Hungry Hill: A Memoir

Chapter 16 - The Dark Horse

92 H u n g ry H i l l “Sister Maurice Joseph, my English teacher, expects us to know the footnoted vocabulary words at the bottom of each page of Great Expectations , words I have never seen or heard, and can’t begin to pronounce. I’ll stump you, Dad, with one of those reading, not-for-speaking, words.” “We’re on,” he says. Princess, Punkin’head, and a word game, all in one night. Whiskey when it kicks in after nine-thirty makes for a good night. = 16. The Dark Horse No. No. No. If I had only said “No” to Monica, the three-minute-older twin, when she called me Tuesday night and asked me to nominate her for class office, I wouldn’t be sitting here in an aisle seat in the auditorium, surrounded by seven hundred classmates, dreading my thirty-second speech in front of the entire ninth grade. Secretly I felt flattered that Monica had asked me, but in bed last night, I just kept picturing myself tripping up the stairs leading to the stage, a slice of slapstick. The twins’ plan is that one would be secretary and one would be treasurer. Now I feel something tugging at me but I don’t know what it is. Father Sears, the ruddy-cheeked glee club director, strides across the stage and orders us in a booming voice to all rise for the opening prayer. After his prayer for “divine guidance,” Father walks to the podium and crosses his arms over his cassock. “Boys and girls, we have assembled here in our beautiful auditorium,” he pauses, gesturing to the heavy velvet stage curtains, “to begin the process of class elections. In a spirit of democracy, we will accept nominations for class office. For president and vice president, please nominate five ninthgrade boys; the top vote-getter will serve as president with the runnerup serving as vice president. For the positions of secretary and treasurer, please nominate five girls. Again, the top vote-getter will serve as class secretary, and the runner-up will fill the role of treasurer.” The perspiration is soaking through to my blazer as he carries on about how we need to give this process serious thought. After the boys’ nominations, I nominate Monica, spitting my two sentences out, my voice cracking only a little, A Memoir 93 without falling, without incident. When both twins are nominated, Father Sears beams; as altos, they are matching treasures in his glee club. Ever mindful of my “listener” label, I have spared myself the humiliation of glee club tryouts and am unknown to Father Sears. When he asks if there are any more nominations, only four girls have been nominated; there is a stir in the row behind me, and I see Susan Lytle approaching the stage. There is only one word for Susan Lytle: odd. She is an Air Force kid from Westover and has stick-bird legs. With her thin fingers flying and wing-arms, she flaps herself onto the auditorium stage and nominates me. Me. “Politics are in your veins. It comes with being Irish. Who’s running against you?” my father asks. We are finishing supper when I announce my news. “The Sullivan twins, Monica and Veronica,” Michael answers. “She’ll never win.” My father frowns and says, “Powerful competition.” “I even nominated Monica.” Guilt over a possible betrayal has seeped into my being like water into a cellulose sponge. “Well, kiddo, you’ll have a contest on your hands. The twins might split the vote, confuse people. I still can’t tell Monica from Veronica,” my dad confesses. “Is Michael supporting you? A show of family support?” he asks and looks at Michael who is slathering butter on his bread. “Only freshmen can vote,” Michael says between bites. Michael wouldn’t vote for me even if he could. “So what’s your campaign strategy? You were working for Matty’s election when you were twelve. We had you out in Winchester Square hustling campaign literature. Have you got some friends willing to work with you? Get a committee going.” I remembered back two summers ago, when my father’s good friend Matty Ryan, Stevie’s godfather, ran for district attorney, how hard my father worked for his election. After work and on Saturday afternoons, he went to Matty’s campaign office and organized volunteers, oversaw phone banks, and set up neighborhood literature distribution centers. He made me, Michael, Danny, and...