Queen of the Roller Derby

"That doesn't matter to me."

"If someone should find out...if my father..."

"Do you think if your father found out, it would make much difference to him who the other person was?"

She almost chuckled. "Kitty...have you ever..."

"No."

"Never?"

"Never. Have you?"

She nodded. "When I was at college, I had a...someone."

I held out my hands. She took them and dropped her head. I leaned forward and laid my forehead against hers. We sat like that for several minutes. I didn't know what to do, or what to say.

"We should watch the bout," she said.

We sat back and she put her feet up on the coffee table. That was a relief, I had wanted to do that since I first sat down, but figured it would be rude. I kicked off my shoes and raised my feet to the table. I deliberately let my left foot rest against hers. I didn't know how any of this stuff was supposed to work, but I figured that gave her a little bit of a hint that I was alright with the kisses.

She wasn't quite so subtle. She took my hand, and held it as we watched the rest of the bout.

The Devil Dolls kept creeping closer, but Betsy was always there to stop their momentum. I tried to pay attention to her, but it was hard to keep my eyes from drifting to Myra's hand in mine, to the graceful line of her legs, to her delicate feet. It was hard to keep my mind from the way her lips had felt against my own, and of the odd, wonderful sensations it had sparked within me.

There were only a few minutes left in the bout, and New York was well ahead. Myra sat up and stretched. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, "Would you like another Coke?"

"Sure," I said. I was pretty naive, but I understood that she was asking me if I was going to stay a while after the bout ended.

While she fetched the drinks, I wondered if there was something I should be doing, some way to signal her that I wanted more intimacy with her. I sat up and shifted, so that I was sitting with one foot tucked under me, facing toward the side rather than forward.

The roller derby program ended with a New York victory, and the TV station cut to the Sid Ceasar show, right in the middle of a skit. Myra came back into the room, looked at the screen and smiled. She put the Cokes on the table and sat down, crosslegged, facing me.

"So, do you think you learned anything from watching Betsy?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." She put her hand on my knee. "Um, about before..."

"It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

I decided there was only one way to convince her. I leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed me back, four, five times, quickly. Then, on the next, her lips didn't leave mine. They pressed against them and I could feel the tip of her tongue gently touching them. I opened my mouth, just the slightest bit. Our tongues touched.

I had French kissed a few boys, but this was different. She didn't jam her tongue into my mouth or flap it around like she was waving at a train. Our tongues were dancing with each other. I draped my arms over her shoulders and she put her hands on my sides. She gently pushed me back until I was reclining against the arm of the couch. Our bodies pressed together, from our shoulders to our knees.

She licked my lips like she was trying to catch a drop of melting ice cream from the side of a cone.

I hugged her tighter, and our breasts squashed against each other. I had no idea how long we kissed. I could hear music and laughter from the television, but the sounds meant nothing.

Myra ran her hand up and down my arm, and then my thigh. It travelled higher, under my blouse, and when her fingertips touched my bare skin, it felt like an electric charge. But when her hand slid between my legs and squeezed me there, I stiffened, and pulled my head back.

It was only a reflex, and I regretted it immediately. Myra rose and sat back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "No, don't be. It just...startled me, I guess."

"You weren't ready for that."

"No, I guess I wasn't."

"Maybe we need to slow down."

I sighed and nodded. She leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. We sat, not touching now, and watched Sid Caesar. Neither of us said a word until it was over. Neither of us laughed at any of the jokes.

Myra got up and turned off the television. Looking down at the floor, her arms crossed in front of her, she said, in a very soft voice, "Kitty, I hope everything is okay."

"This is just new to me," I said. I stood and slipped into my shoes.

She walked me to the door.

"Well, I'll see you Monday," she said, as I slipped on my jacket.

We stood in the doorway and looked at each other awkwardly. I couldn't stand the scared expression on her face. I gripped both of her shoulders, and kissed her, hard, on the lips. When I pulled back, I could see the faintest smile returning to her face.

"Yeah, see you Monday." I said.

I crossed the hall and pressed the elevator button. It seemed to take forever for the car to get there. I stood in the hall and she leaned on the door jamb, and we gazed into each others eyes until we heard a soft bing and the doors opened behind me. I got inside, and as they closed, I saw her raise her hand to her mouth and blow me a kiss.

CHAPTER THREE

When I arrived for practice on Monday morning, I saw that someone had nailed a wooden sign on the door. In hand printed block letters, it read "WAREHOUSE STADIUM. HOME OF THE WORLD FAMOUS A-1 COMETS".

I appreciated the laugh I got from the sign. I was as nervous as I had been on my first day. All I had thought about since Saturday night was Myra, how much I had enjoyed her kisses, and how much I regretted my reaction when she had tried to take things further.

I hesitated before going inside, wondering how things would be between us. I heard footsteps on gravel and saw Ellie and Goldie come around the corner of the factory. They called out greetings, so I waited for them.

"Did you watch that game Saturday?" Goldie asked.

"Yeah, I watched it."

"Those dames looked tough," Ellie said. "Kind of scary."

"Yeah, but that's the big leagues," Goldie said, "We aren't ever going up against anybody that good."

I shrugged. "You never know, though," I said.

Myra was at her desk when we went inside. She said hello to the three of us, very casually, but while her mouth was smiling, there was a worried look in her eyes. I smiled back at her in a way that I thought would show her that everything was okay.

It was time to get serious about practicing, with our first bout approaching. Coach Joe took over. He had us practicing strategic moves over and over again, skating with different lineups, for the first time really working at it.

We learned how to do what he called the "star pass"; the move where the pivot could take over from the jammer. We learned how to call strategic time outs. It all seemed to be getting more complicated. By the time he was through with us, we were exhausted.

I had hoped that I'd get a chance to talk to Myra, but she was already gone when we finished our practice.

I wasn't sure what to say to her anyway. I had no idea how any of this lesbian stuff worked. Do I ask her out on a date? Should I wait for her to ask me?

There was no one I could go to for advice, there wasn't a guide book. She had more experience than me. I felt a bit disgruntled that she didn't just tell me what to do. But I understood the possible consequences for her if she did and I rejected her. She had pointed out herself that she was my boss. And her dad was boss over her. She had more at stake than I did.

All that was still on my mind on Tuesday, when I should have been concentrating on my skating.

Myra sat with the team for lunch, which had not been her usual habit. I thought that maybe she was feeling left out now that Coach Joe was actually doing his job. I sat directly across the table from her. Everybody was in a good mood, and it was kind of raucous, so we didn't get much in the way of one on one conversation, but it seemed like every time I looked at her, we made eye contact, and she didn't have that worried look anymore.

Maybe I was thinking about her too much. Maybe it was just bad luck. But midway through the afternoon practice, as I was taking the first turn, my left skate hooked Cora's, and I went down, face first.

Everything was black for a minute. I became aware of a burning sensation in my right eye. I rubbed it and, even with my blurry vision, saw blood on my hand.

The whole team huddled around me. Goldie was wiping my head with a towel. Coach Joe hovered over me. I thought his cigar ashes might fall on my face.

"Just put some iodine on it," he said.

The girls helped me to my feet and walked me to a chair.

Myra squatted in front of me and was looking closely at my forehead. "Do you think she'll need stitches?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Ellie said.

"How do you know?" Angie asked her.

"My sister's a nurse."

"Come on," Coach Joe barked, "Back to work. You don't all get a break because one person gets a boo boo."

Everyone except me and Myra returned to the track.

"I think I'm okay," I said.

"Let's at least clean you up."

She put her arm around my waist and helped me to the bathroom. My head was clearing and I would have been fine on my own, but I didn't tell her that.

I looked in the mirror over the sink while she soaked a towel in warm water. She wiped my forehead and the side of my face. I winced at her touch.

"It's pretty swollen," she said, "But the cut's not as bad as it seemed, with all that blood."

I looked closer. The gash was right at my hairline. It was still oozing a little blood.

"I can take you to the hospital," Myra said.

"No. Have you just got some bandaids?"

"Okay, but you are not skating any more today."

She left for a few minutes, then came back with a small first aid kit.

"I hate to admit that Joe was right," she said, dabbing iodine on my cut. She apologized when I scrunched my face at its sting. After putting a bandage over the cut, she looked at me and frowned.

"Kitty, I was really scared when I saw you fall."

We gazed at each other for a moment, but then she looked nervously over her shoulder. "We better get back to the team," she said.

I sat out the rest of the practice. When it was time to go home, there was a big debate about whether or not I was okay to drive. Everyone had an opinion, and expressed it while I was telling them I was fine. Eventually, I ended the discussion by putting on my jacket and saying goodbye.

When I was in the car, I took another look at my face in the rear view mirror. The redness around my eye and temple had turned to a purple bruise. I wasn't looking forward to the reception I knew I would receive when I got home.

It was worse than I had feared. As soon as my mother saw me, she blew her stack. "Kitty, what happened to your face?" she shouted, without a trace of sympathy in her voice.

"I fell down," I shrugged, trying to squeeze past her and get to my room.

She gripped my arm and looked more closely at my bruises.

"Looks like you were skating. I thought you were at work."

"I was at work."

"Don't lie to me, Kitty."

"I'm not lying. We have a roller derby team at the plant. We were practicing and I tripped, that's all."

"Roller derby?" My dad said, lifting his head from behind his newspaper. "Margie, didn't we see that on the television?"

"Yes, and it looked like a game for ruffians. Kitty, I forbid you to be on that team."

I pulled my arm away from her. "I am not quitting the team."

"I don't see what's wrong with her being on the team," my dad said meekly.

"Herb, you know exactly what's wrong with it."

He shrugged and ducked back behind his paper.

"What's so wrong with it?" I asked.

"You should be finding a nice boy to date, not hanging around with a gang of rough girls. You'll get a reputation. You know what I'm talking about, Kitty."

"Well, I sure don't," my father muttered.

"I'm talking about girls who like other girls instead of boys."

"That's crazy," my father scoffed.

"What if that's what I am?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Then you're no daughter of mine," she snapped.

"Fine," I shouted. I stomped up the stairs to my room and slammed the door behind me, hard enough to shake the walls.

I wasn't thinking. I didn't have a plan. All I knew was I wanted out of there. I took my suitcase down from my closet shelf. I had only used it once, on our senior class trip to Washington DC. I opened it on the bed and began stuffing clothes into it. When it was full, I snapped it shut, went to the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush. I went back and got the suitcase and my purse and went down the stairs.

My mother stuck her head out of the kitchen door. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" she snapped.

"What do you care," I said, not bothering to look in her direction, "I'm not your daughter."

As I went out the front door, she shouted, "That car is registered in your father's name."

I threw the suitcase in the back seat and got in the car. As I backed out of the driveway, I saw my father step out to the porch and wave, beckoning me back, but I kept going. I was halfway down the block before I realized I was still gripping my toothbrush and dropped it on the seat beside me.

I considered going to Myra's apartment, but decided that wasn't a good idea. Showing up at her door with a tale of woe would probably scare her away from me altogether. Without any other ideas, I drove to A-1 Manufacturing.

The front gates were open. There was a small guard booth beside them, but it was empty. It always was. I drove back to the warehouse and parked my car behind the building, where it would be out of sight.

The back door was unlocked. I figured it would be. It didn't even close tight.

It felt eerie being in that big building all alone in the dark. I could hear my footsteps echo as I went to the clubhouse. I hadn't eaten since lunch, so I looked for something to eat. My supper that night was a couple of stale cinnamon doughnuts and a bottle of root beer.

I thought about killing some time skating, but I did not have much energy and my head was throbbing. I laid down on the couch and used my jacket for a blanket. The day replayed over and over in my mind; the fall, the fight with my mother, every glance that Myra and I had exchanged across the lunch table.

After a night of fitful sleep, I woke up and saw dim light through the high windows. I had no idea what time it was, but I didn't want anyone to come in and find out I had spent the night there, so I went out to my car and slept a while longer in the backseat. The next time I woke up, the sun had risen. I got in the front and turned on the radio.

"Jesus," I muttered, "Enough with the Elvis."

When the song ended, the disk jockey gave the time. It was 7:45. I drove around to the front of the building and parked. As I got out of the car, I wondered if anyone would notice I still had the same clothes on from yesterday. I looked down. There was a blood stain on my blouse. I jumped in the back seat and got a clean one from the suitcase. Luckily, no one pulled up and saw me changing.

Cora and Ellie were sitting at the table sipping coffee when I went in. They asked how I was feeling. I lied and said I was fine. Myra came in a few minutes later. Celia was with her, and I felt a flash of jealousy. They were both carrying large cardboard boxes, which they set on the table.

"What have you got there?" Pearl asked, coming in behind them.

Myra held up a finger. "Let's wait until everyone is here," she said.

Budz and Goldie were the last to arrive. Everyone gathered around and Myra opened the boxes.

"Our uniforms!" Angie shouted.

Each uniform was wrapped in paper, with the owner's name on it, but there was still a lot of confusion while we sorted them out.

They looked pretty sharp; a blue jersey, white shorts and blue tights. On the front of the jersey in white lettering it read A-1 Comets, with a star beneath it, connected to a tail of curved lines, like Superman in the comic books, when he uses his super speed.

On the back of each uniform, there was a big white number. I held mine up to look at it.

"Hey, how come Kitty gets to be number one?" Celia asked.

"They are in alphabetical order," Myra told her, "Boyd comes first."

Celia scowled, like she didn't think that was a very good reason. I wanted to say they were in order of fastest to slowest, but I bit my tongue.

The new uniforms boosted everyone's spirits and we were eager to practice. But as I started to put on my skates, Myra put her hand on my shoulder.

"I think you should sit today out, Kitty," she said, "Just until we know you're okay."

"Oh horseshit," Coach Joe barked, "Don't baby her. Boyd, lace up and hit the track."

I joined the team, but I was was not as energetic as usual. Of course, I had gotten little sleep and nothing much to eat.

On our noon break, I told the girls that I had forgotten my lunch, and once again, everyone shared a little bit of theirs. During the afternoon practice, I performed much better.

When practice ended, I changed and left, along with the rest of the team. I drove down the street to the Top Hat and ate a cheeseburger and French fries. There was a pay phone by the door, and I considered calling home, but had no idea what I would say if I did.

I returned to the warehouse. I was feeling restless and agitated, so I decided to do what I always did when I felt that way. I put on my skates.

I had taken four or five laps; just gliding, not going for speed or doing any tricks, moving for the sense of peace that motion brought me. I came around the far turn and Myra was standing beside the track. At first I thought I had imagined her.

When I came around again, she was definitely there, in her dark pencil skirt and her white blouse and pink cardigan. She smiled and gave me a timid wave.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, as I rolled to her.

"I just thought I'd do some extra practice because I didn't skate well today."

"That's understandable though, with your head and all."

"What about you?" I asked, "Why did you come back?"

"I want to get caught up on all my paperwork and I realized I had left the uniform invoices here, so after supper I came back to get them." She paused, then said, "I liked watching you just now. You weren't skating like you usually do in practice. You seemed like you were, well, kind of off in your own world."

"I skated my whole life before I found out about the derby, you know."

"It's funny," she said, "I've never skated."

"You're kidding me? Not even when you were a little girl?"

She shook her head, and I held my hand out to her. "Come with me," I said, and took her to the clubhouse.

"What size shoe do you wear?" I asked.

"Oh no, Kitty I don't think..."

I looked at her feet. "Six?"

"Seven."

I checked two or three lockers. The skates were too big. I checked Meg's. They were sevens.

"No, Kitty, I shouldn't."

"She wouldn't mind. Come on."

She sat on one of the folding chairs and took off her shoes. I squatted and helped her put on the skates, then stood and pulled her to her feet. She started to wobble, so I grabbed her arms and held on while she found her balance.

"Okay," I said, "Just take little shuffling steps without lifting your feet off the floor."

We got about three feet before she started to wobble again. I wrapped my arm around her waist. She draped her arm over my shoulders. She wasn't skating so much as I was hauling her, but we managed to get to the track.

A banked surface seemed like more than she could handle, so we just moved around the inside of the oval. I took my arm from her back and we separated. She almost immediately stopped moving.