Name: Clare
Story: Extranormal Crimes
Colors: Fire Opal 4, Ardent
Supplies and Materials: Graffiti (February 14th Challenge Extravaganza), novelty beads
Word Count: 2,272
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A little bit of underage sexuality (Maggie is 14) and brief physical violence/abuse
Notes: A Vagina Monologues V-Day Challenge had to be Maggie!

Maggie wasn’t allowed to spend the night at anyone’s house anymore, but she could still hang out after school—as long as her mom didn’t catch her hanging out. Johanna and Claudia were probably not the kinds of people Maggie’s mom wanted her hanging out with. They wore all black and sometimes smoked cigarettes. But as long as they didn’t do anything harder than that, Maggie was okay with it.

Lately they’d been talking about books and theater when they hung out. Maggie had been amazed to find that when she got into high school there was more than one other person in the world who liked books. Johanna and Claudia didn’t like Poe as much as Skylar did, but they liked mysteries, and they’d introduced her to some cool science fiction. She just had to be careful not to get too excited about the superheroes and people with magical powers. She couldn’t let anyone else know, even if she did trust them.

This year the school play was Our Town. Maggie, Johanna, and Claudia had all tried out, of course, but none of them had gotten parts. Not even the smallest of townspeople. So today they were hanging out behind the school and griping about it. Sometimes some other people hung out with them, Melissa or Theo or Ethan, but today it was just the three of them.

“It’s a stupid play anyway,” said Claudia, blowing out smoke toward the window above them.

“Of course it’s a stupid play,” said Maggie. “But it’s still the school play. It would look good on our resumes.”

Johanna snorted. “What kind of resumes are we going to have? We’re freshmen in high school.”

“For next year,” said Maggie. “If we did well this year, we could get a better part in whatever next year’s play is.” She shrugged. “Well, it’ll happen anyway. We are all brilliant actresses, of course.’

“I am,” said Johanna with a grin. “The two of you are just plebes.”

“Whatever,” said Claudia. “We should put on our own play. I have the perfect one.” She ground out her cigarette and started digging in her messenger bag. Maggie leaned away from the wall to see what it was. “Voila!” Claudia cried, pulling out a black-and-red paperback. “The Vagina Monologues.”

Maggie tried to be cool around her friends, but she couldn’t help the blush that burst onto her cheeks at hearing that word. “You—you can’t say that!”

“You say ‘monologues’ all the time,” said Claudia teasingly.

Maggie shook her head. “You know what I mean.” She hated the way her friends were looking at her. Judging her. But she couldn’t—that wasn’t a word you used in front of people. Not unless you were a doctor.

“Come on, Maggie,” said Claudia, her eyes strangely intent. “Say it. You can do it.”

“What—why do you want me to? It’s a bad word!”

“What is with you, Claud?” Johanna asked. “It’s kind of a stupid word anyway. I prefer pussy.”

“But you can’t say it either,” said Claudia. “Go on. One of you, say vagina. Vagina. Vagina!”

“Stop it,” hissed Maggie, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps away to look around. “Someone will hear you!”

“What are you so scared of?” Johanna said. “Believe me, if anyone is around to hear us, they’ll be more upset about us smoking cigarettes than us saying that word.”

“You don’t know my mother,” said Maggie. Not that she thought her mom was anywhere around here. But if Maggie said that word in front of her mother, she would be slapped and most probably sent to bed without any dessert. Not that being sent to bed was all that bad, since her room was where her books were, but it was still punishment. “I don’t know what kind of a horrible play this is, but I will not say that word.”

“But that’s the whole point!” Claudia waved the book around in excitement. “It’s to make women less scared of the word and of their own vaginas. The patriarchal establishment has stifled the power of the vagina for too long. We can help take it back!”

Johanna snorted. “What, three high school freshmen?”

“Well, it’s not just us. There’s a whole movement. The Vagina Monologues are being performed all around the country—even all around the world. Here, Maggie. You’ll like this one. ‘The Flood.’ She sounds like you—all she can say is ‘down there.’”

“That sounds about right.” Maggie returned to the wall, hugging herself, still feeling uncomfortable. “Isn’t that enough? Everyone knows what that means. You don’t have to get any more specific.”

“But you have to get specific!” Claudia flipped back to the beginning of the book. “That’s where the power is. Don’t you hate having to be Catholic?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“The Catholic establishment is a big part of all the stifling. Here, read this.” Claudia thrust the book toward Maggie.

She backed away, bumping into Johanna. “I’m not touching a book like that!”

“Oh, come on,” said Johanna, giving her a little push. “I’ll read it, Claud.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Claudia cleared her throat and read dramatically. “In”—she cleared her throat—“I found an obscure history of religious architecture that assumed a fact as if it were common knowledge: the traditional design of most patriarchal buildings of worship imitates the female body. Thus, there is an outer and inner entrance, labia majora and labia minora; a central vaginal aisle toward the altar; two curved ovarian structures on either side; and then in the sacred center, the altar or womb, where the miracle takes place—where males give birth.”

“Males—“ interrupted Johanna, but Claudia pointed a finger at her.

“I’m not done. It makes sense. Listen. Though this comparison was new to me, it struck home like a rock down a well. ‘Of course,’ I thought. ‘The central ceremony of patriarchal religions is one in which men take over the yoni-power of creation by giving birth symbolically. No wonder male religious leaders so often say that humans were born in sin—because we were born to female creatures. Only by obeying the rules of the patriarchy can we be reborn through men. No wonder priests and ministers in skirts sprinkle imitation birth fluid over our heads, give us new names, and promise rebirth into everlasting life. No wonder the male priesthood tires to keep women away from the altar, just as women are kept away from control of our own powers of reproduction. Symbolic or real, it’s all devoted to controlling the power that resides in the female body.’”

“Gross,” said Johanna, at the end of Claudia’s recitation. Maggie hardly heard her. There was a buzzing in her ears, a buzzing that reminded her of magic but wasn’t quite. It was as if this book had reached into the heart of everything she hated about the Catholic church and pulled out an explanation. Some of it she’d already worked out for herself, like how priests said that everyone was sinful because they were born of women and Eve made all women sinful, but the rest made so much sense she was amazed she hadn’t figured it out. She found herself reaching for the book as in a daze.

Claudia let her take it. Maggie looked at the page that had been held open and read the words again for herself. They made even more sense the second time around.

“Wow,” she said.

“I knew you’d like it,” Claudia said.

—

Claudia let Maggie borrow the book, and she smuggled it home that night in the bottom of her backpack, only daring to move it from her schoolbooks to a spot behind her mattress after dinner, when no one would interrupt her because she was getting her homework done.

She really did do her homework, because she wanted to get good grades for college and because her mom would only get even more suspicious if she didn’t, but she probably didn’t do as good a job as usual. She kept thinking about that crazy book. She still couldn’t quite say the name, even to herself, but if Claudia was right, maybe she would get used to it.

As soon as she’d finished her homework, she got on her bed, put a different book next to her, and pulled The Vagina Monologues out from behind her mattress. If anyone came in, she could hide it in the other book and pretend that was what she was reading. She spent a lot of time reading; no one would think that was weird, even if her father didn’t like that she spent all her time reading instead of doing something productive like dishes.

At first she just flipped through the pages, catching a word here and there. Some of them she didn’t know. Maybe tomorrow she could go to the school library and find them in a dictionary—she was sure there weren’t any dictionaries in her house that would have these words. At last, when no one came to stop her, she settled in to read one of the monologues.

It scared her, but it was sort of exciting, too. It made her feel weird. Or maybe the weird was just knowing how much her mom would freak out if she saw her reading the book.

Now that was a fun idea. She kept reading.

—

The next day she went to the library after school instead of hanging out with her friends. She found the words in a dictionary. She didn’t believe what the dictionary said a “clitoris” was at first. Then she read another monologue, and she believed it. She wanted to find pictures, but the dictionary didn’t have any, and she would definitely get in trouble if she tried to find some online. The only computer she had in her house was in the office, and she was only allowed to use it for homework.

She read through the whole book in three days. Then she read it again. Claudia was starting to ask for her book back, but Maggie didn’t want to give it back. She wished she could have her own copy. But what bookstore would carry a book like this? What bookstore she could go into on her own, anyway?

She made some explorations. She wished she could be like the girl in the one story who found an older woman to introduce her to the wonders of the vagina. Then she got mad and scared at herself for thinking about a woman that way.

Then she thought about it some more, and realized how much she liked it.

—

But all good things must come to an end, and Maggie’s mom finally caught her reading the book. She snatched it out of Maggie’s hand and started screaming about what kind of filth she was reading. Maggie tried to claim that it was research for school, but her mom didn’t believe her. Then, when she started trying to tear the book in half, Maggie protested that it wasn’t hers.

“Who gave this to you?” her mother screeched. “Grace! Do you know anything about this?”

“No, Mother,” Grace called back from her own room, before clearly shutting the door.

Her mom went back to working on the book. She finally managed to create a rip in the spine, a rip that sent a matching pain down Maggie’s spine. “Mom!” she screamed. “It’s not mine!”

She tore it the rest of the way in half and threw the two pieces to either side of her. “You shouldn’t be reading such ungodly filth!”

“But I have to give it back!” Maggie tried to reach for one half of the book, only to be stopped by her mother’s foot.

“You should have thought of that before you brought this into my house!” She kicked the half-book backward so it flew into the hall. “What kind of Satanic friends have you been spending time with? What else are they encouraging you to do?”

“They’re not Satanic!” Maggie shouted. “They’re feminist! Not that you have any idea what that is!”

“I know it’s evil and I won’t have it in my house!” her mother shouted right back, stepping forward into Maggie’s face. “If it’s against God’s rightful path you will turn away from it, you hear me?”

“You can’t make me!” Maggie dove for the half of the book, faster than her mom this time, and flipped hastily to the page with the part about churches. “See? Catholic priests are just trying to steal women’s power! If you could stop listening to every damn thing the priests say—“

Her mother slapped her before she could get another word out. “Shut your filthy mouth! You are grounded for a week, young lady.”

Shocked, Maggie stumbled back. “Dad!” she shouted. He could sometimes be counted on to mitigate clearly unfair punishments like this.

“Margaret Elizabeth Mary McNaughton, you’re my daughter and I’ll be the authority over you,” snapped her mother. “If you don’t like your punishment maybe that will teach you to do the right thing next time.”

Maggie dove for the door, to run to her father and beg for help, but her mother was faster this time. She got out the door before Maggie could. Maggie waited with her ear pressed to the door until she heard her mother’s footsteps fade down the stairs, and then she tried to get out, but the door was locked.