enough money to go at all. The Wards were in hard times. So she was eighteen or almost eighteen, like the others, except for the veterans who were swarming back from World War II. Girls tried to be friendly with her, but she talked to them only to discover that they were as silly as the girls in high school, interested in nothing but boys and clothes. She retreated, as usual, to her books. In 1948, the Saturday-night date was a necessity for anybody who was anybody: Mira was often nobody. But her mind had returned, and if it was not as clear as it had been, it included more. She loved to sit and read and grapple with Hawthorne’s moral philosophy, or figure out alone the political implications of Rousseau’s philosophy. She was disappointed if she found her own discoveries in someone else’s book, as she almost always did. She would sit in the cafeteria, drinking coffee and reading, and look up to find them – boys – fluttering, clustering around her. She was bewildered, surprised, incomprehending, and flattered. They sat all around her, they told jokes, they teased her. Some asked her out for a Saturday-night date. She would go to a movie with one of them. They wanted to ‘neck,’ but she despised it. She had slapped the face of the first male who had placed a kiss on her lips, finding it wet and ugly, hating the feel of another flesh against her own. Some accused her (who was so afraid of her own desire that male violence be committed uponher) of committing violence upon them by her attitude. This gave her pause. Nevertheless, she would get out of the car. ‘My parents don’t allow me to sit in cars in the driveway,’ she would explain firmly.
Still, they hovered in the cafeteria. They laughed and joked, sparring for attention. She had the sense of being the only spectator in a circus full of monkeys who would one by one jump on the cafeteria table to perform, scratching their underarms and making faces until they were pushed off by another squeaking member who did somersaults and grunts. If their behavior only mildly entertained her – Mira was very serious – her wonder at why they had selected her kept her in awed silence. She smiled at their jokes, which were mostly scatological but sometimes sexual, having learned enough to pick up what it was they were talking about – most of the time, at least. What she did not know was why they were funny. She hid her ignorance under smiles, and was astonished to learn later that she had gained a reputation for easy virtue by her tolerant acceptance of their foreign language.
She did not learn this, however, until sometime later, and only then was she able to connect it with her difficulties in cars. Still, she would have been all right had she followed her feelings, but she had been doing some reading in psychology. She had learned that her form of orgasm was immature and showed that she had not yet moved into the ‘genital’ stage of development. Maturity was the great goal: everyone agreed about that. A mature woman relates to males: everyone knows that too. So when they slid their arms around her, or tried to grab her body, she began to sit passively and even to turn her face towards theirs. They would bend their heads toward her, and kiss her. Then they would try to get their slimy tongues inside her mouth. Ugh! But since she had not cut them off entirely, as she had done before, they felt, with what reasoning she never knew, that she owed them something. They would pull her back, they would struggle to get a hand inside her blouse or on her thigh under her skirt. They would begin to breathe hard. It outraged her. She felt invaded, violated. She did not want their slimy mouths, their clumsy hard strange hands, their breath, on her mouth, her clean body, her fine ears. She couldn’t stand it. She would pull violently away, grateful that they were parked in her driveway, and uncaring about what they thought or said, leap out of the car and run up to her
Still, they hovered in the cafeteria. They laughed and joked, sparring for attention. She had the sense of being the only spectator in a circus full of monkeys who would one by one jump on the cafeteria table to perform, scratching their underarms and making faces until they were pushed off by another squeaking member who did somersaults and grunts. If their behavior only mildly entertained her – Mira was very serious – her wonder at why they had selected her kept her in awed silence. She smiled at their jokes, which were mostly scatological but sometimes sexual, having learned enough to pick up what it was they were talking about – most of the time, at least. What she did not know was why they were funny. She hid her ignorance under smiles, and was astonished to learn later that she had gained a reputation for easy virtue by her tolerant acceptance of their foreign language.
She did not learn this, however, until sometime later, and only then was she able to connect it with her difficulties in cars. Still, she would have been all right had she followed her feelings, but she had been doing some reading in psychology. She had learned that her form of orgasm was immature and showed that she had not yet moved into the ‘genital’ stage of development. Maturity was the great goal: everyone agreed about that. A mature woman relates to males: everyone knows that too. So when they slid their arms around her, or tried to grab her body, she began to sit passively and even to turn her face towards theirs. They would bend their heads toward her, and kiss her. Then they would try to get their slimy tongues inside her mouth. Ugh! But since she had not cut them off entirely, as she had done before, they felt, with what reasoning she never knew, that she owed them something. They would pull her back, they would struggle to get a hand inside her blouse or on her thigh under her skirt. They would begin to breathe hard. It outraged her. She felt invaded, violated. She did not want their slimy mouths, their clumsy hard strange hands, their breath, on her mouth, her clean body, her fine ears. She couldn’t stand it. She would pull violently away, grateful that they were parked in her driveway, and uncaring about what they thought or said, leap out of the car and run up to her
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