Chapter 50: Poison Ivy League

The boy is nervous about going on, the venue is only half full in Philadelphia. The Northeast hasn’t been won over by him, and it stands in stark contrast to the rest of the country. I feel almost embarrassed on behalf of Pennsylvania and all these places where I spent so many of my formative years. It’s as if, “how dare they?” in my mind.

Before the first show, he’s interviewed by some insufferably arrogant high school reporters, whom I eventually have to ask to leave because I can’t bear their rudeness to my wonderful boy, who always tries so hard and is polite to everyone.

He’s unsettled after the second show that evening and just wants to go home, but there are still two more shows at the Sports Arena, one in the afternoon and one in the evening, and he’s obliged to carry on.

During the evening show, a group of dreadful students, self-righteous, arrogant, and privileged in the worst way, throw eggs at him on stage. The eggs don’t hit him, but they strike his guitar, and I can see how mortified and affected he is by the aggression. I immediately report them to the guards, and they’re escorted out. I’m so filled with the need to rescue him that I’m seething, and Tilly has to calm me down. She calls me Attila the Hun and says I need to tone down my anger, that it’s unbecoming for a young lady.

Tilly excuses herself before the show is over, and I go backstage to meet him as soon as he comes off. He asks if I can please come home with him. I tell him I can’t just gallivant off in whatever direction the wind blows us, I have responsibilities now. But I do go with him to the station, and we sit in silence in the car, holding hands.

When I walk him to the train, he turns and tells me I don’t need to come home for Easter. He’ll be all right without me. I hadn’t expected that, and I start to cry. He’s surprised by that. So there we are, with ten minutes to spare, and it feels as if we’re the two loneliest people in the world, holding each other, until he kisses me goodbye and waves from the carriage as it pulls away.

“Fuck Philadelphia!” he shouts out of the carriage door, waving with defiance before he disappears.

I telephone Tilly from the station and ask her to pick me up and drive me home. It’s late, and I’m suddenly all alone.

“You’re coming to New York with me for Easter,” she tells me, lighting a cigarette in the car. “You call Miss Mary and tell her she has Easter off, she can visit her family in Arkansas.” She glances at me and squeezes my shoulder before shifting gears and swinging into the parking lot in front of our building.

“But,” I say. “Mabel and Bingham are getting married at Easter back home.”

Tilly shrugs. “Back home?” She raises an eyebrow. “Your home is here, baby. You’re one of us. You don’t belong down South, you belong with us up here.”

I shake my head and tell her I don’t belong anywhere.