Moonlight and Lesbians

My very best friend in the fifth and sixth grade was Gina Calandrino. Gina was a chubby-cheeked Italian girl who in my opinion had the nicest smile in our whole school. It was warm and sincere; when she smiled at you, you knew she really meant it. Once we became friends we were inseparable. We talked on the phone, had sleep-overs, and even traded stickers for our sticker books. She stood by me through the Ricky Galloway fiasco, she didn’t laugh with the rest of the class when one of the “mean girls” in art class drew a picture of Bozo the Clown and labeled it with my name (honestly, when I wore my hair down, I did look a lot like Bozo and on that particular day my early on-set acne had placed a Mt. Vesuvius sized zit on the tip of my nose), she was the best friend I had ever had. Being a bit chubby herself, Gina shared some of my same insecurities, so when we did social things we generally did it together. And one of those things was going to Skateland.

At the time Skateland was the place for all of the cool 11 and 12 year olds to hang out, so we did, too. Most people went on Friday nights when Skateland had two sessions – one that lasted until 9pm and another that went until 11:30. Gina and I could only stay for the first session (because it was the ‘70s and our parents actually cared about us); therefore we had to make every minute count. Every Friday night I would painstakingly pick out a pair of jeans that one, or both of my parents, would politely hint were too tight. After stuffing myself into them I would thread the hook end of a wire coat hanger through the hole in the zipper and pull with all my might to pull the zipper closed before I was forced to exhale. After picking out a shirt which was usually adorned with some sort of corny iron-on transfer (i.e., 90% Angel – 10% Devil, ETC… Extra Terrific Chick, Keep On Truckin’), I’d put my comb in my back pocket (it said “If you can read this you’re too close”), grab my skates and pom-poms, and head for the backseat of our Marigold-Colored Station Wagon.

I would spend the rest of the evening trying my best to seem cool – drinking Suicides (it is when you ask for every flavor of soda in one cup… plus grenadine!), playing air hockey (on skates it ain’t easy), and trying my best not to look pitiful when no one asked me to skate the Moonlight Skate (seriously, never ever asked). I would always skate to the bathroom or go to the bench and pretend the pom-poms on my skates were loose; sometimes Gina and I would make a loud production of how we couldn’t believe (insert imaginary boy’s name here) had asked us to skate, “What a loser”! When my parents would pick me up, they would always ask “Did you have a good time” and I always assured them that I did but it ate at me and ate at me that no one found me even remotely attractive enough to skate with… in the dark. (Damn, that sounded depressing. I’m sorry! The sadness usually only lasted till I got home and at a couple bowls of ice cream. After that I was fine and would practice kissing on my pillow until I fell asleep! So, no worries.)

Every once in awhile, my mother would take us skating on a Sunday afternoon. That was always a treat because on Sundays very few kids were there and I could work on my skating moves (think a short little pudgy brown female Napoleon Dynamite on skates – yeah, those kind of moves). Gina, my sister and I skated the crazy trio, musical corners, and every other skating game the management thought up that week. It was so much fun. I was having a blast… And that’s when it happened. The lights dimmed and the announcement for the Moonlight Skate came on. My own personal hell, the Moonlight Skate! Making losers out of the chubby, the Moonlight Skate! The once a week confidence destroyer, The Moonlight Skate! Finally after two years of torture, I could take it no more and I said to Gina, “Let’s Skate!” So, we did. It was magical, I slayed my dragon, conquered my demon, and did it with my best friend by my side! Two friends proving that just because the boys don’t like you (quite yet) doesn’t mean you have to lean on the half wall and watch. Hand-in-hand we skated, happy and confident, until a lady and her goofy looking boyfriend skated by and shouted, “LESBIANS!” We left the floor immediately. I’m not sure if I knew what a lesbian was but I knew it was bad. When I told my mom, I knew it was really bad! When my mom grabbed my Aunt’s hand and headed out to finish the Moonlight Skate, I knew that it was extremely bad. But it wasn’t until I saw the women flat on her back at the feet of my screaming mother that I knew that my mom either really hated lesbians or really loved me. (After a long explanation as to what a lesbian is, I realized she just really loved me) She also took Gina and me skating the very next Sunday and, once again, we skated the Moonlight Skate, with no problems what-so-ever.

Now, thirty years later, I am kind of glad that no boy ever asked me to skate because if they had I probably would have never got to see my mom knock that girl on her ass simply for hurting my feelings.

Thanks Mom.