The Jacket

THE JACKET

“Miss Drake, if you, or your mother, are too lazy to curl your hair before coming to school you can come to the convent and I’ll do it for you. I will not have you coming into my class with a pony tail.”
I yanked the blue and yellow stepped ribbon from my hair letting my uncurled long brown hair hang down my back. No need getting Sister Michelle angry right from the start of the week.
Sister Michelle adjusted the black leather belt and large black rosary circling her thick waist and watched me fumble to put the ribbon into the pocket of my oversized beige sweater. “I’m waiting,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.
I hurried down the aisle jamming the ribbon into the pocket as I went. I took my seat next to Patty Goodwin and pulled out my English book. Classmates had shifted in their seats to watch the scene.
“Turn around, girls” Sister said, “this show’s over.”
Patty whispered, “I knew it. I knew the minute you walked through the door she would say something about your hair. You should know by now she hates pony tails.”
“I do know it. Can I help it if I had extra chores to do last night? My Mom was on a rampage, she even had me ironing my dad’s underwear.”
Sister Michelle clapped twice, “Miss Drake, what is so important you need to delay my class? Do you want to share it with the rest of us?”
“No, Sister.”
“Then I suggest you be quiet and pay attention.”
”Sorry, sister.”
Patty giggled.
“Shut up, it isn’t funny.” I hissed.
“I can’t help it,” Patty said slumped down behind her open book, “she likes to pick on you.”
Suddenly she was standing beside my desk, towering over me, darkening my vision. How does someone, tall and wide, wearing black tie shoes with heavy heels, get around a hardwood floored room so silently?
Sister Michelle stared down at us; her hands on her wide black garmented hips. “Miss Goodwin, would you and Miss Drake like to see Sister Pontifica?”
Sister Pontifica was the principal. I had passed her in the hall lots of times and she would smile and say hello. She seemed pleasant, but Sister Michelle made her sound mean.
“No, sister.” We said in unison.
“Interrupt my class again and you will reap the consequences.” In one fluid motion she adjusted the coif under her black veil, turned around and walked back to the front of the room. “Now class, let’s continue. Open your book to page 237.”
Class was nearly over. I wanted to get even with Patty for laughing at me. Reaching into my book bag I found my compass. Patty was watching the blackboard that Sister Michelle was writing the assignment on. I slid my left hand off the desk and reached over to stick Patty with the sharp point. It was supposed to be a harmless prank, just a little prick. But Patty shifted in her seat moving her leg closer to the point at the same time I was moving it toward her.
The compass stuck her thigh midway; right through her heavy green uniform. She jumped, “Ouch, that hurt.”
Sister abruptly turned around to face the class. “Who said that?” She stared deep into the face of each girl in the room looking for the Achilles heel of the class. What she saw were granite faces, every one of them, including Patty and me. No one answered. All the girls knew who spoke but they only looked at each other and shrugged shoulders. Then the bell rang. English period was over. We were saved from further interrogation. We slid our books into our bags and headed for the door.
“What did you do that for?” Patty whispered. Her eyebrows knit together. She was mad.
“I was only fooling around.”
“Well, it hurt.” She shouted over her shoulder as she walked away from me.
Patty had Algebra for fourth period; I had Spanish. As I watched her start down the hall I noticed blood trickling down the outside of her right leg. “Patty, Patty, wait.” I called. I must have stuck her harder than I thought. She stopped and turned around. “Pat, you’re bleeding. I’m sorry; I really didn’t mean to hurt you. Honest.”
Patty looked down and saw her blood. She stood in the space, against the wall, between two of the rows of dark gray lockers that lined the hallway and pulled up her green uniform to look at her leg. Smeared blood zigzagged on her thigh tapering to the narrower line that ran down her lower leg. “It’s o.k.,” Patty said, wiping the thin red line with a tissue from her pocket, “I just bleed easy. Jeez, don’t cry. I’m all right, truly I am.”

Mom’s rule was to come home immediately after school. No dawdling. But today I wanted to get home really fast, finish my chores fast, and get my homework finished fast, because Uncle Vincent was coming for dinner. Uncle Vince was Dad’s only brother. He had been in the army. I used to love seeing him in that uniform; all those strips and colorful medals. Uncle Vince had been lots of places in that uniform. His stories about Germany, France and England and the people he met there were fascinating. “War”,
Uncle Vince said, “makes for strange behavior.” Some of his stories were funny,
some were sad; but the stories about people standing up for their beliefs were my favorite.
“I brought you something special tonight,” Uncle Vince said setting down a medium-sized brown bag on top of my dad’s desk. “But you don’t get it ‘til after dinner.”
Uncle Vince usually brought something sweet for dessert when he came over. I figured he had my favorite candy bars or pecan pie in the bag. But tonight dessert was Mom’s ride pudding; no raisins, creamy, smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.
After dinner mom, dad and Uncle Vince remained at the table and talked over coffee while I cleared plates and put leftovers in the refrigerator. When I came back to the kitchen from the backyard after shaking crumbs out of the tablecloth, Uncle Vince was standing in the middle of the room. He was grinning and holding out the bag.
“Well, do you want it or not?” he said holding out the Eisenhower jacket he’d removed from the bag, the one I’d admired for years. “You asked for this a long time ago, Do you still want it” I certainly don’t need it - - hell, I don’t even want it.”
“Really? I can keep it?” I said slipping my arms into army wool. It still had his patches and stripes on the sleeves. I ran to the living room, jumped on a chair to see myself in the large gilded mirror that hung over the sofa on the opposite wall. I looked at my image from the front; I turned sideways and looked, then turned again and looked over my shoulder and finally faced myself again. Leaping from the overstuffed chair I ran to Uncle Vince and threw my arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you.”

Traffic seemed heavier than normal; the bus moved slower. I couldn’t wait to show off. No one in school had a jacket like this. I could see Patty waiting at the curb as the bus pulled up.
“Wow, that’s awesome.” Patty said as I got off the school bus. “Where did you get it?”
“My uncle,” I said holding my books away from the jacket so Pat could see it.
“Your Uncle Chris?”
“No, no, not my Mom’s brother. You know, the one I told you about, the fun guy, my Dad’s brother, my Uncle Vincent. Look, he left the stripes on and everything.”
“Sister Michele isn’t gonna like it.”
Patty was right. “Miss Drake, you are not permitted to wear that thing in my classroom. Take if off and if I see you wearing it again you will be sent to the principal’s office.” I slid the jacket off.
Every day, since that day, before I came into the building from gym period I would remove my jacket, fold it inside out, and drape it over my arm before enter Sister Michelle’s classroom. Not one of the other nuns disliked my jacket. Sister Thomasina even said she thought my jacket was unique.
Gym period just ended. The schools gymnasium, locker room, showers and assembly hall were on one floor with the school cafeteria taking up the basement of the small building. Across the street the massive, red brick, three story building that housed the classrooms loomed. I was hurrying from gym through driving rain and I was going to be late. Even when you hurry it takes time to change out of those blue cotton one-piece gym suits, button the long sleeved peter pan collard blouse, and pull the green burlap bag jumper over your head and zipper it. Let’s not mention -- and tie the black and white saddle shoes.
Holding my jacket closed with one had and my book bag over my head with the other, I ran through the downpour, the flooded streets, into the building, and up the stairs. I was late because Mrs. James made us do two extra laps around the basketball court. Sister Michelle would say I was making a lame excuse.
Breathing hard, I reached the third floor and turned right. I fast-walked (no running in the building) to the classroom. Cold fingers tightened around the back of my neck as I stepped into the room.
“Miss Drake, I’ll take that jacket now.”
She must have known I’d be late, what with the cold wind and pounding rain and that in my haste I’d forget to remove my jacket.
“Hand it over.” She said. For an instant, just an instant, I saw a smile of triumph. Then her face fell back into her usual unemotional stare. She was holding onto the collar, pulling the jacket off my shoulder and down my arm. Holding the wet army jacket like it was some dead smelly animal, she left the classroom. Before descending the stairs she turned to me and said, “If you want your jacket, you can get it from Sister Pontifica’s office - - after school. You can explain your behavior to her.”
“Now what are you gonna do,” said Patty as I took my seat next to her, “it’s getting colder outside.”

Science class, the end of the day, and it was still pouring outside, it was windy, the sky dark. Walking home in that weather was out of the question. I needed the bus tokens in the jacket pocket to get home.
Sister Pontifica’s office and my science classroom were on the first floor. Just before the end of class I asked to be excused to go to the restroom. I hurried down the hall and peeked through the open door in the front office. No one was standing at the long counter just inside the door but I could hear the clacking of typewriters. Standing on tiptoes, peering over the counter from the doorway, I saw Mrs. Alquist and Mrs. Mullin. Their heads bent low over their work, deep in concentration.
Loudly thumping heartbeats drowned the typewriter sounds in my ears as I bent over at the waist. Clammy, hot palms rested on my knees when I ducked low. Slowly, quietly, agonizingly, I make my way past the counter to Sister Pontifica’s open door. Pausing, I listened for a rustle of paper, a voice. Nothing. I looked in. She wasn’t there. There it was, just in front of me and a little to my right, my jacket, hanging on a coat rack in the corner. It took me eight torturous steps to each the jacket. I put my hand into the first pocket, no tokens. I found them at the bottom of the second pocket. With the tokens firmly in hand I took the scrunched down position again and made my way back. I passed the counter, turned around and backed out of the doorway and into the hall. I was certain Sister Michelle had told the principal I was disruptive in class. She’d lecture me or ask me to explain myself. How could I say I was sorry, that I’d been wrong wearing the jacket I loved to school? I didn’t believe it was wrong. But the real reason is that I’d never, I’d NEVER, beg for my jacket. Sister Michele wouldn’t get that satisfaction from me, no siree. I was standing up for my belief. Uncle Vince would be proud of me but the jacket was lost forever.