Cuba vs a Standout Petticoat
By Loretta Morris
Missy Albright stood in front of her full-length mirror and admired herself. Her uniform skirt, with all of its fourteen carefully ironed pleats, stood out like an open umbrella from her tiny waist. She twirled faster and faster and caught glimpses of the blue, grey, and white wool plaid swirling until the slightest hint of a stiff white ruffle peeked out from underneath. She stopped, head spinning, and steadied herself against the tall chest of drawers.
“Perfect.”
Her sister Kathy appeared in the doorway. “No one’s going to let you wear that petticoat to school, you know, and don’t even think about wearing those shoes and socks with your uniform.”
Missy looked down at her feet and smiled. Highlighted spectacularly by her snow-white ruffled anklets with a tiny pink rose on each, (fresh out of the package), shone her brand new black patent leather mary janes. Polished lovingly with just the slightest dab of mineral oil, they reflected back the overhead light of her room like opening night on Broadway.
“Who says?”
“Mom and Dad for starters. Especially Dad. And then there’s Sister Jamesette and the rest of the BVMs. Is that nail polish?”
“So what if it is?”
“You’re goin’ to hell, sister.”
Missy fanned out her hands in front of her and wiggled her fingers. The ten tiny dots of ‘Chinese Dragon Red’ made her sigh with delight. “Don’t say hell. Just because you’re in seventh grade doesn’t mean you can say hell whenever you feel like it.”
“It’s in the Bible. And just because Grandma sent you all this fancy stuff for your birthday doesn’t mean you can wear it to school.”
“We’ll see. And I’m telling Mom you said hell.” Missy brushed past her sister and headed down the hall to the living room, petticoat crinkling with each step.
“You just said it too, you little brat,” Kathy mumbled, “Stupid third grader.”
Mr. and Mrs. Albright sat closer than usual to the big television console, hanging on every word of the speech. “…This urgent transformation of Cuba into an important strategic base—by the presence of these large, long-range, and clearly offensive weapons of sudden mass destruction–constitutes an explicit threat to the peace and security of all the Americas, in flagrant and deliberate defiance …”
“Mommy!” Missy roared, “Kathy said …”
“Shhhh, Missy! Go back to your room,” barked her father, without taking his eyes off the television.
“Do what your father says, Missy, right now,” ordered her mother.
“Oh, it’s him. How can you stand listening to those boring speeches? Kathy said hell. Right to me!”
Mr. Albright looked at his wife. “Do something, please, Anne?” He got up to fiddle with the antena, trying to sharpen the grainy black and white image on the screen.
“Come with me,” Mrs. Albright took Missy’s hand, and briskly led her back to her room. “President Kennedy is making a very important speech. You need to stay here until he’s finished. Do you understand me?”
“But this is important too!” Missy cried, stamping her foot.
“Missy, please, you can wait for a few more minutes. I really want to listen to the…”
“Nobody ever wants to listen to me!” Her eyes filled, and a tear broke loose.
Mrs. Albright took a deep breath, silently counted to ten, and looked toward the living room. “Ok, what is it?”
Missy wiped the tear from her cheek. “Kathy said I can’t wear my new petticoat and shoes and socks to school that Grandma gave me for my birthday. Or my nail polish, and she said hell,” she sniffed, “And she was spying on me.”
“Oh, honey, I hate to say it, but she’s probably right. Sister Jamesette isn’t going to let you be so fancy at school. You know how strict the nuns are about the uniform. Can’t you be happy wearing your new things to church on Sunday?”
“But why?” Missy’s chin quivered.
“It’s a distraction. Everyone would be looking at you instead of paying attention to the lesson. That’s why you have a uniform to begin with. Now, can I please go back to listening to the President? It’s a really important speech.”
“Everything’s more important than me.”
Just then, Mr. Albright entered Missy’s room, looking pale and shaken.
“George…”
“He’s done. We’ll talk later.” Then, forcing a smile, he turned to his daughter, “Now, what seems to be the problem, Miss Missy?”
“Nothin’.”
“Why so glum when you look so pretty tonight? Such fanciness!” And he took her hand and twirled her around.
“Mommy and Kathy say I can’t wear this to school. I just want to wear it one time, that’s all, just one time.”
Mr. Albright took his daughter’s face in his hands and kissed her on the cheek. Then he took her in his arms and engulfed her in a smothering hug.
“You have my permission to wear it all to school tomorrow, Missy.”
“Thank you Daddy!” she looked over to her sister and stuck out her tongue, “but Sister Jamesette…”
“I’ll write you a note.”
“You’re squishing me, Daddy!”
“Sorry.” He let her go and smoothed out her skirt.
“You’re acting weird, Dad” said Kathy.
“I agree,” said Mrs. Albright, “What’s going on?”
“I just want to make my girls happy.” He looked over to his older daughter, “Missy gets her fancy things, so what would you like, Kathy girl?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me, name it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Kathy didn’t have to think long. “I want a kitten.”
“A kitten? Sure, why not.”
“George! Don’t you think we should talk about this?” asked Mrs. Albright.
“Why? It’s just a little kitten and it’ll make her happy.”
“Thanks, Dad! You’re the best!” Kathy flung her arms around her Dad’s neck and stuck her tongue out at Missy, who sneered back.
“Well, I’d like a diamond tiara!” said Mrs. Albright, who was as baffled at her husband’s sudden change in personality as her daughters were.
“Let’s get you two! One for everyday, and one for special.” He smiled at his wife who still looked shocked, but his eyes gave away the dread he was trying so hard to mask.
“Let’s go talk, George,” she said gently.
“Yah,” he sighed, “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
She turned to her daughters as they left the room, “Girls, start getting ready for bed. I’ll be back in a little while for prayers.”
“Ok, Mommy, but can I write a thank you letter first?” Missy was already taking a sheet of her favorite stationery, pale yellow bordered with cheerful daisies, out of her top desk drawer.
“How nice of you! Grandma will be so pleased that you want to thank her for all your fancy presents.”
“Oh, I don’t want to write to Grandma, I want to write a thank you letter to somebody else. She put the pen to the paper and began to write: “Dear Mr. …. Mommy, how do you spell President?”