Evelyn 4

Somewhat shook up by the display on the playground, I find it impossible to concentrate in school today. It jolts me out of my normal mode of easy cruising, forces me to think about myself.
And yes, I know I'm aboard the Titanic, steadily cruising towards the iceberg called Junior High. I know lots about it, having heard and overheard much from those with brothers and sisters there.
For boys, it is a difficult time, what with change of scenery, hormones, heightened demands of parents and teachers. Yet boys don't wake up in the morning afraid of being bullied, that was dealt with centuries ago. Oh sure, the authorities stonewalled, denied there was a problem; up til it became impossible to ignore the headlines. As in, boys showing up at school with a gun and list of names.
So nowadays, not finding friends is as bad as it'll get for a boy. Not so with girls. Since the bullying is not physical, nor do they settle scores with guns, the school system has utterly ignored the girls' problems. Illogical when you consider nearly 100% of teachers and principals are women now. But then, logic and the school system are at best distant cousins and at worst total strangers.
So, what is Job One? Deep Six the dresses. There is no real amount of shame in being merely poor, being among the 1/3 who are the grunge set. You don't hit the social circles but neither is bullying a problem. After all, you do have lots of moral support and company in your predicament.
However, anyone who shows up radically different can expect lotsa problems. Yet what to do about Mum? Impossible to talk with about anything, just gets angry and stubborn.
Hmm, maybe she'll catch some drastic illness and I'll get to live with my aunt. Unlikely, she is pretty healthy.
Perhaps the authorities will finally put her away for observation and rest. Come on, this is Victoria, with its surfeit of total off-the-wall eccentrics. If you walked down Douglas wearing nothing but fireman's hat and boots, unlikely you'd get more than a few curious glances.
If so attired, you spray painted obscenities on store windows, people would think it's political: you're a Communist giving an anti-capitalist rant. And while police would be quick to charge you with vandalism, they wouldn't think of referring you on the shrinks.
But if so attired and so spray-painting, you also yodelled or recited centuries old poetry or bus schedules; then the mental health authorities would sit up and take notice.
And while Mum is a certifiable loon, it's unlikely she'll go quite that far in showing it off to the world.
Somehow or other, the logic seems inexorable. If I can't solve the problem in one fashion or other, I'm gonna jump off Ogden Point. Last day before Junior High starts, get one last summer. Lousy plan, would splash around in the water. Some bonehead would rescue me, get his photo in the paper, maybe even a medal. Unless of course, I wore a coat with heavy metal tied on underneath, vanish instantly upon hitting the water.
Yes, what a cheerful thought. Suddenly my day seems a whole lot better. Still, it is only a last resort; I have a clear duty to at least try to solve the problem first.
I ask myself what G-d might say. I'd still be a kid, judged by more lenient standards and yes, I feel my reasons are good. If he wants to argue, bring it on.
I won't bore you with my next few weeks. Not a time I'd care to dwell on.
One morning as I leave for school, I see Sarah coming down my street.
She flashes a wicked smile, "I see she made you take that awful green floral again. Should wrap it around her neck, choke her til she's blue."
"I could nev-ver do that. They say green and blue don't go together."
We both laugh.
"Curious about Brent?"
"Why would I not be?"
"We ah realized we don't converse well at all. Gonna limit it to a little fun once or twice a week and him do my math."
I nod, "a mature, adult way to deal with it."
"Busy after school, errands or jobs?"
"No, it's done up."
"Good, we'll go to my place, catch up on everything. So, what's happening with you?"
"Mum's giving me Hebrew lessons."
"Oy! Every parent goes through that phase, sooner or later. She'll grow out of it."
We both laugh.
"So, how are you and the dream going?"
"Just last night, it gave me two new clues. In the dream, felt a pressure on my head. Checked with my hand, same shape of hat as the rabbi. Face seemed wierd, felt it. Beard, but light and thin, like a young guy."
"Makes sense, I recall the cop did call you 'kid'. One day, you'll figger it out."
(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is prepared.)