The Evolution of Sub Linda Chapter Four Return to Hidden Pleasures
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I was the girl in the back row. The one nobody ever talks to because she's weird. That had happened when I'd turned fourteen or so and been trying to figure out who and what I was supposed to be. By the time I hit sixteen I had a pretty good idea. I'd dyed my long blonde hair, turning it raven black. I'd painted my face white and decided I worshipped death. Not exactly a great idea if you live in Rochester, Minnesota, a town that had never been on the cutting edge of cultural evolution.
I went to Mayo High School, named after the Mayo brothers, like every freakin' thing else in the city. It was big and round and it had its own planetarium. I hated it. I liked school, I liked learning and I'd always been good at it, but I hated high school with a passion. And the feeling was mutual, believe me.
"Halloween already?" some guy said as I walked past, and his friends laughed. I'd heard that same line a dozen times already and it was barely ten in the morning.
Girls whispered and giggled, guys just stared and laughed. Nobody liked me, not even the people who used to be my friends. The girls I'd gone to junior high with, and even elementary school. Rochester was big, but it wasn't that big yet. Everybody still knew everybody and that made it worse.
The only class I liked, and the school year had just started a week before, was my English class. Most of the teachers were afraid of me, I think. I walked around like a vampire, dressed like a corpse, not talking ... Some of them were sure I'd pull an Uzi out of my purse one of those days. Not a very funny thought maybe, but I'm not joking either. They were frightened of me and I did nothing to help.
On this particular day I wore a wedding dress. Well, part of a wedding dress anyway, that I'd stripped down and hand sewn myself. It had been hanging in the Salvation Army thrift shop, the one down by Silver Lake, and I'd pulled the train and hemmed the skirt up to mid-thigh, and dyed it black as midnight too. It fit tight around my tummy and had an underwired bustier to push my breasts up, making them appear plump and full and in your face. I'd ripped the sleeves away and wore it with black velvet gloves, the sort that reach past the elbows. Some black fishnet stockings and a pair of leather ankle boots completed the package.
It was guaranteed to get me sent to the office at least twice, I figured.
I had my hair long and straight and parted in the middle. My blue eyes were hidden in deep wells of mascara and I'd painted my lips blood red. I had a garnet stud in my nose and I sincerely wished I had fangs. This was a big day as I had to do a dramatic reading for the class.
Everyone got a turn, proceeding day by day in alphabetical order. It had been the teacher's idea and I liked it. I'm not sure if Mr. Raines intended the experience to introduce us to each other or merely to find out what we were interested in, but I enjoyed it. I liked seeing my classmates stand in front of the class, all nervous and alone, reading aloud some passage that they'd chosen for their own private reasons. Sometimes they were interesting, like the girl who'd read from Gibran's 'The Prophet', but then again, there was the guy who'd read the lyrics to an Eminem song.
My turn came early, after just a few days since my name is Jenna Dark. It had been Jennifer for years and years, but I preferred Jenna now. I wouldn't have changed my last name for a million dollars though. I thought it perfect, even if those less imaginative people called me "Joanne" like some character in a videogame. I hated video games.
"Jenna? Are you ready?" Mr. Raines asked, standing in front of the thirty-four kids in his class and inviting me with his hands.
"Yeah," I nodded from the back row.
There were the usual giggles as I grabbed my book and walked up to the front, but I ignored it and Mr. Raines gave them a warning look. He smiled at me, the way he always did, and I appreciated that. He was the one person in that whole school I liked.
"What are you giving us today, Miss Dark?"
"Shelley." I held up the book, a thin well worn paperback so he could see the cover.
"Frankenstein!" some guy announced for everyone and that got a laugh, as it should have I suppose.
"Oughta read Dracula," someone else suggested and Mr. Raines had to hold up his hands for quiet.
"Go ahead, Jenna," he told me and I nodded.
I didn't bother opening the book; I knew the passage by heart. I closed my eyes, reciting from the book for three minutes. My voice began soft and gentle, my body slouched and awkward as I stood there, but by the end I stood upright and defiant. My eyes were open and I stared at the class, challenging them to refuse me justice.
" ... You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends."
I remained there for a moment, biting my bottom lip and blinking. I'd almost forgotten where I was. I'd imagined myself on that ship, in the wintry waters of the arctic, drifting at the very end of the world.
"Very good, Jenna." Mr. Raines smiled at me and nodded. "Very, very good."
"Thank you," I said softly, dipping my head and going back to my seat.
"And perfect timing too." Mr. Raines followed me with his eyes and when I sat down he turned to his whiteboard, writing in big red letters. "We're going to discuss horror and what makes fear necessary to our well-being..."
This was a good class and I felt excited about it. I'd wondered where Mr. Raines planned to take us and briefly feared the worst, 'Catcher in the Rye' or 'Tom Sawyer', the usual tedious works of literature. Horror would be so much more interesting and I listened with rapt attention as Mr. Raines explained what we would read and discuss and think about over the course of the semester.
"Jenna, would you mind staying for a moment?" Mr. Raines caught me by the door, the last one out as usual.
"Sure," I shrugged, resigning myself to the first lecture of the day on proper school attire, but he surprised me.
"Your reading this morning was excellent," he told me and I smiled at that. "I wondered if you wouldn't do it again..."
"Read it again?" I didn't understand. "For the class, you mean?"
" ... for a small group of friends. Some people I know, sort of a small literary club I belong to," he smiled. "We're meeting tonight, at the Presbyterian Church across from the Plummer building. Do you know the one I mean?"
"Downtown?" I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah, I know where it is."
"We'd love to have you, Jenna. One of our members, Sylvia, will be reading from 'Mysteries of Udolpho' tonight, and I think you'd enjoy it."
"Umm, I guess," I shrugged. "What time?" This had come totally unexpected. I hadn't been asked to join anything for a long while.
"It's a little late, I'm afraid." Mr. Raines looked apologetic. "Ten PM is when we start and sometimes it can go until morning ... Is that okay?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Sure, it's okay."
"Good," he smiled warmly. "We'll see you then, Jenna."
I spent much of the day thinking about that invitation. It had sounded a little strange maybe, but not too much. One thing about Rochester, being the home of the Mayo Clinic and all, was that there were an awful lot of smart people running around from a lot of different places. A literary club sounded completely reasonable to me anyway. I knew they had them in cities like New York and Chicago, so why not here? I found it exciting to think of myself as a part of something, a group that I suspected to be much more 'adult' than the high school French Club, for example.
I wanted to grow up and to do it fast. There were a lot of reasons for that, not least of which was the alienation I felt from my peers. But there were other reasons too, like my mom.
Alcoholic seemed a too kind description for her and she worked as a part-time waitress at a bowling alley. She didn't cook or clean and she didn't give a good Goddamn what I did with my life. I thought she was just about the stupidest person on earth and I seriously doubted that I could have ever sprung from her prosaic womb. She was the reason I had no friends. How could I ever invite someone to my house? My so-called mother embarrassed me and I hated her.
"Mom! Jesus..." There were cockroaches on the kitchen table where she'd left a half-eaten plate of Spaghetti-O's sitting since breakfast. The woman herself was sleeping on the couch, wearing just her panties, looking like an ashen corpse.
I didn't bother waking her, or even turning off the television; I just went to my room, my haven. It was clean and neat and I locked the door behind me. I turned on my little stereo, listening to 'Pictures of You' by the Cure and flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had books, all kinds of books, and I'd read every one of them. I had a little computer and internet, gifts from my father, whoever he was. Some guy who sent me money every month and the occasional gift to show he cared. I had clothes and posters on the walls, and a little fish named Hullabaloo. I had my own little world.
"Mr. Raines ... Mr. Raines..." I said to myself, thinking about him.
I'd have to call him an ugly man, not handsome at all. But smart, very smart and it wasn't offensive the way intelligence is with some people. He was just smart and it came out in his speech, in his subjects and presentation. I liked listening to him. He seemed interesting and that made him attractive to me on some level.
It wasn't his fault he looked like a troll, being rather short and round, almost but not quite fat, with bristling black hair on his head, thinning and weak. He had small a round face and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. His hands were big, with thick sausage fingers and hairy knuckles. He had big feet too, much too big for his height. The eyes though. Mr. Raines had dark eyes, and intense. They weren't weak at all, they were intelligent and challenging and they belonged to someone taller. Someone with better hair and muscles and warm soft hands to caress me...
I started masturbating, thinking about Mr. Raines and transforming him as I became more and more aroused. This had become my daily ritual, my after-school special. I'd only recently learned how to do it and I was getting it down perfectly. I didn't even take off my clothes; I just bunched up my chopped wedding dress, and pulled my panties down. I loved masturbation.
I'd been learning to shave my pussy too and I ran my fingers through the thin strip of pubic hair I'd left myself with. A neatly trimmed thatch of gold, blonde the way the hair on my head had been, and I thought about dying it black as well, but sometimes I liked the contrast when I stood in front of the mirror naked. I enjoyed my body, my sex, even if I'd had little use for it but this.
In my mind Mr. Raines had become someone else and I'd forgotten all about him. I was being kissed and fondled by someone closer to a Greek God than a man. Brad Pitt in 'Troy' held me tightly in his arms and I rubbed my clit faster. He would make me cum, just by looking into my eyes. He knew I was a virgin and he wanted to do something about that ... Oh yes ... I moaned softly and put a finger inside, just the tip between my moist labia, so that I felt the sharp edge of my fingernail against my hymen. Teasing myself and finally giving me my orgasm as I resisted the urge to break through that thin wall of modesty.
I'd fallen asleep and my mom had gotten up for work evidently, since I found her mercifully gone. I showered and looked around the kitchen, but finding something to eat would be a chore in itself and I decided I'd just get a burrito or something at the Seven-Eleven down the street. I had a few hours until I needed to be at that old church anyway and I spent much of it getting dressed.
I wouldn't have called myself the only Goth in Rochester, but I was beyond Goth really. The others were more like insta-goths, you know? Just go to the mall, pick out something black, add some fishnet, get an extra piercing or two in your ears and voila! I detested those people. I lived it every minute of every day. Goth wasn't just a fashion statement for me, it was who I was.
My world was one of perpetual twilight, neither light or dark, but somewhere in the middle. With ghosts and angels and demons. I believed it. They lurked in the world around us, I felt sure. There were vampires too and nameless beasts from the void, hungry for our flesh. I could see it in the news, in the books I read, and in the people I passed every day on the street. There existed a world beneath our own, hidden as a well kept secret, and I was looking for the door.
That I'd never actually seen an angel or demon, or a vampire was hardly the point. I'd seen the proof of their existence. When Robert Louis Stephenson wrote Dr. Jeckyl, he'd poured it out in one sitting. For two days and nights he wrote feverishly in longhand and when finished, he was so horrified at what he'd written that Stephenson had thrown his manuscript into the fire. Only the quick action of his wife saved the novel from complete destruction. As it was, Stephenson immediately rewrote verbatim those parts which had been lost and then fell into his bed for a week, exhausted by what he called his 'ordeal'.
There are demons.
I wore crimson, which was the only color in my closet besides black. A red vinyl skirt with a sheer black top and a red bra beneath that. It looked provocative, especially for a sixteen-year-old girl, but I felt challenged by this invitation and I wanted there to be no mistaking who I was. It was my subconscious philosophy that the best defense was a good offense, I suppose. I had very little with which to protect myself, so I used my appearance. The same fishnet stockings and boots I'd worn earlier and my purse was all I needed, that and a heavy leather trench coat to keep out the chill Minnesota night.
My imagination kept me company as I made my way downtown. We lived just past 11th avenue and 4th street southeast, near the big old church of St. Francis. It was an old neighborhood and dark at night, which suited me perfectly. I imagined that I was stalking the city, looking for a victim. I wanted to be bad inside, corrupt and famished for something pure. The angel of death with her heels clicking on the pavement, hair billowing in the breeze. It was a good dream and the blocks passed quickly.
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