“That’s a good idea, though,” Mama said. “Christy can drive you home, then y’all can hang out here for a while. She can even stay for dinner if she wants.”
“And as long as she doesn’t run anybody over,” Daddy said, “we don’t have to worry about how you’ll be getting home.”
“I don’t see what there is to worry about,” I said. “It ain’t that far.”
“Grammar,” Mama warned.
“It’s not that far,” I amended. “I’ve had mobility training. I know how to cross a damn street.”
“And language,” she scolded.
“Someone with your mouth doesn’t deserve to walk home alone,” Daddy joked.
“And now that that’s settled,” Mama said, even though I wasn’t sure it was, “who wants dessert?”
When she left the table to get the pie Grandma had dropped off, I looked at Daddy. For a second, I thought of asking him why me taking the bus was such a problem. I didn’t mind riding home with Christy, but walking home didn’t seem like it ought to be a big deal.
But I couldn’t say anything. Gracie was the arguer. Not me.
So Mama came back and put pie on our plates, and we talked about the hardware store and the grocery list and the high school football team …
And the subject was completely forgotten.
At least until the next day, when I had to ask Christy for a ride.
“Sorry, Agnes. I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I’m going over to Andrew’s house.” Christy picked a soggy french fry off my tray, thinking I wouldn’t see. I always did, but for some reason, I never called her out on it. “His parents are coming home late, and”—she leaned across the table so that I could hear her whisper—“I think today’s the day. I think we’re going to … you know.”
“To … what?”
“You know … sleep together.” She sank back into her chair.
“Oh … wow.” I shoved a fry in my mouth and took a while to chew, just to give myself a minute to think. Finally, I swallowed. “I thought y’all were waiting for marriage?”
“Don’t be all judgy,” she said, annoyed.
“I’m not. I’m just surprised. You were so set on it before.”
“It’s not like I’m turning into Bo Dickinson or anything. It’s just … I mean, Andrew and me, we’re practically married as it is. He’s getting me a ring for Christmas. He already told me. He’d do it sooner, but our parents … Anyway, we’ll probably get married summer after graduation. Might as well get some practice in first.”
I nodded, even though, deep down, the idea of Christy marrying Andrew, the only guy she’d ever dated, right after high school made me sort of uneasy for the both of them. And I wasn’t really sure why.
It wasn’t like it was unusual. Most people in Mursey were married before they turned twenty-one. It was just the way of things. It’d probably be my way, too, if any guy ever actually wanted to marry me. If I didn’t get married shortly out of high school, I’d be stuck in my parents’ house forever.
Those were your only choices around here. Go to college, which hardly anybody had the money to do, or get married. And Grandma had already told me I ought to be looking now. “You’re gonna need someone to take care of you,” she’d told me more than once. The idea of me taking care of myself had never come up.
But the thought of dating just one boy, of being with just one person from the time you were a teenager until you died …
Maybe Bo Dickinson had the right idea, sleeping around the way she did.
“Why can’t you take the bus?” Christy asked.
“My parents don’t want me walking home from the church alone.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Don’t you make that walk every Sunday? It’s not that far.”
“Yeah, but they’re worried.”
Christy was quiet for a second before she said, “I like your parents, Agnes. But they really are overprotective sometimes. You’ve got to stand up to them more.”
“I know,” I said. “But they’re not that bad. And I can’t really blame them. I’d probably be worried, too, if I had a blind kid.”
“I don’t know,” Christy said. “I think they’re being ridiculous. And I think you ought to just take the bus home anyway.”
“That’s what I want to do. But Mama would be furious.”
“Who says she has to know?” she asked. “You’ll be home before she is.”
Which was a good point. And it wasn’t like I had any other options. Most of our friends didn’t have cars—they rode the bus, too.
“Look,” Christy said, “if she asks, tell her I drove you. I’ll cover for you if I need to.”
So that afternoon, I made my way out to the parking lot and climbed on the school bus for the first time in my life. That little spark of rebellion was flaring up again, and I felt almost giddy. Riding a bus wasn’t exactly breaking the law, but it was definitely a bigger deal than my wandering in the woods that day. At least in my parents’ eyes. That had been an old rule, one that had faded and blurred over the years. This one was new and sharp and clear. And I was going against it anyway.