Chapter Text
“The increased gatherings of these so-called feminists do not openly welcome the company of men, and as such, it is difficult to discern exactly what goes on at these meetings. Reports have surfaced that these groups are primarily concerned with pursuing deviant lifestyles and disrupting the crucial social order that maintains the fabric of our strong society. In this reporter’s opinion, the best change that a woman can make is in how she shapes the next generation, from her home.”
Kanaya pressed one hand to her temple as she tried to concentrate on the textbook in front of her. “Pardon me, but could I persuade you to turn that radio down?”
“What for?” Cronus smirked from across the cafeteria table as he rolled the unlit cigarette to the other side of his mouth. “You’re not one a-those women’s lib types, are ya Kan?”
Kanaya lifted her eyes to him. “I’m trying to study, and the cacophony of static and low-fidelity recordings of incorporeal voices is severely impeding my efforts.” She hoped that he wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t directly answered his question.
“Nah, of course you ain’t,” Cronus chuckled. “You’re an old-fashioned type a-gal. Wouldn’t be caught dead marchin’ in those rallies, would ya?”
Kanaya turned her eyes back to her book and had begun massaging her temple. “Guilty as charged,” she replied, hoping that he’d let the subject drop sooner if she allowed him to think she agreed with him.
The radio, detached as it was from the conversation, continued its chatter. “As the National Organization for Women, or NOW as it’s coming to be called, continues to boast increased membership, we’re also seeing a growing number of women in our lovely state saying that the group's priorities are misguided, and that the best place for women in this modern era is still in the home.”
A slightly less clear female voice came on the air. “They’re nothing but troublemakers, if you ask me. Lonely, angry spinsters who couldn’t find a good man and want to take it out on everybody else.”
Kanaya did her best to keep from visibly rolling her eyes. “Cronus, please, I’ve worked hard to maintain a formidable grade point average, and I’d just as soon refrain from jeopardizing my record just because you couldn’t listen to the radio at a reasonable volume,” she said.
“Hey, cool your jets, baby!” Cronus stood from his seat as he moved in behind Kanaya, leaning one hand against the table. “Tell you what: you come to the movies with me this Friday, and I’ll turn off my radio completely. How’s that sound?” He pivoted his cigarette to the other side of his mouth again.
Kanaya sighed. “No thank you. I have a test on Monday and I need the weekend to study.”
Cronus leaned in closer. “What’s the big deal? You got a steady or somethin’?”
Overhearing these proceedings, another student spoke up: “Aw, just go on a date with him. Anything to shut that greaser up,” he said.
Kanaya turned to face him. “If you must know, I prefer the company of people who are living in this decade, and not bound to the fashion and sensibilities of one that’s been over for almost ten years now.”
Some other patrons of the cafeteria snickered among themselves. Cronus stood upright, fidgeting with the collar of his leather jacket. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. Got better things to do with my weekend anyway.” He took his seat and turned the volume of his radio up.
“…So remember gentlemen, if you find that your secretary won’t do the filing, or if you go home to find that your wife hasn’t fixed your dinner, remember that you have no one to blame but yourselves. After all, you gave them the vote. This is WNKJ news, signing off.”
Kanaya couldn’t help but tsk as she started packing her things into her book bag. She slung the strap over her shoulder headed for the door. Hopefully she could find a more peaceful location to study; the cafeteria was a bad choice anyway. She heard Cronus begin another parting shot, but paid it no mind as she left.
Leaving the student union, Kanaya heard some sort of commotion happening in a nearby parking lot. She couldn’t make out any of what was being said, and tried to ignore it as she went about her business. It seemed as if everywhere she went these days, there was some group holding a demonstration for one cause or another. Growing up, she’d seen plenty of protests against the Vietnam war. As a teenager, she remembered seeing Martin Luther King Jr.’s speech after the march on Washington on her mother’s television set. And now, in her third year at college, she’d seen more activism than she could possibly keep track of, happening all around her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ostentatious clearing of a familiar throat. “Miss Maryam! A moment, if you please?”
Kanaya turned to face the voice’s source, instantly recognizing its owner. “Hello, professor English.”
The elderly gentleman straightened his glasses. “I wanted to send you my compliments on the exemplary research paper you turned in. Simply extraordinary!” He tugged on the lapels of his suit.
“Thank you, professor,” Kanaya nodded.
“It’s always a delight to see your contributions to class discussions on historic geography translate so cleanly into your erudite manner of writing. Land sakes, what a thumping good read! It warms this old codger’s heart, it does,” he said, lightly beating on his chest.
Kanaya smiled and averted her gaze, hoping she wasn’t blushing at the praise.
“But then, you’ve always been a bright spot on this campus, haven’t you? Just like my granddaughter. Have I mentioned that I have a granddaughter around your age?”
“You have, professor.” An average of once every week since they’d met, not that she was counting.
“I have? Oh, fiddlesticks. It seems I can’t keep track of what I’ve told whom these days. My noggin’s not quite the steel trap it might have been in my youthful adventuring days. Certainly not like yours, or that of my dear young Jade. Sharp as a tack, both of you. Why, I’d bet my bottom dollar you’d get along famously!”
“I’m certain that we would,” Kanaya said, fidgeting with her book bag. “I beg your pardon if I seem somewhat impatient, but as it happens I was hoping to get somewhere soon. Was there something else that you wanted to tell me?” she asked, shuffling her feet.
“Hm? Oh, yes! I also wanted to tell you that I’ve submitted a letter of commendation to your personal record, pending your completion of the final exam. But I trust that won’t be a problem for you. You’ll do this old school proud, I’m sure of it. And should you decide to pursue graduate studies, the letter should prove to be quite the feather in your cap!”
Kanaya blinked a few times as she felt her lips involuntarily curl into a smile. “Oh my goodness, thank you so much!”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” the professor smiled, causing the handlebars of his mustache to angle upwards. “I’ve always thought that it’s important for young ladies such as yourself to have a robust education. There’s no such thing as a woman who’s too well-read, don’t you agree?”
“I most certainly do,” replied Kanaya, feeling her smile getting warmer and wider.
“By jove, just think of all the wonderfully stimulating conversation you’ll be able to have with your husband someday!”
The professor kept speaking, but Kanaya was no longer listening to the words he spoke. She blinked a few more times as her smile slipped from one of genuine warmth to one of forced complaisance.
It wasn’t long before he noticed. “Oh dear,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to adjust his bowtie. “You’re giving me that look that my wife gives me whenever I say something boneheaded. She taught that look to all of my kids, too. Have I said something boneheaded? My stars and garters, I’m terribly sorry if I have.”
Kanaya drew a breath. “It’s nothing, professor English. I am merely…brimming with gratitude over the letter of commendation.”
“Oh my, yes, the letter of commendation!” he beamed. “Well you’ve certainly earned it. The gossip in the faculty lounge is that you’re on track to graduate magna cum laude. Not that I spend a lot of time flapping my gums about students when they’re not around, mind you. Smart as a whip, you are. Just like my granddaughter. Why, if the two of you ever met, I’m plum certain you’d be as thick as thieves!”
“I’ll see you in class, professor.” Kanaya began making motions to leave. She knew that there was no stopping Professor Jake English once he was caught in one of his loops.
“Take good care, my dear Miss Maryam. And keep up the good work. And try not to take whatever foul up I said earlier too personally. I do tend to make quite the buffoon out of myself on occasion.”
“It’s alright, professor,” she replied, making pace so as to seem as if she was in a hurry.
So concerned was Kanaya with getting away from the professor’s rambling that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. As it happened, she found herself unconsciously drawn to a distant collection of voices she recognized to be female. Before she was fully cognizant of where she was heading, she found herself at the demonstration she’d heard earlier. Before her stood a gathering of women, shouting slogans, waving banners, and distributing literature. She quickly inferred that this particular demonstration was protesting the difference in pay between female and male instructors at the university.
This was the first time she’d ever actually gotten this close to one of these demonstrations. In truth, she’d always been curious as to what they might have been like.
One of the women giving literature to passersby in particular seemed to have arrested her attention. Her blonde hair was being held in a neat bob with a headband, complementing the round shape of her face. She wore a scarf whose light purple shade matched that of her eyes, unusual so as to be striking, but gentle so as to be welcoming just the same. Below, a pastel blue dress clung tightly to her frame, stopping well above the knee. Completing the outfit, and utterly confounding Kanaya, was a pair of brown leather boots that clashed horribly with the rest of the ensemble. Kanaya could only wonder if the mismatch was intentional, given the way everything else seemed to work so nicely together.
“Hey! Are you going to take one, or are you content just staring?”
Kanaya felt a wash of embarrassment overtake her. She didn’t think she had been staring, but evidently her gaze had lingered long enough for this woman to take notice. “I-I apologize,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” She took the papers from the woman’s outstretched hand and looked it over quickly. It was a two-page mimeograph of a document simply titled “Equal Rights for Women”, by one Shirley Chisholm.
“You can make it up to me by not throwing it out the minute you think I’m not looking,” the woman grinned.
“Is that something that happens often?”
“I’d say around half the time. Some of the more environmentally-conscious among us make a point of recovering as many as possible from the trash bins so they don’t go to waste.”
Kanaya suddenly held the document at a distance from herself, her expression souring.
The woman laughed despite herself. “Don’t worry,” she chuckled. “I pressed those myself this morning. I wouldn’t dream of handing you something that would sully that spectacular blouse you have on.”
Kanaya felt her cheeks flush slightly as she reflexively glanced at her red top. She silently cursed herself for feeling so easily flustered. “T-thank you,” she finally said. “Both for the compliment, and for not giving me something you fished out of the garbage.” She straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “Though, it should be explicitly stated that the latter is hardly something I could consider to be an act worth any real measure of gratitude, if I’m being frank.”
“Agreed,” the other woman replied, mildly amused. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, is this the first time you’ve ever been to something like this on campus?”
“It’s rather difficult to avoid these demonstrations,” Kanaya answered. “But I will readily admit that this marks the inaugural occasion in which I have actually interacted with one in a way that could be considered meaningful, if only minimally so.”
“Then you honor me, ‘if only minimally so’,” the woman repeated with a smirk. She distributed another copy to another person walking by.
Kanaya giggled. “It’s not to say that I’m completely uninterested, it’s just that I’ve simply been very focused on my studies. My continued attendance at this school is being sponsored in large part by a scholarship that demands a fairly stringent grade point average requirement, one that is no small feat to maintain.”
“I can certainly understand,” the woman began. She lifted one eyebrow. “Even if I don’t buy it for a second.”
“Are you under the impression that I am lying?”
“Oh, I believe that you’re here on a scholarship. And I believe that said scholarship demands that you maintain fairly good academic standing. It's the implication that you struggle in any significant way with that maintenance that I doubt.” She spoke with the absolute confidence of a classical detective laying out their brilliant deduction.
Kanaya hunched her shoulders a bit. Whomever this person was, she was reading her like a favorite book.
The woman produced a note pad from the front of her dress and began writing as she continued: “Here. Read the manifesto I’ve given you, and if anything about it resonates with you, even a little, here’s a list of a few other books and documents you can check out. Our next chapter meeting is Wednesday of next week at the public library on Oak Street. You can tell me what you think then.”
“’Our’?”
“NOW, the National Organization for Women. I’m sure you’ve heard of us; we’ve been all over the news lately.” She tore the page she had been writing on and passed it to Kanaya, tucking the note pad back into her bra.
Kanaya scanned over the list: a short series of itemized titles and authors, none of which were familiar to her. At the bottom, she saw a name written without an accompanying title, followed by a string of digits. “’Rose Lalonde’, is it?” she asked.
“When you sign up for membership, the form will ask if someone referred you to the organization. I wanted to ensure that you’ll spell my name correctly,” she explained.
Kanaya relaxed her posture and gave an amused smile of her own. “You seem to be quite certain that there is no question as to whether or not I will join your organization.”
Rose shrugged her shoulders. “Let’s just say that I know a kindred spirit when I see one.” She tilted her head, looking Kanaya over top to bottom before looking into her eyes again. “You have the look of a woman that has had a week’s fill of dealing with men within the past fifteen minutes.”
Kanaya chuckled. “It would appear that my face is prone to revealing much about my emotional state.”
Rose put a hand on her own hip. “And here I was, about to give credit to my keen intuition. You and I should play a few hands of Poker someday. You do have my telephone number now, so that can certainly be arranged.”
“Yes, that was going to be my next question, actually,” Kanaya said, turning her attention to the list once more.
“That list is incomplete,” said Rose. “I figured that once you got a taste, your innate intellectual curiosity would get the better of you and drive you to call me to seek out more literature of this nature.” She shifted her weight to her other side. “Failing that, should you find absolutely nothing that I have to offer even marginally intriguing, I foresee that you’d want to call me to demand that I buy you a conciliatory root beer float as penance for having wasted your time.” She shifted her weight again. “Or, just maybe, I thought that you and I could be friends,” she teased, passing another copy of her document to another passerby.
Kanaya suddenly felt as if the temperature outside had risen ten degrees. She had been dealing with the advances of men and boys since she was twelve years old, and had become accustomed to this particular sort of bold, brazen behavior from them, but this was the first time she could recall a woman taking such an approach. For a brief instant, she wondered what ulterior motives Rose might have other than simply pursuing a friendship, as she’d stated. She quickly pushed those thoughts out of her mind.
“Very well,” she finally said. “My name is Kanaya Maryam. It has been a pleasure, Miss Lalonde.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Kanaya. And may I say, that is a beautiful name.” Rose bowed her head slightly. “Also, it’s Ms. Lalonde, if you please. But you can just call me Rose.”
Kanaya closed her eyes briefly as she nodded in compliance. “Certainly, Rose. Thank you for the extra-curricular reading,” she said, turning away to leave the rally.
“So I’ll see you next Wednesday?”
“I promise nothing of the sort!” Kanaya called out, smiling from ear to ear.
“Oh, we are DEFINITELY playing Poker someday!” Rose called back.
After she had moved what she believed to be an appropriate distance from the demonstration, she looked at the copy of the manifesto, and at the handwritten list. She mentally drafted a schedule that would allow her to fit some recreational reading in between her studies, for she certainly planned to read every item on this slip of paper. Though she wasn't fully prepared to admit it, she was most intrigued by the name at the bottom, her eyes lingering over it as a faint trace of lavender perfume emanating from the page drifted into her senses.
Without realizing it, she had already memorized the number.