Happy Endings Are All Alike. Sandra Scoppettone

Hills and they often went there to look at the view and talk.

      As she drove up Huron Avenue she wondered why she’d said what she had to Claire. Everything was haywire today. She had in effect said that she and Jaret were . . . lovers. Why? Well, what if they were? She had a flash of lying in Jaret’s arms and realized it made her happy, warm, content. Was that love? Sexual love? Would she want to kiss Jaret on the mouth?

      “Who’re you kidding?” she said aloud. Wasn’t it amazing what secrets you could keep from yourself? Of course she would want to kiss her. And this was not the first time she’d thought of it. Late at night, in her room alone, she’d held the pillow and pretended it was Jaret. Kissed the pillow. Just what kind of dumb game had she been playing anyway?

      She turned into the parking lot. Only Jaret was here this early.

      “Hi,” she said, getting into Jaret’s car.

      Jaret looked straight ahead. “What are you doing here?”

      “I came to see the view.”

      “Very funny.”

      “Jaret? Jaret, look at me.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not?” Peggy wanted desperately to reach out and touch her, comfort her the way she’d been comforted.

      “You wouldn’t understand.”

      “You sound like me with my father.”

      She smiled. “Or me with mine, I guess. But you wouldn’t understand, Peg. I just can’t talk about it.”

      “About what?”

      Jaret looked at her. “About what’s bringing me down.”

      “Look, I know it’s what Claire said. I know how it made you feel.”

      “That’s just it, you don’t,” Jaret said. She picked some imaginary lint from her jeans.

      “Okay, I don’t. But I do.”

      They were silent for a few moments.

      Then Peggy started to laugh. “I told Claire she was right. I said we were lovers.”

      “You what? Why?”

      “I don’t know,” she answered, shrugging. “Something just came over me.”

      “Did you freak out or what?”

      “I dunno.”

      “Well, for God’s sake, Peg, what’s going to happen?” Jaret gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning whitish. “Claire will . . . well, she’ll tell your father, won’t she? I mean, that’s what she said—you heard her. Oh, Peg, you must be crazy. She’ll tell your father and then he’ll lay it on mine and then no one will believe us and they won’t let us see each other anymore. I can see it now. I’ll be sent to my Aunt Sandy’s in Texas. . . . Why did you do it? No one will believe us, Peg.”

      “Well, I guess we might as well be what they think, then, huh?” Peggy squeezed the edge of the vinyl seat, hands slippery with sweat.

      Jaret stared at her. She understood what Peggy had said but she could think of no reply. Peggy must be kidding. But it wasn’t funny to Jaret. She supposed she was expected to come back with some witty rejoinder, some smartass remark, some putdown of homosexuality. Well, she wasn’t going to do that; she wasn’t going to betray herself, not even for Peggy.

      She looked away, through the windshield and out to the valley below. Everything was green, lush. It made her want to weep. Her eyes filled, vision blurred and slowly tears spilled over, ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t move, did nothing to hide her tears.

      “Jaret, why are you crying?” Now Peggy reached out, touched her shoulder, squeezed slightly, then moved closer, slipping her arm around Jaret. “Oh God, Jare, what is it? What did I say? I thought you . . . You see, I realized . . . Oh, Jare, I love you.” There.

      Jaret knew Peggy loved her as a sister, a friend. This repeated declaration only made the tears come faster, stronger.

      “I don’t understand, Jaret. Why are you crying? Don’t you love me?”

      Now she would have to answer she did love Peggy. Jaret nodded, tears still coming.

      “Then why?”

      If she didn’t tell Peggy now Jaret knew their friendship would end. She couldn’t live a lie. Peggy might as well know the truth and if she couldn’t take it or was disgusted by it or hated Jaret for it, then it was better to know now for sure. Jaret wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and turned to face Peggy, who looked bewildered, lost. Jaret smiled, taking in the generous mouth and slightly large nose.

      “Oh, Peg,” she finally said. “This is a mess. Damn Claire.”

      They were very near, faces closer than they’d ever been, except perhaps in the dark, in bed, when they whispered secrets. Jaret knew that with the slightest movement forward, head angled, she would be touching Peggy’s lips with her own. Peggy knew this too. Almost imperceptibly, they each pulled back.

      “Damn Claire,” Peggy echoed, whispering. Her heart was thudding and she was both excited and frightened.

      Jaret decided not another second could pass without her confession or she would die. “I don’t think you understand, Peg. I don’t think you know what’s going on. Claire was right. I do love you that way. I have almost from the first day.” Now that it was out she didn’t disintegrate, feel slimy. She felt good. She began to breathe more regularly.

      Peggy smiled. “Yes, I know. Me too. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, you dumb gazinga.”

      Jaret didn’t mean to say a stupid thing like: “What?” But she did. It was right out of a bad movie and they both laughed, breaking the terrible tension. When they stopped laughing and they returned to looking into each other’s eyes, a different kind of tension began and finally ended as they naturally, sweetly kissed for the first time.

      Claire hadn’t told but always held it over their heads and never missed a chance to make a nasty comment.

      “C’mon, Jare,” Peggy said, “let’s take that walk. The hell with Claire. She’s just jealous. You know that.”

      “Yeah,” said Jaret, not knowing that at all.

5

      Claire sat on the edge of her bed, unable to stop trembling, inside and out. Rage always made her shake. She tried lighting a cigarette. It took four matches. She inhaled deeply, knowing, but not caring, that she was damaging her lungs. She could have killed them. They were disgusting. So smug, self-satisfied. So sure of themselves all the time. And what were they anyway? Queers. Dykes. Perverts. She’d learned in her psychology classes they were sexually immature, retarded. It was sick. And it made her want to vomit.

      She stood up and walked across the room. There was no reason for the action and now that she was there she didn’t know what to do. She walked to still another spot and found herself in front of the mirror. For years she had been telling herself to take the damn thing down. But she never did. Now she looked into it, hating what she saw. Everything was wrong. Her shoulders and hips were too wide, her breasts too small. She was short-waisted. And her face was a disaster. Her eyes were too close together, her nose too large, her mouth too full. If only she had been taller. It all might have worked on a larger person. But she was under five two. She spent half her time wishing she were different, an exercise in futility. She stubbed out her cigarette.

      Why, she wondered for at least the four thousandth time, had Peggy gotten the looks? Even her slightly Roman nose gave her character, enhanced her. Why was life so unfair? Perhaps, Claire thought, she’d been a great beauty in another life and been cruel to someone ugly, laughed at a deformity, and now she was paying in this life. Claire was convinced