Free 9 1/2 Narrow by Patricia Morrisroe Page A

make it look shorter. I was the only one with Beatle boots. Agnes said that since I was behind a fake drum set, nobody would see my feet, but I told her it was important to get into character. The Brownies were in the school auditorium, waiting for the show to begin, while we stood backstage with one of our classmates, who was preparing to do her famous Scottish sword dance. Ellie was dressed in the traditional costume of tartan skirt, white frilly blouse, velvet tam, and lace-up shoes known as ghillies.
    There are some people who shouldn’t be around swords, and Ellie was one of them. Though agile and light on her feet, she suffered from stage fright and reached levels of near hysteria whenever she had to perform. Her mother was usually on hand to calm her down. “You can do it, you can do it,” she kept whispering as her daughter stood shaking in a corner. Because we’d seen her do it a dozen times, we wished she’d dispense with the theatrics and just get on with it. The Brownies were getting restless. Finally, hoisting the two giant swords over her shoulders, she strode onstage and one of the Brownies, thinking she was about to be slaughtered, ran for the exit.
    Ellie placed the swords in a cross formation while her mother played recorded bagpipe music. With her arms flung high, she began dancing counterclockwise around the swords before stepping inside them. The goal was not to touch the blades or inflict self-injury. From backstage, we heard the sounds of metal grating against metal. She kept tripping, and I pictured the girl in
The
Red Shoes
with her feet all bloodied, or worse, with no feet. Ellie limped off the stage, telling her mother that she needed to go to the emergency room.
    After the Brownie leader announced that we’d be taking a short break, the rumor spread that the Scottish dancer was dead. “This is a disaster,” Agnes said. “The Brownies are crying.”
    After the swords were removed, I set up my cardboard drum set and sat on a folding metal chair, while the other girls stood in front of me. As the Brownie leader pulled open the curtain, she cried, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Beatles!” When the Brownies realized we weren’t the real thing, they went back to sniffling and comparing merit badges. One fiddled with an Etch A Sketch. The school janitor was in charge of our music, and after we gave him a sign, he placed the needle on the 45 of “She Loves You.” When one of the Brownies noticed Mary’s startling resemblance to Paul, she let out a scream, setting off a chain reaction. Shaking her head during the
ooooh
part, Mary caused such a sensation that the Brownie with the Etch A Sketch rushed the stage and had to be restrained.
    After the performance, the Brownies crowded around Mary, referring to her as Mr. McCartney and asking for her autograph. Things grew so unruly that the Brownie leader suggested we leave the building, and as we ran out, we could hear the girls chanting, “Paul, Paul, Paul . . .”

    Due to our legendary Brownies appearance, we were deluged with offers to perform at kids’ birthday parties, so we officially became the Beatle Girls. Mary immersed herself completely in the role, carrying a picture of Jane Asher in her wallet and talking in a Liverpool-by-way-of-Boston accent. No one dared criticize, though, because she was the big draw, the fabbest of the Fab Four.
    We bought silver ID bracelets with our designated Beatles name on it, although I cheated and had mine engraved PAUL. On weekends, we strolled around town in our Beatles outfits, hoping to attract attention. Though I was tired of being the Ugly One, I loved my Beatle boots, which despite their two-inch Cuban heels were comfortable even when running away from our fans. One Saturday, we caused a near riot in the frozen food section of the Andover Co-Op. The Brownie with the Etch A Sketch screamed,
“Look! It’s the Beatle