Tessie D

I must imagine that every town must have its own set of rules. If towns are just made up of people and people are different, I have to believe that every town must also be different. And if that it is the case, maybe I could belong—I could be happy—someplace else. Somewhere that nobody knows me or knows my family. 

There must be places where the rules are different, not dictated by a church or a history book. A city where I wouldn’t hear “because that’s what the Bible says,” every time I ask a question. 

I was in the library last semester, finishing up my research paper and checking out a book. I had a t-shirt on that had lyrics from John Lennon’s song, “Imagine.” 

You may say I’m a dreamer

But I’m not the only one

I hope someday you’ll join us

And the world will be as one

Mrs. Fine, the librarian, looked at my shirt, and made a face. I didn’t know what she was upset about but then she said, “That shirt is inappropriate for school.”

“What?” I asked. I thought maybe it was too small or too short. They’re always making the girls raise their arms above their heads and if any skin shows—an inch or a centimeter, it doesn’t matter—they’ll make you change or send you home and give you an unexcused absense. It doesn’t seem fair since we wouldn’t be breaking the dress code rule if they didn’t ask us to raise our arms in the first place. They get onto the boys for breaking the dress code rule if they haven’t shaved and have a little bit of stubble on their chin or upper lip. But nobody sends the boys home. The principal just hands them a razor and sends them to the bathroom during the break between classes. The prinicipal always says on the first day of school during orientation that it’s because they’re teaching us to be adults and to get jobs eventually. But, I see men in town all the time with facial hair, and I assume they have jobs. They can’t all be unemployed because they grew out a beard.

“It’s blasphemous. The words on your shirt.” 

I looked down again and pulled down on the hem to get a better look at the lyrics, albeit even if they were upside down. 

“It’s just the words from a song.” I could feel my cheeks start to flush. I don’t like to be in trouble and I never break the rules. But, Mrs. Fine was so mad, like I’d done something wrong.

“I know what they are. They’re anti-American and ungodly. John Lennon was a communist.  That song is communist propeganda.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept looking down and muttered, “Okay.” 

“Go into the bathroom and turn it inside out. Otherwise, I’ll send you to the office and they’ll make you go home and change.” 

I was so embarrassed.

I still didn’t say or do anything. I wanted to. I wanted to yell. I thought I might cry. 

But, I just picked up my notebook, left the library, and went into the bathroom and turned my shirt inside out, even though I didn’t want to. I knew everyone was going to ask me about my shirt for the rest of the day and they did. So I had to lie and tell them that I spilled my soda at break and stained my shirt. I went home after school and hid the shirt in the bottom of my dresser drawer. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier in the day—feeling bad, shameful. Like, if I’d gone to church with everyone else, I’d know that I’d worn the wrong shirt. 

I just want to live somewhere that the rules make sense.