Philomena stood in the center of the dining room crowded by her great-grandmother's heavy mahogany furniture and her hissing mother.

"But Mama, I was just trying to ride it," she said during one of those long pauses when either Mama ran out of things to say, or was just using silence for effect. Color rose in her mother's face and the voice lowered to a whisper, again for effect, but mostly not to wake baby Anthony, sleeping in his bassinet a room away.

"Philomena Maria Bruzzio, that is a boy's bike. You are almost a young lady! You shouldn't be trying to ride any bike!" Mama swiveled on her high heels, smoothed her pretty white apron, her third clean apron that day, and clicked out of the room.

"Sorry," Phil grudgingly apologized and thumped into the arms of a huge, brocade covered chair.

It was 1963 and Mama had a very clear idea of what was and was not lady like. Phil's stomach knotted, as it had so often since the getting-to-be-a- young-lady issue came up last summer. All of her friends had become 'ladies' already, having been blessed with their monthly cycle of blood and impeccable adult behavior. But Phil was twelve years old and liked being a little girl. She even liked being a bit of a tom-boy. Mama wanted her to sit right, act right and speak right. Papa always told her to look in books for what ever she needed to know. But where was the book on the right way to act?

"Just watch around you, Philomena," Mama had instructed. "Watch how Marianne acts. How Christina acts. Watch how Patty acts. Like a lady."

Phil sighed. It was the end of July and so far a very disappointing summer.

"Philomena, go outside and get some fresh air," Mama called from the kitchen over the clatter of pots and pans.

She left, careful not to slam the door and looked back once to make sure she wasn't being watched. She crossed the street to the steps and expertly slid underneath the first landing. Mama would not have approved of her favorite private thinking place.

The steps were built of wooden slats by the township, a convenience for the residents of Phil's hilltop neighborhood who could trudge all 364 of them down to the valley below, then back up again after Mass or a Saturday movie and ice cream. The terrain isolated the few blocks of wood-frame duplexes from other neighborhoods, making the families there very close-knit and clannish.

It was early evening and the sun had dipped just below the tree line splattering golden light through the slats, covering Phil in lively stripes. The air cooled around her and she began to brood. Why hadn't she gotten her period yet? All her friends had started before Easter, and her best friend Marianne got hers before school even started last September. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she wasn't getting it because she just didn't want it. But Phil knew there were changes coming. She could feel her body push and strain against itself. Breasts swelling, waist tightening, legs lengthening beyond belief. Even her longest baby blue pedal-pushers were above her knees. And of course there were her feet! Already as big as Mama's.

She sighed deeply, sat snug but comfortable and watched a large mosquito stake a territory on her forearm. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the thudding of feet and crackling voices overhead. Dust filtered down into her hair and she almost sneezed. Ah-oh, the boys had arrived, she needed to decide quickly what to do. It was a daily ritual that had been going on for two generations. On summer evenings, every teen-aged boy for three blocks would meet at the steps to talk and laugh till dinner time. Realizing her bad timing, Phil decided there was nothing she could do, so she shifted a little for more comfort and prepared to sit tight for the duration.

She listed carefully to the voices above. It occurred to her that no one had to tell them how to behave as men. They just did what boys did, only louder. She identified a few voices. Timmy was up there. She closed her eyes when he talked and visualized how his jaw moved, how his eyes glowed, the toss of his shiny black hair. What they said meant nothing to her; she only heard the throaty music of their voices.

"Ronnie!" The dinner calls began as mothers stood on porches and shouted for their offspring.

"Michael! Dinner."

"Gabriel DiMarco, NOW!"

It was a nightly litany that began as the sun shot its last rays over the horizon.

"Philomena! Philomena, dinner time." Oh no. Couldn't Mama have waited till Timmy left? There was still some residual tension in her mother's voice and she knew she had to respond quickly. She took a deep breath and scooted out from the darkness, then quickly walked toward home. "Hi, Timmy," she said, not looking up from the pavement.

The boys laughed and mimicked her. "Hi, Timmy. Hi, Timmy", making kissing sounds and thudding punches into each other's shoulders. "Timmy and Philly, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Never mind all that, she told herself, willing away the redness in her cheeks. Next week would be the annual Saint Rocco celebration, and the week after, Patty's wedding. There was still a chance for a great summer.

w

Saint Rocco is the Italian patron saint of poor and sick children. The celebration of his feast day was the communal, ritual, religious, and social event of the year in Phil's hilltop neighborhood. It began with a bang and ended 48 hours later with an extravagant fireworks display. But by far the highlight of the celebration was Saturday night's street fair. Papa said that this year, since she was twelve, Phil could stay at the fair till ten at night with her girlfriends. Mama didn't like the idea. She'd be staying home with the baby and unable to watch to see if Phil would be acting right. Since Phil's curfew had always been much earlier, she'd never seen the famous Doll Dance, and she was excited to finally find out what all the fuss was about. She counted the moments.

Saturday morning came to life with the crackle of fire crackers and the um-pah of the volunteer firemen's band. Phil leaped from her bed and dashed to the door to greet the music, but Mama gave her an 'act right' look, so she sat on the front porch step in her pajamas wanting to cry. She would hate being a lady, she just knew it.

"Hey little girlfriend!"

Phil turned to see Patty, also in her pajamas, waving from her yellow house two porches away.

"Hi bride-to-be!" Phil jumped up and smiled so big her fac hurt.

"We made it, little Phil. It's Saint Rocco. One more week to the big vows."

"I can't wait!"

"See you tonight!" and Patty disappeared. Phil was sure that the woman's bright spirit still lingered on the yellow porch long after the band had headed back up Second Avenue.

"Tonight will be great!" Phil said to her baby brother. She lifted him and danced around the living room, giggles tumbling from his toothless smile. "Tonight will be great, Anthony. Marianne and Christina and I are all going to wear our pink dresses, and walk all night, and eat popcorn and cotton candy . . . AND I'm going to see the Doll Dance. I promise to tell you all about it, bella bambino." She carefully tucked him back into his bassinet, its long ruffles crisp and white like Mama's spotless aprons.

Phil's pale pink dress felt snug in funny places but Mama said it looked just fine. So she ran off, the buzz of adventure coursing through her veins. It was five o'clock and she wouldn't meet her friends for half an hour, but she wanted to check things out early, sure even the air would be different on that Saint Rocco night.

"Philomena!" She heard a voice he hoped she hadn't really heard.

"Philomena, sweetie, come here."

Oh, yes, she'd definitely heard it. It was Aunt Rosa, right where she always was on Saint Rocco, manning the hot sausage booth. She was speckled with orange tomato sauce; her round olive face glowed with joyous hard work. Huge pots bubbled behind her on the stove puffing out . . . Spicy. . . Good . . .Hot. . . Sausage. Aunt Rosa reached over the counter for a hug, careful not to soil the pretty pink dress.

"Look at you! Look at you, you'll be such a beautiful young lady soon. Lena, Lena, come look at our pretty little Philomena." All three hundred pounds of Aunt Lena turned and smiled.

"Hi Aunt Rosa, Aunt Lena. Smells real good." She tried not to let them notice her scanning the crowd beyond the booth.

"Come back here and give your old fat aunt a hug." Phil hesitated, considered making a run for it, but walked around the counter to meet her fate. "First put this on, honey. It's Uncle Jeno's old shirt, it will keep you clean. We're so happy to see you here early. We need help so bad, your Mama home with the baby and all. Cut the rolls, dear."

Phil's mouth dropped, a knife in one hand and a mountain of sausage rolls in front of her, the tattered plaid shirt covering her celebratory pink. But before she could slice the first roll, Aunt Rosa whispered close to her ear.

"Don't worry, sweetie, just do a few dozen, enough to get us started, and then I'll help you escape. You came to have fun, not work back here with two old ladies."

She reached up and hugged the woman, her eyes fighting back disappointment. "I don't mind helping, honest."

"Nonsense. Thirty-six rolls. Hurry up and you'll be out of here before your friends even arrive."

But Phil could see Christina already, wearing a navy blue dress instead of her pink one. The dress was new and it made Christina look really grown up. Phil shook it off. Who cared what Christina wore; they'd still be together all night and see the Doll Dance.

Thirty-six rolls later, Phil was out of the booth and Uncle Jeno's shirt searching for her friends. The crowd was growing and becoming more and more active. She finally located Marianne, standing with Timmy in a quiet nook near the band stand. Marianne looked away from Timmy just long enough to explain that Christina had left with her parents to visit relatives, and that she and Timmy were going to walk alone together all night.

Marianne was wearing a red dress, almost the same color that Phil was feeling. "Where's your pink dress, Marianne?" She purposely interrupted their private conversation once more.

"I don't like pink." Marianne took Timmy's hand and they left, melting into the milling crowd, looking like all the other strangers in the street fair.

Phil seriously considered hiding the rest of the evening with the hot sausage, going home, or crying under the steps, but decided instead to just pretend that she had chosen to spend the evening alone. There were so many people that no one would even notice. Besides, there was still the Doll Dance.

The evening got later, and later. The darkness was sparked with colorful strings of lights, sounds became dramatic and different, the sound of night people, adult people. The music changed, pulsating with an elegant powerful beat. Then from around the corner came a flurry of activity. The Doll Dance had begun.

The dancer wore a strange costume that made it look like a space man in a silver gown. It swayed and dipped and circled, teasing the crowd into cheers. It moved up and down the street, silver crinkles reflecting blue, red and yellow lights. Then, just as it reached Phil, it stopped. The music came to a halt and the crowd fell silent. Phil looked around at the bizarre spectacle. Men and women stood still as salt stone, just like in the bible story. Beside her stood a man holding a two-year-old boy high in his arms. Only the child moved, tenderly fingering his father's black curls. Suddenly there was a loud boom, sparklers flared from the silver dancer's head and fire crackers exploded at its feet. The baby screamed in terror as the crowd cheered and danced wildly. The Doll, now aflame, circled and jumped closer and closer to Phil. The man laughed and tried to comfort his son. Phil's head began to spin. Color flared all around her and the Doll moved closer. Panic gripped her and her heart pounded against the snug pink fabric. Suddenly all was black and quiet. Phil awoke on the pavement cradled close to Aunt Rosa's big bosom.

w

After an entire year of planning it was finally Patty Marcillino's wedding day. At exactly eight-thirty in the morning, a beautiful Cinderella bride emerged from the yellow house. The whole neighborhood turned out to applaud as she daintily stepped into her father's polished Buick. Just before she closed the door, she reached out and handed Phil a note.

Phil held the note close to her heart, waiting till they were all in church and Father Della Vito was well into a lengthy sermon before carefully opening the delicate lilac scented stationery.

Dear Little Girlfriend,
I want to thank you so much for being a bright part of my life. It is a true joy to watch you grow and bloom into the beautiful woman you are sure to become. I look forward to being at your wedding someday. We will always be friends.
Patty

Phil felt warm and happy inside, the way baby Anthony looked when she tickled him. She sat still and attentive through the beautiful vows, imagining the feelings that must have been flowing between the bride and groom. Patty and her handsome Luke Spector stood straight and still like perfect statues. She, flowing and foamy in her vibrating white. Luke, sharp and dapper in his marine dress blues. As the Latin Mass droned on for an eternity, Phil dreamed of the magical reception later that evening.

After the Mass, Phil found Mama at the yellow house, cooking and putting the final touches on the table center pieces. Soon Patty's sisters would take them down to the fire hall to decorate the tables. Patty and Luke arrived from the church looking as though they'd just been through a difficult ordeal. Luke took off his jacket and plopped on the sofa, then tossed his white marine cap on to Phil's head with a smile. "The Marines need a few good kids like you, Philomena."

Patty was whisked upstairs to remove her finery and rest. She'd need all the energy she could gather for the reception to come.

Mama smoothed her apron. It was oddly soiled and looked more tired than her eyes. Bridesmaids chattered and bustled all around and it appeared that even more exciting activities were planned for the afternoon. Phil kicked off her black patent leather shoes and prepared to join in the fun, but Mama had other plans.

"Well," she announced, removing the offensive apron and lifting Anthony from a high chair. "I've done all I can do for now, ladies and gentlemen. We're going home for a nap. Come along Philomena. We'll see all of you this evening."

"But Mama!"

"No buts, young lady...now, let's go. Get your shoes on."

And that was that. Phil followed behind muttering, "But Mama, I'm not a bit tired." Mama didn't respond.

But Phil was tired. In fact, more tired than even she could have imagined. Before she could even take off her new white slip, she was curled on top of a chenille cloud and sound asleep. She awoke at 4:30 to the unusual sound of complete silence. No pots or silverware clanking in the kitchen, no radio or TV crackles, no baby Anthony music, just silence. Papa was spending the entire day at the fire hall helping to set up tables and stock the bar. Phil guessed that Mama and the baby were still asleep, and she seriously considered getting a few more hours of sleep herself, but excitement got the better of her. Maybe she'd try to imitate the hair style that Patty liked so much in the magazines. She tiptoed to the dresser and re-read her precious note from Patty. Something felt funny. Phil looked down. There was a spot of blood on her slip and underpants.

Philomena's period had finally arrived. She looked in the mirror. Nothing looked any different. She had already read the tiny booklet Mama had giver her. She had pads and a sanitary belt and knew what to do. She quietly cleaned up and rinsed out her slip and panties then hid the damp items in her closet. Phil sat on her bed and took a deep breath. Sudden awareness flowed over her. She didn't want to be a lady yet. Not today! Today she wanted to be Patty's little girlfriend. She decided that she just wouldn't tell anyone yet. Then maybe she could be a little girl for just one more day.

The Hill Top Volunteer Fire Hall had been transformed into a sparkling fairyland. Every table was covered with white and accented with Mama's beautiful flower centerpieces. The wedding cake looked like a cathedral. The ceiling dripped with coiled white crepe paper swoops and silver and white paper bells. Phil walked slowly around the hall twice, taking in the Cinderella Ball atmosphere. It was every little girl's dream wedding, come true.

Patty and Luke glowed where ever they walked. Time seemed to float by like clouds and as the night grew later, the energy of the entire room focused on the elegant princess bride. The Bridal Dance had begun. Phil stood patiently in line to dance with Luke. It was a sweet moment, but over too quickly.

At the very end of the bride's line stood her father. As he took his beautiful daughter into his arms and twirled her delicately around the room, Patty began to cry. Her mother joined them in an awkward three-person dance. Patty began to cry harder, in fact so hard that she slowly collapsed into a foamy white heap on the floor. Phil watched in horror as Patty carelessly pulled the frothy veil from her head, hopelessly messing her perfectly coifed hair. The room became silent except for the painful sobbing from the crumpled bride in the center of the dance floor. Time stood still and Phil could hardly breathe.

Suddenly, Luke swooped like an eagle from the crowd. He gently took his bride up into his arms and swept her from the fire hall. The air moved behind them like a wash of cold water.

Hesitantly the music resumed, the crowd seemed to breathe again then as the liquor flowed the party returned to life. But the magic was gone. Dancers danced, old people laughed and told stories, Aunt Rosa and Aunt Lena ate.

Philomena stood alone in the center of the unreal room. It was like a bad dream she was hoping to awaken from. What went wrong? She didn't know whether to cry, or celebrate along with everyone else.

Gently Mama moved close and wrapped her arms around Phil. "My beautiful daughter," she said softly. "See what happens when you don't want to grow up." She tenderly pushed hair from Phil's face. "Patty will be just fine, sweetheart. It will just take a little while for her to adjust."

Phil looked deep into her mother's eyes. It was possibly the first time since babyhood that she'd done so. She was surprised to discover someone amazing behind those eyes.

"Come, Philomena, sit alone with me a while."

"What about the baby?" It had been months since she had actually been alone with Mama.

"Papa is taking care of him. Right now, all I want to do is celebrate my little girl's new womanhood." She smiled and put her arm around Phil's waist. They were nearly the same height.

"How did you know?"

"That's one of the great things about womanhood, Philomena. You'll soon discover that we know everything." Mama laughed gently, as though she'd just shared a private joke.

Phil smiled and snuggled close to her mother, feeling the power of their new relationship and the completeness of the old one. Today she was growing into a woman and every relationship she ever had was about to change . . . but Mama would always be Mama.