grow up. Not just a secretary.”
“Like what?” I say, thinking, Mom was a secretary before I was born. Was that bad?
“Like a doctor. Or a judge.”
“Or a welder in the shipyard?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” She looks at me funny. “Is that what you want to be?”
“No,” I say, even though it’s something I’ve thought about, how neat it would be to use the welding torch like Dad does, climb high into the sky and make sparks fly like the Fourth of July. “I was just wondering.”
There are lots of things I think about being, but the one thing I don’t want to be is a secretary, just typing up other people’s letters all day. Unless I could be a secretary who uses this really neat typewriter I saw on test-pattern TV the other day. It looked like a typewriter, only it had a TV screen on top, and it didn’tjust type words but pictures. In
color.
If I had one of those typewriters, then I wouldn’t mind being a secretary so much.
But if it’s true like Mrs. Finkelstein says, that if I want, I can be anything, then I can think of a whole bunch of things I would rather be. A welder, maybe. Or a drummer in a band, like Gene Krupa. Or maybe a pilot—or even a space cadet, like Tom Corbett, so I can go to the stars.
I think Mrs. Finkelstein is just dreaming, like Mom dreams about being a famous dancer. There’s no such thing as lady doctors or judges or welders. But what I like about Mrs. Finkelstein is that she thinks about stuff like that, things I never even thought about before.
6
LORENA
B UBBLING AND BOILING in black-and-white, the mushroom cloud fills the screen of the Paramount as a sepulchral Movietone News voice intones facts about the H-bomb test: Firestorms. Radioactive rain. An entire island vaporized.
“Did Binky actually fight in Korea?” Delia whispers to Lorena, reaching over to claw a buttery handful of popcorn.
“He’s got a real scar from World War II,” Lorena says, bypassing the fact that during Korea Binky worked in the commissary at Fort Bragg and never, not even once, crossed the Pacific.
“Well, I’m glad the war’s over,” Delia says around kernels of popcorn that squeak as she chews. “I never understood much what that was all about. North Korea. South Korea. Turn on TV news and what’s on? Korea. Who cares?”
“Well, somebody cares. It’s in the paper a lot.” Lorena feels around the bottom of the popcorn box, fishes up a couple of
unpopped nuggets, tosses them and the box on the floor. “We wouldn’t send soldiers all the way over there if it wasn’t important.” She looks sidelong at Delia’s profile silhouetted in the dark, light from the belching bomb on-screen pinging off her upturned nose and mobile chin. She hopes people don’t think she’s as dense as Delia just because they’re good friends.
“Still and all,” Delia says, “I don’t know what we were doing in a place with all those weird names, Panmunjom, Seoul, whatever. I mean, I thought we were finished after World War II and then what happens? Korea.”
“SHHHH!” says a man with tall fuzzy hair two rows in front.
Lorena thinks about war all through the movie, maybe because it’s
From Here to Eternity.
When she comes out, she picks up the war theme like a dropped stitch.
“Rosalind, the kid down the block, only eighteen, she married this guy before he shipped out,” she says, squinting in the midday sun. “Her mother didn’t want her to marry him but she did anyway, had to, I heard, because the guy was leaving for Korea and she was in the Family Way.”
Delia nods knowingly. “The Family Way. That’ll do it.” They pass their reflections in a storefront window. Delia takes out a comb, fluffs her bangs, checks her teeth.
“Next thing we know, we hear his ship got blown up.” Lorena waits as Delia slathers a fresh coat of Tangee on her full lips in the window’s reflection. “I didn’t go to the funeral but I heard it had flags and drums and all. Shoulda gone, I
“Like what?” I say, thinking, Mom was a secretary before I was born. Was that bad?
“Like a doctor. Or a judge.”
“Or a welder in the shipyard?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” She looks at me funny. “Is that what you want to be?”
“No,” I say, even though it’s something I’ve thought about, how neat it would be to use the welding torch like Dad does, climb high into the sky and make sparks fly like the Fourth of July. “I was just wondering.”
There are lots of things I think about being, but the one thing I don’t want to be is a secretary, just typing up other people’s letters all day. Unless I could be a secretary who uses this really neat typewriter I saw on test-pattern TV the other day. It looked like a typewriter, only it had a TV screen on top, and it didn’tjust type words but pictures. In
color.
If I had one of those typewriters, then I wouldn’t mind being a secretary so much.
But if it’s true like Mrs. Finkelstein says, that if I want, I can be anything, then I can think of a whole bunch of things I would rather be. A welder, maybe. Or a drummer in a band, like Gene Krupa. Or maybe a pilot—or even a space cadet, like Tom Corbett, so I can go to the stars.
I think Mrs. Finkelstein is just dreaming, like Mom dreams about being a famous dancer. There’s no such thing as lady doctors or judges or welders. But what I like about Mrs. Finkelstein is that she thinks about stuff like that, things I never even thought about before.
6
LORENA
B UBBLING AND BOILING in black-and-white, the mushroom cloud fills the screen of the Paramount as a sepulchral Movietone News voice intones facts about the H-bomb test: Firestorms. Radioactive rain. An entire island vaporized.
“Did Binky actually fight in Korea?” Delia whispers to Lorena, reaching over to claw a buttery handful of popcorn.
“He’s got a real scar from World War II,” Lorena says, bypassing the fact that during Korea Binky worked in the commissary at Fort Bragg and never, not even once, crossed the Pacific.
“Well, I’m glad the war’s over,” Delia says around kernels of popcorn that squeak as she chews. “I never understood much what that was all about. North Korea. South Korea. Turn on TV news and what’s on? Korea. Who cares?”
“Well, somebody cares. It’s in the paper a lot.” Lorena feels around the bottom of the popcorn box, fishes up a couple of
unpopped nuggets, tosses them and the box on the floor. “We wouldn’t send soldiers all the way over there if it wasn’t important.” She looks sidelong at Delia’s profile silhouetted in the dark, light from the belching bomb on-screen pinging off her upturned nose and mobile chin. She hopes people don’t think she’s as dense as Delia just because they’re good friends.
“Still and all,” Delia says, “I don’t know what we were doing in a place with all those weird names, Panmunjom, Seoul, whatever. I mean, I thought we were finished after World War II and then what happens? Korea.”
“SHHHH!” says a man with tall fuzzy hair two rows in front.
Lorena thinks about war all through the movie, maybe because it’s
From Here to Eternity.
When she comes out, she picks up the war theme like a dropped stitch.
“Rosalind, the kid down the block, only eighteen, she married this guy before he shipped out,” she says, squinting in the midday sun. “Her mother didn’t want her to marry him but she did anyway, had to, I heard, because the guy was leaving for Korea and she was in the Family Way.”
Delia nods knowingly. “The Family Way. That’ll do it.” They pass their reflections in a storefront window. Delia takes out a comb, fluffs her bangs, checks her teeth.
“Next thing we know, we hear his ship got blown up.” Lorena waits as Delia slathers a fresh coat of Tangee on her full lips in the window’s reflection. “I didn’t go to the funeral but I heard it had flags and drums and all. Shoulda gone, I
Similar Books
