Beige
By Max Quayle
“Dad, do you have any
eyeliner?” Two wide, half made eyes
of a new teenager peer down from the
top stair at an innocent man – and they
know…
“I, uh, as a matter of fact I do” he
replies, “in my back pack, over there”
he looks up, clearly unsure, “I have
been lugging it around for months –
always grabbing it thinking it’s a
pencil…”
“It’s not the one I need.” Poof,
the young lady disappears back to her
room.
Her sister, bounds, suddenly
down the stair and begins to rummage
through her father’s pack, until she
finds the jewel. She carefully
scrutinizes it under poor light – she is
the twin who needs – and owns
eyeglasses – but will not wear them. It
is easier for her to believe things are
the way she thinks if she cannot
actually see them.
“Ugh, it’s the wrong kind”, her
face drops a note; she turns, knowing it
is hers, that it was found on a clean
sweep through the families SUV. Finds
now ay to express the blame she is
sure belongs elsewhere and leaps back
upstairs.
1
The man stares at his disheveled
and assaulted bag. Moment s later,
both girls appear at the top landing
stairs, and jostle down chatting and
smiling. They rarely ask how they look
anymore – one comment on ‘too
much’ this or ‘too little’ that have
reaped the presumption of tacit
approval – the result of having
disapproved, but still allowed them to
leave in the past. An awkward but
predictable discussion is consciously
avoided in one efficient teenaged
stroke.
Jockeying for position in the hall
mirror, they both unanimously
approve.
Ten minutes at the bus stop, and
the large yellow ‘peer wagon’ collects
them, shakes them up and delivers
them to the place where they matter
less but thrive more on a reduced
measure of attention than that which is
their portion in the home – the eighth
grade – and are gone.
________________________
Trisha and Tonie cannot be the
exception. They well represent the
high tech rising ‘gen text’, with cell
phones pointing out of tiny pockets –
which are mysteriously forgotten when
plans change or a ride no shows,
profiting them with more time with
friend and perfectly ‘scapegoating’ an
adult by association. They believe
themselves equipped to handle
anything the world hands out – with
their hands out. Faces layered with
eyeliner and hair growing prematurely
brittle from back to back to back color
experiments, and brows patchy and red
from the fresh harvest of ‘uni-brow’
hairs, they intuit that they are part of a
rising tide, that the world has great
things for them – yet, can’t figure why
their ship is delayed in coming in.
Following events are real; names
have been changed to protect
identities. The subjects have been
interviewed and events re-constructed
with attention to capturing the scenes
as they happened. The story is
presented as an oddity in our culture,
and is hoped to leave the reader
thoughtful and motivated to be more of
an influence in the lives of young
people:
☼ ☼
☼ for long enough to let the
2
The New Years Eve party was
the talk of the town – though there was
no ball dropped, nor did fireworks ring
in the encroaching year. Cars had come
and gone discharging passengers in
twos and singly, to attend a gathering
of eligible (meaning not grounded) 13
and 14 year old eight-graders. The
hostesses, a brand new pair of twins,
recently moved to town, were
showered with approval and votes for
another event, and soon. Nothing
stunning, or fantastic had occurred, no
drinking – ergo no drinking related
foolishness ensued. A modest bonfire
had burned down to a rippling orange
bed of coals, perhaps pre-maturely, due
to a constant whipping wind that was
ever-present. In fact, the sledding,
which was to be one of the activities,
was all but impossible with the chill in
the wind. No, what made this party
stand out in the conversations and
themes of the following days and
weeks was not ridiculous antics, wild
women and roaring song – but a
comfortable venue where in a bunch of
teens were able to hang out together
and talk, or in many cases even text
with each other under relative little
supervision (two adults present) and
conversations rise and fall on own
strength rather than being subject to
the availability of time in which to
have them.
It was no surprise, when Trisha
and Tonie announced they were having
a Valentines Day themed party in late
February that the town was abuzz
again. The girls’ parents had set forth
distinct guidelines eliminating familiar
physical contact at the New Years Eve
party, so the idea of a romance theme
was scintillating to the young ladies
and of interest to the eligible boys as
well. Invitations were botched by the
girls, who couldn’t seem to capture the
essence of what they were trying to say
– no surprise due to their relative
immaturity to the theme of romance –
and word had to be passed by phone
and text. Rumors of a variety of
themed events had circulated in school
and on the web, leading up to a distinct
air of anticipation so much, so that
phone calls began to pour in on the
party day by hopeful girls, wondering
if any help would be needed in setting
up.
By 6:00 p.m., a pitch of
eagerness was exemplified by the
arrival of an excited young man about
ten minutes early. It was an
understandable occurrence, but since
the twin’s parents had been waylaid by
poor weather on their rounds gathering
party supplies, the scene lent Trisha
and Tonie a opportunity of far reaching
3
import. The house rule is that no boys
are to visit without one or both parents
present – no exceptions.
When the parents arrived home
at about a quarter past the hour, they
were alarmed – at first – to see a
shivering young man with snow flaked
about his head and shoulders standing
outside the garage with hands thrust as
deeply into his pockets as the style of
the day would allow.
He and a newly arrived
threesome of girls were ushered in by
the twins father, but not without a
grateful and knowing exchange of
glances between he and his daughters:
the line had be toed, the hint of a smile
that flashed across dad’s week worn
and weary face said all.
Once inside, a strange but
comprehensible tension settled
quickly. As the guys all arrived they
migrated to the couch and far side of
the room, while the attending girls
chirped loudly and gathered about the
kitchen, immersed in preparing chip
bowls and party dips.
The event commenced much as
had the New Years eve party, with
teens slowly milling about content to
simple be in a state existing presence
among their peers – not needing, not
knowing – just being… Until the twins
father rose and asked for the floor.
Though the girls had known this was
coming, there was palpable fear in
their eyes as they wondered what
precisely would be the form of their
father’s intent.
The parents had agreed prior to a
romance themed party on condition
that it contained three distinct parts:
Ice-breaking games designed to get
quiet ones talking and loud ones to
think, a ‘discussion’ (lecture, the girls
decided) on the nature of teen romance
and standards’ (this component held
enough apprehension for the girls, that
it’s inclusion was almost enough to
have the party called off), and dance
instruction – ballroom, line and Irish if
time permit. As their father slowly
surveyed the guests, wonderment and
uneasiness filled the faces which were
turned, in measure, toward him.
He arranged the guests by gender
and turns were taken extracting little
candied hearts from the ‘cornucopia of
romance’ – a wicker decoration that
had eluded the post holiday sequester.
The object was to select two hearts,
which were stamped with ‘cutish’ semi
phrases of potentially romantic
implication, and make one coherent
sentence using the words printed upon
each. Faces and feet shifted with
simultaneous unease as some
whispered and others avoided eye
contact with a deftness that would
have impressed Siegfried and Roy for
4
their averting prowess. Dad’s custom
party game wandered perilously close
to the brink of utter failure when a boy
of minimal stature but replete with
teen self confidence came to his
rescue. He selected two hearts from the
horn of plenty, and cautiously read
them aloud:
“Be Mine.” Said he, and then;
“Don’t tell.”
Suddenly, the group was in
English class. The lad stammered, re-
read his good deed (and likely
regretted his decision to be first), and
under the disapproving gaze of an
unseen teacher, he drew a breath and
said:
“Be mine, but don’t tell.”
The room hung in perfect
balance, like the instant before the
crash of a wave, then all present spoke
at once, their various approval and
childlike criticisms lost in the general
flood of noise – some unseen barrier
had been breached.
The absence of a direct recipient
of this boyish request, added to the
general understated hilarity of the
moment. While the father and his wife
laughed and glanced, knowing. The
assembled youth thought it the finest
answer possible – and a hard deed to
boot. And the young man withdrew,
munching on his reward. The game
was simplified to one-heart one-
sentence as the weighty metaphor of
making one cohesive thing out of two
distinctly different ones as a deeply – there is a good chance you
similitude of making a relationship of
two diverse people sailed in a grand
arc up and over the heads of the teens
and crashed into the snow somewhere
near the fire pit. Having hurdled the
first of Dad’s requirements, the twins
put the music back on and a muted
clamor ensued; small groups formed
almost instantly and the soft glow of
about twenty cell phones glanced off
the low paneled ceiling – they had
survived round one.
The pattern of music and general
chatting surfaced and a few of the guys
began to feel their energy, piling on
one another and mock wrestling as
boys are want to do. Soda was
imbibed, chips chewed and a
contentment had settled over the din,
when the twins observed their Dad,
posturing into the center of the room,
again.
“How many of you think there
must be a kiss – to be in love?”
The question hung briefly, before
nods, and smiles around the room
assented.
“What, then, is a kiss?” He
paused, seemed to enjoy the awkward
silence, and began again:
“You all know, from health class,
that a kiss is an exchange of body
5
fluids between two people, and…” he
crescendoed, “…when you kiss –
are kissing everyone whom the other
person has kissed.”
“Grooosss…eeewe” genial
pointing and laughter quickly isolated
the more promiscuous kids in the
bunch. And they in turn, flaunted and
writhed, trying appear anything but
absurdly immature – yet were.
“Come on”, Dad continued, “I
am sure at least some of you have
pined away wishing someone knew of
your love for them, and would return
it? Perhaps there have been ‘special
someones’ to whom you have never
even spoken – never mind kissed –
whom your heart has beaten up and
down, soundly. Love is like that, and
with young people less is more.”
His Daughters reddened as he
finished the introduction, they waited
still as stone for the rest. The man
drew the young people around him to
consider the relative comparison of
sharing body fluids to the idea to being
a ‘clean catch’ for their future brides
and grooms.
All three of his Daughters’ eyes
rolled as the girls recognized a concept
that they themselves had introduced to
their father. It was a song, which in a
simple refrain proclaimed:
 “My wife will wear white, not
beige, on my wedding day”
Dad was moved by this almost
flagrant rapper espousing the pure
concept of abstinence until marriage.
Retelling the youth this measure of
purity met with some confusion – and
the father floundered a bit. Finishing
with a simpler idea of personal
morality as a personal choice – laden
with consequence, he recovered
somewhat, and turned the focus
directly upon his quavering daughters.
“Many of you may not know that
you are here tonight because my
daughters don’t go to town or school
dances… How many of you had fun at
the New Year’s Eve party?”
majority of hands rose half-way.
“Since they won’t be going to a dance
until they turn 14 or date until 16
(sorry fella’s, you’ll just have to wait)
this party is a way that Trisha and
Tonie can still have fun and socialize
with their friends. Let’s face it, you
don’t dance at the dances anyway…” a
quirked and crooked smile was pressed
from his suddenly 40 year old face –
he was a parent again, and therefore
was not to be trusted.
He seemed to sense the shift of
acceptance and took a few more
minutes to explain his unique view that
kids under 16 could hardly qualify as
an interesting date due to the fact that
someones Mom, Dad, or sibling would
have to drive – and likely pay – and
that the reason too young teens get into
‘trouble’ because they simply don’t
know how to converse and the natural
urges end up directing the show.
The old man glanced up, as he
finished. He hoped to catch his
daughters’ eyes – and they were there.
They did not avert, and for a moment,
something clean and true was
exchanged in silent lucidity.
“Of course, I do look forward to
introducing all of you young men, at
the appropriate time, to my gun
collection, as you darken our door with
your 16 year old shadows and your
A shiny car keys. I will ask a few
questions, we will agree on a return
time and I will let a few of you, take
my daughters from me for a time and
entrust them with you. Surely, you will
not disappoint me.”
He took the time to look each
young man dead in the eye and made
nearly imperceptible nods toward each
one, and they in turn dipped their
whiskerless chins,
“Right?”
The word hung long enough to
serve as punctuation, and the father
exited, stage left. As he did, his
daughter queued the music, and
whatever there had been in the room
6
began to shift toward other, more
rhythmic themes.

______________________

Six months later, Tonie and

Trisha and their older sister Adrian
were no longer virgins – though Trish
would argue that oral sex doesn’t
count. Did these girls openly rebel
against the embarrassment caused by
their proud, hyper moral father? Were
they already heading this direction and
his influence was negligible? We may
never know…but, this rising
generation is definitely tooled in a new
way than any before. Coordination by
multi-media devices has opened the
world, not just the internet to provide
them the most sought after of
adolescent standings: Access. Access
to friends, stilted information and
virtual approval for almost any
behavior, act or reason, and this is
creating the illusion of safety for
youths on the brink of precarious sheer
drops.