PenWomanShip

Amanda grabbed her diet soda from the console of her car and locked the door with the remote. As usual, she was the only one on the path leading to the oldest section of the cemetery - the part where the headstones were broken and the grass was never cut. The sunshine barely managed to penetrate the dense foliage and she stepped cautiously over the overgrown briars and other weeds.

She religiously visited the grave of her friend at least twice a year, perhaps more often if she was overwhelmed some life-changing event. Here, she could put it all in perspective. Here, she was with a friend. She sat back against the tree and drifted back to the most profound and tragic time in her life. Slowly, the face of a skinny, unkempt girl emerged as vivid and full of life as she was almost twenty years ago.

Amanda was back in third grade. Cindy, a new girl in school, sat in the desk in front of her and Amanda would stare at the back of her head. Only the top layer of her hair was brushed and she could see through the smooth layer to the knots and tangles rooted beneath. The color was medium brown but it always had a gray, ashy tint.

She always noticed Cindy's shirt and had already seen it twice this week. It was a solid dirty yellow and Amanda could tell it was the same shirt by the small tear right at the collar seam.

"Hi," Cindy said to Amanda every morning before class. Her bus was one of the last ones to arrive because it had a long route. At least three times each week, she'd run into class just before the teacher started to take attendance and apologize.

"That's all right, Cindy," the teacher would say. "Please take your seat."

"You dropped this," Amanda said and handed Cindy her pencil that had fallen out of one of her books. It was just a pencil stub really, chewed with no eraser.

It was only one kind gesture, but it changed Amanda's entire life. Looking back, Amanda never recalled Cindy with a pencil longer than three inches.

"Thanks," Cindy whispered.

She always made good grades. Amanda knew because sometimes the teacher let them grade each other's papers and she regularly graded Cindy's. She rarely raised her hand to answer a question, never passed a note, and never got in trouble for talking.

The class went to lunch at eleven-thirty each day. Although every day Cindy stood in the lunch line in front of her, Amanda never asked her to sit with her or her friends. None of the boys go near her because they say she has cooties. All the cool girls, including Amanda sat together and griped about homework, parents, and those same nasty boys. Cindy would sit with the girls but there was at least a one-chair separation at the table. Amanda would watch her out of the corner of her eye because Cindy caught her staring once and it made her feel bad.

There was no food left on her tray when she carried it up to the trash. Not even the gross food like the spinach or lima beans. Some of the other kids taunted her about it, but she only smiled and took the teasing in stride. Amanda could feel the anger boiling through her veins as she recalled getting angry for Cindy.

The lady who stood at the trashcan to empty the trays even noticed.

"You sure do eat good youngin'," she'd say, almost every day.

Amanda took a deep breath and a sip of soda, and calmed a little when her thoughts drifted to recess.

Cindy would sit on the same bench on the side of the playground. She'd dangle her feet and scrape her toes against the asphalt. Amanda didn't know where the hole in her sneakers was made by her habit, or if it was there when someone gave her the shoes.

Her large brown eyes peered out from beneath a fringe of dark eyelashes. She'd smile and watch everyone run around, burning the morning's build-up of energy. Sometimes Amanda would see her giggle behind her hand at something funny. No one ever asks her to play with them.

The teacher would ring an old rusty cowbell and the class would follow her back to class. Cindy would walk close enough to Amanda and her friends, and to someone on the outside it would seem as though they were all good friends. However, the girls knew she kept just the right amount of space between them.

That particular day after recess, the class settled down for art. Amanda liked to peek over Cindy's shoulder and watch her draw.

"Amanda Stewart," the teacher called out. "Do your own work please."

Cindy was truly an artist by third grade standards and her art was displayed all over the classroom. She liked to draw animals and they looked very realistic, except for their eyes. She colored them red and they looked like demons. She'd always hum when she drew, but only Amanda could hear her. It wasn't anything she recognized, but it sounded happy.

She often wondered if Cindy knew she didn't have to press so hard on the crayon to get the colors bright - like those cute little animals were supposed to have bold red eyes.

Art was Amanda's favorite subject and always hated when the teacher announced it was time to clean up. It was Amanda's turn to pick up all the glue bottles and put them back in the cabinet. The teacher asked Cindy to go outside and bang the erasers together to get the chalk dust out. Amanda picked up all the scraps of paper off the floor around Cindy's desk and threw them away.

Science was the last thing for the day and Amanda would always get drowsy.

"Put your things away and get ready for the bus," the teacher said.

Amanda snapped back to consciousness. They gathered their books and coats to line up at the door to go to the buses. Amanda passed Cindy's bus and saw her sitting on the front seat. She was looking right at Amanda, and out of reflex, she waved. Cindy waved back. This was the pivotal moment where Amanda made up her mind. Tomorrow she was going to ask Cindy to be her friend. She didn't care what her other friends thought.

She spent the whole evening planning our entire life after they became friends. They'd eat lunch together everyday and play together at recess. Amanda would teach her how to jump rope if she didn't know. They'd be reading partners at quiet time and copy each other's math homework. Cindy would show her how to draw animals but she'd color their eyes blue.

On the weekends, we'd have sleepovers at each other's house, do each other's hair, and stay up all night.

"Why are you so quiet tonight?" Amanda's mother asked.

"I'm going to make a new friend," Amanda said.

'Is there something wrong with your old friends?"

'Nope, I just want another one."

'Well, you can't have too many friends," she said. 'Ask her to come over next weekend for a sleepover. Get her telephone number and I'll call her mother."

After her mother left, Amanda put her favorite pajamas in the back of her drawer so they'd still be clean for the sleepover. Amanda's bedtime was nine o'clock but she didn't get to sleep before midnight.

She was awake and dressed before her mother even came in to wake her. She ran downstairs and ate her breakfast as fast as she could, despite everyone telling her to slow down. She arrived at the bus stop ten minutes early and grew impatient because the bus wouldn't come.

The ride to school took an eternity but at last Amanda made it to the classroom. She stashed her books in the bin underneath the seat, sat down, and watched the clock. It was two minutes till eight. Cindy would come running in any second now. Amanda put on her best smile and prayed she wouldn't lose her nerve.

Eight o'clock came and went. The teacher took attendance and asked one of the boys in the front row to take it to the office.

Amanda just stared at the empty desk. Where was she? She hadn't missed a day since she started school here a month ago. She hoped Cindy wasn't sick.

Just as the teacher told the class which page to turn to in their math book, Cindy ran into the classroom. She smiled at the teacher and walked down the aisle to her desk. Amanda worked up the courage to smile. She smiled back right before she sat down.

'What page are we on?" Cindy whispered.

'Thirty-two," Amanda answered.

The teacher told them to work the problems, while she went to the office to change the attendance sheet.

It was Amanda's opportunity.

'Want to eat lunch with us today?" she asked.

Amanda smiled when she remembered the surprised look on Cindy's face before she nodded yes.

Amanda couldn't wait until lunchtime and couldn't concentrate on anything the teacher said. She tried to focus on the teacher and the blackboard, but her eyes kept drifting back to the clock.

At last it was eleven-thirty and the teacher asked them to close our books and line up. Amanda grabbed Cindy's hand and led her to the rest of the girls.

'Cindy's eating lunch with us today," Amanda announced, perhaps a little too loud. The girls looked at her strange but didn't say anything.

'My friends call me Pepper," Cindy whispered in Amanda's ear as they walked to the lunchroom.

Lunch was a blast. Pepper told the funniest jokes and told the most intriguing stories. Amanda didn't know how much of them were true but they sure were interesting.

'Why do you eat all that nasty stuff on your tray?" one of the girls asked.

'I like all kinds of food," Pepper explained. 'I even like liver."

She laughed when Amanda and the other girls wrinkled their noses.

To everyone's surprise, Pepper could jump rope at least fifty times before she missed and knew all the rhymes. She was fast runner but she wasn't a good hopscotch player. It was over too soon.

'Can I get your telephone number?" Amanda asked Pepper as they walked back to the classroom.

'Uh. , my mom doesn't allow me to give out our number," Pepper said. 'Give me yours and I'll call you."

Amanda wrote it on a note and passed it to Pepper when the teacher wasn't looking.

The afternoon flew by. Pepper and Amanda walked to the buses together.

'See you tomorrow," Pepper said and stepped on the bus.

'Bye," Amanda said and gave her one more wave before she walked to her bus.

Amanda waited all evening for Pepper to call. She jumped and ran for the telephone each time it rang.

'Mom, please let me stay up until ten," Amanda pleaded. 'Pepper said she'd call. Maybe her bedtime is later than mine."

'No," she said.

Amanda stomped off to bed but stayed awake until at least eleven, listening for the telephone to ring.

She woke up the next morning and felt a little hurt that Pepper didn't call. Her mom had to yell at her twice because she moved so slowly. The bus had to wait while she ran back inside to get her math homework she left on the table after her dad checked it.

She gave up on Pepper after eight-thirty. Certainly the bus had come by now. Had she gotten sick? They did play hard yesterday and the air was chilly - maybe she caught a cold. Pepper wasn't used to playing so hard.

The day dragged on. Amanda picked at her lunch and didn't feel like playing during lunchtime. She sat on Pepper's bench and dragged my toes in the dirt. The teacher droned on and on all afternoon and she barely opened her mouth during music class.

'I'm not feeling well," she told her mom when she asked what was wrong. She did all her homework without whining, took a bath without being told and fell asleep early. Surely Pepper would be at school tomorrow.

Amanda's bus ran late the next day and she didn't get to school until right at eight o'clock. She ran ahead of the other students and rushed into the classroom. Her eyes went directly to her desk - and the empty chair. Amanda couldn't hide her disappointment as she trudged back to her seat. The teacher asked her if there was anything wrong.

She had to go up to the teacher's desk to turn in her spelling test and worked up the nerve to ask her about Pepper. The teacher shook her head, put her finger to her lips and motioned Amanda to sit down.

She perked up enough at recess to join in a game of dodge ball, but fell on the asphalt and skinned her knee just as the class was heading inside. The teacher gave her a wet paper towel to hold on her knee until the bleeding stopped and told her to go to the office. Amanda thought she was going to get a band-aid until she saw her mother sitting in a chair chatting with the secretary. Her mother did put a bandage on her knee, but then the Principal ushered them both into his office and closed the door.
Mr. Fuller had a serious look on his face, more serious than normal. Amanda wondered what she'd done and her heart started to pound. Her mom patted her hand. Mr. Fuller didn't sit behind his desk, but pulled his chair around and sat next to Amanda.

'Amanda," he said. 'How well do you know Cindy?"

'Well," Amanda said. 'She sits is front of me in class. I ate lunch with her yesterday. I guess she's my friend."

Amanda got a lump in her throat when her mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

'Amanda," Mr. Fuller began. 'I have some very bad news. Cindy won't be able to come to school anymore."

'Is she sick?"

Mr. Fuller wiped the sweat from his forehead.

'Cindy's in heaven, honey," Mom said.

'What!" Amanda cried. 'Why?"

'Sometimes children aren't as fortunate as you are. . . .to have a mommy and a daddy like you have," Mr. Fuller explained.

'What's wrong with Cindy's mom and dad?"

Amanda's question was met with silence.

'Cindy's dad doesn't live in this city," Mr. Fuller said. 'Cindy's mom . . Cindy's mom has been accused of doing a very bad thing to Cindy."

'Did Cindy's mom kill her?" Amanda asked through gasping sobs.

Amanda eyes welled with tears. She'll never forget Mr. Fuller turning away from her. He was the first man she ever saw cry.

'Is Cindy with Jesus?" Amanda asked.

'Yes," Mom whispered.

Amanda got to go home for the rest of the day.

Amanda had gone on with her life, but Cindy stayed frozen in time, always young, always innocent and always smiling. There were days when Amanda didn't think about the tragedy. There were other days of pure agony.

She could still picture Pepper's mother from local news coverage, being led off by officers. Amanda's mom and dad discussed the case when they thought she wasn't listening.

It was all so clear now. Pepper's dark circles, her tattered dirty clothing, the way she ate every morsel on her lunch tray and especially her art. Why didn't the teacher ever say anything? She had to have some suspicions.

Amanda rubbed her stomach where her own child was growing and prayed to God she didn't posses the evil needed to commit such a vile act against someone so innocent.

Cindy's grave seemed harder and harder to find with each visit. She never got a head stone. Amanda pulled the weeds and cleared the debris that accumulated in between her visits and then placed the bouquet of wild flowers on the marker. Some of the letters in her name were missing on the marker, worn away by weather or torn off by vandals. Amanda searched on the ground for them but she knew they are long gone. She's looked for them for years.

She whispered her name over and over as the tears rolled down her face. Cynthia Ann Lasglow. Her finger retraced the scratches in the metal made by a tiny hand with a straightened paper clip some twenty years back - P E P P E R.