Poor Jenny, Bright As A Penny
- Автор: Мерфи Ширли Руссо
- Язык: английский
- Год: Ad Stellae Books
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «Poor Jenny, Bright As A Penny». Краткое содержание книги:
*
Saturday: I’m full of twigs and heather. We found a park like the wild woods only two blocks from the house; it’s part of the same park where we went in the snow, but far away from there. It goes for miles, all woods and hills. How many kinds of trees there are, I lost count. Some have blossoms—white dogwood—I know that one. How glad I am tomorrow’s Sunday. I wish school were out forever.
And I wish we could stay here forever. But that’s unfair to Mama. I’ll just enjoy it while I can and not think about the future.
Still, I do think about it. I think about what I said to Mama, I’m sorry I hurt her. But I had to. I wonder, will Mama settle down when she gets out? Could we make a real home, with our own furniture and things? I kind of put Mama between the rock and the hard place, as Lud would say. If she doesn’t settle down, and I keep my word, then without us she won’t have any way to get welfare money. She’ll have to go to work. But if she stays here and gets a job, and we are together, she can collect welfare for us kids even if she works. She would be getting more, and if I know Mama she’ll think of that first off. She might try it even if she hates the idea of working.
But she’ll blame me for every time she comes home tired with her back hurting.
And if we have a place all together when Crystal is found, we’ll have a home for her—if she wants a home. She could be pregnant or on hard dope. I told myself I wasn’t going to think about it. It wasn’t my fault. She could have gone with Lud. Or she could have come to J.D.H.
*
Thursday: The boys in school are nicer here—or maybe I look better. They notice me. School’s not so bad. I’m not taking English. I took Junior English last year. I don’t want anyone telling me what to write just now, I know what I want to do. I can hardly wait to get at it.
And of all things, Bingo has found Willy Grimm. Was Bingo ever happy! I met them on the corner after school. Willy’s foster home is behind a bakery just up the street between here and school. Mr. Frazee runs the bakery and has five foster boys besides Willy. When Bingo told him where we were living, Willy said, “With a cop! Aw, Bunghole, there never was such a fish!” Bingo brought him home after school and Georgie asked him to dinner. Willy’s not afraid of Jack, he badgered him shamefully and made suggestive remarks to Georgie. But they only laughed at him.
Later Georgie told Bingo, “You can bring Willy home any time you like. You can be friends with him, but you are not to get into the messes that kid is going to get into. Just leave when that happens. You know how to stay out of trouble and I expect you to.” Bingo said, “I won’t get into trouble, Georgie.” I’m not sure I like someone else telling him what to do. Still, it makes him know that someone besides me cares what happens to him.
Georgie is going to let me read part of her new manuscript. That is a privilege, she hardly lets anyone into her study. She’s cross as a bear when she’s working and won’t be disturbed even if the house is burning down. But she said I could come in and read while she is typing fresh copy tomorrow evening. Georgie’s study has an old battered oak desk and the walls are covered with hooks and pictures and clippings. There are filing cabinets, and a big soft chair by the window.
*
When Jenny had finished reading Georgie’s manuscript she sat silently for a long time, still living in the book and seeing nothing else. Finally she laid the pages on Georgie’s desk and started to go away, so as not to disturb Georgie’s typing. But Georgie stopped her. “Well?”
“Oh, Georgie, it’s strong.”
“Thank you.”
“Will I ever know as much as you?”
“I’ve had a good many years to get it all together, haven’t I?”
“But it takes more than years, even I know that.”
“Maybe it does. But you have what it takes, you’re way ahead of what I was at sixteen. I didn’t even know I wanted to write.”
“But in other ways than writing I guess I’m sort of backward, though. When you were sixteen, Georgie, had you had a lot of dates?”
Georgie nodded. “And you haven’t?”
“Not one. Not ever.”
“There’s time. It’s pretty hard to make friends when you’re moving around.”
“Do you know how many cheap dumps I’ve lived in since Papa died? I’d never let a boy see those places—and Lud in his undershirt, belching. Besides, no boy was ever interested. Today though—the best-looking boy in Civics winked at me today,” she said with triumph.
“Well, I’d say that’s pretty good progress. But I never had a decent place to entertain a boy either. I met them on the street.”
Jenny considered this. “What was your family like, Georgie?”
“My father would disappear for months, and when I was sixteen he left for good. My stepmother hated me. You have more family than I ever had.”
“But when Mama packs us up and drags us away I feel like we’re not a family at all, like we’re just strangers pulling in different directions.”
“Maybe you’re more of a family than you think. Anyway, if you’re a writer a rough time as a child can only make you stronger. The very things that make you suffer now should make you more perceptive. You’re learning more about people than a protected child might, learning to listen to what people are down inside them. Nothing is ever wasted if you’re wise enough to look at it clearly. If you’re wise enough to use it.”
*
Georgie has made me think about myself in a new way. And yet it’s not new, really. Sometimes you know something you never thought about at all, and when someone says it you think, of course! Maybe I knew all the time that what happens to us goes into what I want to be as a writer. But now I can think about it better. Maybe now I can stand away and take a look at myself, at all of us. Georgie says you have to do that sometimes.
Georgie is going to teach me to drive.
Jack and Ben and Bingo and I played ball tonight in the street. They’re not so stern after all. It just takes longer to get to know them.
Chapter 11
Jenny’s red cap and sweater reflected in the store windows, and the sharp wind teased at her. The sky was a dark mass of rain clouds streaked with clear light; the colors of the city seen against wet concrete and such a sky were incredibly rich.
She could see the library long before she reached it, a stone building surrounded by horse chestnut trees in new leaf, their branches touching the tall windows. Rain came on the gusty wind sometimes, the day seemed made of light—light and wind.
She liked seeing her reflection flashing, wearing red made her feel bright and free. She must have been smiling, because people smiled back at her. She wanted to shout, to run and shout, I’m me! I’m Jenny Middle!
As she entered the library her feeling of exuberance quieted and she stared around the huge rooms with a feeling of expectancy. The tall windows ended high above with rounded tops, sky and clouds could be seen through them, and the rain-colored light fell down across the books and across people’s heads as they sat reading. Jenny began to choose her books, taking her time at it.
Then she searched the three floors idly, browsing in each room. She came at last to the top where the architectural books were kept, and found Bingo seated at a table piled with open books and magazines. The light washed over his dark, clipped head and over the pale ivory pages of his sketchbook. He was drawing the treasures he had found, making them his own. He did not notice her. He took off his glasses once and wiped them on his shirt, but she had to sit down at his table and stare at him before he looked at her. His face had a forlorn look. “I’m not nearly ready.”