The Truth About My Bat Mitzvah (7 page)

Yarmulkes,
Peyes
,
and the Asian Rain Forest

When we were in fourth grade, our entire class took a trip to the Bronx Zoo. We took coach buses, and after an hour on Interstate 95, we got stuck in a long line of traffic just outside the park, mostly other school buses. We were later than we were supposed to be, but we got there. Everyone poured off the bus. We didn't get to pick our groups and sometimes I think the teachers purposely put us with kids who aren't our friends. Which is to say, I wasn't with Rachel and Rachel wasn't with me. I was in a group with Anna McGee and Owen and Gareth Rees, twin boys in my grade. Mrs. Rees was our chaperone, but she didn't seem cut out for either chaperoning or mothering two twin boys who couldn't stand still. She was, in my mother's words, a nervous wreck.

The zoo was mobbed, as if every school in the tri-state area had chosen the same day for their school trip.

“Stay with me. Owen. Gareth. Everyone. Girls, please,”
Mrs. Rees kept saying. Anna and I were right beside her the whole time. Her two sons were trying to step on each other's shoes and it slowed them down a bit.

“Not to worry. The boys are right behind us,” I said.

There were so many people around us, so much noise, I had to shout. We had a map and a list of required sights to see given to us by the school, but we could visit them in any order. I had the map. Anna had the list. We all wore tags around our necks with the name of our school—as did, it seemed, every kid in the whole zoo, all in different colors and logos.

“They're just goofing around, Mrs. Rees. We can go,” Anna said.

Mrs. Rees was flustered but she started ahead with a bolt. “Okay, we'll do the Asian rain forest first,” she said. “This way.”

We were all about to cross the pedestrian walk and head up the path to the Asian rain forest when we suddenly had to stop. Only Mrs. Rees had made it across—the rest of us had to wait as a large group of boys and their teacher crossed in front of us. None of them had tags around their necks, but you could tell they were all together because they all looked exactly the same. Well, almost. They were dressed identically, in black suits and white shirts even though it was hot out, little black yarmulkes on their heads, and they each had two long curls of hair bouncing at the sides of their heads.

I knew they were Jewish children. Sometimes in Manhattan I would see a man dressed just like that. My grandmother once explained it to me when I asked her about him.

He's Orthodox, she told me then. Orthodox are very religious Jews, very observant of all the traditions. Even the way they dress. Even the way the boys wear their hair, the long side curls called
peyes.

 

“What's up with them?” Owen said out loud after the last in the group of boys had passed. We all began to walk again.

“They're Jewish,” Anna explained.

Mrs. Rees was waiting for us on the other side, trying to suppress her frantic look at having been divided from her charges. She was waving at us to hurry up.

“Well, I know lots of Jewish people who don't look like that,” Owen said. The two boys started ahead, Anna and I beside them on either side.

“Yeah, I don't get it,” Gareth said. “Why would anyone want to look so weird like that if they didn't have to?”

I knew what Gareth was saying wasn't nice, and that if a grown-up had been around, he probably wouldn't have said it at all. Then I wondered what Rachel would have done if she were here. Would she have said something? Just because they were Jewish and so was she? At the same time, I remember thinking Owen was right. They
did
look weird, certainly different and pretty strange. Rachel was Jewish and she didn't look like that. I didn't get it.

“Yeah, really,” I said out loud. “They look so weird.” And just then, I turned to see that one of the little boys had fallen behind his group.

He was dressed all in black, long pants and a jacket, with a white shirt. He had clear blue eyes, a short haircut with two long wisps of blond in front of his ears, a black yarmulke right there, on top of his head. And he was stopped in the middle of the road, looking right at me. Listening.

Hey, It's a Compliment

“She doesn't look Jewish? What's that supposed to mean, Lauren?” I blurted out.

“You know…,” Lauren said. “Everyone knows what I mean. It's not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is,” I heard myself saying.

One of the girls drew in her breath. But I didn't care. I could sense everyone tensing. Hoping to avoid something unpleasant. Hoping it would all go away.

But this was unpleasant and it wasn't going to go away.

“Well…,” Lauren lilted. “Rachel has blond hair for one thing.”

“So what?” I snapped back.

I'm Jewish,
I could say.
And I find what you are saying very insulting.

But then again, I wasn't really Jewish, was I? I didn't know anything about it.
You're not even having a bat mitzvah.
Lauren
could say that, couldn't she? She could say all that. And she'd be right.

“So she's blond,” Lauren went on. “And her nose, you know…”

“What about it?” I asked. I had no idea what she meant or what Lauren was going to say.

“Her nose is so small,” Lauren said. “It's a compliment, for Pete's sake, Caroline. Lighten up.”

I felt my hand rise up and touch my nose. My hair was not blond. It was dark and curly. Was this what I wanted? If not looking Jewish was a compliment, then what was Lauren saying? It didn't feel good. It was scary.

I opened my eyes as wide as I could, letting every available bit of light inside. I could now make out Lauren, now lying down on her pillow. Her arms folded over her chest. What is darkness, after all? A measure of what is missing.

Maybe all you had to do was look more closely, open wide your eyes.

Rachel still wasn't saying anything.

“A compliment?” My voice was loud. I knew Lauren's mother might walk in. Or her father. Someone might come and tell us all to settle down, but it would be me they would be talking to. I was the one sitting up.

With my fists tight. My big mouth open.

Lauren must have had the same worry. She had her other guests to consider. Her mother. Her party's reputation.

“Listen, Caroline, it's none of your business,” Lauren said.

“It's sure not
your
business,” I shot back.

“Look, I
liked
the invitation, Caroline,” Lauren went on. “I just said I didn't know she was Jewish. Big deal. Anyway, I didn't want
to invite you to my sleepover in the first place. Your friend Rachel made me. So there.”

I was stunned.

Defeated on two fronts, and it was all over.

 

Nobody talked any more the rest of the night. The hours and minutes glowed one after another every time I pressed the display on my cell phone. But eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the first thing I felt was that little ball of cotton. It must have stayed pressed to my skin when I took off my clothes and got into pajamas the night before. I had forgotten about it and now it was stuck to my cheek.

I pulled it off. It was flat and flecked with little bits of lint from the inside of my sleeping bag, but it was still strongly scented. I held it to my nose.

And wanted to cry.

But I waited.

 

Rachel and I hadn't talked much in the morning. Lauren acted as if nothing had happened. We had blueberry pancakes with natural maple syrup from some farm stand in Vermont, which personally I hate. I like the stuff in the plastic bottle with the picture of the woman with the kerchief on her head, smiling at me.

 

When I got home, I ran upstairs to my room, shut the door, and landed on my bed. And then I cried.

Just When I Thought I Couldn't Take One More Thing

My head was spinning. I didn't know what I was more upset about, getting into a fight, trying to be something I didn't even know I wanted to be, or how embarrassed I felt when Lauren said what she said.

No, I knew.

I was more upset that everyone heard I hadn't really been invited to Lauren's party. So I had been right. Lauren never wanted to invite me.

I was a loser, and now I was a loser and a phony. A poser. And a horrible friend because I embarrassed myself and Rachel. What would I say to Rachel, after I had ruined our chances of ever getting invited to an A-list party again? After I had made such a fool out of myself.

I felt like I did in my dream, thrashing around in the ocean, afraid and alone. Not having anything to hold on to.

“Caroline, are you all right?” My mother came into my room.

I knew she had come up to tell me that my grandfather and his sister were here. And she knew I was upset as soon as she saw my face. I thought about telling her everything. About the sleepover invitation that never was. About what a poor job I did trying to stick up for Rachel. What a poor job I did trying to stick up for myself. Maybe I could tell her about what Lauren said, because I knew that would make my mom really furious. She might not be so Jewish, but she was big on causes and all things unjust.

 

But this time she got it all wrong.

“I know you're not crazy about seeing your aunt Gert today,” she said.

“What?” I wiped my eyes.

“Caroline, I know you overheard what Daddy and I were talking about in the car. I've been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“What?” I said it again.

“I know you heard me saying things about Poppy and his family and why they haven't been in touch all these years. I shouldn't have been talking about it in the car like that. I was just very upset, after the funeral and everything.”

“Mom…”

“But it was a long time ago, Caroline. It's good they have each other again…if Poppy can forgive his sister, certainly we can. So do you think you can come downstairs and be nice. For me?” she said.

I didn't move from my bed but at least I wasn't crying anymore. Maybe it would be a good time to talk to her. She was in one of her talking moods. Of course, it would have been better
if she had been in a listening mood. I opened my mouth but didn't know where to start. I never got to.

“I mean, Caroline,” my mother went on suddenly, “it's not like
my
parents were so thrilled when I wanted to marry your father.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Nana and Poppy?

“Huh?”

“Because Daddy wasn't Jewish,” she explained. “Poppy even offered to buy me a new car if I didn't get married.” She laughed.

That wasn't funny at all, I thought.

“So come on downstairs, sweetie. Okay? Daddy's making his specialty tuna fish salad.”

“Aunt Gert is here already?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Okay, I'll be right there,” I said.

I mean, really, I didn't think my life could get any worse.

 

I fell into bed exhausted that night, but it was still hard to fall asleep. I kept thinking about the whole weekend, about everything that had happened. It was like a whole lifetime had gone by. It was like I had been a little kid Friday and I was an old lady by Sunday night.

I knew too much, I thought. And nothing at all.

I couldn't sleep.

I thought about that little orthodox boy. What was he doing now? Would he tell people the story of what happened to him at the Bronx Zoo one day, about the girl who called him weird? Or did that happen to him all the time? Had I hurt his feelings?

I hadn't meant anything by it, but probably neither had Lauren.

And I kept thinking about my nana and Poppy and about what would have happened if my mother had decided she really wanted a new car after all. I might not be here right now.

At least then I'd have nothing to worry about.

And just before I finally settled down and was about to fall asleep, I remembered tomorrow was picture day.

Great.

I Will Be Like Me

You know how just before you are going to get your hair cut, it looks really good? Your mother calls this fancy place weeks before because you're complaining so much, then the very day of your appointment, your hair looks great. It looks the best it ever has and you wonder why you ever wanted to get it cut in the first place.

Well, that's
not
what my day was like.

Monday morning, picture day, my hair decided to have a life of its own.

I probably should have washed it the night before, but I had thought it would be too frizzy. Now I looked like a squirrel. There was one big knot in the back I couldn't get out. I tugged at it.

“Mom!” I called out. “I need help.”

I could hear the water running. I could hear my dad and Sammy talking downstairs, so that meant it was my mom in the
shower. I looked at my clock. The bus came in fifteen minutes. I was on my own. I couldn't remember what background we had picked for the photos, so I didn't know what color shirt to wear. Last year I wore a purple shirt against the green background and it looked like puke.

I needed something neutral. Black or white or gray. I didn't own anything gray. My favorite white long-sleeved T-shirt was in the wash. It could be there for weeks. I had a black cotton turtleneck, and if I stretched the neck out so it hung loose, it looked pretty good on me. It was a little early, still warm outside—the beginning of October—but I thought I could get away with it.

I finally got my hair combed neatly. It hung pretty straight, shiny and dark. I had a little clear mascara that I combed across my eyebrows to keep them in line. I pinched my cheeks to make them red. I rolled my strawberry lip gloss over my lips. I looked into my bedroom mirror. What did I want people to see? I practiced a smile or two that I could use for my individual picture.

A face that I sort of knew, but sort of didn't, smiled back.

That's when I took out the necklace from the top drawer of my dresser for the third time. I didn't hesitate. I unhooked the clasp and reached my arms around the back of my neck. I couldn't see the mechanism but I could feel it, and with my fingers I fit the two pieces back together. It locked into place and hung perfectly around my neck.

You could barely see the delicate links of the chain under the fold of the turtleneck, but the pendant was like a golden star in a black sky. Today I would wear my necklace.