Chartreuse

Envy consumed me whenever I looked at Grace. I had to practice being cool, but Gracie just did it.

I was fourteen years old and couldn't believe my luck when she admired the chartreuse sateen jacket I'd bought with babysitting money. This was before I decided synthetics were pseudo. I kept caressing the silky fabric, admiring myself in store windows. I knew the color was awful, close to neon, but it was "in." Either this or hurt-your-teeth fuchsia. I liked the Frenchy sound of the lustrous green: shartrooz.

Gracie liked the color, too, and I let her borrow the jacket. She told me later that was the first time she even noticed me, wearing something like that. I didn't care if I ever got it back.

Gracie's mother Millie was a drinker. You could count on Millie (we weren't allowed to call her "Mom" or "Mrs. H") to be out at a bar with someone when I stayed overnight. So we could come and go as we pleased.

My mother would have died. Not that she trusted Millie as a chaperone. But Mom trusted me. Whereas I was just itching to do something even a little bit bad.

One Friday night Gracie and I went to the movies and missed the last bus to her house. We knew better than to try to rouse Millie. They lived only a couple of miles from town, so we decided to walk. It was pitch dark. I was wearing the jacket and walked on the outside so any car's headlights would reflect off the chartreuse and we wouldn't be run down. What we didn't count on was the gang of boys on motorcycles who whizzed by, whistling. We were flattered at first, proud we came off as women in the dark. Then we saw the boys stop about a half-mile ahead.

"What if they come back?" I ventured.

"They'd attack us," Gracie assured me, high on the adventure of it.

We looked around for an escape route, realized we were surrounded on both sides by fields of corn with seven-foot stalks. We both jumped at once, first into the ditch and then scrambling on our hands and knees as far into the field as we could before we heard the roar of engines draw close. We sat silently for what seemed like hours, long past the time they gave up and drove off.

Then Gracie started giggling. "I was so scared I wet my pants!"

"Me, too!" I snorted, blissful tears dripping on our jacket.