Diana Peterfreund: Under the Rose

Kismet and Frodo both expressed dismay that they hadn’t been more well informed about the original incarnation of Elysion. “I’d probably have been loath to get involved had I known what the name stood for in Digger circles,” Frodo said.

Kismet concurred, but added that he felt their main sin had not been naming their subsociety after the earlier one, but rather, keeping their true purpose a secret. “Had we approached you openly,” he asked, “would we even be arguing about this now? What is your greatest complaint: that Elysion exists, or that it exists as a fait accompli?”

We all considered this in the silence that fell after his speech. Finally, Kismet elbowed Puck, who started as if he’d been dozing off. Perfect.

“Whatever you guys decide,” Puck said, still not meeting my eyes, “I’m cool.”

“That’s not sufficient,” I said.

And now, at last, he looked at me, his expression all casual and devil-may-care. “Of course it isn’t. ’Boo needs more. Well, I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got.”

I took a deep, calming breath. “You have nothing to say about your involvement in Elysion or your hopes for the future of the order?”

He tilted his head to the side, as if considering. “Nope. Can’t say I do. As you may recall, I’m not so involved that my heart will get broken if it all just…ceases to exist.”

Asshole. While I attempted to frame a calm response (not to mention keep an even expression), Jenny rose to her feet. The look she sent Puck bore the usual level of righteous hostility, but there was something noticeably different about its flavor. This time, she was angry on my behalf.

Jenny tugged on the hem of her shirt and began. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk during this, and judging from what most of you have said, I’m pretty sure how this is going to pan out where I’m concerned. To be honest, I can’t blame you. I made promises to Rose & Grave, and I broke them. And I’m very sorry. I’m sorry because I now realize how much it’s hurt you—not only due to what you’ve gone through this week, but also because I think all the concern over the last month has definitely contributed to the lack of…cohesiveness in this year’s club.” She turned to Big Demon. “I’m so sorry for usurping your C.B. night. I feel especially bad because you’re not only my brother, but before all of this, we were barbarian college mates. I should have made a point to become better friends with you.” She turned back to the group. “And I know this sounds selfish, but I’m mostly sorry because I know I’ll never have another chance like this. I should have realized it when, even as I was leaking info, I found myself picking and choosing what I’d let go of. I should have realized it meant that I didn’t want to do it. I loved Rose & Grave, even if I wasn’t willing to admit it. So now I am, and it’s too late.”

She sat down to resounding silence, and not the good kind, either. The Inner Temple began to feel every bit as uncomfortable as the dining room had. And then Tristram Shandy stood.

“I haven’t said anything yet. In fact, I haven’t really said much of anything all semester. I’ve felt pretty left out, to tell you the truth. Juno was the only other Straggler who actually made it into the society, and she was instantly gathered into the bosoms of the other Diggirls.”

Angel let out a little, snorting laugh. “Instantly?”

“Bosoms?” Thorndike added.

I raised my gavel in warning.

Shandy went on. “I’ve listened to you all make your arguments, and you’ve given me a lot of food for thought, especially about the idea that we can go on in this manner—Elysion for men, Diggirls for women. But in the end, I think it’s bullshit.” He crossed to the pedestal near where I sat and took down the book of oaths. “I don’t know if it was any different when I was initiated in Saudi Arabia, but I’m pretty sure my oath of fidelity said the same thing yours did: to place above all others the Order of Rose & Grave. As far as I’m concerned, that means above other societies as well. The very idea of subsocieties within the Order goes against the principles we swore to.

“Elysion does not represent me. Never has. And I won’t be a part of it, because as far as I’m concerned, its very existence is a mockery of the type of brotherhood we’re supposed to be creating. There’s not supposed to be a hierarchy within the club. That’s why we pick a new Uncle Tony every week. That’s why we vote on everything. We speak as one voice. It’s my understanding that our predecessors did the same when they chose to tap women. Why would we denigrate their efforts by splitting off into groups—the people who are girls, the people who are boys….” He trailed off. “What happens to the people like me who don’t want to be part of any subgroup?” He sat down, and once again, silence reigned. This time, however, I think it was because we were all shocked that Shandy, always so silent, had come up with the best argument of all.

Okay, then. “I suppose we all might want to take a few moments to think about—”

“Wait,” said Lil’ Demon. “You haven’t said what you think.”

What I think? What I think. Oh, where to start! All I’d been doing was thinking about this, all I’d been doing was fighting for it—for far too long—and I still had no answers. Hiding under my duvet began to seem like a permanent solution. “I think this club hasn’t been living up to expectations. I think I’ve devoted a ton of time and energy to it. I think we’ve all been hurt and disappointed by what’s happened ever since we joined. We lost jobs, we lost friends, we lost who knows what else. So there’s got to be something keeping us here anyway. It’s not the money, it’s not the networking, and it can’t only be Hale’s cooking. I think one hundred and seventy-six years’ worth of patriarchs would be devastated if we let it go to pot. But I think if we don’t, as a group, make a decision about the next step, then we’ll go down as the worst club—and possibly the last club—in all of Rose & Grave history.”

I lifted my shoulders and then let them drop as the words sank in my own ears as well as those of everyone else in the Inner Temple. “And I think I’m tired of having this argument. I’ve been tired of it for at least a month, and I’m not the only one. If we can’t get past trying to figure out where this society is going and actually start taking it there, then we might as well give up. Right now—and this may be my sleep deprivation talking—I’d almost be willing to take the position of Puck over there. ‘Fuck it. I don’t care what happens.’” He looked up at me, and actual surprise registered on his features. “But I do care. I just don’t have an answer. I suppose I think we should do whatever is best for the society we’ve been swearing to uphold. But I can’t decide that on my own, and I don’t know if we’re ready to decide it as a group.” I stood. “So I propose the following: We adjourn this meeting and go home. We all know what our options are, and where each person stands on the issue. For the next few days, we’ll try to come to some sort of agreement about where to go from here. And if we can’t, then I say we make Thursday’s meeting a time to admit we’re hung. At which point, we’ll vote to disband, and the Club of D177 will be no more.”

There’s something to be said for a dramatic exit. And actually speaking the words aloud added an especially nice touch, in my opinion. You thought the silence was pretty intense before, you should have heard it after my little decree. Or not, as the case may be.

We’d been pussyfooting around the issue all evening. I was just the one who actually put words to our worst-case scenario. Figure out how to make this work or be the ones responsible for waving good-bye to two centuries of tradition. Boom.