted to lay Judith down and tend to her here where everything was moist and fragrant and see if she had small sounds, too.
"Those are foxgloves," she said softly, pointing. “That's bleeding heart. That's bloodroot. I should dig one up for you someday. You'll see why they're called that. How's your mom?"
"Out of the hospital. Maybe drinking. I don't know," I said.
She put her arm around my waist and leaned doser. It was a friendly gesture, but it hurt in this funny way. I wanted to tell her more, to tell her everything, I was so sad and no one knew, not even me.
"How've you been?" I asked.
"I'm sick of the print shop. It's so hard to leave the land every morning. But we have to pay the mortgage."
"How's that little one? Hallie?"
"I think she misses Squirrel."
Squirrel is Judith's ex. Of three months, I should add. Judith had told me one night on the phone that they were breaking up, and I really, really tried to be sympathetic, I really, really did, but hope had raised her weary head. Not just raised it, but washed, dried and trimmed it. Squirrel wanted to take some time apart. Gee, I'm so sorry, Judith. Squirrel had moved into town. Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Judith. Meanwhile, hope was shining up her shoes and doing a little dance.
"I think she's lonely, too. She needs other kids."
"Don't Tanya or Nora know other lesbian moms who could live here?"
Judith sighed. "It's not that easy. Most lesbians do artificial insemination, which results in a boy about 80 percent of the time."
"Are you kidding? Why? Is it a plot?"
That made her laugh. "No. It's the difference between X and Y sperm. The X's swim slower but live longer. That'll get you a girl. The dreaded Y's, on the other hand, swim faster but die sooner. Most insemination is done the day of ovulation, which means the Y's win and we lose."
“Well, shit. Why don't more women know that?"
"I don't think they care."
"Poor Hallie," I murmured. I like kids in the abstract. It's in the concrete that I run into trouble. "Ooh, what are those?"
"Skyler, you're a land dyke at heart. Those are wild lupines. They're native to this continent and they're good for the soil."
"The first time I came here you were planting irises. I remember you were so excited. They blooming yet?"
"Ah, my irises. Some of them," she nodded. "Want to see?"
She led me down another path and up some stone steps and she still had her arm lightly around my waist. At the top was a bank of purple flowers and all I could do was stare. Okay, I'm a city kid. I swear I didn't know that irises looked like that. We both stood very still, the soft, crinkley folds of the irises wide open before us.
"Have a seat," Judith said eventually, pointing to a weathered wooden bench.
"Okay, Skyler," she stopped and sighed. Then she laughed. "So I've got a thing for you. But it'll never work so we're just going to have to get over it."
It was all I needed and it was everything. Hope began singing at the top of her lungs.
"Why?" I asked, trying not to look at her mouth.
“Because I'm just getting out of a long-term relationship.”
"Bad break-up?" I murmured sympathetically.
"Actually, it was a long time coming."
"So what's the problem?"
"You're too clever for your own good. I'm also Jewish and it's important to me."
"I'll convert."
She threw back her head and laughed. I could see tiny lines on her throat.
"I'm a separatist," she argued.
"Well, I'm not, but I'm sympathetic." Her eyes were smiling. I knew I was winning. "I never met a man I liked."
"It's more than that. You're twenty-four years old. I’m thirty-two."
"I've been out since I was fourteen. That's ten years. How about you?"
"It's a different milieu."
"No," I said, sitting up straighter. "I know what you mean, but I'm not afraid to say words like lesbian or feminist or to put them together. And neither are my friends."
"You're just a baby," she said.
I don't kiss like one, I wanted to say, but I didn't. I showed her instead.
The band sounded great that night. The place was packed and there was something wild happening, the warm air on our bare arms, the sweet smell of earth and women's skin. Amy took it to the edge and I was right behind her the whole way while women danced and shouted and the lights went down lower. We didn't even break between songs, we just kept it coming, an old Pretenders' tune, Amy's punked-out version of Suzanne Vega's Undertow, a U2 song, then one of mine and I caught a glimpse of Judith grinning at me and the music kept on and on. I was in an altered state when we wound up with Because the Night, I sing back-up on that one but it wasn't me singing, it was some angels, those lesbian angels that ache in your heart for one more try, and Judith stood in the shadows, just watching.
Even when the lights came on, the spell didn't quite break. We'd been invited to spend the night, but we couldn't. Amy had to waitress Sunday brunch, so we loaded up the equipment and tried to feel the ground again. There were candles lit along the path and the night was a deep quiet, waiting and full, and the sky had so many stars it made me thirsty.
"Here you go," said Star, handing us the take for the dance, as per our agreement.
"How much?" Jaye asked.
"I didn't count," Tanya said. "Over two hundred."
I was only vaguely paying attention. Judith was watching me, smiling, and I was trying to kiss her with my eyes.
"Thanks again," said Tanya. Her partner, Nora, held their sleeping child in her arms.
"You can come back any time. You were fantastic!" added Star.
Judith stepped up to me.
"I'll call you," she said quietly so no one else could hear. But then she kissed me, and everyone saw.
I thought about irises the whole way home.
Actually it was $300. Divided by four was $75 each and I owed Amy $50, so I took it out of my share.
"One hundred and twenty five dollars," Amy said, almost drunk on it. For people like us it's a fortune. "We better stop at the bank machine so I can deposit it."
There's a little ATM kiosk near my apartment, in the parking lot of a supermarket complex. Amy pulled up and left the engine running.
"I'll do it," I offered. "You man the equipment." Though truth be told, it's the car I'm afraid for. Not that someone will steal it, but that it'll stall and never start again.
"Woman the equipment," Amy corrected.
"Yeah, you're right. What's your secret number?"
"Eight, four, two, zero. Put it in my checking account. I don't have a deposit envelope, you'll have to fill one out. What is the right word, anyway?"
"No trouble. Back in a flash."
I got out of the car. The night was still so warm. "Staff. You staff the phones or the table or whatever," I said through the window.
"Okay, I'll staff the equipment, you staff the ATM."
The kiosk has three machines. It's kind of an "L" shape and I don't like it late at night because you can't see who's around the bend. At the first machine there was a short bald guy with a bow tie and a resigned curve to his spine. In other words, unthreatening. I walked around the to the other machines. Nobody. Good.
I get sick of that feeling of fear. It starts in your stomach and you can't stop it. The best I can do is pretend. Someday when I have money, I'm gonna take model mugging. It should be free for all women, along with child care, tampons and taxis. If I ruled the world.
I stuck the card in the slot. What the hell did Amy say her number was. I felt like a ten-year-old playing secret spy games. Eight, two, four, zero, I punched in. Something like that.
Sorry, your password is incorrect. Please try again.
I could hear the smooth tone of voice, even though it wasn't spoken. Yet. The wonders we have to look forward to in the twenty-first century.
Okay, maybe eight, two, zero, four. Beep, beep, beep, beep went the happy little machine in the most annoying way.
Sorry, your password ... flashed up on the screen again. The bald guy was gone so I cursed out loud. I wondered if I should cancel the whole thing and get the card back. I've heard you only get three tries before the machine confiscates your card and it didn't seem fair to try it out at Amy's expense. Then again, I was feeling kind of reckless, what with spring and Judith and the performance and all. Okay. Eight, four, two, zero.
It worked. The rest was easy. Deposit. Beep. Checking Account. Beep. $125. Beep. The metal door slid open with a click. I grabbed a deposit envelope and started filling it out.
I heard someone else enter the kiosk. It's tike a technological pagoda where we all come to worship. My unseen cell mate was apparently already attuned. The beep-beep-beeps went quickly.
"Come on," she whispered under her breath. "Come on.
"Damn!" she swore loudly. "I've exceeded my limit? I've got the money in there, for God's sake!"
Oh, the traumas of modern living. She must not have realized she had company.
I'd finished filling out the deposit envelope and was licking it shut when somebody else came in. I heard the woman gasp.
"Get away from me," she said, her voice cold and serious. I froze mid-lick.
"Where's your daughter?" a man asked, slow and taunting.
"None of your goddamned business," she spat. She was moving toward the door. I could see her now in the reflection of the windows. It was so dark out the glass made perfect mirrors.
He put an arm out to block her way. If he had touched her I was ready to spring, but he didn't. She stopped instead.
"What do you want?"
"You know what I want."