Our Part in the Revolution

Lanni brushed her hair to the left side of her head and held it over her ear with both hands, examining the effect.1

“It’s the new you, Lanni.” Sheri paused, eyeliner still in hand, ready to complete the definition of her left lower lid.2

Lanni spoke to her friend’s reflection in the mirror. “You really think so?” A few strands had already escaped her fingers and dangled over her right ear. Tiny wisps stuck up all over her head. “Split-ends. All my ends are split.”3

“Don’t worry—just go for it. Make a statement.”4

Sheri finished lining her eyes and dropped the pencil into her bag.5

“If I make a statement and no one listens, did I really make it?” Lanni let her hair fall back over her shoulders and brushed it out again. “There’s nothing to hold it up with.”6

The ladies’ room at the Sunrise Tavern was about what you'd expect in a neighborhood bar in West Central Florida. If you hung around the city's south side in the 1970's, you might have been there, if you were a girl. The two-holer was reasonably clean, with a mirror over the sink wide enough for two or three skinny women to reflect in, side by side. The narrow wooden stalls were painted brown, although the trim in the rest of the bar was green, affirming the Irish pride of its proprietor.7

The only decoration in the room was a picture on the wall opposite the mirror. It looked like a print from a magazine that someone had framed, of a woman in a long dress standing in front of a stone house. Most of the thatched roof was missing and wildflowers were growing up, around and through the remaining walls. The caption was, “Early Cottage, County Clare.” Lanni felt connected to the picture as to a childhood memory, although she'd never been in Ireland and it seemed impossibly far away.8

Sheri’s bag covered the entire counter to the left of the sink. It was a sturdy leather satchel that looked as if most of a calf had gone into its construction. She reached into one of the numerous compartments. “Wait, I think I’ve got something in here.”9

“And how would you know where it was, if you had?” Lanni put a hand on her hip and cocked an eye at the bag. As a rule, she didn’t carry a handbag when she went out at night, preferring to slip a comb and a case of eye shadow into a change purse along with her meagre cash. The purse fit snugly in the pocket of her summer bell-bottoms, where it wouldn't be left behind while she danced or shot pool.10

Sheri searched another compartment. “Don’t make fun of my bag. It’s really very practical. If I have to leave town in a hurry, I know I’ve got all the essentials right here.” She pulled a granola bar from one section and a can of pepper spray from another, by way of illustration, then replaced them in the bag.11

“I’ll probably never get out of this town.” Lanni glanced around the rest room with a laugh that was half a sigh.12

“Personally, I hate to feel the grass growing under my feet.” Sheri paused again, then pulled a handful of bobby pins and a few elastics from her bag and extended them toward Lanni. “Shall we?”13

“Better to smell the grass glowing under your nose, huh?” Lanni anticipated the good weed that would soon be circulating on the patio. In their world, smoking pot was as common as breathing. Although illegal, it seldom led to anything worse than "the munchies," unless you were unlucky enough to get busted.14

Sheri laughed as she divided the bundled hair and twisted in the elastics. “You’re a wise-ass Lanni, that's why we get along so well.”15

Lanni wasn’t sure why they got along, but felt no need to argue. They’d met a few weeks earlier, but it seemed like a friendship of years. Lanni pulled her hair over her ear again and handed the brush to Sheri.16

She held her head still and crossed her eyes in the mirror. Perhaps a change might inspire some friendly attention. A fellow named Joe had admired her peace-sign pendant earlier, standing by the jukebox. The only problem was that Joe seemed to have buddied-up with the cockiest little redneck on the Southside. Lanni didn't know his name, but had recognized those little piggy eyes darting around the bar as she'd headed to the restroom. 17

"Obviously, you're an exception, but it takes me a long time to make friends," she mused. "If I traveled around like you, I’d never get to know anyone.”18

“So you're a bit shy--I used to be shy, too."19

“Really? I mean--you?”20

Sheri had made fifty dollars panhandling in front of the Hilton that afternoon. It was more than Lanni earned in an eight-hour day at the print shop where she served as counter girl, artist and printer's devil. Sheri nodded. “Really. I took my masters in psychology at UCLA and got a job counseling for a mental health clinic in San Jose.”21

"No shit!" Certainly, something in Sheri's manner separated her from the average toker at the Sunrise, but it was a startling revelation. Lanni tried, and failed, to visualize the person beside her in any sort of buttoned-down profession. Sheri’s standard uniform consisted of well-faded blue jeans and a mauve T-shirt with the collar cut out. Around the new neckline, pearl beads had been sewn with blue thread. This top could be worn two ways--”up” on her shoulders for everyday occasions or “down” to show a bit of cleavage. 22

“I'd been there a year when they hired two new guys right out of college. When they made one of them my boss, I knew I'd never get promoted. They're just not gonna let us into their club."23

"Who?"24

"Men. They stick together." Sheri maintained a grip on Lanni’s evolving hairdo with one hand and took a sip of her beer with the other. "It wasn't long before that new boss was writing up my ideas and claiming they were his."25

Lanni saw her friend's shoulders drop as she set down the glass. “That sucks.”26

“Yeah, except I had seen through it by then. The whole institution was phony. I mean, what’s mental health anyhow? Most of the doctors were weirder than their patients. Who'd really want to turn the female populace into a gaggle of June Cleavers?"27

Lanni shrugged. By the 70's that idealized version of female servitude had been debunked and even parodied on TV, but still lurked in memory--the gender paradigm of her youth--a pallid reproach from the person she wasn't, and hoped never to be. "Not me," she admitted.28

"That's when I decided I’d rather live my own scam than give lip service to someone else’s," Sheri continued.29

Lanni thought Sheri's grapes might have turned a bit tarter than most, but her predicament was far from unusual. She'd heard that 'Women's lib' was opening up new educational opportunities, but it hadn't translated into anything like equality in her paycheck. Of course, she appreciated the symbolism of burning bras and breaking old taboos, but no job offers had arisen that would confer a living wage upon a single mother of two. Trying to make ends meet and care for the boys took up most of her time and had drained her of ardor for any particular cause's crusading.30

"Actually, psychology turned out to be quite useful," Sheri proceeded, "once I turned it to panhandling. Yeah, sure, I put on an act, but no one is forced to give me anything. And I don't tell them it's for their own good, either. They get to keep their self-respect, and I don’t have to punch anyone’s clock.”31

“But how’d you ever get the nerve?"32

“It was a struggle at first," Sheri admitted, "until I accepted it as my personal art form."33

"I get scared asking for directions."34

"You gotta chill, Lanni. Everyone’s got some con going, whether they know it or not. We’re all the same, even you.”35

“Well, if I have a con, I’d sure like to know about it, ‘cause I could use the dough.” Lanni scratched the palm of her hand, hoping it was itchy.36

Sheri anchored the hair twist and added a couple of skinny Rasta braids to complete the effect. “If only we had some beads to set it off.”37

“This is awesome.” Lanni turned her head slowly to get the full impression in the mirror.38

“So how would you describe yourself? I mean, your new image, hairstyle, the color….” Sheri admired her handiwork with a little critical frown.39

“It's brown.”40

“No, I mean, more precisely…”41

“Well, it’s hard to be precise under this fluorescent light, but I’d say, burnt umber with a slight undertone of lapis lazuli.” Lanni had dreams about painting. She'd worked her way through several boxes of Rembrandt oils and knew a color when she saw it.42

“No, I mean how would you describe its color? Like, ‘the sorceress gave a slight nod, raven tresses cascading past her shoulders,’ only different, of course.”43

“Okay, I get it. Well, not chestnut--that’s old. I’m from Ohio, so I could say buckeye, but that would be too much like buckteeth. There's mahogany…”44

“No--sounds like a dresser.”45

“Not chocolate, it's too sticky. What about cinnamon?”46

“Not bad--it's got some magic, I think.” Sheri ran her fingers through her own hair, which was lighter than Lanni’s and somewhat shorter, falling straight past her shoulder blades in the back. " So what would you call my hair color?"47

"Well, it's got some red to it…"48

"Don't say strawberry blond. Makes me feel like there's little seeds all over my head."49

The door opened as Lanni fished a lip-gloss out of Sheri’s bag and leaned toward the mirror to apply it. “Oh, hi, Pauline,” she volunteered.50

“Hi.” It was a vapid utterance, not inviting conversation. Pauline ducked into a stall.51

As the door closed, Sheri pushed her nose up with her index finger and gave her shoulders a little sideways shake.52

Lanni smiled and nodded. They could hear the rustling of panty hose being pulled down and the bubbly sound of peeing, which was about the same sound as a beer being drawn, when you thought about it. Pauline was the owner’s girlfriend. Judging by her outfit, a lace top and black mini skirt over black stiletto pumps, Lanni concluded that the two of them would be going out on the town, and that Becky or Mac would come in to tend bar.53

“You like anyone out there?” Sheri asked, under her breath.54

“Well, maybe,” Lanni thought again of Joe and gave an involuntary shudder as she remembered his drinking companion. That jackass could be expected to have a rude remark for every occasion, and Lanni'd been the target of his jibes more than once. She passed the lip-gloss to Sheri, who put some on, too. 55

It was that drowsy interval between happy hour and serious music on Friday night. Lanni would have preferred to go out later, when the crowd was livelier, but her teen-aged sitter had to be home by twelve. She'd have to make it an early night. Fortunately, Sheri had showed up. It was seldom dull when the two of them got together.56

Pauline came out of the stall and asserted herself between the two at the sink. Sheri leaned away with a dramatic toss of her head. “Well, ‘scuse me.”57

“You still here?” Pauline gave her a look like she’d just squashed a bug on the mirror.58

“It's not a crime, that I know of.” Lanni inwardly applauded Sheri's restraint. The week before, her choice of words had gotten them interdicted from a place down the road, when the proprietor of a neighborhood café refused to refill her coffee cup. Sheri had offered him several new names, most beginning with "Fuckin'." Understanding the Stuck-up One's influence at the Sunrise, she bit her tongue and sustained their welcome. She pretended to reshape her nails as Pauline took out a lip liner and refreshed her outlines, applied a candy-apple-red gloss and swished out the door without a backward glance.59

“She even walks like she owns the place.” Lanni mimicked Pauline’s gait.60

“Who cares?” Sheri emptied her glass of beer and blotted her mouth with a finger, leaving a bubble of foam.61

“Sheri flicked the foam from her lip with a casual, yet feminine turn of the finger. A drop remained, glistening… sensuously… on her lip,” she intoned.62

“What about ginger?” Lanni put her thumb under her chin.63

“Ginger beer?”64

“No, I mean, your hair color.”65

“No—it sounds like a cheerleader I used to know. Too peppy.”66

Lanni took a tentative sip of the beer she had been neglecting. “It’s flat.”67

“Mine’s gone--let’s get out of here.”68

“Wait--my hair.” Lanni gave her “new look” a doubtful glance.69

“It looks great--come on.” Sheri hooked the back of Lanni’s sleeve with a finger and gave a little tug toward the door.70

“What if someone laughs?”71

"C'mon, we need a beer.”72

Lanni stepped out of the restroom, borrowing a little of Pauline’s walk for effect. It seemed as though a thousand eyes were upon her, although there weren't a dozen people in the tavern. Pauline had evidently departed with Casey, the proprietor, since Mac was now tending bar. None of the Saturday night regulars had arrived.73

Among the two or three at the bar who happened to be looking her way, she spotted Joe and took a few steps toward him. He smiled in her direction and seemed about to say something when she noticed the troublemaker seated beside him. That pair of piggy eyes was leveled on her as the he poked a chubby finger and whooped, "Oooooh, lookit that, Dude,--Doggie's got a new doggie-do!" Then he commenced an arfing and growling, clearly amused with himself. The smile dropped from her former admirer's lips and Lanni thought she saw a note of apology in his eyes, but he said nothing. She felt her cheeks burn and turned away.74

Not Sheri. She charged up to the maligner and spun him around to face her. "Bold words from a pimple like you," she said, adding, "Your parents were siblings, right?"75

"Fuck you, Bitch!" he replied.76

"Fuck yourself," Sheri told him, "'cause that's the only way you're gonna get any with those manners." She snatched the remains of his beer from the counter and tossed it in his face. By the time he'd wiped his eyes with a handful of bar napkins, a muffled cheer had arisen and all eyes in the room turned to her corner.77

Sputtering more profanities, The Pimple made a fist and glared at Sheri. As he raised his arm, two foos-ball players stepped up. The taller of them dropped a warning hand on his shoulder while the other stood behind his companion.78

"C'mon," he muttered, "let's get out of here." He slid off the barstool and strutted out the door with Joe behind him.79

"You didn't want him anyhow," Sheri concluded, as they watched the two depart. "His hair was too short." She and Lanni took over the vacated seats at the bar and scraped up change for a fresh round of beers. Lanni let the cool liquid flow down her throat.80

"You could have been more help, y'know," Sheri scolded. "What if I hadn't been here, would you have just crawled off into a corner?"81

"I don't know--probably," Lanni conceded.82

“You can't let a bunch of losers tell you who you are. You have to fuckin' tell yourself.”83

“And how am I going to believe myself?"84

“Okay—that's what I'm trying to tell you! We were describing our hair…”85

“Your hair—well, what about nutmeg?”86

“Mmm. Nutmeg. Pretty good—it’s fragrant and considered psychedelic--like me. Sort of like my name, 'Sheri,'--it's a little alcoholic, and so am I."87

Lanni was not thrilled with her own name, which was Lanette. Her mother had said once that it came from the French, but when she looked it up, the only meaning she could derive was "The Neat One." She pictured someone with a duster in hand and kerchief tied around her head. It was not an image she cherished.88

"Now, listen, Lanni!" Sheri demanded. "Say something about my nutmeg hair."89

“Why are we doing this?” Lanni eyed the teams lining up at the foos-ball table with some interest. A whiff of magnolia drifted in on a breeze from the patio. Meeting up with only the cruder scents of cigarette smoke and fish sandwiches, it quickly dissolved.90

“We’re going to rewrite ourselves.”91

“Rewrite?”92

“Listen, we were taught our parts when we were kids. Had them drilled into our heads before we could even read." Sheri placed a conspiratorial finger over her lips.93

“I guess that’s true.”94

“Of course it is. So finish the sentence. The 'something' beauty…”95

“The imperious beauty… stamped her foot and rippled her nutmeg hair.”96

Lanni was not used to thinking so hard over beer--well, except maybe for thinking about a pool shot. She decided the sensation was rather pleasant. “But, isn’t all this beauty stuff just playing into the same old role?”97

"Yeah--in a way, but you can't change the world by wishing it was different. What you can do is change how it works for you." Sheri extended her empty glass toward the door to the patio. A tall, skinny dude whom Lanni hadn’t even noticed was coming their way with a full pitcher of beer. He filled Sheri’s glass without hesitation. “Thanks, Man,” she smiled.98

“Sure, Mama, come out and join us.”99

“Maybe in a minute.” Sheri sat, holding her glass. "Go get yourself a beer, Lanni."100

Lanni sighed and gazed around the room. The Pimple's comments still reverberated in her memory, sending a fiery rush to her ears.101

"Go!" Sheri nudged her off the barstool.102

Lanni sauntered over to the pool table, eyeing the game in progress. Two players were chasing the eight ball, while another stood chalking his cue, waiting for the outcome that would signal his turn.103

He was stocky, a few inches taller than Lanni but not so she'd have to break her neck to look at him. Taking a peek into blue-green eyes, she thought she saw a smile. Although his hair was nearly as short as the censured and ousted Joe's, it was a little wild and curly. "Clowns to the left, jokers to the right…" sang the jukebox.104

"Ah, what's the worst that could happen? " she asked herself. Aloud, she said, "Hi, I'm Lanni."105

"Hi, Babe, I'm Paradise. Wanna shoot pool?"106

"Sure, I'd like to…"107

"You need a beer!"108

Lanni's mouth fell open a little and she quickly closed it, giving a brief nod.109

Paradise picked up a pitcher from the table behind him and filled Lanni's glass. "I'll win us the table," he told her.110

"I'll be right back," she replied.111

Lanni returned to the bar and clinked her glass against Sheri's. "We’ll write our way to freedom."112

Heads of nutmeg and cinnamon nodded in conspiracy, about to embark on the evening's adventure:113

"I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine."114

“Just like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”115

"Yep."116