Stephen Dixon - Friends - More Will and Magna Stories

“No, I’ll be okay. You need help with dinner?”

“You’re not just trying to bury it? You do feel better now that you got it out by telling me it?”

“Yes, Mom, yes. I won’t let that experience with the man warp my future sexual and married life.”

“That’s a smart girl. Because he’s destroyed, don’t let you be.”

Magna makes the salad, sets the table, does her homework, has supper, is told by her father to stay off the subways from now on unless she’s traveling with someone, reads a novel she got out of the library last week with eleven other novels. She wants to read three novels a week for the next month. She thinks her mind needs it. She finished two this week and is almost done with this one— Barchester Towers , the longest and most boring of the three, or just the one whose language, style and consanguinity, as her teacher would say — she thinks that’s the right word — but anyway, she got this far with it and if she doesn’t finish it she’ll be behind schedule. Then a friend calls.

“Magna,” Sarah says, “I’m in love.”

“Do tell me about it.”

“Act more excited. It’s big big news.”

“Oh, do tell me about it.”

“A boy in my school.”

“Oh, a boy?”

“Don’t be funny. A very tall masculine boy. He proposed to me today. Actually got on his knee. I said ‘Get up, jerko, unless you want to be there for the next five years.’ For in five years I should know, shouldn’t I?”

“Am I believing this? Okay, I’m believing this. He just wants to get in your pants, Sarah. What’s his name?”

“Not true and his name’s Toby.”

“Sounds like a clown. Drop him. No clowns allowed. Only serious names and serious professions. Charles, Henry, Ernest. Statesmen, physicians, writers, composers, choreographers, painters. Especially painters and all those in the plastic arts.”

“Magna, you’re too staid. You also should have a boyfriend.”

“I almost did on the subway today. Listen to this. A man wanted to take me home. Said he’d give me anything. For starters, he showed me his penis.”

“No.”

“Actually, that was another one last week. Nothing exposed. This one today — and he was my second potential boyfriend in three minutes. The first on the subway went goo-goo with his eyes till I thought they’d pop out — but this one, well, he brought his thing out and said — Wait, are my folks around? No. He said ‘Lick.’ I could have killed him. He was insane. If I had a gun I would have shot it off — truly.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been thinking, isn’t there something they can do for men like that? Women too if they jump all over boys our age the same way? Oh, boys wouldn’t mind. They’re dumb enough to think it’s great and they’re so attractive if any woman suddenly pulled out her breast to them and said ‘Suck, eat, crunch, squeeze.’ But men. Maybe they could show them pictures of rats eating garbage same time they show them pictures of little and big girls.”

“Good idea. We can show these films in movie theaters. We can charge admission and make lots of money.”

“I’m speaking of photographs, not movies, and you’re missing my point besides.”

“I’m not. Magna, you’re getting too serious for me. But what did it look like this rope he had?”

“If you mean by rope, big, or if you’re just using it as another word for any sized penis—”

“Was it ugly, I mean? Sounds as if it would be. With bumps and scales on it and disease leaking out.”

“All of that. What do you think, I took time to stare? I felt sorry for him at first and also that he was very depraved, but most of all I was scared.”

“So you admit that?”

“Sarah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. I had nothing else to say. But you want to hear about Harry? That’s my new flame.”

“What happened to Toby?”

“Toby is what I wish his name was. I know you don’t like it, but I do.”

“Okay, okay, so long as your story doesn’t have genitals in it. I’m tired of that today.”

“Harry wouldn’t do that. He might want to one day — with me, in a nice way, no creep flashing his raincoat on the street, I mean — but that’s some day, not today. I met him in the lunchroom. In a half-hour I knew he was it. He waited for me after school. Already sound too good to be true? He escorted me — that’s the word he used — if he could; you know — to my ballet class.”

“I like the word escort. He’s sounding good. He have a friend?”

“He says he has a few and they’re all almost as nice as he is. Harry’s not modest. He also plays the cello.”

“My favorite instrument.”

“If that’s so I won’t let you near him. I told him the cello was the most beautiful instrument in the world, but I don’t like any string sound but the guitar. And the mandolinski.”

“Why the ski?”

“To give it a, well, a little Russian flavor. Because I love Russian everything — Russian dancing and Russian dancers especially. I’ve changed my name to ski, you know. Sarah Nortonski.”

“Okayski, Miss Nortonski, any other newski?”

“Yes. You can sleep over this Friday. Mom says it’s all right. And you know my dad didn’t mind, since he has a crush on you.”

“Sure he does.”

“He does. He says ‘How’s your friend Magna? How come we see so little of her these days? Let me tell you,’ he tells me, ‘if I was a young woman of fourteen and wanted a good friend for life, Magna’s the one I’d choose.’ Other times he’s called you beautiful, witty, charming, precocious — I love that. And brilliant, he once said — talented and brilliant and, my dear, what extraordinary poise. That’s how he put it. He’s in love with you, you cookie.”

“Then think I want to sleep over your house?”

“Oh, he’s in love with my mother also, but he’s got a Russian crusher on you. You deserve it too. You’re really everything he says.”

“Why thank you, Ski. Sure I can come Friday. But I have to clear it with my folks. Hold on.”

Magna goes into the livingroom. Her father says “I don’t see why not,” and her mother says “Let me speak to Mrs. Norton.” The two women talk. The girls are both dears and a pleasure to have over, the mothers agree, and Friday will be fine.

“Great,” Sarah says to Magna. “I can’t wait. I’m going with Harry to a movie on Saturday or I would’ve asked you for that night too.”

“Is he staying over Saturday?”

“Magna, how could you? This is an extension. And of course he’s not. You know that.”

“I’m sorry, that was dumb of me. Okay, got to run, unless you have other important news.”

“How about you? I always talk, you never do.”

“What I told you about Mr. Subway wasn’t talking? And I saw a woman completely nude for the first time in my life today in art class. I suffered and I know why too. I’m going to end up looking like her, with my breasts and hips already large as they are. I don’t think I’ll have as much hair down there as she had, or I hope not, and never mounds of it under my arms and so dark, nor will I look so down and out, and so sad. But the body has to end up sagging like that, doesn’t it?”

“Not with us dancers, my dear. Keeps the breasts and tushies tight — not just the legs. Ever see some of the old ones? Sixty, seventy years old. I’ve seen them in the showers and dressing rooms at ballet school and their bodies still look half great.”

“Maybe I should give up painting for dancing then, but aren’t we talking silly? Always the body, never the mind.”

“Not you, just me. I can’t stand to think deep or read. All I ever want to do with my life is eat like an amazon and exercise and dance. Oh: see ballets and good ballet rehearsals too. But you’re getting much too serious for me, and I got to scoot too. See you Friday, Brainstem, and come straight from school.”