Pride and Prejudice

By Kathy Luder

As I sat in the back of the police car, hands cuffed in my lap, I was mildly surprised at how clean everything was. The car was immaculate. There wasn't a pebble on the floor, no dust on the back ledge or bars, and the vinyl seat was slippery with polish, as shiny as my cuffs. I sat in the back alone as the car whisked smoothly through town toward the police department.

“How you doing back there, Kathy?” the driver asked, glancing at me in the rear view mirror.

“Fine,” I said. “It is not very pleasant, is it?” the other cop said, twisting around to give me a big grin that somehow made me nervous.

“It is okay,” I said, grinning back weakly.

“People don't realize how good it is to be free, to have control of your hands, to be able to get out of a car if and when you want,” he said, snorting, and turned back to the front.

“I guess.” I looked down at my shackled hands. “It’s not that bad. It’s almost kind of nice. Quiet.”

“Yeah,” the driver continued. “Locking a person up is the worst thing you can do to someone and still call it humane. Man was meant to be free.”

“Freedom is just a word,” I said quietly.

“But that is what happens when you can't play nice,” he continued. “Some people can't live in society.”

The passenger interrupted him, twisting around to face me again. “Don't worry. We'll get you out of there in a minute. You can ride back in the front.”

His face broke into even a bigger smile, almost wicked looking, as he winked and chuckled, saying, “Hope this scares you straight.”

In fact, I didn't want to go back to school. I felt like I should be locked up. It was a ridiculous feeling, drama queen style, but the guilt I felt in my lower back needed relief. It seemed like bars and separation from the world would better alleviate my suffering than confession, and I knew that as badly as

I tried to hold it in, confession was coming. So I was somewhat glad for the delay, but the delay was making me nervous.

It had all started a week ago at lunch when smarty-pants Lindsey was bragging about how she didn't read Clique books or watch American Idol. Those things were for the unwashed masses. She also dismissed the latest and most popular movies and music. She liked Casablanca and Beethoven and thought Humphrey Bogart and Spencer Tracey were the real dreamboats. Justin Timberlake was just scuzzy and immature.

“Dreamboat? Who says dreamboat?” I thought to myself.

Lindsey was pathetic. But Molly was completely taken in by it. She even asked Lindsey what she recommended.

Then, I stuck my pride in my mouth alongside my spork. I said,“I bet I've read more classics than you.”

Lindsey was twirling her classic, straight, long brown hair around her index finger. She tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, Kathy,” she said, placing a hand on mine and looking me in the eye. “It doesn't matter who has read more.”

“No,” I said, pulling my hand back and looking across the sea of freshman stuffing themselves on burritos and fries. “It doesn't matter.” Then I looked her in the eye. “But I bet I've read more,” I said. “You are incorrigible!” she said.

Incorrigible? Who says incorrigible? Dreamboats rafting down the Amazon in black andwhite movies maybe, but not us. Not me. And not Lindsey either, not without sounding horribly fake or without the bile rising in the back of my throat as Molly grinned ear to ear, basking in the Lindsey's natural beauty and superior intellect.

Lindsey turned to Molly. “Why is everything a contest with her?”

I interrupted. “Have you read King Lear?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Have you read The Grapes of Wrath?”

I smirked. “Of course. What about Slaughterhouse Five?”

“No. I haven't. Sounds gross,” she admitted. “Animal Farm?”

“Please.We had to read that for school. What about David Copperfield?”

“No, I haven't read that either. I did read A Christmas Carol but everyone has read that.” She twirled her hair more tightly and looked up at the ceiling.

I sipped my milk, feeling very pleased. I'd stumped her.

Molly was still grinning, but there was a tinge of disgust in her eye. She said, “You two are pathetic” as she got up and left.

Lindsey raised her eyebrows and the pitch of her voice. She asked, “Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice?”

“Yes! Come on. Everyone has read that,” I said. I even slapped the table to demonstrate my disgust, so that she would know that I was insulted, as the bell rang.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Lindsey said as she rose with her tray, shaking that long brown hair like a movie star from the forties. “Maybe you have read more classics. That is swell.”

Swell? Who says swell? As she walked away, she threw “I'll just have to put my nose to the grindstone and catch up” over her shoulder.

Nose to the grindstone? Aggggghhhh! She made me so sick. That affected nostalgia and phoney grandmother vocabulary could make me puke. I felt like listening to the Backstreet Boys and quoting SpongeBob just for spite.

Molly came back to get my notes for biology.

I said, “That Lindsey is a total fake. What a witch!”

But as the afternoon wore on, I felt the urge to puke from more than disgust with Lindsey. I'd told a bold-faced, fully conscience, deliberate lie. And it was a good thing Molly had left, because Molly knew I'd never read Pride and Prejudice since it was her all-time favorite book. As soon as Lindsey talked to her, I was sure to be busted. It would then be revealed that I was a completely vain and idiotic fool who boasted about reading books that I hadn't read and called girls who were trying to be nice to me names. Once again, Lindsey would look classy and sophisticated. And I would be shown as the phoney I really was.

I waited for the bomb to fall all afternoon. I worked silently but furiously on excuses to cover up the lie. By the end of fifth period, I was ready to pretend that I thought she had said Light in August by William Faulkner. When I saw Molly after school, I left it drop how much I loved Light in August to sow the seed and make sure she knew I'd read it, but Molly didn't seem to be paying much attention. By the next morning, I had half-convinced myself that I really did think she had said Light in August. But the sickness and the pain in my back wouldn't go away.

I had no appetite that night and didn't fall asleep until after 2:00 a.m. I was a mess the next morning and almost stayed home sick. I felt plenty sick. But I knew I had to face the music. Then, I figured out that the conversation that so obsessed me meant almost nothing to either Lindsey or Molly. It was obvious that morning that they had never talked about it. It was also far enough away that the details would be fuzzy. If it came up now, my excuse would be quite believable. Besides, I figured, it was such a stupid thing. I am more widely read than Lindsey. I deserve the credit. If they weren't worried about, why should I be? But the sickness and the pain remained.

During first period, I determined I would read Pride and Prejudice over the weekend, figuring if I did read it, it would soften the lie and remove my guilt. I told myself that would make everything fine, but my back wouldn't listen.

Just before lunch, hiding in a bathroom stall on pass, I decided that I simply had to confess to Lindsey. I had to come clean. But then at lunch, not wanting to do it in front of others, I procrastinated again. Then, during the last period, the D.A.R.E. cops came, and I got hauled away in a faux drug bust. I would not only get home late, but I would also not get a chance to talk to Lindsey and I didn't want to do this over the phone.

When we got the station, the cops asked me to wait in the break room while they did some cop thing. There was coffee and pop in there, and, of course, donuts. There were also magazines and a Gideon's Bible on an end table. I picked up the Bible and started flipping around. After a few minutes, I read these familiar words from the liturgy in Psalm 32,

“Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, Whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man to whom the LORD does not impute iniquity, And in whose spirit there is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones grew old Through my groaning all the day long. I acknowledged my sin to You, And my iniquity I have not hidden. I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the LORD, And You forgave the iniquity of my sin.”

I knew just how David felt. My bones were growing old. I was weary. I sat there dumbfounded, on the verge of tears, eager to confess, when who should fall through the door laughing? Molly and Lindsey. Molly's dad is a cop and works at that station.

“Hi, Kathy.” Molly said. “I figured you'd get stuck here, so we came to pick you up. Lindsey just told me a great joke about cops and donuts.”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly very happy they were there, surprised at the coincidence and eager to get rid of the weight on my heart.

I stood up. “Look, Lindsey,” I said. “I have something to confess.”

“Oh?” she said, her face growing sober and half-squinting at me. “Something about me?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Not about you. About me.” I took a breath. I looked her right in the eye and said, “I never read Pride and Prejudice.” I was suddenly felt very scared and was afraid I would burst into tears.

“Really? Well, you should. It’s fabulous,” she said. She looked at Molly who was shoulder deep in the refrigerator and said, “That wasn't much of a confession. Lots of people haven't read Pride and Prejudice.”

I insisted, “But I told you I had.”

She arched her eyebrows and started twirling her hair, looking me right in the eye.

“Look,” I said. “I lied to at lunch yesterday.”

She did not react. She just twirled her hair, eyebrows burrowing into her forehead.

“I am sorry,” I said. I was confused by her reaction and growing frustrated. “Really. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said.“I know. But I don't get it. Molly and I already laughed about that.”

“What?” I asked.

She put a hand on my shoulder and flipped her hair back. She said, “Very silly of you, dear. But so what? Didn't she tell you?”

Molly was coming toward us with soft drinks. Lindsey must have seen something in my face. She suddenly grew serious and her voice came out naturally for once. “I mean, really,” she said. “It’s no big deal. If it is forgiveness you want, you have it. I've already forgiven you. You are forgiven. It’s no big deal. I just want to be your friend.”

There was no stopping the tears then. But I didn't care. I felt completely free. I hugged Lindsey, flipped my hair, and said, “Now, darling, that is truly fabulous.”

Kathy Luder is grateful she has any friend despite her one shortcomings, and you can e-mail her at KathyLuder@hotmail.com.