Revision #1, turning in TODAY!!!
VETERANS OF A SORT
By: Carla Bailey
Out there in the atmosphere, there are those who remember. Those who have walked between the worlds, seen the end of time, and made it back by dinner from saving the skins of those they hold dear (along with those that they don't). A feeling so raw overcomes me as memories of my teen years wash over me. Everything was immediate, of dire importance, once upon a time. Made especially so by those girls with whom I shared myself with. All of my secrets, for better or worse, were laid bare in such a short time, creating bonds that will last the whole of my life.
There were six of us, officially. Candice, Carla, Amber, Sheli, Tiah, and Gretta are our birth names. The names we gave each other go as follows: Legs, Maddie, Rita, Violet, Red, and Goldie. We were closer than close and at times it still feels like we are. There was a secret language shared amongst only our clique. We were the girls of the Foxfyre Circle, and though that name was never official, it tells you a little bit more about whom we were. It tells you further about who we are still, to this day.
We fought for each other, standing up against the bullies who defaced our lockers time and again. We helped each other push through the classes that just never seemed like they were going to end. Most of our classmates were greatly unsettled by us; one went so far as to ask Candice if she had “joined a Goth gang.” She just smiled wolfishly, never giving a direct answer. For you see, we had learned that we had power as a Unit. We commanded attention, redirected it when it was negative (most of the time), and discovered a wealth of support that we never knew could exist for friends.
When I think back to us and all that we were, I can hear various songs of our collective youth, such as Candlebox's "You," which Candice would blare loudly when she was upset, slamming her car door, chain-smoking as she raced down the road. I can hear Gretta's laugh, her head through back, short and spiky hair falling every which direction, in every color imaginable. Sheli singing in choir with me, passing notes in the guise of characters from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. When picturing Amber, I can see her lying on my front lawn (her long brown hair like a halo), all of us in a circle around her, telling us of her deceased mother, the bonfire we built in my dad’s old charcoal grill blazing long into the night. We shared wild stories and teasing younger siblings, especially Tiah's brother, were the highlights of many nights. Tiah, my Aquarius Sister, who is the daughter of a Virgo Mother, who feels both my pain and my pleasure within that kind of a relationship dynamic. If such friendships can be boiled down to a series of images, sounds, & smells, these are only the tip of the iceberg.
Once upon a time, we would have sleepovers, drink wine coolers, smoke pot, and occasionally carve designs into each other's flesh. We would laugh and speak of the future, thinking that it would never come, that after Graduation the world would fade to black. We dreamed about solidifying our friendship in a permanent way, but only half heartedly. Graduations came and went; me, Candice, and Sheli were first, with Gretta, Amber (at a different school), and Tiah the following June. Tiah even called us out in her Valedictorian speech, quoting both Robert Frost and Joyce Carol Oates, thanking "the girls who run with foxes." Amid looks of confusion all around, we screamed ourselves hoarse from the bleachers. We began to go our separate ways, with school and life drawing us in different directions.
"You are my Heart, Mads," Candice and Gretta would both say, lifting a line from Legs, the ringleader of the gang from Foxfire. I am the one who keeps track of who lives where, with how many children, what kind of job, etc. I am the record keeper. I am Maddie, representing Maddy Wirtz, who became a journalist later in her life. I made a vow to never forget those times, for they made me who I am today. I have written love letters, made mixed tapes and t-shirts, to give to these girls. Ten years later, Foxfyre Circle is alive and kicking, in journals and poetry that I revisit often.
Besides these representations of faith, I have several tattoos, and a couple of scars on my body, that mark my allegiance. The most obvious of these is the aforementioned one involving our initials. The letters, in an Old School font, arch over a rainbow colored ball of flame, with a banner across the bottom, bearing the nickname that we chose for each other. The tattoo was designed by Candice, inspired by Joyce Carol Oates' aforementioned novel (which was made into a film in the latter part of the 1990's, starring Angelina Jolie, Hedy Buress, and Jenny Shimizu), "Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang." Likewise, the nicknames we earned were derived from those characters.
The plot of both the book and the film follows a group of girls who are outcasts, thrown together due to the chaos that is young adulthood. While the book shows us the girls growing from junior high to high school and beyond, with Maddy's fierce determination to keep the secrets until the time is right to share them with the world, the film gives only a momentary glimpse of the secret lives of girls. Both were as familiar to us as our own lives. We were these young women, conflicted by our situations in life, and where we wanted to eventually be.
Gretta was practically living with me at my parents' house in Greenfield, Candice came to visit, just after high school. She had a design, and planned to get it later in the year, even if we were all too scared to do it with her. I remember sitting in the back of Gretta's light blue 1983 Honda Accord, which we had dubbed the Blue Angel, looking at the piece of tracing paper clutched in Candice's hands.
"Well, are you in, or what? I am so totally getting it done on my boob!" Her toothy smile light up the car, as we made our way out for the day.
"It's a bit big, don't you think, for your chest? Maybe just the flames?" I said.
"Baby, maybe for yours, but then again, if we all share a cup of mine, then we'll all be the same size, right? I like the multiple colors, Legs." Gretta chimed in response. She is quite the curvaceous girl; we'd often joked that if she had surgery, to downsize her chest, the rest of us would go with her to upgrade ours.
So the plan was made and formulated--in November 1999, come Hell or High Water, we would go to Gold Coast Tattoo in Marina, and finally get our permanent marks together. The months rolled by, and unfortunately Tiah and Amber were not going to be able to meet up with us. Sheli had planned on meeting myself and Gretta in Salinas, but backed out at the last minute. We discussed this at great length; like can happen with girls, there was some sort of internal conflict, regarding a boy or two, trust being broken, and other such highly charged issues.
We decided that Thanksgiving weekend would work, as Candice was flying in from Arizona to see her father, in Watsonville, and Gold Coast was accepting walk ins. Gretta and I chose the mall down the street to meet Candice. The Mall...on the day after Thanksgiving. In the hopes to run into our best friend, whom we'd not seen in a few months, on the busiest shopping day of the year.
At least we'd chosen the Carousel, a handy landmark in a sea of people. A feeling of anxiety washed over me, as I grasped Gretta's hand and we entered the building. How dumb we felt, thinking that it would be easy to meet up on such a day! Facing in opposite directions, we scanned the crowd, in hopes of meeting a pair of sky blue eyes under a swathe of brown hair. This was a time when cell phones were not in every purse or pocket, our only recourse to contacting our compatriot therefore being sheer force of will.
And the Red Sea seemed to part, and there she was, in four inch heeled black boots, crimson short sleeved turtle neck, and hip length leather jacket, black sunglasses on top of her head, holding back her neck length hair. In a near tackle, Gretta and I hugged Candice in unison, a wave of relief washing over us. This was it, now we were going to do it.
After a quick jaunt across the roadway, to purchase cigarettes, we made our way to Santa Cruz for the day, gearing up for the tattoo. In a way, we were trying to talk ourselves out of it, as we were the only three there to get it done, wouldn't it be better if all six of us were there? Can we really include someone whom we feel we can't trust anymore? This plagued our conversation, in between drags, all the way to the seashore.
Candice, ever our leader, ever the diplomat, was able to assuage our fears, as she insisted that she was going to get the piece, that day, no matter what. And if she could do it, why couldn't we? The plan reaffirmed, we relaxed, heading back down Highway 1, to Marina, and a dingy little shopping center where our tattoo shop was located.
Gold Coast Tattoo is one of the best shops in Northern Central California; at the time, they had two locations, the latter being in downtown Monterey, in a building with a Pagoda facade. The Marina shop was very familiar to us, as both Gretta and I had already gotten work done there, previously. There was a time when I could find it blindfolded-skipping through the parking lot, dodging pot holes, following the distant sound of buzzing needles. There was a small Japanese restaurant next door, with a nail salon on the other side, away from Gold Coast, which created an interesting scent of steamed rice and polish, blending with the slight ozone smell from the shop.
We longed to work with Creepy Gary, an artist of note, who had a grumpy demeanor (mostly towards men) and drove a mean classic car. He had a chest length black goatee, Buddy Holly glasses, and was soft spoken. His business card stated that he gave discounts to strippers and military personnel-Candice, ever the shocker, made a point to show him her stripping license, a la the state of Arizona. Gary had been a Marine Drill Sergeant, and his wife was still in the Service. We all thought he was quite dreamy.
When we arrived, Gary was just setting up his station. He had one appointment coming in just after we got there, but had nothing else scheduled. He would do all three of our pieces that evening. It was decided, while Gary mulled over Candice's sketch, that the one with the least amount of work would be the one to go first. That meant Candice, a tattoo virgin, would have that honor.
Her tough facade in full effect, she strolled around the counter, while Gary made some suggestions and completed the final touches to our tattoo. As he set to work, needle to skin, Gary broke through Candice's bravado by asking, "You wanted a black panther, right?" We fell all to giggles, at the sight of her eyes going wide. The man set about his business, commenting on our idle chatter and regaling us with stories of tattooing an entire cheerleading team, etching the last few girls from memory of the previous works, by the end of the night.
Settling in, we watched him work, his eyes narrowing at times, focusing on the movements of the needle, as it slide across Candice's shoulder. In no time, Gary was halfway through, having a smoke break with us, and then finishing up. I went next, my hands icy from nerves. Candice and Gretta sat on the stools, with their elbows up on the counter, watching and waiting. I focused through the pain, which was the worst I'd felt in my life at that point, listening to random bits of conversation in the background.
Gretta made her way to the chair, for her turn and the final tattoo of the night. By now it was after 8pm, and we were the only people in the shop. Candice had gotten her piece on her left shoulder, mine was placed on my right; Gretta chose to place hers in the middle, to balance out the evening. It seemed like we’d been there for days by the end of Gretta’s piece, but we were none the worse for wear from it. Gary kindly taped Gretta’s back, repeating the words of wisdom as to how to care for our new ink. We nodded, taking it all in, myself noting that we were hoping to get the last girls into the shop soon, and would Gary be willing to do this again? He wryly smiled and nodded, ringing up our bill.
Tumbling out the door, watching him lock up, singing our thanks in the dark, the glow of our cigarettes trailing behind us. After watching Gary slip into his classic Chevy four door, sleek and black, we sailed away into the night in the Blue Angel. It would be over six months until we were able to come back, with Tiah, for her piece. Gary remembered and readily cleared a space for us. It was July 10th, Candice’s 20th birthday; she spent a few spare moments with us on the phone, howling with joy that this was the best birthday present we could give her.
And here we are, ten years later, all of us fast approaching the big 3-0, with Amber and Sheli the last without the ink, but still very much a part of the story. I was introduced at Tiah’s wedding, by her mother to other family members as “Tiah’s friend, you know, one with the tattoo.” I’ve heard of other girls who felt the same as us, who got tattoos because of “Foxfire,” but I think it’s more than that. We fell into the perfect place and time-we were the missing pieces of the puzzles of our lives, perhaps only then, perhaps forever. Our battles were never long, but they did change us-for better or worse. We became Sisters, through thick and thin, and as such, we will see stormy days but through the strength we hold collectively, we will weather them. “Veterans of a sort,” Oates bequeathed her gang of miscreants; I know what she means and am not afraid of the war.
By: Carla Bailey
Out there in the atmosphere, there are those who remember. Those who have walked between the worlds, seen the end of time, and made it back by dinner from saving the skins of those they hold dear (along with those that they don't). A feeling so raw overcomes me as memories of my teen years wash over me. Everything was immediate, of dire importance, once upon a time. Made especially so by those girls with whom I shared myself with. All of my secrets, for better or worse, were laid bare in such a short time, creating bonds that will last the whole of my life.
There were six of us, officially. Candice, Carla, Amber, Sheli, Tiah, and Gretta are our birth names. The names we gave each other go as follows: Legs, Maddie, Rita, Violet, Red, and Goldie. We were closer than close and at times it still feels like we are. There was a secret language shared amongst only our clique. We were the girls of the Foxfyre Circle, and though that name was never official, it tells you a little bit more about whom we were. It tells you further about who we are still, to this day.
We fought for each other, standing up against the bullies who defaced our lockers time and again. We helped each other push through the classes that just never seemed like they were going to end. Most of our classmates were greatly unsettled by us; one went so far as to ask Candice if she had “joined a Goth gang.” She just smiled wolfishly, never giving a direct answer. For you see, we had learned that we had power as a Unit. We commanded attention, redirected it when it was negative (most of the time), and discovered a wealth of support that we never knew could exist for friends.
When I think back to us and all that we were, I can hear various songs of our collective youth, such as Candlebox's "You," which Candice would blare loudly when she was upset, slamming her car door, chain-smoking as she raced down the road. I can hear Gretta's laugh, her head through back, short and spiky hair falling every which direction, in every color imaginable. Sheli singing in choir with me, passing notes in the guise of characters from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. When picturing Amber, I can see her lying on my front lawn (her long brown hair like a halo), all of us in a circle around her, telling us of her deceased mother, the bonfire we built in my dad’s old charcoal grill blazing long into the night. We shared wild stories and teasing younger siblings, especially Tiah's brother, were the highlights of many nights. Tiah, my Aquarius Sister, who is the daughter of a Virgo Mother, who feels both my pain and my pleasure within that kind of a relationship dynamic. If such friendships can be boiled down to a series of images, sounds, & smells, these are only the tip of the iceberg.
Once upon a time, we would have sleepovers, drink wine coolers, smoke pot, and occasionally carve designs into each other's flesh. We would laugh and speak of the future, thinking that it would never come, that after Graduation the world would fade to black. We dreamed about solidifying our friendship in a permanent way, but only half heartedly. Graduations came and went; me, Candice, and Sheli were first, with Gretta, Amber (at a different school), and Tiah the following June. Tiah even called us out in her Valedictorian speech, quoting both Robert Frost and Joyce Carol Oates, thanking "the girls who run with foxes." Amid looks of confusion all around, we screamed ourselves hoarse from the bleachers. We began to go our separate ways, with school and life drawing us in different directions.
"You are my Heart, Mads," Candice and Gretta would both say, lifting a line from Legs, the ringleader of the gang from Foxfire. I am the one who keeps track of who lives where, with how many children, what kind of job, etc. I am the record keeper. I am Maddie, representing Maddy Wirtz, who became a journalist later in her life. I made a vow to never forget those times, for they made me who I am today. I have written love letters, made mixed tapes and t-shirts, to give to these girls. Ten years later, Foxfyre Circle is alive and kicking, in journals and poetry that I revisit often.
Besides these representations of faith, I have several tattoos, and a couple of scars on my body, that mark my allegiance. The most obvious of these is the aforementioned one involving our initials. The letters, in an Old School font, arch over a rainbow colored ball of flame, with a banner across the bottom, bearing the nickname that we chose for each other. The tattoo was designed by Candice, inspired by Joyce Carol Oates' aforementioned novel (which was made into a film in the latter part of the 1990's, starring Angelina Jolie, Hedy Buress, and Jenny Shimizu), "Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang." Likewise, the nicknames we earned were derived from those characters.
The plot of both the book and the film follows a group of girls who are outcasts, thrown together due to the chaos that is young adulthood. While the book shows us the girls growing from junior high to high school and beyond, with Maddy's fierce determination to keep the secrets until the time is right to share them with the world, the film gives only a momentary glimpse of the secret lives of girls. Both were as familiar to us as our own lives. We were these young women, conflicted by our situations in life, and where we wanted to eventually be.
Gretta was practically living with me at my parents' house in Greenfield, Candice came to visit, just after high school. She had a design, and planned to get it later in the year, even if we were all too scared to do it with her. I remember sitting in the back of Gretta's light blue 1983 Honda Accord, which we had dubbed the Blue Angel, looking at the piece of tracing paper clutched in Candice's hands.
"Well, are you in, or what? I am so totally getting it done on my boob!" Her toothy smile light up the car, as we made our way out for the day.
"It's a bit big, don't you think, for your chest? Maybe just the flames?" I said.
"Baby, maybe for yours, but then again, if we all share a cup of mine, then we'll all be the same size, right? I like the multiple colors, Legs." Gretta chimed in response. She is quite the curvaceous girl; we'd often joked that if she had surgery, to downsize her chest, the rest of us would go with her to upgrade ours.
So the plan was made and formulated--in November 1999, come Hell or High Water, we would go to Gold Coast Tattoo in Marina, and finally get our permanent marks together. The months rolled by, and unfortunately Tiah and Amber were not going to be able to meet up with us. Sheli had planned on meeting myself and Gretta in Salinas, but backed out at the last minute. We discussed this at great length; like can happen with girls, there was some sort of internal conflict, regarding a boy or two, trust being broken, and other such highly charged issues.
We decided that Thanksgiving weekend would work, as Candice was flying in from Arizona to see her father, in Watsonville, and Gold Coast was accepting walk ins. Gretta and I chose the mall down the street to meet Candice. The Mall...on the day after Thanksgiving. In the hopes to run into our best friend, whom we'd not seen in a few months, on the busiest shopping day of the year.
At least we'd chosen the Carousel, a handy landmark in a sea of people. A feeling of anxiety washed over me, as I grasped Gretta's hand and we entered the building. How dumb we felt, thinking that it would be easy to meet up on such a day! Facing in opposite directions, we scanned the crowd, in hopes of meeting a pair of sky blue eyes under a swathe of brown hair. This was a time when cell phones were not in every purse or pocket, our only recourse to contacting our compatriot therefore being sheer force of will.
And the Red Sea seemed to part, and there she was, in four inch heeled black boots, crimson short sleeved turtle neck, and hip length leather jacket, black sunglasses on top of her head, holding back her neck length hair. In a near tackle, Gretta and I hugged Candice in unison, a wave of relief washing over us. This was it, now we were going to do it.
After a quick jaunt across the roadway, to purchase cigarettes, we made our way to Santa Cruz for the day, gearing up for the tattoo. In a way, we were trying to talk ourselves out of it, as we were the only three there to get it done, wouldn't it be better if all six of us were there? Can we really include someone whom we feel we can't trust anymore? This plagued our conversation, in between drags, all the way to the seashore.
Candice, ever our leader, ever the diplomat, was able to assuage our fears, as she insisted that she was going to get the piece, that day, no matter what. And if she could do it, why couldn't we? The plan reaffirmed, we relaxed, heading back down Highway 1, to Marina, and a dingy little shopping center where our tattoo shop was located.
Gold Coast Tattoo is one of the best shops in Northern Central California; at the time, they had two locations, the latter being in downtown Monterey, in a building with a Pagoda facade. The Marina shop was very familiar to us, as both Gretta and I had already gotten work done there, previously. There was a time when I could find it blindfolded-skipping through the parking lot, dodging pot holes, following the distant sound of buzzing needles. There was a small Japanese restaurant next door, with a nail salon on the other side, away from Gold Coast, which created an interesting scent of steamed rice and polish, blending with the slight ozone smell from the shop.
We longed to work with Creepy Gary, an artist of note, who had a grumpy demeanor (mostly towards men) and drove a mean classic car. He had a chest length black goatee, Buddy Holly glasses, and was soft spoken. His business card stated that he gave discounts to strippers and military personnel-Candice, ever the shocker, made a point to show him her stripping license, a la the state of Arizona. Gary had been a Marine Drill Sergeant, and his wife was still in the Service. We all thought he was quite dreamy.
When we arrived, Gary was just setting up his station. He had one appointment coming in just after we got there, but had nothing else scheduled. He would do all three of our pieces that evening. It was decided, while Gary mulled over Candice's sketch, that the one with the least amount of work would be the one to go first. That meant Candice, a tattoo virgin, would have that honor.
Her tough facade in full effect, she strolled around the counter, while Gary made some suggestions and completed the final touches to our tattoo. As he set to work, needle to skin, Gary broke through Candice's bravado by asking, "You wanted a black panther, right?" We fell all to giggles, at the sight of her eyes going wide. The man set about his business, commenting on our idle chatter and regaling us with stories of tattooing an entire cheerleading team, etching the last few girls from memory of the previous works, by the end of the night.
Settling in, we watched him work, his eyes narrowing at times, focusing on the movements of the needle, as it slide across Candice's shoulder. In no time, Gary was halfway through, having a smoke break with us, and then finishing up. I went next, my hands icy from nerves. Candice and Gretta sat on the stools, with their elbows up on the counter, watching and waiting. I focused through the pain, which was the worst I'd felt in my life at that point, listening to random bits of conversation in the background.
Gretta made her way to the chair, for her turn and the final tattoo of the night. By now it was after 8pm, and we were the only people in the shop. Candice had gotten her piece on her left shoulder, mine was placed on my right; Gretta chose to place hers in the middle, to balance out the evening. It seemed like we’d been there for days by the end of Gretta’s piece, but we were none the worse for wear from it. Gary kindly taped Gretta’s back, repeating the words of wisdom as to how to care for our new ink. We nodded, taking it all in, myself noting that we were hoping to get the last girls into the shop soon, and would Gary be willing to do this again? He wryly smiled and nodded, ringing up our bill.
Tumbling out the door, watching him lock up, singing our thanks in the dark, the glow of our cigarettes trailing behind us. After watching Gary slip into his classic Chevy four door, sleek and black, we sailed away into the night in the Blue Angel. It would be over six months until we were able to come back, with Tiah, for her piece. Gary remembered and readily cleared a space for us. It was July 10th, Candice’s 20th birthday; she spent a few spare moments with us on the phone, howling with joy that this was the best birthday present we could give her.
And here we are, ten years later, all of us fast approaching the big 3-0, with Amber and Sheli the last without the ink, but still very much a part of the story. I was introduced at Tiah’s wedding, by her mother to other family members as “Tiah’s friend, you know, one with the tattoo.” I’ve heard of other girls who felt the same as us, who got tattoos because of “Foxfire,” but I think it’s more than that. We fell into the perfect place and time-we were the missing pieces of the puzzles of our lives, perhaps only then, perhaps forever. Our battles were never long, but they did change us-for better or worse. We became Sisters, through thick and thin, and as such, we will see stormy days but through the strength we hold collectively, we will weather them. “Veterans of a sort,” Oates bequeathed her gang of miscreants; I know what she means and am not afraid of the war.