Free Found by Jennifer Lauck Page A

longer a virgin. Major sin!
    The time I once used to lure the boy across the street was redirected to time served at the Catholic Church where Peggy and Richard sometimes took mass on Christmas Eve and Easter.
    On my own, I went to confession, did thousands of Our Father and Hail Mary prayers on a ten-cent rosary, and prostrated myself in front of the statue of St. Mary Magdalene. Since she was considered the whore of the bunch during biblical times, I begged Mary for divine insight and wisdom. We were two women with a common bond. If she became a saint, in her fallen state, surely my actions were redeemable too.

    I have to wonder if I was prostrating myself for my own sins, which were pretty benign considering the outcome, or was I actually reliving the shame absorbed by my mother in 1963 and thus absorbed by me as the baby she carried? Was I trying to heal the both of us through my reenactment of her past? Was I, in fact, healing us, in some way, due to my clear-headed decision to take the pill and avoid an untimely pregnancy?
     
     
    IN 1981, RONALD Reagan was president and, with the aid of Congress, cut off Social Security death benefits for all students who were not full-time college students as of March 1982.
    Peggy took me to a restaurant called The Village Inn to tell me this news. She was panicked and wanted me to drop out of high school in order to get into college six months ahead of schedule.
    “It’s the only way to keep your benefits,” she said.
    Peggy wore a white and black polka-dot blouse—rayon—that tied at her neck. Under her chin was an enormous bow. Over this top, she wore a cheap gray blazer and a matching wool skirt.
    Richard was with us too. Upon Peggy’s urging, he had been interviewing for jobs. He wore a corduroy sports jacket two sizes too small and hunched over a plate of home fries, elbows splayed on each side of the plate. His cigarette burned in the ashtray on the table and the air was laced with his smoke.
    Leave high school early? Get into college now? No. I was just filling out all the applications. No, no, no.
    In my most professional, secretarial tone of voice, newly
acquired from answering phones at my real estate office job, I said it was okay to let the benefits slide. “After all, you’ve been saving all these years so I’ll have enough for school.”
    Richard steered a glance at Peggy, at me, and then at Peggy again, but Peggy only stared into her cup of coffee.
    “There ain’t no money saved for you,” Richard drawled.
    “Yes,” I said, “there is.” I leaned closer to Peggy, as if we were the only ones at the table. “Don’t you remember? ”
    Red stains lifted on Peggy’s cheeks and swept down her neck.
    “That’s a goddamned lie!” Richard said.
    He hit the table and the dishes jumped against each other. People gawked. The waitress, coming over to refill Peggy’s coffee, changed course.
    “No,” I said. I put my hand on Peggy’s wrist, so she’d look at me. “You said. You promised.”
    “Now listen to me you snot-nosed kid—” Richard started.
    I held up my hand to stop him—a move I had seen Peggy do several times when she had had enough. Miraculously, he shut his mouth.
    I willed Peggy to look at me, eye to eye, woman to woman, and finally she lifted her chin. She glanced at Richard, just for a moment and then cleared her throat.
    “You must have misunderstood me,” she said. “There’s no money saved for college.”
    Was it the expression on my face—the shock—or was it just the way he was? I’m sure I heard Richard laugh at me. I’m sure I heard him go, “Heh heh heh.”

     
     
    IT’S TOO EASY to hate Richard. It’s too easy to hate Peggy, too. I don’t hate them. I don’t want to hate them.
    I do want to understand. I do want the truth. People have a right to these things. I can understand anything, if you just tell me the truth. Had Peggy said, “Geez, Jenny, I’m really sorry but after Richard lost his job we had to