By Evelyn Sichi
"Mom, what is this stuff?"
"What, dear?" Tom's mom looked up from her concentration on figuring price per pound at the cheese counter of the supermarket.
"This stuff; aaaaagh, what a smell!"
Cathy leaned over to smell the saran-wrapped cube of soft cheese held out by her son. A slight feeling of nausea came over her. Then her eye caught the word on the label, Limburger. It had been a long time since she'd been accosted by the odor that now confronted her.
Later, at home, when the groceries had been put away, Cathy sat down with a diet cola and put her feet up on the coffee table. A funny grin came over her face. Tom, walking by, noticed it and threw his hands up in the air.
"Oh no! She's off again in Somewhere-Else Land
. . ."
Cathy Mason stopped
at the top of the hill under the shade of a feathery smoke tree. She finished
eating her apple, dug a hole with the tip of her tennis shoe in the soft
dirt near a wooden fence post and dropped her apple core into it. She then
rolled it around and squashed it under her foot so that the seeds were
exposed. After that she slowly kicked back the dirt she had dug out and
smoothed it down with the worn tread of her shoe. She had been planting
apple trees in somewhat this manner since she was four years old but only
one had ever caught on and that one had never grown tall enough to produce
any apples.
Once she had climbed the steep country hill road, the rest of the way home from the high school bus stop was pleasurable. The spring flowers growing along the edge of the road seemed to Cathy to call out to anyone with the least artistic eye to please plan beautiful canvases in oil which would pay homage to the point and counterpoint of their harmonic colors.
When Cathy arrived home her mother was seated on the porch swing creating her kind of afternoon harmony, that of the rhythmic "ping-ping" of green beans being broken into the aluminum cooking pot she'd had since she had come to their small ranch as a bride.
"Hi, Mother," Cathy said, "Any phone calls?"
"No.", replied Mrs. Mason, reaching her hand out to Cathy. "How was your Monday?"
"Okay, I guess.", answered Cathy, giving her mother's hand a squeeze.
She went into the house, took off her shoes, changed into her Levis, and went out to look for her dog in the field behind the house. She met her father coming in from the sheep pen.
"Hi, kid," he said, "Riff's behind the shed."
"Thanks, Dad," Cathy said. "Hey, Friday's track met is really going to be an important one."
She talked awhile with her dad and then found Riff, her 75-pound collie with brown sable markings. As they romped she began to tell him about her day in a dreamy fashion. Her "day" had mostly revolved around curly-headed Fred McNamara who lived on a nearby ranch and had been able to drive his family tractor since he was eleven. He now excelled in high school sports, and though she'd known him for years, she now felt shy around him because of his importance at school. She felt lucky on any day she exchanged a "hi" with him.
Her mother's call to set the table ended her confiding mood. "See you later, Riff," she called and raced toward the house.
As usual, while setting the familiar but mismatched tableware, Cathy dreamed about how she would someday have only what she liked to refer to as "State Dinners' with fine linen, gleaming silver, and amber goblets, or even gay patio suppers with heavy country crockery, bright mugs and colorful table linens. She just couldn't understand how her mother could ever be inspired to prepare a meal for such a blah table. Yet, the delicious smell of spaghetti sauce filling the kitchen reminded her that her mother was somehow a good cook anyway. Too, Cathy always seemed to be able to eat her share, beautiful tableware or not.
After dinner Cathy made her nightly call to her friend, Barbara. That day Barbara had become the latest squealing victim to find a hunk of highly aromatic Limburger cheese in her hall locker. The "Caper", as it was referred to by many of the girls, in contrast to the term "Big Stink" used by any of the boys interested in the subject, had begun about a week ago, and no one was sure who was responsible. At least two locks were picked each school day, and discussion of it kept Barbara and Cathy busy on the phone at least five minutes past Cathy's time limit and she had to forfeit a small part of her weekly allowance to her mother.
She finally settled down to her homework. She did her math problems quickly, went over her French vocabulary for her weekly quiz, and began her ancient history. They were covering a period of many wars and as usual Cathy's head refused to separate the dates or even try to understand their importance. She finished her assignment and watched a bit of the beginning of the late movie on TV with her parents, yawned a few times, said good night and was soon ready for bed.
The next morning Cathy showered, dressed, and wrapped her long hair into two Indian-style braids. She frowned at her face in the mirror, because she felt it needed more tanning to complete the Indian princess effect, and went into breakfast.
"I'll be taking the pick-up by the bus stop this morning if you want a ride, Cathy," Mr. Mason offered.
"Great, Dad. Can I drive?"
Mr. Mason answered by putting his arms in front of his face, feigning an impending car crash. Soon they were ready to leave, with Cathy at the wheel. As she came to the bottom of the hill she was sorry to see that the bus was not yet arriving, and her driving ability would not be observed by her fellow bus companions. A few seconds later she was glad that the bus was not there after all, for her daydreaming about her driving skill had almost gotten the truck stuck in the soft dirt shoulder of the road.
That morning when the bus stopped at the McNamara ranch, Cathy held her breath as she did whenever Fred got on the bus. Wonder of wonders, he didn't walk on down the aisle, but sat down by her, saying "Hi, Squaw." Cathy blushed as she thought of answering, "How, Chief Big Shoulders," but instead asked him if he had done his ancient history assignment. He had, and proceeded to make the whole period of those awful wars come alive as he described this or that battle or general that he found exciting. As she watched rather than listened to him talk, Cathy imagined him astride a horse, wearing a huge curling moustache and leading the skirmishes. The ride to school seemed shorter than usual that morning.
Cathy's whole day was set. She dreamed her way from class to class, thinking about how much more manly and mature Fred seemed in comparison to the other boys. Just before lunch she opened her locker, and as she reached for her lunch bag, the unmistakable smell of Limburger cheese made her close it quickly. While she debated whether or not to report it at the office as the students had been requested to do, she walked to the benches by the front lawn of the school to meet Barbara, who helped her clean her locker.
Cathy was at once delighted and displeased that she had been singled out for notoriety. At first, the "Caper" had been one of those things talked about in whispers only by the "in clique", so "in", that Cathy had thought she would never become a part of such an activity. But as the number of victims grew, the school halls began to have an odor far different from the traditional chalk dust or even the occasional rotten-egg sulphuric smell which would come from the chemistry lab, but only temporarily. Still, until now the victims had been among the cooler, more popular members of the student body.
Cathy could understand Barbara being selected as a recipient of the dubious honor of smelly cheese in one's locker. Barbara's brother ran track and was undoubtedly a member of a now suspect gang of boys. But Cathy was not yet much of a glamorous figure and knew she was still labeled as a tomboy, although she herself felt she was growing beyond that stage of life. She and Barbara finally figured that she had probably been chosen because she was at least known for her "good sport" qualities and maybe some "childish adolescent" wanted to test out those qualities.
Yet, in spite of her curious new badge of popularity, the stench as she began to refer to it, actually made her a bit sick and the thought of its lingering mark on all of her books and other locker possessions upset her. She related this to a few of her friends but decided against reporting it at the office.
That night her father said, "That smell? It's not . . . ?"
"Mm-hmm," said Cathy. "It's Limburger cheese."
When she explained what had happened he asked her to please keep her books in her room. He, like Cathy, was usually a good sport but that particular smell got to him. So Cathy had to do her homework in her more poorly-lit room instead of at her father's huge, roll-top desk with it's cozy Tiffany style lamp.
The next day her mind was back on Fred McNamara. He seemed so far removed from locker pranks. She thought she would try the Native American business again since she had taken a sun bath after school the day before and thought she looked a bit more tan.
The effect was working, for this day when the bus again stopped at the McNamara ranch, Fred sat by her with his same greeting. This time she was ready with her "How". As corny as it was he seemed to like it and as they talked he teasingly tugged at the braid nearest him. It was then that he seemed to notice the still-present Limburger cheese aroma of her notebook and books. A funny look came to his face and he seemed to be preoccupied with his history book for the rest of the trip.
That Friday after school, when Cathy went with Barbara to watch the track meet, she saw Fred talking with Barbara's brother. Twice her brother nudged Fred and looked over their way and laughed. For some reason, Fred seemed embarrassed.
Barbara looked at Cathy. "You know, Cathy, that Fred has been in on the shenanigans."
"Shenanigans?"
"You know what I'm talking about," said Barbara, noting the denial on Cathy's face. Then disappointment and anger replaced this disbelief and her countenance reflected it as Fred walked up at that point.
"Hi," he said to Barbara and then spoke to Cathy with his eyes on the track field, not her.
"So, how are you getting home?" he asked.
"I usually take the late bus," Cathy replied.
I have my dad's pickup today," said Fred, finally turning toward her. "How about a ride home? We are neighbors, you know."
"See you," said Barbara with a grin; then she went off to join her brother.
Cathy, while inwardly experiencing an uncontrollable, almost delicious quiver, somehow put on her coolest exterior. She was torn. His association with the Limburger Gang (which had continued its dastardly deeds all week, and had finally caught the Dean's attention, provoking threats of expulsion of anyone caught in the act) did not fit with the manly picture of him she had kept in her mind all year.
"Yeah, I guess so," she mumbled. This was not the way she had dreamed it would be, but she felt compelled to go with him.
Cathy was quiet during the ride home. She was preoccupied with her inability to evaluate her feelings. She felt Fred was about to level with her, and even though she was overwhelmed by being in the truck cab alone with him, her shock that he would take part in such a childish prank made her tighten up.
He looked over at her, about to say something, and then an honest voice in her own head reminded her that her vanity had allowed her to be half-pleased that she had been singled out by the pranksters.
Ashamed of what she knew now to be a desire for a taste of a meaningless kind of popularity, she looked over at him and noticed that his hands were gripping the wheel tightly.
"Did you know I stayed out of it until your name came up?", he asked her.
"Out of what?", she feigned halfheartedly.
"You know, the cheese business," he said, watching for her reaction.
"Oh, were you involved?", Cathy asked smoothly.
"I joined in when someone mentioned your name. I always thought I might make a good safecracker, and I remembered that when I used to come over to your place when we were younger, you could always take a joke, so I went ahead and picked your lock and stashed the cheese."
He looked so sheepish that it was hard for Cathy to keep from laughing as she visualized the whole scenario.
They were nearing her gate when he added, "Later I found out you weren't too pleased."
He stopped the track, pulled over and reached for her hand. She couldn't have and wouldn't have pulled it away.
Sensing the change in her, he smiled.
"You don't have to forgive me now, but how about helping me show my calf tomorrow at the livestock exhibition? We can go to the carnival after, okay?"
Okay? Of course it
was okay. And as Fred's truck disappeared down the hill, Cathy, the Indian
Princess, lost her cool and let out a loud war whoop, scaring poor Riff
who had come to meet her.