Page 303 - What They Did to the Kid

What They Did to the Kid 291

the whole tune, like “Sentimental Journey,” is played through as an
instrumental and finally some featured singer like Doris Day tags
in at the end with the lyrics. Jocelyn and I only became vocal like
that after a long period of, not flirting, but watching, studying, eye-
balling each other. I missed the barracks of the seminary. I missed
the Misery gossip. Jocelyn was the eye and center of everything. I
missed knowing someone like that. She was the Ruler of the Union,
the editor of the paper, and a favorite of the faculty.
I gave her a manuscript on J. D. Salinger. “It’s okay,” she said.
We were dancing together on Rush Street to a jukebox full of 45’s,
Ray Charles singing, “Georgia, Georgia.” She led me. “We have to
discuss your writing. J’accuse! You were in the seminary.” We stopped
dancing. “Don’t lie.”
I was a seven-year-old caught with my underwear dripping. “It
shows?”
“Shows?” She shot the word back from the side of her mouth.
“The ‘theology of this’ and ‘the theology of that.’ Crap. Must you see
a ‘theology’ in everything? There must be a thousand ex-seminarians
on this campus. You’re new, but you’re not fresh.”
“I can get fresh.”
“I mean you’re not original.”
“You want me to get fresh?”
She slapped my face. Not hard. Everybody stared. I felt like one
of those chickens they crucify in Mexico and watch die, taking bets,
while the stage fills up with its blood. “Georgia, Georgia.” She took
my hands, lifted my arms, and pulled me into her. “Dance,” she
said. I hated her. I loved her. I pushed into her. She pushed back.
We danced until Ray Charles stopped singing. “What do you think
of Negroes?” she said.
“They need their rights.”
“What’s your ‘theology-of’ that?”
I told her about living as a worker-priest for three months at
Holy Cross parish and marching on Mayor Daley’s office with The
Woodlawn Organization.
“From 63rd and Cottage Grove?”
“With Saul Alinsky.”
That was when she said, “Phone me.” That was the night she

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