I'll call her...hm. What would be a good name for her? A wiry girl, brown-haired, with sad eyes and a ready smile, who created herself every day out of the most amazing monologues of vintage and defiance. What she wore was way beyond mere clothes. This girl deserved to have every cover of the New York Times Style Magazine from 1983 to eternity.
If you had to make up a name for her, what would it be? You can't pick a hippie name, because her actual name was sturdy and sensible and she was *not* a hippie. Or a goth or a self-defined artiste or a member of any group at all. But you can't pick something like "Jennifer" or "Nicole" either, because her name, although grounded, was not limiting. It worked perfectly on her, it was flexible enough for her.
Hm. Yeah, that would be good, and so would that, but unfortunately those are the real names of two other old friends of mine.
Okay. I'm going to go with Jocelyn.
Jocelyn took me shopping one day--her way. Which meant we did not go to the mall. We traipsed down the big old street whose name I can't remember--Washington?--past the Dunkin Donuts and under the bridge to the Salvation Army store. There, she taught me her first and most important rule: "Don't look. Feel." She would go along the racks handling each sleeve or skirt. If she liked how something felt, *then* she'd pull it out and look at it. Otherwise, forget it.
As I dutifully practiced this technique, Jocelyn pursued her mission: she was there to find a wedding dress. I don't remember her telling me why she wanted one, and with a girl like her, it was pointless to ask anyway; the fact that she wanted it was its own explanation.
She called me over to look at the pickings. I tilted my head and said "I think Armando would like that one."
She immediately started playing along. "Yes, you're right. Armando would love it. But how about this one?"
And on and on. We had quite a time debating the opinions of Armando, the fictitious yet eager young man awaiting Jocelyn's hand. It was obviously absurd--"Armando"--so imagine our surprise when we traipsed up to the checkout counter and the lady politely wished Jocelyn luck. In fact, a whole entire conversation got going, and I actually have this memory of her looking puzzled and saying "But what about Armando?", but I can't remember what made her say it.
When we left the store, I started laughing, but Jocelyn didn't; a chill took her and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Stop," she said. "Don't." She looked around and started walking away fast. I realized that she felt, superstitiously, the power of our creation; the woman had believed in him, so in a way he was real. Jocelyn felt like he was going to come for her now.
And that was the thing--we hadn't actually liked him when we started talking about him. After all, anyone who would marry a 17-year-old girl...
I caught up to her and put my arm around her to help keep her safe from him, and we hurried back to my house.
