Hats, 1961
by Tricia Currans-Sheehan
For her graduation from Mount St. Francis, an all-women’s college, Mary would need a suit and hat for the luncheon following. She had been going through fashion magazines for months. She made her roommate Cheryl lie on her stomach next to her on the bed and look at them. She elbowed her when she saw a ridiculous cowboy hat with flowers, and they both giggled. Their narrow beds with white chenille spreads were pushed together like a full bed, and Mary liked scootching near Cheryl in the night and hearing her breathing or feeling her hand flop on her arm.
Mary’d wanted a hat like Jackie’s inauguration pillbox. She made a pillbox using a pink beret she found at a rummage sale. She smoothed out the sides and flattened the top with stiff canvas fabric taken from inside a man’s suit she’d bought at Salvation Army.
“Your hair isn’t right for that hat.” Cheryl reached out to Mary’s dishwater blonde hair. Then she pointed to a photo of Jackie Kennedy taped to the wall above their bed. “It’s not thick enough and it needs to be one length.”
“In two months, I’ll dye it brown and cut it straight, and rat it with my brush so it looks fuller.”
“I’m going to get this one.” Cheryl held a Sears catalog and pointed to a navy blue cloche hat that looked like a bucket. “I hate hats but if I have to wear one I want one that covers my hair so I don’t have to worry about fixing it.”
Mary didn’t like that style, but Cheryl wasn’t much of a fashion queen. She was more at home in a lab coat and goggles with her hair pulled back in a knot. Brainy but sort of cute. After Christmas she’d taken on the job of cleaning cages for the dozen lab mice they used for experiments. Mary didn’t like that she was gone so much and when Cheryl returned she smelled, causing Mary to spray Tabu cologne. When Mary was talking about lipstick shades, Cheryl joked about the silly things her white mouse did that day. “She sniffed my finger and I swear she farted.” They laughed together.
“I bet you don’t know how to put this on.” She held up a tube of Sassy Scarlet, and she surprised herself when she pinned Cheryl down on the bed and painted her mouth red. For a minute Cheryl lay still, then she met Mary’s eyes and blushed. At that she flipped Mary over and straddled her for a few seconds. “It feels greasy,” she said, jumping off her.
Mary grabbed her hand. “It makes you look prettier.”
Cheryl’s fingers touched Mary’s cheek. “You’re the pretty one, not me.” She hurried out of the room, and Mary grinned.
Then there was a change. Cheryl had gotten quiet and preoccupied because she needed to study for her GREs. In the last few weeks, Cheryl moved her desk lamp under her blankets so she could read late, but most of the time Cheryl’d fall asleep and Mary’d turn it off and pull the spread up to her chin. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and once she leaned in to softly kiss her forehead. She hurt knowing they’d never room together next year. Mary knew she wasn’t supposed to feel this way about a woman, but she did.
Cheryl was spending hours at the lab working on her final research project, and Mary missed her. One morning in late April, Cheryl was up at 4:00 and quietly left the room. Mary followed her in her bathrobe. The lab was two floors below. Mary saw the heavy door was closed, but an overhead light inside was on. She eased the door open an inch and looked. In her pjs with a lab coat over them, Cheryl was leaning over a dead mouse slit open on the table. She was using the scalpel to touch the innards. Then Cheryl flicked on a lamp. The guts glistened and Mary saw it was her white one. Cheryl began crying and held it in her palm.
“What’s going on?” Mary said.
Cheryl jumped and dropped the mouse on the table. “Why are you spying on me?”
“Why did you kill her?”
Then Mary saw the young professor enter in a white shirt and dark trousers. When he saw her, he stopped, lowered his eyes, embarrassed, and backed up quickly into the supply room.
Cheryl stood there glancing from Mary to the professor to the mouse and back again. The room was silent.
Mary hurried back to their room and waited, but Cheryl didn’t show up. She caught Cheryl sleeping that afternoon and when Mary closed the door loudly, Cheryl shot up. “Oh, God, I’m late for class.”
“What’s with you and Dr. Ben?” Mary asked.
Cheryl didn’t answer. She took off and didn’t return until midnight. And the next morning, Cheryl disappeared again, avoiding Mary. On Friday and Saturday, she and two other women students along with Dr. Ben presented at a student research conference in Chicago. They didn’t return until Wednesday. They were touring grad schools on Monday and Tuesday.
Mary wrote Cheryl a note and left it on her bed before she left. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll let you know when I get back,” Cheryl wrote back.
A package arrived from Sears for Cheryl Wednesday morning. Mary picked it up in the mail room. Cheryl set down her suitcase and Mary watched her unwrap it. She was seated on Mary’s bed.
It was no cloche hat but a flattened beige bow that went from one ear to the other. And it had a white veil attached that covered the top of her head, draping to her nose.
“It looks like a wedding veil,” Mary said.
Cheryl glanced up and their eyes met and held. Then she pulled a folded lightweight wool suit from the box. It was beige too.
“When?” asked Mary. Her heart sank.
“Two days after graduation. At the courthouse. My mom will stay for it.”
And then Mary knew what Cheryl was looking for in her mouse. Its enlarged ovaries. She remembered this from freshman biology class. The professor said that doctors would announce that the rabbit died when a woman was pregnant, but in this case her mouse died.
Mary lay down on the bed and sobbed. Then she reached out and grabbed Cheryl’s hand.
“It never would have worked for us,” Cheryl said.
“It did for two years,” Mary answered.
And they fell into each others arms and stayed that way for a few minutes until Sister Gertrude Anne knocked on their door. “Hall meeting in five.”
Mary’d wanted a hat like Jackie’s inauguration pillbox. She made a pillbox using a pink beret she found at a rummage sale. She smoothed out the sides and flattened the top with stiff canvas fabric taken from inside a man’s suit she’d bought at Salvation Army.
“Your hair isn’t right for that hat.” Cheryl reached out to Mary’s dishwater blonde hair. Then she pointed to a photo of Jackie Kennedy taped to the wall above their bed. “It’s not thick enough and it needs to be one length.”
“In two months, I’ll dye it brown and cut it straight, and rat it with my brush so it looks fuller.”
“I’m going to get this one.” Cheryl held a Sears catalog and pointed to a navy blue cloche hat that looked like a bucket. “I hate hats but if I have to wear one I want one that covers my hair so I don’t have to worry about fixing it.”
Mary didn’t like that style, but Cheryl wasn’t much of a fashion queen. She was more at home in a lab coat and goggles with her hair pulled back in a knot. Brainy but sort of cute. After Christmas she’d taken on the job of cleaning cages for the dozen lab mice they used for experiments. Mary didn’t like that she was gone so much and when Cheryl returned she smelled, causing Mary to spray Tabu cologne. When Mary was talking about lipstick shades, Cheryl joked about the silly things her white mouse did that day. “She sniffed my finger and I swear she farted.” They laughed together.
“I bet you don’t know how to put this on.” She held up a tube of Sassy Scarlet, and she surprised herself when she pinned Cheryl down on the bed and painted her mouth red. For a minute Cheryl lay still, then she met Mary’s eyes and blushed. At that she flipped Mary over and straddled her for a few seconds. “It feels greasy,” she said, jumping off her.
Mary grabbed her hand. “It makes you look prettier.”
Cheryl’s fingers touched Mary’s cheek. “You’re the pretty one, not me.” She hurried out of the room, and Mary grinned.
Then there was a change. Cheryl had gotten quiet and preoccupied because she needed to study for her GREs. In the last few weeks, Cheryl moved her desk lamp under her blankets so she could read late, but most of the time Cheryl’d fall asleep and Mary’d turn it off and pull the spread up to her chin. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and once she leaned in to softly kiss her forehead. She hurt knowing they’d never room together next year. Mary knew she wasn’t supposed to feel this way about a woman, but she did.
Cheryl was spending hours at the lab working on her final research project, and Mary missed her. One morning in late April, Cheryl was up at 4:00 and quietly left the room. Mary followed her in her bathrobe. The lab was two floors below. Mary saw the heavy door was closed, but an overhead light inside was on. She eased the door open an inch and looked. In her pjs with a lab coat over them, Cheryl was leaning over a dead mouse slit open on the table. She was using the scalpel to touch the innards. Then Cheryl flicked on a lamp. The guts glistened and Mary saw it was her white one. Cheryl began crying and held it in her palm.
“What’s going on?” Mary said.
Cheryl jumped and dropped the mouse on the table. “Why are you spying on me?”
“Why did you kill her?”
Then Mary saw the young professor enter in a white shirt and dark trousers. When he saw her, he stopped, lowered his eyes, embarrassed, and backed up quickly into the supply room.
Cheryl stood there glancing from Mary to the professor to the mouse and back again. The room was silent.
Mary hurried back to their room and waited, but Cheryl didn’t show up. She caught Cheryl sleeping that afternoon and when Mary closed the door loudly, Cheryl shot up. “Oh, God, I’m late for class.”
“What’s with you and Dr. Ben?” Mary asked.
Cheryl didn’t answer. She took off and didn’t return until midnight. And the next morning, Cheryl disappeared again, avoiding Mary. On Friday and Saturday, she and two other women students along with Dr. Ben presented at a student research conference in Chicago. They didn’t return until Wednesday. They were touring grad schools on Monday and Tuesday.
Mary wrote Cheryl a note and left it on her bed before she left. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll let you know when I get back,” Cheryl wrote back.
A package arrived from Sears for Cheryl Wednesday morning. Mary picked it up in the mail room. Cheryl set down her suitcase and Mary watched her unwrap it. She was seated on Mary’s bed.
It was no cloche hat but a flattened beige bow that went from one ear to the other. And it had a white veil attached that covered the top of her head, draping to her nose.
“It looks like a wedding veil,” Mary said.
Cheryl glanced up and their eyes met and held. Then she pulled a folded lightweight wool suit from the box. It was beige too.
“When?” asked Mary. Her heart sank.
“Two days after graduation. At the courthouse. My mom will stay for it.”
And then Mary knew what Cheryl was looking for in her mouse. Its enlarged ovaries. She remembered this from freshman biology class. The professor said that doctors would announce that the rabbit died when a woman was pregnant, but in this case her mouse died.
Mary lay down on the bed and sobbed. Then she reached out and grabbed Cheryl’s hand.
“It never would have worked for us,” Cheryl said.
“It did for two years,” Mary answered.
And they fell into each others arms and stayed that way for a few minutes until Sister Gertrude Anne knocked on their door. “Hall meeting in five.”