Chapter 16: The Open Door

Just before the start of eighth grade, two more wardrobe boxes of new clothes came for Cookie from the same delivery company and the same anonymous source as last year. The clothes were again of the latest styles and filled her drawers and closet but, as last year, contained no needed bras, among the underwear, or any of the necessary personal items that an adolescent girl might require.

Junior High registration was that Wednesday and Cookie walked to school alone because Corey had become so busy with his new status as captain of the football team.

She bought her books and received her schedule for this new school year, finding herself in Mr. Fay's math class, Mr. Boswell's history, Mr. Grant for reading, Mr. Dean for science, Miss Wilson for a second year of Art and Mrs. Shedd for home economics.

It was exciting to begin eighth grade but she wondered what these new teachers would be like for her.

It was the custom, at Pershing Junior High, for girls to decorate the hall lockers of the boys on the football team with pictures and pennants and crepe paper streamers and cut outs of their uniform numbers and messages of good luck. This was mostly done by cheerleaders but also by girlfriends and other interested females.

Cookie wanted to do something nice for her brother and thought up an idea for a small poster with his number '53' and his pictures on it. She had collected and returned enough pop bottles to cover the cost of having some pictures done at the local mall's photo machine and she cajoled Corey into going there with her, pulling or pushing him almost all the way.

It was a cool but sunny day and Cookie wore a pair of tan Capri pants and a blue, plaid, flannel top and she had struggled to get her brother to wear a nice, ironed shirt for the photos.

Once in the mall and at the machine, Cookie made sure that Corey was sitting correctly, in front of the curtain backdrop in the small booth and she instructed him to smile nicely before the light flashed.

It was four pictures for a dollar and Cookie began to push her four quarters into the slot while Corey said, "You come in here with me."

"No," Cookie replied, inserting the third quarter. "There's only room for one or I'd be in the picture too. Nobody wants to see a photo of me."

"I do," he said. "I don't have one. In fact, there's no pictures of you anywhere."

"Just sit there quiet," she told him as she made ready to put the last quarter in the machine and get his pictures done, "and, for heaven's sake, smile."

With that last instruction, Cookie pushed in the final quarter and, as the motor of the photo machine came to life, she pulled the side curtain closed on him. There was a flash from inside the machine and Cookie called out, "Did you smile?"

"Yeah," his voice came from the booth, "but I want you in here with me."

"No," she told him again. "Smile." And there came another flash and then a long pause and then another flash.

Just after that flash Corey's hand came out from the flap in the curtain and grabbed Cookie's arm and he pulled her right into the booth beside him, on the hard plastic bench. Pulling her against him and placing the side of his head to hers he said, "Smile yourself, bossy!" and, at that moment, the machine flashed its final flash of the sitting.

"You ruined that picture," Cookie scolded him as they emerged from the booth and then stood, by the side of the machine, where the strip of instant, black and white photos would soon be coming out.

They watched as the photo-strip slowly emerged from the slot and fell down into a small receiving tray. Cookie made to retrieve them but her brother was faster and snatched them up and held them out, before the both of them, to see.

"Just look at you," Cookie admonished as the first photo showed Corey with his eyes crossed crazy-like and a finger in his nose. "That's very funny."

The second picture was useable but with Corey looking at the camera as if it were going to shoot him, with a bullet, at any second. The third picture was a very good one with a perfect smile from Corey and the last picture was of he with Cookie leaning back against him, her head tilted to the side of his, with a slight smile on the closed lips of her face and her brother grinning devilishly into the camera.

"That would have been the best picture of you," Cookie said, "but you pulled me in there to spoil it."

"Spoil it nothing," he said. "You look great, sis. I love this picture. It's you."

"Oh, gosh," she said, taking the strip of photos from him and looking closely at it now. "Look at me. I'm such a homely mess, Corey. Look at my big nose and that awful hair I have. I'm so ugly."

"Stop talking nonsense," Corey told her. "Everyone says we look alike so, if you're ugly, I must be ugly too and I know I'm not ugly."

"Of course you're not," Cookie spoke up now, touching his shoulder as she did so. "All the girls at school think you're handsome as all get out, Corey, and so do I."

"And you're a very pretty girl, Cookie. Don't kid yourself. Anyone seeing this photo would have to agree with me."

"Well, you're my brother and you're very sweet to say something nice like that, Corey, but still I'm sorry that I ruined your picture."

There was a pair of scissors, hanging from a chain, at the side of the photo booth and Cookie used them to carefully cut the strip into the four photos and then, before her brother could stop her, she cut the last picture down the center, removing herself from Corey's photo before she tossed her image into the open trash container.

"Hey, don't!" Corey yelled beside her before he reached down, into the can, and pulled her half-picture back out. "You threw this away so it's mine now. I'm going to put it in my wallet and keep it with me always."

"Suit yourself," Cookie told him, "but I can't imagine why you'd want to keep such a homely looking thing in your wallet."

There was no use in arguing with her so Corey didn't. They just walked the way home together.

Cookie worked on her brother's little locker poster and then made dinner and served her family in the dining room.

She didn't feel quite herself that evening and struggled to get her dishes done and put away. Then, as she sat at the kitchen table and went back to finishing her brother's poster (carefully cutting and pasting the many elements together), she began to quietly weep, watching as her tears successively splashed to the tabletop. There was no reason for this silent weeping. She had been experiencing this phenomenon more and more lately and it was becoming a cause for some concern. It was as if a safety valve, somewhere deep within her, were opening up on its own and letting out measured amounts of pent-up sorrow.