Jackmormon Girl

 At work, teaching the English language to immigrants Community High School, Orange warms up the students for pronunciation exercises. They move their mouths and voices to shape sounds they need to practice to have more understandable speech. And then, she writes on the board: Soap. Soup.  I wash my hands with ______. I eat ______ for supper. Soon, the students are laughing. "I wash my hands with soup" is what they'll say if they don't hear the distinction.  Or, "I eat soap for supper." It gets funny. Next, she has them practicing their -ch sound. There's a chicken in the kitchen There's a kitchen in the chicken. Orange loves her students. Some of them are smart cookies, and others attend school to be part of the classroom and have something to go to. Many students have already learned English very well by the time the year is up, and others may never quite learn, but they will understand. 

 The trampoline session ended when Orange got back home. She put her boom box on her bedside table, on her side of the room. Jody was on her side, laying on the bed, face down, sniffing back tears. "What's wrong, Jode?" But got no answer. She asked her little brother, Marek what happened.  "Well, Dad is mad because Jody's been talking to the neighbor ladies about temple marriage and how important it is to find an eternal husband. They got her wanting a hope chest for dishes and linens and things, so you don't have to buy that stuff when  you're married. Both Jody and Mom got mad when Dad said to stop thinking about getting married when you're only seventeen. Said she needs to grow up first." Orange saw a leaflet on the kitchen table, outlining the steps to marrying for eternity. She read it. You need to be worthy to go through the temple. Stay chaste. Refrain from caffeinated beverages because they open the mind to stronger substances. Only date ...

 Orange and Alison walked the hot afternoon sidewalk, their flip-flops barely protecting their feet. They took a detour past Heather Wald's house, and just for grins they invited her to the store with them. It was half a mile to the gas station, and they talked about their day and about things they wanted to do. Heather was getting ready for pep club tryouts that were coming up, and Alison was going to try out as well. Orange didn't have the confidence. She talked about art class, and they all liked their English teacher. At the gas station, they went past the racks of candy and the chips and pretzels in bright colored bags, agreeing that they'd get fat if they ate those things. Pop could be fattening too, but why be deprived? Orange reached for a Fanta. "This one's got my name on it, see? Orange Fanta." Alison rolled her eyes. "You always say that."  "It's always true," Orange said, and stepped out of the way so Heather and Alison coul...

 Orange got a boom box for her fifteenth birthday, which she took with her to Alison Booth's back yard. In the summer sunsets there was nothing better to do than hang out. They jumped on the trampoline with their long hair flying as they came down. They jumped in time with the music, singing. That summer, the hottest song, What's Wrong With You?  was playing every hour, and they loved it. The singer's voice was like an angry diva, and the two girls punched the air as they got to the top of their arcs. What's wrong with you (a looking in the mirror song) by Candy Chatellaine I do not respect your intellect and I wonder why you do is it too much to ask that you show a little tact when you choose the way to act you shove words in my face you say it's fact black is white, white is black and I get off track what's  your deal--are you for real? Or just putting on the fool? I do what I do, to put up with you,  when you're acting like a tool why oh why do I stay so ...

 There wasn't much in the bank balance. Orange bought oatmeal, hamburger, a head of lettuce, tomatoes, and sanitary pads she should be needing now. Afterwards, she stopped at Lotta Hotta Latte for some brew. Beneath a bright, carved wooden sign, through the glass, it was just a basic, clean shop with flyers plastered on the windows for bands, meetings and other events. Behind the counter were the owners, and now they were Orange's friends. She handed them her frequent customer card.  "Cool new sign you've got there. Looks legit!" Arriving at work, she stopped in the school office to pick up her paycheck, and then she went upstairs to the classroom where she taught. Sunlight streamed in. It heated the classroom--too much in the summer, but nicely in winter. Right now, with September just beginning, Orange opened her pay envelope. It was 600 dollars. She tucked it back into the envelope and was glad to get that, doing a job she liked, but the bills ate it up fast.

 Going back ten years, Orange remembered how Jody used to drive the two of them to school. The drive time lasted for about two-and-a-half radio songs. They'd drive past horse pastures and orchards, then turn into the high school parking lot. The Datsun was only ten years old then. Jody loved pop music, especially Celine Dion, but Orange loved rock. Every day, they battled over who'd be the ruler of the radio.  Orange's favorite song ever was The River Song, and when it came on the air, she fought for it. The words, sung by the duo Dunn and Seine, went Like a bird in the sky Like the wind blowing by That is time This is your day There is no future state There is no other place Though you may try This is your day Let the river pass by It is never the same river twice This is your day https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJbSQHz5WOg (I do not have the rights to use this song--it's just a suggestion for how my fictional song sounds) Jody switched it off. Orange shouted, "Do...

 Jody's place was big, and warm, and inviting. It smelled of bacon and eggs and dirty diapers.  Orange had one more piece of toast, and shared one last bite of scrambled eggs with Jody's youngest, a boy with sand-colored hair. Then he got down on the floor and dropped his finger of toast, soggy at the edge. Orange picked it up and put it on her plate. Jody's youngest daughter padded barefoot toward Orange, with the little one's face scrunched up, her eyes staring at Orange. "How old are  you?"  "I'm twenty five now. How old are  you?" The little girl held up three fingers. Her face didn't change. She said, "How come your name is Orange ?" That was the strangest thing in the world, judging by the little girl's expression.  "Well, my real name is Aurene Lenicki. Orange is my nickname, given to me by your mom when we were little."  The little girl frowned and then turned to go back into the front room.  Orange helped Jody...

With her red leather, wood-soled, Swedish clogs on her feet, walking downhill on a graveled driveway, with her state of sobriety being what it was, she slipped and skidded a little. She grabbed the rail along those concrete steps that led down to her basement cubbyhole apartment, to steady herself and then she leaned against it to get the keys out of her bag.  The stairs always collected windfall, and as usual she swept them up with the broom she kept handy, swept them into the plastic grocery bags she saved for this, and put them in the trash can. She liked the steps to stay cleared off so that it didn't feel like stepping over a gutter to get home. She closed the door behind her and let the bag slouch on the floor. At the sink, she filled her big tumbler with water and put it on the dresser, and changed into her pajamas. Beside the water glass was her compact of birth control pills. She'd finished the pink ones and was at the end of the white ones, too. Her old boyfriend, Ben...

 Everybody at the party must have gone outside or into the kitchen to give the two young people privacy, or maybe they didn't, but it didn't matter to Orange and the guy she'd just met awhile ago. Beer was flowing, empty bottles on the coffee table and the floor. Weed was smoked out the back door, and Orange had done a little of that. They were on a green couch. Her sundress was unbuttoned and the skirt ruched up by the young man's hand. His pants were undone and she'd felt what he had there with her hand, and then they were pressed together with their bodies on heavenly fire, dry humping. "Oh, God," he whispered, and then he flexed, and then he stopped moving. He spoke into her hair, "Sorry. It's been so long." He rolled away and sat up, and so did she. And as she straightened out the skirts and her hair, she said, "Probably for the best it only got that far."  And as he zipped back up, she could feel all the wetnesses and she took...