C O L D – C A S E

Entire worlds exist of just two people in love.

Entire worlds exist of just two people in love.

In 1959, I knew a girl who (like me) aspired to be a writer.

Her name was Ann.

She was an oddity of sorts among the girls I occasionally accompanied to Brown’s Pharmacy where we sat at the counter on hot summer afternoons and ate Cheese Doodles while sipping Cokes through waxed paper straws in glasses topped off with half inch ice cubes.

At barely five feet and under 90 pounds, I was a wisp. She was taller by five inches and heavier, with a pronounced pear shaped body. Although her family was prominent, living in a big house in a better neighborhood, Ann dressed in drab colors, had wing shaped eyeglasses that she was constantly shoving back up to the top of her flat nostril nose, wore braces to correct an overbite and fixed her mousey brown hair in an unflattering bob.

But Ann was smart and witty and we made each other laugh.

We’d both turned 13 in ‘59 (on a maturity scale of 8 by todays standards) and were as innocent as the hits of Brenda Lee, Del Shannon, Connie Francis and Dion sounded on the radio, or Leave It To Beaver, Donna Reed, and Bonanza appeared on the tube. Girls wore skirts or dresses to school with knee highs or bobby socks. Family dinners were served at 6. Nobody smoked, nobody swore, and if anyone knew about sex, nobody said.

When the 20th anniversary showing of Gone With The Wind came to town that year, Ann and I went to a matinee together, sitting in the front row of the balcony in a downtown theater.

Enthralled by the majesty of the production and enchanted by the correspondence exchanged between Scarlett O’Hara and Ashley Wilkes who was off to war, we decided the best way to hone our writing skills would be to challenge each other by pretending to be Scarlett, writing letters to Ashley.

We did this by purchasing a small brown notebook of lined paper in which Ann, as Scarlett, would pen a love letter to Ashley, and give it to me as a challenge. I’d try to out write her by following course. We would hand this booklet back and forth from day to day, each one allowed the evening after school to compose a new letter.

The notebook and whatever words we might have written are now long gone and forgotten, but nothing we wrote was vulgar or suggestive; neither of us understood the intimacies of love, the innuendo of scenes seen on the screen, nor even the emotional definition of words at the time. It was just a game of pretend.

This exchange went on until a week before our first day of  9th grade. That’s when Ann informed me her mother said she could no longer associate with me in any manner, anywhere, at any time.

“Can I have the notebook back?” I asked.

“My mom burned it.”

I assumed our friendship ended because her parents were wealthier than mine and members of the country club set, or because Ann always buttoned her blouses at the top and I didn’t, or because I was color coordinated, or they didn’t want her being a writer.

It never occurred to me that her mother interpreted the innocence of our words as perverse.

I would tell you that I was hurt by both it and the many years of meanness from other former classmates and several teachers that followed — but I wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know that Ann had been told I was queer, and I didn’t know Ann told all our mutual friends her mother said I was queer, and I didn’t know her mother told the parents of our mutual friends I was queer, and I didn’t know certain teachers were warned of the same.

In fact, I didn’t even know the word ‘queer’ meant anything other than unconventional and curious.

(I’ve always been both of those.)

Nevertheless, over time and looking back I came to wonder why one girl had written “queer” in two places in my 9th grade yearbook, and the word was scrawled as graffiti in large block letters taking up the full five feet of my hall locker in 11th grade.

It must have been disappointing that I never seemed fazed by the queer tag given me by that childhood clique of classmates and group of teachers. But how could they know, the primary reason I never accepted party invitations, or attended sports events, or showed up at school dances was because, by 14, I’d forged my folks names to a work permit so I could take a job from 4 to 9, five nights a week, and 9 to 9 on Saturdays.

All that hatred shot to hell on the target being oblivious.

Five years later, after never having had a crush, fling, or intimate relationship of any kind with anyone (male or female), I looked across a crowded room and fell in love with the woman looking back at me.

Fast forward to this morning.

Upon checking my emails, I found one from someone who’d attended my 50th high school reunion over the weekend, 1300 miles away. The celebration had come and gone (as did all other reunions before this one) without me.

The email was part apology and part confession for having heard of the brown book, and being complicit in the mocking, backstabbing and shunning, and remaining silent, even to the snide remarks made at the reunion of “have you heard” and “I told you so” from those who never knew squat.

…and more


Seriously, Mom, you didn’t know?

Select FREE PREVIEW under the book cover for 3+ FREE chapters.


#     #     #     #

This essay is copyright by Marguerite Quantaine © 2019.

P L E A S E   S H A R E


Have you ever gone to your high school reunion?
If not, why not?

Please select REPLY to share your thoughts, here.

I’m all eyes and heart.

24 thoughts on “C O L D – C A S E

  1. Jan

    I hope I never forget this line: “Entire worlds exist of just two people in love.” I’m so happy our worlds have met. Can I be you when I grow up? Or Liz. Either one is okay by me.


    1. margueritequantaine Post author

      Did you ever just put a smile on my face and all over. Thank you m’dear. Layce Gardner liked that line best, too. Aren’t we all the lucky ones who know it’s true?

      (Oh, and BTW . . . neither of us ever grew up.)


  2. Sunita Kripalani

    I just love that last paragraph, Marguerite. Your tribute is so full of warmth 🙂
    On the subject of reunions, I’ve always attended my school reunions with my batch-mates, we were a small group and most of us have stayed in touch, we connect well even today; but college reunions – I never attended any.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. margueritequantaine Post author

      Thank you dear Sunita. MyLz came from a class of about 20. Like you, her recollections and photos are filled with earnest friendships and much fun. It lifts my heart to know your memories of those days are tender ones. My class numbered more than 600, so there were plenty of better people who must have shielded me from the few. But as the saying goes: the squeaky wheel gets the oil. As such, these kids were squawkers without a quart of Vavoline in sight. Missing you on Facebook!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Kara Leonardo

    Great, as always with your writing! I wish I could have been that oblivious to the cruel treatment of classmates but I’m glad you were! (And mine wasn’t even about me being a lesbian….that came later and I’m sure it was passed around the group and such when they did find out but I didn’t attend another reunion after my five year one)
    Thanks for the story and being such an inspiration, not only due to your long lasting love but also for being someone who I would like to emulate for her joy in living!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. margueritequantaine Post author

      Well, Kara, that’s true. I do love life with its daily dose of awe and laughter. And I cannot think of any worthier reason for being on this earth than to touch another heart with happiness. Thank you for letting this be that little link to you. I’ll try to never disappoint. As for the emulating — you’re going to need donuts for that. Just sayin’.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. micbent

    Loved reading your essay, Marguerite and also hearing these cruel, close-minded people did not affect the essence of your genuine and innocent spirit. I am even more delighted to know your one and only and sweetheart have been together for over forty, loving, wonderful years! Not many people have such a special relationship. Your stories and love touch my heart. 💛 Michelle

    Liked by 1 person

  5. bevprescott

    I was riveted by your awesome story from the first to the last word. Thanks for always being an inspiration for living a carefree happy life. Cheers!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Mary Anne

    Two things.
    1.) Being oblivious to the enmity of others is sometimes a true blessing.
    2.) I feel sorry for any adult who could impose their impure conclusions on two children. Shame on them.
    As always I enjoyed every word and I will happily pass this along.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. margueritequantaine Post author

      Thank you Maf. Ignorance truly is bliss. It’s right up there on my codependent list next to denial. (Grin.) And, yes, parents are the fire starters. But we all have the opportunity to correct our childhoods upon becoming adults. I can only hope they did for their kids’ sake. My best to you and your sweetheart. Always.

      Liked by 1 person


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.