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By Root 362 0

one hand up idly against the bedsprings, consider whether to shave my legs. Cherylanne advised me to. “The boys call you Gorilla Legs,” she said, confidentially. And then, seeing the shame in my face, she said, “Well, they like you. But they have … noticed.” I recall the nonchalance with which I have displayed myself—legs stretched out on the lawn before me in the early evening when the boys out on their bikes stop to talk; legs wet from the swimming pool, the hair (I now realize with horror) pressed flat and dark against them, sickening rivulets of water making their zigzag way down; legs revealed beneath the straight skirts I wore to school in the hopes that they made me more appealing than the full ones. Oh, I hadn’t known. I hadn’t known.

Cherylanne knew what to do. “Get Diane’s razor,” she said, “and your dad’s shaving cream. Then soap your legs up good, and go real slow so you don’t cut yourself. Go all the way up to the top. You want everything silky smooth, even the parts you can’t see.” I felt one of Cherylanne’s legs. There were sharp bristles that felt like pushing your flat hand against a hairbrush. “This is not silky smooth,” I said.

“Because,” she said icily, “I have not shaved yet. You want to shave just before the event. And when I do shave, my legs will be exactly silky smooth.”

“Okay,” I said.

Silence from her, except for a short little sniff.

I shrugged, apologized.

Of course I intend to do exactly as she says, except for the shaving cream part. Cherylanne doesn’t know everything.

I slide out from under my bed, stand at the top of the stairs, yell down, “Anyone home?” No answer. I fill the bathtub with water, get Diane’s razor from the linen closet. I will shave my legs and tonight I will dance a slow dance with Paul Arnold. Sometimes we call ladies’ choice. I get into the tub, soap up my legs, hold the razor above my ankle, and begin. I feel a thrill at the back of my neck. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I say. “I’m just shaving my legs.” And then, “Well, I was a little late. I had to finish shaving my legs.” The thrill travels down into the core of me, splays out like fireworks.

I pull the razor up in straight, careful lines. It is not so hard. I relax. There are some other things I need to think about, to remember, about tonight. Keep my chin up. Cherylanne at first advised looking down somewhat, in order to make the boy feel important. But then when she watched me practice, she said, “Oh. Well, we’ve got a problem I hadn’t figured on. Double chin. You can work on that. Twice a day, on arising and before bed, pat your chin with your hand. Like this.” She demonstrated a flapping motion on the back of her hand, a rapid up-and-down attack on her not-double chin. “You can expect results in a few weeks,” she said. “For tonight, look up. And ask them about sports.”

When I come out of the bathroom, I see thin lines of blood running down my legs. They are everywhere, like roads on maps. I’ve been warned about this. I find the individual sources and cover them with pieces of toilet paper. Then I go into my bedroom to dress. I take off my robe, check for breasts. Nothing from the side, nothing from the front. I put on a T-shirt and underpants. I put on some Evening in Paris. Then I open my top dresser drawer and take out my mother’s bottle of Tabu, put a little of that on, too.

There is a knock on my door, and Diane comes in and stops short, staring at my legs. “What’d you do?” she asks.

I shrug.

“Did you shave your legs?”

I say nothing.

“Dad’s going to kill you.”

“He won’t even notice.”

“Ha!” She sits on my bed, shakes her head slowly. “Well, you damn near cut yourself to death!” she says. I don’t know how she can do that, swear so it rolls right off her tongue, when she is only eighteen. She says “shit” like she’s saying “Pass the butter.”

I look down at my islands of healing, the pieces of white toilet paper that have turned dark red, nearly brown. I pull one off, and the bleeding starts again.

“Well, don’t pull them off yet, dummy!” Diane comes over, squats down beside me to inspect the damage.