Read Online Who Do You Think You Are by Alice Munro - Free Book Online
Authors: Alice Munro
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chocolate, that she could never get at.
What can be done about love, when it gets to this point, of such impotence and hopelessness and crazy concentration? Something will have to whack it.
She made a bad mistake soon. She stole some candy from Flo’s store, to give to Cora. An idiotic, inadequate thing to do, a childish thing to do, as she knew at the time. The mistake was not just in the stealing, though that was stupid, and not easy. Flo kept the candy up behind the counter, on a slanted shelf in open boxes, out of reach but not out of reach of children. Rose had to watch her chance, then climb up on the stool and fill a bag with whatever she could grab—gum drops, jelly beans, licorice allsorts, maple buds, chicken bones. She didn’t eat any of it herself. She had to get the bag to school, which she did by carrying it under her skirt, the top of it tucked into the elastic top of her underpants. Her arm was pressed tightly against her waist to hold everything in place. Flo said, “What’s the matter, have you got a stomachache?” but luckily was too busy to investigate.
Rose hid the bag in her desk and waited for an opportunity, which didn’t crop up as expected.
Even if she had bought the candy, obtained it legitimately, the whole thing would have been a mistake. It would have been all right at the beginning, but not now. By now she required too much, in the way of gratitude, recognition, but was not in the state to accept anything. Her heart pounded, her mouth filled with the strange coppery taste of longing and despair, if Cora even happened to walk past her desk with her heavy, important tread, in her cloud of skin-heated perfumes. No gesture could match what Rose felt, no satisfaction was possible, and she knew that what she was doing was clownish, unlucky.
She could not bring herself to offer it, there was never a right time, so after a few days she decided to leave the bag in Cora’s desk. Even that was difficult. She had to pretend she had forgotten something, after four, run back into the school, with the knowledge that she would have to run out again later, alone, past the big boys at the basement door.
The teacher was there, putting on her hat. Every day for that walk across the bridge she put on her old green hat with a bit of feather stuck in it. Cora’s friend Donna was wiping off the boards. Rose tried to stuff the bag into Cora’s desk. Something fell out. The teacher didn’t bother, but Donna turned and yelled at her, “Hey, what are you doing in Cora’s desk?”
Rose dropped the bag on the seat and ran out.
The thing she hadn’t foreseen at all was that Cora would come to Flo’s store and turn the candy in. But that was what Cora did. She did not do it to make trouble for Rose but simply to enjoy herself. She enjoyed her importance and respectability and the pleasure of grown-up exchange.
“I don’t know what she wanted to give it to me for,” she said, or Flo said she said. Flo’s imitation was off, for once; it did not sound to Rose at all like Cora’s voice. Flo made her sound mincing and whining.
“I-thought-I-better-come-and-tell-you!”
The candy was in no condition for eating, anyway. It was all squeezed and melted together, so that Flo had to throw it out.
Flo was dumbfounded. She said so. Not at the stealing. She was naturally against stealing but she seemed to understand that in this case it was the secondary evil, it was less important.
“What were you doing with it? Giving it to her? What were you giving it to her for? Are you in love with her or something?”
She meant that as an insult and a joke. Rose answered no, because she associated love with movie endings, kissing, and getting married. Her feelings were at the moment shocked and exposed, and already, though she didn’t know it, starting to wither and curl up at the edges. Flo was a drying blast.
“You are so,” said Flo. “You make me sick.”
It wasn’t future homosexuality Flo was talking
What can be done about love, when it gets to this point, of such impotence and hopelessness and crazy concentration? Something will have to whack it.
She made a bad mistake soon. She stole some candy from Flo’s store, to give to Cora. An idiotic, inadequate thing to do, a childish thing to do, as she knew at the time. The mistake was not just in the stealing, though that was stupid, and not easy. Flo kept the candy up behind the counter, on a slanted shelf in open boxes, out of reach but not out of reach of children. Rose had to watch her chance, then climb up on the stool and fill a bag with whatever she could grab—gum drops, jelly beans, licorice allsorts, maple buds, chicken bones. She didn’t eat any of it herself. She had to get the bag to school, which she did by carrying it under her skirt, the top of it tucked into the elastic top of her underpants. Her arm was pressed tightly against her waist to hold everything in place. Flo said, “What’s the matter, have you got a stomachache?” but luckily was too busy to investigate.
Rose hid the bag in her desk and waited for an opportunity, which didn’t crop up as expected.
Even if she had bought the candy, obtained it legitimately, the whole thing would have been a mistake. It would have been all right at the beginning, but not now. By now she required too much, in the way of gratitude, recognition, but was not in the state to accept anything. Her heart pounded, her mouth filled with the strange coppery taste of longing and despair, if Cora even happened to walk past her desk with her heavy, important tread, in her cloud of skin-heated perfumes. No gesture could match what Rose felt, no satisfaction was possible, and she knew that what she was doing was clownish, unlucky.
She could not bring herself to offer it, there was never a right time, so after a few days she decided to leave the bag in Cora’s desk. Even that was difficult. She had to pretend she had forgotten something, after four, run back into the school, with the knowledge that she would have to run out again later, alone, past the big boys at the basement door.
The teacher was there, putting on her hat. Every day for that walk across the bridge she put on her old green hat with a bit of feather stuck in it. Cora’s friend Donna was wiping off the boards. Rose tried to stuff the bag into Cora’s desk. Something fell out. The teacher didn’t bother, but Donna turned and yelled at her, “Hey, what are you doing in Cora’s desk?”
Rose dropped the bag on the seat and ran out.
The thing she hadn’t foreseen at all was that Cora would come to Flo’s store and turn the candy in. But that was what Cora did. She did not do it to make trouble for Rose but simply to enjoy herself. She enjoyed her importance and respectability and the pleasure of grown-up exchange.
“I don’t know what she wanted to give it to me for,” she said, or Flo said she said. Flo’s imitation was off, for once; it did not sound to Rose at all like Cora’s voice. Flo made her sound mincing and whining.
“I-thought-I-better-come-and-tell-you!”
The candy was in no condition for eating, anyway. It was all squeezed and melted together, so that Flo had to throw it out.
Flo was dumbfounded. She said so. Not at the stealing. She was naturally against stealing but she seemed to understand that in this case it was the secondary evil, it was less important.
“What were you doing with it? Giving it to her? What were you giving it to her for? Are you in love with her or something?”
She meant that as an insult and a joke. Rose answered no, because she associated love with movie endings, kissing, and getting married. Her feelings were at the moment shocked and exposed, and already, though she didn’t know it, starting to wither and curl up at the edges. Flo was a drying blast.
“You are so,” said Flo. “You make me sick.”
It wasn’t future homosexuality Flo was talking
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