SUMMER 2005 SHORT FICTION CONTEST

FIRST PLACE WINNER

Stripped

by Lauri Griffin

Chris held Bethy’s hand and edged through the vacant tiny desks and chairs, past the chatting groups of moms, past a couple of restless looking dads, finding a place against the back counter. Chris wasn’t immune to the other parents’ knowing looks—saw the tilted nods and smiles, the raised eyebrows, the almost leers. The word always got out. No matter how conservative the suburban-just-going-to-see-my-kid-at-school clothes—there were always stares. Instead of a parent, a person, they only saw a stripper. A stripper unbelievably staying home to raise children.

“Where is Amy?” Bethy demanded.

“Shhh….just a minute.”

“I can’t see.” Bethy’s voice caused heads to turn.

“Stand here on the counter.”

Bethy leaned her head on Chris’s shoulder. “I’m almost three.”

Chris kissed her forehead. “I know darling. It’s very exciting.”

A dark haired woman turned and smiled at Bethy.  

Art work covered the walls. Chris found Amy’s picture and smiled at the tall figure in blue jeans, flanked by two little girls. The kindergarten room seemed empty without the children—without their noise and smiles. Out of habit, the adults stopped talking when the teacher walked in.

“Thank you all for coming today.” The teacher smiled. “Before we get started, I’d like to thank the parents who have given so much of their time and effort to today’s performance.” 

Chris had learned not to volunteer. The parent helpers were mainly very young moms or older moms who’d quit careers to raise their children. Occasionally a dad helped out, working the grill for the hotdog cookout, or building sets. Dads didn’t plan the parties, dads didn’t bring the cookies. Chris could cook, and sew costumes, teach dance steps, or chaperone a field trip—but no one wanted a stripper working with their kids. No one even wanted to talk to a stripper about parenting, and Chris missed that most of all. Someone to say, ‘Oh that’s normal’ or ‘She’ll outgrow that’ or ‘How high is her fever?’ Someone who understood.

Chris wanted to tell them that stripping was only a job—a job that paid well, and carried only a few regrets. Like how people didn’t understand. Like how to explain it to young daughters. Some people were good at athletics/sports. Some people were good at math. Some people looked really good in a bathing suit, and when you came from no money, and struggled in school, your body was the only bartering tool you had. When you wanted college, wanted more out of life than minimum wage, sometimes you had to be creative.

Chris hadn’t planned on this for a career, but also hadn’t planned on being a single parent. Hadn’t planned on that at all. But things happen, and Chris didn’t want the girls raised by someone else, or being home alone in the apartment. They’d already lost one parent. A few hours of dancing on weekend nights and a few pictures in a calendar freed up the rest of the week for helping with homework, riding bikes, making dinner together, being a family.

Sure sometimes, stripping felt weird, far away from parenthood. All the leers of the liquored up crowd, the cheers not for a person, but just a body. Something to be seen for a few dollars and a two drink minimum at inflated prices. Sometimes Chris wished they’d all go home, find a real date.  But sometimes it felt powerful, giving lonely people a good time, a laugh, acting without lines, without a role.

If things had been different, Chris could be sitting here in a suit, using that hard won degree in business. That world was far away from the world of children, too. Did people perform corporate takeovers, order layoffs, then come home and tell their children to play nice, to share?

The kids filed in, fidgeting, looking nervous as they took their places for the play.  The tallest boy was Peter Rabbit. Chris’ daughter, Amy, talked about him a lot, but Chris couldn’t remember his name. Amy had mouse whiskers painted on her face. She stood on tiptoe, searching the room, wiggling her fingers as she spotted her family.

Chris turned on the video camera, watching as Amy shook her head at Peter Rabbit, pointed to her mouthful of seeds, and crawled under the gate. No one had prepared Chris for this part of parenthood: how the pride could be fierce enough to hurt, how the urge to protect kicked everything less important aside, how the love cut you off at the knees.

Chris could deal with the leers, the career put on hold. The only real issue was explaining stripping to the girls—someday maybe they’d understand.

Chris stood and clapped with the other parents as the children bowed.

Amy ran and leaped into Chris’s arms. “Did you see me Daddy? Was I good?”

Chris traced the mouse whiskers with his finger as he smiled down at his daughter. “You were wonderful. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

The dark haired woman held Peter Rabbit’s hand. She walked over to Chris and the girls. “We’re going out for an ice cream. To celebrate. If you’d like to join us.”

Chris blinked in surprise. He nodded. “We’d like that a lot.”