Weird Girl (3 page)

3

A few weeks later, as is tradition in fifth grade classes
everywhere, the boys were herded into one classroom, the girls into another.
Even though Cleo had a tutor, on paper she was still a fifth grader, so her
tutor sent her along with the other girls. The teacher brought out a television
and VCR, and put in a scuffed black VHS tape. Everyone was distraught by the
end—the teacher for what she now had to tell them, the other girls for what
they had just witnessed, and Cleo because she was dying to know what the boys
were doing next door. Her notes were incomplete!

As a child of scientists, with four libraries between them,
Cleo had some knowledge of the birds and the bees. But, nobody had ever sat
down and
explained
it. She was simultaneously horrified and fascinated.

Afterwards, she had so many questions for the teacher, and
then her tutor, that the man finally told her to shut up. He pinched the bridge
of his nose and took a deep breath, the same way her mother did sometimes, and
then told Cleo that her special assignment that weekend was to write a paper
about reproduction to be turned in the following Monday.

As soon as she got home, Cleo went straight to her father’s
study and asked if he had any books about sex. He had plenty. Darwin spent the
next four hours leaping from shelf to shelf, pulling books about fertility
rituals, courtship and marriage practices, and reproductive biology, and
telling stories from his days as a graduate researcher in the field.

“Then—without painkillers, mind you—they pierce it with a
sharpened stingray spine. Or, a bit of bone. And the boy can only be considered
a man if he suffers the pain silently,” said Darwin. Cleo wrote it down.

She asked to be excused from dinner that evening for the
purposes of continuing her research. Her scientist parents readily agreed. It
took Cleo four trips to carry all of her father’s books up to one of the
libraries. Vera brought her a plate of food, and everyone left her alone.

***

Cleo didn’t intend to fall asleep in the library, but
certain scientific tomes will have that effect on even the most dedicated
researcher. She dreamed about horses and Native Americans. The galloping hooves
came closer and closer, and the shouts and war cries of their riders were
louder and louder, until suddenly—Cleo started awake. Drool had stuck the page
of her book to one cheek, and she groggily peeled it away from her skin before
sitting up. She looked around, realized where she was, and then she heard the
drums.

Curious, Cleo tried to figure out where the sound was coming
from. She opened the library door and listened. Out in the hallway, she could
detect additional sounds: chanting, stomping, and the occasional high-pitched
yell. Strangely, the sounds seemed to be coming from her parents’ bedroom. Cleo
ran back into the library, grabbed her notebook and pen, and then tiptoed down
the hall. As she neared the door, someone yodeled. She could have sworn she
heard her mother giggle, which couldn’t be right, because her mother never
giggled. Cleo slowly twisted the doorknob and eased the door open. And her jaw
dropped.

Her mother was naked, mostly. Helen’s only clothing seemed
to be a loosely woven skirt of beads, and a series of heavy necklaces. Darwin
was wearing what seemed to be a…gourd…with strings tied around his waist. Both
wore blue painted markings on their skin. They were dancing to the beat of the
drums. Cleo noticed a record player in the corner, the needle making a light
scratching sound with each rotation of the vinyl. Darwin yodeled again, and
Helen laughed, and they both danced faster. Cleo slipped into the corner behind
the record player to observe and make notes. Her parents bodies grew sweaty,
the paint started to run, and they started to dance closer and closer to each
other. And then…well, Cleo instinctively averted her eyes a few times during
the activities that followed, but continued to make notes as a dutiful
scientist should (although she did wonder how Vera was ever going to get the
body paint off of those sheets). Several hours later, as her parents were
softly snoring, Cleo turned off the record player (the music had stopped long
ago, but Cleo was comforted by the light scratching sound that the needle made
as the turntable continued to rotate) and went back to the library.

By midmorning, Cleo had compiled a list of questions based
on her research, as well as the events of the previous night. Darwin was still
sleeping, so Cleo went to her mother’s study. Helen was sitting at her desk,
humming softly and scratching at a dried blue patch behind her left ear while
she read a book about hydrangeas. If her cheeks took on a much pinker hue
during the conversation that followed with her daughter, it was certainly
because Helen must be fighting an infection of some sort.

***

Monday at school, Cleo proudly submitted her paper entitled
Intercourse:
The Ins and Outs of Human Copulatory Practices
. Her tutor read it twice,
and then even the principal read it. It must have been a stellar example of
academic research, because the principal called Cleo to her office to talk
about it.

Mrs. Heinz had the paper on her desk. “Lucy,” she said, “I
would like to discuss this assignment, but I also feel that there is a deeper
issue here that we need to explore, so I’m going to ask you some questions, and
I need for you to answer them honestly. Do you understand?”

Cleo nodded.

Mrs. Heinz continued, “Lucy, I’d like to know more about
your home life.” She took a deep breath, like a diver on the highest platform.
“Do your parents ever
ask
you to watch them…in moments of intimacy?”

“No,” said Cleo.

“Have they ever discussed their sexual encounters with you?”
the principal asked. “Ummm…I mean, well not their sexual encounters with
you
,
but have their sexual encounters with each other ever been mentioned to you?
Although…I suppose it does need to be asked—has either of your parents ever
tried to be intimate with you?” asked Mrs. Heinz.

“No,” said Cleo. She waited a few seconds and said, “They
only discuss the sexual activities of other people.”

The principal’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “What?”

Cleo spoke slowly and distinctly, because clearly Mrs. Heinz
was having trouble understanding. “They never discuss their own intimate
escapades, but they have mentioned, on multiple occasions, their observations
of other people’s sexual practices. Especially my father.”

Mrs. Heinz was astonished. She wouldn’t make eye contact,
but simply turned to her computer and began typing. For several minutes, the
only sounds in the office were of the aquarium’s gurgling filter in the corner,
Mrs. Heinz’s clacking keys, and Cleo’s pen as she made observations of her
principal’s behavior. The woman was clearly stressed. Cleo was just about to
make a recommendation that Mrs. Heinz go home early for the day, when the woman
hit a button and the printer hummed to life. Two sheets of paper shot out, were
carefully folded and put into an envelope with the school’s logo on it, and a
name was quickly written on the outside.

Mrs. Heinz handed the envelope to Cleo and said, “Lucy, I
expect you to give this to your mother when you arrive home today. If she
wishes to call me, my home phone number is at the bottom of the second page.
Otherwise, I will be in my office all day tomorrow awaiting her response.”

Cleo took the envelope and put it between the last page and
back cover of her notebook to keep it flat. “Okay,” she said.

Mrs. Heinz frowned. “And furthermore, on the subject of this
paper that you submitted this morning, I need to say that I am both concerned
and very disappointed. This is not the sort of research that a child your age
has any business doing, and I can only suspect that, based on the title, as
well as the questionable content, you approached the assignment with an
unnecessary amount of humor and disrespect.”

Cleo was shocked. “You didn’t like it?” she asked. “Do you
have any particular critiques that would be beneficial for revision before I
submit it to
The American Journal of Sex
for publication?”

“You are not submitting this anywhere for publication!” Mrs.
Heinz snapped. “You are not to allow anyone,
ever
, to read this. You are
going to rewrite this assignment, Miss Gardener, and you are going to make it
appropriate for an elementary school environment. I will leave it to your tutor
to set a deadline for this, but I suggest that you get started immediately.”
And then she picked up Cleo’s paper and tore each page neatly down the center.

Cleo felt her blood pressure rising. She tried to
rationalize with herself—this is just a bump in the road; you pick yourself up
and dust yourself off; these are the days of our lives—but it didn’t work.

“You’re a damn Nazi!” she yelled (which is what her father
always said when he was on the phone with his publisher), and threw a stapler
right at Mrs. Heinz’s head.

***

Mrs. Harrison couldn’t get the parents to collect their
daughter early from school. “I called her house seven times,” she said, “but
the woman who answered would only yell at me in Chinese.” (Meanwhile, across
town, Mrs. Fhang was cursing a blue streak in her native language. She was
trying to watch her stories, and some crazy white lady kept calling and trying
to give her a little girl.)

Mrs. Harrison looked at Cleo with narrowed eyes. “Maybe you
should talk to her.”

Cleo smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Harrison, I’m only nine years
old. What opportunity would I have had to learn Chinese as a second language?”

“Well, somebody at your house speaks Chinese,” said Mrs.
Harrison. “Maybe you can at least tell them to come get you.”

That afternoon at 2:30, Vera came, as usual, to take Cleo
home from school. Cleo wasn’t very talkative during the drive, but Vera never
liked to push. When they arrived at the house, Cleo claimed that she had tons
of homework, and went straight to her room. She climbed onto Achillea’s bed
with her backpack and pulled out the two letters she had been given at school.
Using a letter opener carved from a human femur, she quickly opened them.

The first was the one Mrs. Heinz had given her earlier in
the day. “Mrs. Gardener” was scrawled on the outside. Cleo scowled. Sometimes
an alternate identity was a pain in the rear. She was used to being called Lucy
Gardener at school, but she forgot that everyone assumed her mother’s last name
would be Gardener also. She thought about the Chinese lady and smiled. Cleo had
forgotten about the fake phone number, too.

Dear Mrs. Gardener,

            Educators strive to touch every child in a
special way, guiding them to a better understanding of the pleasures that can
be found in new experiences. As principal of New Bridge Elementary School, I am
a firm believer in the value of thorough instruction. Watching children
discover themselves has long been a passion of mine, and I like to believe that
my hand has guided many a young person to a higher state of enlightenment
throughout my eighteen years of service.

            Your daughter is brilliant, Mrs. Gardener.
However, Lucy seems to have little practical knowledge of social etiquette,
interpersonal relations, or boundaries. In fact, she has no friends, never
socializes with anyone, and is, quite frankly, the creepiest child that has
ever been enrolled at this institution. She has no concept of what is
appropriate for a child her age, and I have my doubts that you have any concept
of this, either.

            Given the paper that your child submitted to
her tutor today, I am not only shocked, but very concerned about Lucy’s home
environment. Clearly, you allow her to be exposed to things that nobody under
the age of thirty should see (if even then). I am putting Lucy, and you, on
probation, Mrs. Gardener. She will be under close observation for the
foreseeable future, and if at any time I suspect that her caretakers (meaning
you and your husband) are not providing an appropriately regulated environment
for an eight year old, I will have no choice but to contact DSS on Lucy’s
behalf. She is, after all, only a child.

            I expect that you will wish to discuss this
further. My home number is 590-8876, and I will be in my office all day
tomorrow. I look forward to continuing this dialogue.

Sincerely,

Pamela Heinz

Principal

New Bridge Elementary School

Cleo scowled and unfolded the other letter. This one was
from Mrs. Harrison.

Mrs. Gardener,

            As Mrs. Heinz is currently waiting for her
CAT scan, I act on her behalf by informing you that your child, Lucy Gardener,
is hereby suspended from school for a period of two weeks. She will be expected
to keep up with her assignments during this time. This will be on her permanent
record. If you have any questions, please contact me at the school.

 Your child is a menace. If I could have her arrested, I
would.

Sincerely,

Marjory Harrison

Suspended! But she was being persecuted! Her freedom of
speech was being violated! She briefly considered composing a scathing letter
about censorship and the fall of civilization, but decided that there were more
important things to consider, such as how to tell her parents that she was
suspended from school.