Moses supposes his toe-ses are roses
But Moses supposes erroneously
And Moses, he know-ses his toe-ses aren't roses
As Moses supposes his toe-ses to be

The girl stared at her feet; too big for some of the nicer shoes, but still small enough to get by. Some silly verse kept going through her head. It was as if someone was singing about how false she was; she felt false nearly all the time even with the best decorations on her façade. She shook her head slightly and lifted it to come face-to-face with the nicest smile she had ever seen. Why anyone would smile at her, she didn’t know. No one ever smiled at her like that. She never even smiled at her reflection like that. And yet, somehow, here was someone who felt like smiling at her….

Mrs. Carlyle’s Rooming House…

Marnie stood in front of her closet mirror. The view was less than spectacular; what she saw was discouraging and the frown on her mirror image seemed worse than how she felt. She stared at her reflection; a thin and almost unremarkable body clothed in a full cotton slip. She looked up and down, seeking some semblance of hope. She actually had small if nearly unnoticeable breasts; a trait of the women in her family but nevertheless a trait reserved only for the ‘real’ women like her mother and sister. She shook her head, wondering why fate blessed and cursed her at the same time.

“Hey, kid?” Rita practically whispered from the doorway. Marnie grabbed the short robe draped on the doorknob of the closet and hastily pulled it on.

“What’s the matta? You don’t hafta do that, kid. We’re all girls here.” It would almost have sounded like teasing but for the sympathetic look on Rita’s face. The young woman had literally stepped in and become a sister to the girl. Marnie turned away and her face grew red.

“I hope I didn’t overstep here, but….” She pulled a business card out of her dress pocket and handed it to the girl.

“I know you don’t want anyone to know. Hell, I wouldn’t either if people treated me like they treat kids like you. Oh, yeah… they do treat me like that,” Rita said, recalling her own family.

“Anyway….I didn’t tell anyone about you; just overheard two guys talking at the restaurant.” Marnie cringed.

“Oh, no, kid. Not like that. I was giving them their breakfast and the one says to the other somethin’ about boys that ….what was it he said…. Boys that are born… damn… you know…like you.” She half-smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“So anyway, I said to them, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I sorta heard what you were talkin’ about. And I have a friend….no not me….a friend just like that.’” She pointed to the card.

“One of them gives me the card and says to have my friend give them a call.” Rita smiled and Marnie stared at the card. It simply read,

Dr. Sidney Rosenthal, School of Psychology, University of California at Los Angeles,

along with the main phone number for the university.

“He said if you want some help, give him a call. I think he and the other guy are doin’ some studies and he said he knows some doctors who can help you.” Her voice trailed off as she waited for Marnie’s inevitable melancholic outburst. The girl didn’t completely disappoint, but her tears weren’t sad at all as she hugged Rita and began to sob.

“Nobody ever….nobody.” Rita patted her on the back, thinking of her own mother and how it must feel to finally feel ….not bad? Normal?

“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have,” Marnie gasped and hugged Rita tighter.

“Yeah…that’s why I get the big money.” She joked, but her heart wasn’t in it. What she did feel, however, was the same odd sense of completion she had just witnessed in her friend. She hugged back and kissed the girl on her neck, almost clinging as tightly to Marnie as Marnie hugged her. Before long, both were sobbing, but it was all good.

“We’re really a pair, ain’t we?” Rita laughed through her tears. Marnie didn’t speak, but she nodded and smiled.

Moses supposes his toe-ses are roses
But Moses supposes erroneously
And Moses, he know-ses his toe-ses aren't roses
As Moses supposes his toe-ses to be

MGM Studios, sometime later…

“Miss Hagen?” Linda stood in the doorway of Jean’s dressing room. Jean was sitting at a vanity, but her attention wasn’t in the mirror, but a picture she had taped on the frame; a plain looking teenage girl sitting on a tractor with an elderly couple in front.

“Linda, it’s okay to call me Jean. We’re friends, you know.” The young woman nodded but seemed unconvinced about her inclusion in Jean’s circle of friends.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Besides that question….yes.” She laughed softly. Linda stepped into the dressing room and closed the door.

“Must be pretty important, huh? Of course.” Jean already had an idea of where the conversation was going to go, but she kept her speculation back and stared at the girl intently.

“I….I don’t….Oh God, this is so hard.” Linda put her head down. At twenty-six, she was so much shyer than most of the girls her age; especially working in a place and in an industry that screamed for attention. She shook her head as if it was wrong to even approach Jean. A second later she found her face being lifted gently as Jean stood before her smiling that welcoming smile of hers.

“The door is closed, and my lips are sealed, Linda. It’s okay.”

“I….You must think I’m sick or something.” She began to cry.

“Well, if you’ve got the flu, don’t give it to me.” A laugh followed by a soft touch on the cheek.

“Nothing you can say will push me away, kid. I hope you know that.” Linda barely knew; her inability to value herself made her unattractive and small. But she nodded her head, wanting to believe what Jean was saying. Jean didn’t want to hurry the girl along since the last thing she needed was to feel like a burden or a nuisance. But she wasn’t going to talk easily, either.

“This is about yesterday with the Svenson girl, right?” Linda didn’t speak but nodded; the tears literally flew off her face and onto Jean’s dressing gown.

“And you feel something is wrong inside you…right?” Another nod.

“Let me tell you a story, okay? I love men to pieces. Somedays…maybe most, I wonder why.” It was no secret to anyone that her husband was abusive, but with a toddler and a lifetime of insecurity herself, she stayed. Linda let out a sad sigh.

“Anyway…back in old Elkhart High, there was a girl…Valerie Montalbano. We were in my room lying on the bed looking at some issues of Modern Screen. There was this picture of Olivia de Havilland…you know from Robin Hood when she played Maid Marian?” Linda looked puzzled and Jean smiled and laughed softly.

“Well, I said that I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. The dress she wore was all satiny and lady-like, you know? Valerie looks at me and says, ‘no…you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ and she pulls closer and kisses me.” Linda’s eyes widened, causing Jean to smile once more.

“I was shocked and I wanted to get up and run out of the room, but I couldn’t. I wanted to run, but I wanted so much to kiss her back. And I did.” Linda’s look changed from surprised to shocked. Jean nodded almost enthusiastically.

“For three weeks in 1940, she took me places I’d never been to before and we never once left my room. How my mother never found out.” Jean paused in thought for a moment.

“Maybe she knew. Anyway, Valerie was more than my best friend.” Jean bit her lip and choked back a sob.

“September 15th….she was going to come over after church and we were going to do some homework… really…. Schoolwork. I was up in my room and my Mom came up and stood in my doorway with the saddest look on her face… and I knew somehow. She comes over and sits on the bed and pulls me close. Valerie and her brother were driving back from church and a truck blew through the intersection and …” Linda saw the pain in Jean’s face. She put her hand on Jean’s arm.

“I haven’t loved anyone as much as I loved her even though I do love Tom. I…I understand what you’re feeling.”

Her last words were almost unnecessary as Linda looked at her, shaking her head. She wasn’t disagreeing or denying what Jean had told her so much as disbelieving that she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t a freak, even if she felt like one in a town known by some for its oddities. Jean smiled through her tears and repeated her last words; this time completely necessary if only to validate the girl. She pulled Linda close and hugged her, stroking her hair like a mother would for a daughter. Linda looked into her eyes and saw the mother’s love she desperately needed. Not just reluctant acceptance like her own mother provided but real acceptance. She began to sob; almost without sound, but shaking enough to nearly fall down. Jean redoubled her efforts and spoke softly in the girl’s ear.

“It’s just fine, Linda. You’re okay, alright?”

Even the woman’s demeanor spoke of seeking permission and wanting to encourage rather that to push or demand, which made the girl sob even more; relieved after nearly twenty years by finally knowing that she was loveable. The child in her wept even as the woman in her sighed contently. And she closed her eyes. Nothing wrong about how she felt; she saw the image of a very shy and sad girl… a girl maybe a lot like herself. She would learn that the girl was a lot like her, but entirely different than whom she supposed her to be.

Next: Good Morning!

Moses Supposes
Words and music by
Roger Edens
Performed by
Gene Kelly and
Donald O’Conner
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tciT9bmCMq8