“Devin, I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. I completely understand. Should I assure you some more that I am not that kind of guy?”
“Hum. I have a secret source for information and a good feeling that I can trust you.”
“Secret sources huh? Good. I like you. I really like you.”
“I really like you too.”
The sinful chocolate cake is calling our name after we part from the school following the show, so we end up on the stomping ground of our first date.
“That’s pretty wild about Pam don’t you think?” Devin asks.
“Could you imagine? I don’t think that is a night that she will forget for the rest of her life. I mean how could she?”
“Right. She definitely needs to seek therapy.”
“Like we said, therapy should be mandatory for everyone.”
“Despite that nightmare in the breezeway,” Devin smiles, “tonight turned out pretty well. How did you feel about Mr. Riley?”
“He was nice. Do you think that it’s for real?”
“Miranda, I’m going to quote Ms. Nana. You’re overly humble. You have a gift. It’s time to share it. I think it was for real. Keep putting yourself out there.”
“What chapter are you in right now?”
Devin chuckles. “Flattery. It’s an important chapter in the book, didn’t Christian cover it?”
“I wish you could’ve got to know him. He was so much fun, you have no idea the crazy stuff he would say and do.”
“Well, if you don’t ever break up with me again, we have a long time for you to tell me all about him.”
“Do you know anything about those four-hundred and whatever number engines?”
“I don’t know anything about cars except how to drive them put gas in them and check the oil.”
“Well, Christian, like you, was very pretty, but he loved his car. Okay then, I’ll start by telling you about the pact he and I made when we were little. Not too long after we became best friends.”
Devin smiles as he reaches for my hand and holds it.
“This should be interesting.”
“Oh, it is. You might not even believe it by the time I get to the end, but it’s very very long story. Once I get to the end you might be too old to care and even deny that it could be true.”
“Okay, I accept that proposition. Shoot, tell me the long story. I’ve got a lifetime to give.”
“Did we jump to chapter seventeen just now?”
“How about we start with chapter one of your story and forget all about that other book?”
“Agreed.”
#
Nathan fluffs the covering and slides his body into the sleeping bag. Next to the bed, Greer peels his pants off.
“Dude, I didn’t need to see that.” Nathan says.
“Choke on a cheek chump.” Greer pats one side of his rear end, and reaches for the lamp switch at the same time.
Greer sinks down on the bed, stretching his legs out as he tugs the cover around his body.
“Oh crap! What the hell is that?”
Getting out of bed, Greer peels back the blankets, exposing the foot of the bed. The Jell-O shimmers while doing the wiggle and jiggle it is famous for.
“Dude, she got you!” Nathan howls. “Can I put the picture back on Facebook now?”
#
Deep in the throws of a book that has nothing to do with Devin or Christian, the shout startles me from the pages.
Thickness of the walls muffle Greer’s cracking voice. “Miranda, I’m going to get you for this.”
I got him. Clever plan that Jell-O was.
I start laughing, then I begin to cry, then I laugh, and then I cry some more. Those tears are tears of sadness and joy. What else could life throw my way after all that had happened?
#
Many weeks later, Devin, and I with Pam in tow visit Christian’s plot at the cemetery. Bringing it along with me to place it in the appropriate spot is the wreath from the side of the road. Devin and Pam agree with me that it was morbid thing to do in the first place, and his resting spot is more appropriate than the side of the road.
Pam brought along a huge arrangement that her mother questioned endlessly about her need to buy it. She did the best she could explaining, but Pam knew her unsympathetic mother would never understand even if she knew the truth about what happened that fatal night. Pam might tell her the facts about the accident, but in the future, after her recovery from co-dependant behavior.
I held flowers as well and a handful of fun things to rest at the foot of the headstone. One item is a large can of Christian’s extra firm mousse that I swiped from his bathroom. So, that was the secret behind his orderly tresses! Next, I place a laminated picture that was taken of Christian and me standing beside his car the day after he got it. Third, I position a playbill from our school musical. Finalizing the delivery, while I place a laminated article from a local newspaper, Devin secures Christian’s half of our friendship pendant with some permanent weatherproof adhesive just above the carved lettering of his name.
#
Holding the tiny piece of paper, Nathan’s hand is sweating and since he doesn’t believe it, his head is spinning.
Greer pries at Nathan’s hand. “Let me see.”
Nathan’s fingers loosen one after the other and Greer unfolds the sheet.
“Holy shit!”
Nathan preens. “I had no doubts you know?”
“Holy shit!”
“It was easy.”
“What did you say? Holy shit!”
“I walked over to her, said hi, and asked her if she wanted to hang out with us.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She tore paper from a notebook, wrote on it and handed it to me.”
“Holy shit! You did it dude.”
“Did you see it? Here, let me see it.”
Greer holds out his hand.
“See, P A M. And check it… check it out. Do you see that little heart she used as a period?”
“Holy shit.”
“She is going to meet us there this afternoon.”
“Holy shit.”
“Dude, enough shitting already.”
Outside the mall, Nathan and Greer spend hours teaching Pam how to use a skateboard. Pam is having so much fun, that she’d lost track of time and failed to realize her mother is due to pick her up any minute.
As Pam’s mother wheels through the maze of parked cars in the mall lot, she catches site of her daughter across the way.
Pam’s mother rolls down the window, peering across the sea of cars. “I’ll kill her!”
A recognizable engine hums as a car pulls along side her car blocking her view, and the window of the muscle car slides behind the door panel.
“Evening. You don’t see what you think you do.”
A quick bright light flashes in Pam’s mother’s eyes. When the muscle car pulls away, Pam is nowhere within view.
“It sure did look like her though.” Pam’s mother rolls up the window and carries on through the lot.
#
Since the flight was running behind schedule, we arrive at the offices of William Morris Endeavor exactly at our scheduled time. Mr. Ripley escorts us down a long breezeway to his office.
“Miranda you can sit here.” Mr. Ripley pulls the chair out.
“Thank you.”
My mom, my dad and Nana sit down in the remaining chairs and Mr. Ripley situates himself at the head.
“This shouldn’t take long, and then you guys can enjoy the city. If you never been here before I have several recommendations for where we can grab some lunch courtesy of WME. Miranda, thank you for allowing us to represent you.”
Back home the whole town already knew the story since it was plastered all over the front pages of every local newspaper. One of the articles I had laminated and left it for Christian, though I suspected from wherever his viewpoint he already knew about the headlines that read, Two local high school student discovered by a highly regarded talent scout from New York City.
Mr. Ripley’s assistant places a stack of document in front of me.
My hand, slightly shaking, I lower the pen towards the contract. Looking downward, the only thing in my view is an x, a long black line and my full name Miranda Leigh Owens in print. Resting quietly on the table, some clasp together, other tapping anxiously, are the hands of my mom, dad, Nana, and Greer. When the ink pen nearly touches the blaring white sheet, I pause. A hand to my right eases in my direction and rests on my free arm. Nana makes the supportive gesture to calm my nerves. I love that about her. Despite the motion of comforting, my thoughts wander back to the point that got me here in the first place. Then I faintly hear, “Always here” in a familiar voice.
THE END
Thursday, March 21, 2013
© Always Here ~ Part 16
When the balled fist made contact with Pam’s face, the pain shot through her body and for a moment, she escaped her self in a sort of dizzying sensation. Coming out of it in a panic, fearing for her life mounted, and with her hand already holding the door lever, Pam pulled and pushed the door against the resistance of the draft. Tristan slammed his heavy foot on the brake pedal causing the car to heave downward in the front, and the bright red taillights warned in behind. There were squeals loudly screaming from the tires below the cabin, and in the rear, more piercing screeches from Christian’s car as he tried to avoid hitting Pam’s rapidly halting car.
From Pam’s pleading cries to be let out of the car seconds before the punching fist, the monster decided to grant Pam’s wish.
“Fine! Get out bitch.”
To the left rear of Pam’s car, a car whirled in the air, a violent ballet of metal and flying glass performed in slow motion. At the same time, Pam’s body spilled to the firm asphalt to the right of the car. Fragments of flying debris shooting through the night sky rained down on top of her. Coming to rest with her head facing left, Pam witnessed the last dance as Christian’s bloodied, tattered and torn body twisted through the sky. Her eyes followed as both, the car, and Christian crashed to the boggy marsh in a final crescendo. Not even Pam detected a final grunt as Christian’s vitals flat-lined, and the last breath left his lungs.
Between screaming, and cries of desperation, with a broken leg, using her arms, Pam summoned every ounce of her strength to drag her body across the two-lane road and onto the left side of the highway. Reaching Christian, his face unrecognizable, she was powerless to help him. If she could’ve helped it wouldn’t have mattered, he was dead.
By the time emergency services arrived, Pam was catatonic.
Trying to uncover the specifics about the crash, Tristan explained in detail what happened. Those details were his. Very selective details the officer recounted for confirmation, but one important fact that Tristan didn’t correct was the officer’s assumption that Pam was a passenger of the mangled muscle car.
“We all go to school together. I’m on the football team.” Pretending to be in shock himself, one of the personalities fed the actor’s clever lines to the unsuspecting police officers who jotted notes on a small pad.
“I don’t know if I can call home. I’m sure he would come and get me, but, see, well, my dad tends to have a few drinks in the afternoons while he is watching T.V., and I wouldn’t want him out on the roads. You know, for everyone’s safety.”
“We understand son. We’re glad that you’re one of the levelheaded teenagers. Tell you what; we have to go right by your house on the way back to the station. Here is your drivers’ license. Give us a few minutes to finish up with the wrecker. Here take my coat. You can wait in the car and stay warm.”
#
As Pam and Christian revealed the truth together with one voice, I felt like someone was punching me in the stomach.
“Tristan pushed her.” Respectively, Christian states.
“He pushed me out of that car.” Pam cracks as she reveals the secret.
Each face in the corridor expresses bewilderment until the facts fully registered about what Pam was saying. I got it right away. What went down that night wasn’t so cut and dry as Tristan’s false story explained. Christian was merely following too closely.
With no reservation, Pam drew back a crutch and hit Tristan. Reacting, Tristan reaches out and snatches hold of Pam’s injured leg. Loosing her balance, Pam’s body tilts backwards and I move in to steady her. Tristan releases his hold once Nathan’s foot impales him square in the ribs. Nathan dealt another blow just for safe measure. Once again, I back Pam away to safety.
“Don’t come near her again! And get some help you big hog!” Nathan’s pubescent voice cracked.
Devin positioned himself next to Nathan; I surmise he did so to protect Nathan in case Tristan lurches towards Nathan. Nathan’s scrawny arms are no match. This is the first time I had ever thought Nathan had a clue about what was going on. Most times, he seemed like he were on another planet. Perhaps he is brighter than I’d given him credit for.
Getting closer to Tristan, Nana reaches down and using her fingers, she clinches a tender section of Tristan’s ear, guiding him to a standing-squatting position.
With a large smile, Nana motions to Greer and Nathan. “Can you gentlemen follow me to take this out of here?”
Nathan and Greer latch to Nana’s side.
“Not so tough now are you tough guy.” Nathan teases.
Pain shoots through Tristan’s nose from the motion of the waddle. “Ouch, ow, Ouch.”
Greer flicks Tristan’s free ear. “Big baby.”
“Boy, don’t tease the animals in the zoo.” Nana says.
As Nana, my brother, his airhead friend lead Tristan down one end of the hallway, Devin, Pam and I head backstage. Frenzied, Mr. Stancil scoots through the dressing area whispering, “It’s time.”
We sit Pam down in a chair and she collects herself. Behind her, Christian’s hands appear to hover, almost resting on Pam’s shoulders and something I’m getting used to, they talk in unison.
“She’s not going back to him.”
“No more. No more,” Looking down, Pam pauses.
“No more.” Christian vanishes.
Pam veers up. “No more.”
I soothe her hands. “No more.”
I feel Devin’s hand rest on the small of my back.
#
“See Dude, I knew that ham hock was a tool.”
“For once Nathan, you were right.”
Bumping knuckles, along with Nana, they return to their seats in the auditorium.
“Were have you guys been?” Miranda mother questions.
Causing Greer and Nathan to laugh, Nana answers. “Oh, we had to take out the trash.”
“Mother, really.”
“Stop calling me mother!”
“Now, all I got to do is score a phone number.” Nathan says.
“Nathan, you don’t drive, how are you going to take her out? I don’t think a girl like that would be to keen on the idea of having your parents cart you around town.”
“I’ll teach her how to ride a skateboard.”
“Oh, come on. Get real.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re right Greer. I’ll have to wait until her leg heals. Do you have an extra helmet?”
“Let her use yours. Your watermelon is hard as rock.”
#
The lights dim and Devin is positioned to go onstage.
“Good luck.” He whispers.
“I can’t feel my toes.”
Pam snickers. “It’s a good thing you don’t sing with your toes.”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
I knew she wouldn’t, especially after what just happened, she simply nodded no.
Devin slides behind the curtain. This is it, the time had come, and a voice calms my nerves.
“Through math, through art, even death we won’t part.”
On my cue, I join Devin onstage.
In that moment, I notice that the stage feels so much larger whereas the audience dotted with people seems much smaller. Positioning myself, Devin begins to play the familiar tune I heard on the first day of rehearsal. On the note where I’m supposed to start singing, I froze.
This isn’t fair, I thought. Looking out into the stunned faces in the crowd, one shined above the rest. Dead center, Christian’s face beaming and his smile warming, he looks on. Pantomiming his feelings, Christian spells out I love you. A lump captures my vocals, tears began building, and as quickly as I blink Christian is gone. I raise my index finger to the crowd suggesting one minute.
I knew I would never see Christian again. I had, for lack of better way to describe it, a feeling. But along with that feeling, I know he is there within the layers of what eyes can’t see. Even in death, we won’t part.
As I’m leaving the stage the pale murmur waves across the audience, and I can’t help but suspect that a real emergency might interrupt the show, as Mr. Stancil is most likely in full cardiac arrest. Behind the curtain, I refuse to take no for an answers while I force Pam to join me onstage.
I’m confident I’d made the right decision because after the duo is over, the crowd irrupts with applause and cheers. In the orchestra area, I notice Mr. Stancil jumping up and down a number of times as he spastically claps his hands together. He is a part of it; the magic of the music, but Devin had climbed on top of the piano where he joined the celebration.
There were many more segments of the show, but we could have ended it right then and I don’t think anyone would have noticed. The universe was working magic in the theatre and I like to believe that Christian had a small hand in the divine order of the night.
#
As the audience is breaking up, Nathan’s eyes are fixed and he remains oddly still.
Greer Taps Nathan on the leg. “That was boring as hell. Are you awake? What are you doing?”
“I can’t move. I’m paralyzed.”
“What?”
“I’m paralyzed with love.”
Greer winces. “You, my friend, are paralyzed with stupid.”
#
Backstage, Pam, Devin and I embrace.
Devin is thrilled. “That was amazing.”
“I still can’t feel my toes.”
“You were feeling something out there. I even felt it.” Pam adds.
It’s obvious that Pam is happy that I had dragged her onstage.
Mr. Stancil scurries over to us, along with another gentleman who is wearing a tailored three-piece suit.
“Girls I just don’t know what to say. I couldn’t have planned that any better myself. If that was secretly planned, well done! I never pictured the story that way, but it worked. Though, if I do a rewrite, I will move that to the end of the story, that’s where it should be. It even came across as symbolic. A girl survives a life filled with excess. A rebirth. Bravo. Oh, this is Mr. Steven Riley, with William Morris Endeavor.”
From Pam’s pleading cries to be let out of the car seconds before the punching fist, the monster decided to grant Pam’s wish.
“Fine! Get out bitch.”
To the left rear of Pam’s car, a car whirled in the air, a violent ballet of metal and flying glass performed in slow motion. At the same time, Pam’s body spilled to the firm asphalt to the right of the car. Fragments of flying debris shooting through the night sky rained down on top of her. Coming to rest with her head facing left, Pam witnessed the last dance as Christian’s bloodied, tattered and torn body twisted through the sky. Her eyes followed as both, the car, and Christian crashed to the boggy marsh in a final crescendo. Not even Pam detected a final grunt as Christian’s vitals flat-lined, and the last breath left his lungs.
Between screaming, and cries of desperation, with a broken leg, using her arms, Pam summoned every ounce of her strength to drag her body across the two-lane road and onto the left side of the highway. Reaching Christian, his face unrecognizable, she was powerless to help him. If she could’ve helped it wouldn’t have mattered, he was dead.
By the time emergency services arrived, Pam was catatonic.
Trying to uncover the specifics about the crash, Tristan explained in detail what happened. Those details were his. Very selective details the officer recounted for confirmation, but one important fact that Tristan didn’t correct was the officer’s assumption that Pam was a passenger of the mangled muscle car.
“We all go to school together. I’m on the football team.” Pretending to be in shock himself, one of the personalities fed the actor’s clever lines to the unsuspecting police officers who jotted notes on a small pad.
“I don’t know if I can call home. I’m sure he would come and get me, but, see, well, my dad tends to have a few drinks in the afternoons while he is watching T.V., and I wouldn’t want him out on the roads. You know, for everyone’s safety.”
“We understand son. We’re glad that you’re one of the levelheaded teenagers. Tell you what; we have to go right by your house on the way back to the station. Here is your drivers’ license. Give us a few minutes to finish up with the wrecker. Here take my coat. You can wait in the car and stay warm.”
#
As Pam and Christian revealed the truth together with one voice, I felt like someone was punching me in the stomach.
“Tristan pushed her.” Respectively, Christian states.
“He pushed me out of that car.” Pam cracks as she reveals the secret.
Each face in the corridor expresses bewilderment until the facts fully registered about what Pam was saying. I got it right away. What went down that night wasn’t so cut and dry as Tristan’s false story explained. Christian was merely following too closely.
With no reservation, Pam drew back a crutch and hit Tristan. Reacting, Tristan reaches out and snatches hold of Pam’s injured leg. Loosing her balance, Pam’s body tilts backwards and I move in to steady her. Tristan releases his hold once Nathan’s foot impales him square in the ribs. Nathan dealt another blow just for safe measure. Once again, I back Pam away to safety.
“Don’t come near her again! And get some help you big hog!” Nathan’s pubescent voice cracked.
Devin positioned himself next to Nathan; I surmise he did so to protect Nathan in case Tristan lurches towards Nathan. Nathan’s scrawny arms are no match. This is the first time I had ever thought Nathan had a clue about what was going on. Most times, he seemed like he were on another planet. Perhaps he is brighter than I’d given him credit for.
Getting closer to Tristan, Nana reaches down and using her fingers, she clinches a tender section of Tristan’s ear, guiding him to a standing-squatting position.
With a large smile, Nana motions to Greer and Nathan. “Can you gentlemen follow me to take this out of here?”
Nathan and Greer latch to Nana’s side.
“Not so tough now are you tough guy.” Nathan teases.
Pain shoots through Tristan’s nose from the motion of the waddle. “Ouch, ow, Ouch.”
Greer flicks Tristan’s free ear. “Big baby.”
“Boy, don’t tease the animals in the zoo.” Nana says.
As Nana, my brother, his airhead friend lead Tristan down one end of the hallway, Devin, Pam and I head backstage. Frenzied, Mr. Stancil scoots through the dressing area whispering, “It’s time.”
We sit Pam down in a chair and she collects herself. Behind her, Christian’s hands appear to hover, almost resting on Pam’s shoulders and something I’m getting used to, they talk in unison.
“She’s not going back to him.”
“No more. No more,” Looking down, Pam pauses.
“No more.” Christian vanishes.
Pam veers up. “No more.”
I soothe her hands. “No more.”
I feel Devin’s hand rest on the small of my back.
#
“See Dude, I knew that ham hock was a tool.”
“For once Nathan, you were right.”
Bumping knuckles, along with Nana, they return to their seats in the auditorium.
“Were have you guys been?” Miranda mother questions.
Causing Greer and Nathan to laugh, Nana answers. “Oh, we had to take out the trash.”
“Mother, really.”
“Stop calling me mother!”
“Now, all I got to do is score a phone number.” Nathan says.
“Nathan, you don’t drive, how are you going to take her out? I don’t think a girl like that would be to keen on the idea of having your parents cart you around town.”
“I’ll teach her how to ride a skateboard.”
“Oh, come on. Get real.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re right Greer. I’ll have to wait until her leg heals. Do you have an extra helmet?”
“Let her use yours. Your watermelon is hard as rock.”
#
The lights dim and Devin is positioned to go onstage.
“Good luck.” He whispers.
“I can’t feel my toes.”
Pam snickers. “It’s a good thing you don’t sing with your toes.”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
I knew she wouldn’t, especially after what just happened, she simply nodded no.
Devin slides behind the curtain. This is it, the time had come, and a voice calms my nerves.
“Through math, through art, even death we won’t part.”
On my cue, I join Devin onstage.
In that moment, I notice that the stage feels so much larger whereas the audience dotted with people seems much smaller. Positioning myself, Devin begins to play the familiar tune I heard on the first day of rehearsal. On the note where I’m supposed to start singing, I froze.
This isn’t fair, I thought. Looking out into the stunned faces in the crowd, one shined above the rest. Dead center, Christian’s face beaming and his smile warming, he looks on. Pantomiming his feelings, Christian spells out I love you. A lump captures my vocals, tears began building, and as quickly as I blink Christian is gone. I raise my index finger to the crowd suggesting one minute.
I knew I would never see Christian again. I had, for lack of better way to describe it, a feeling. But along with that feeling, I know he is there within the layers of what eyes can’t see. Even in death, we won’t part.
As I’m leaving the stage the pale murmur waves across the audience, and I can’t help but suspect that a real emergency might interrupt the show, as Mr. Stancil is most likely in full cardiac arrest. Behind the curtain, I refuse to take no for an answers while I force Pam to join me onstage.
I’m confident I’d made the right decision because after the duo is over, the crowd irrupts with applause and cheers. In the orchestra area, I notice Mr. Stancil jumping up and down a number of times as he spastically claps his hands together. He is a part of it; the magic of the music, but Devin had climbed on top of the piano where he joined the celebration.
There were many more segments of the show, but we could have ended it right then and I don’t think anyone would have noticed. The universe was working magic in the theatre and I like to believe that Christian had a small hand in the divine order of the night.
#
As the audience is breaking up, Nathan’s eyes are fixed and he remains oddly still.
Greer Taps Nathan on the leg. “That was boring as hell. Are you awake? What are you doing?”
“I can’t move. I’m paralyzed.”
“What?”
“I’m paralyzed with love.”
Greer winces. “You, my friend, are paralyzed with stupid.”
#
Backstage, Pam, Devin and I embrace.
Devin is thrilled. “That was amazing.”
“I still can’t feel my toes.”
“You were feeling something out there. I even felt it.” Pam adds.
It’s obvious that Pam is happy that I had dragged her onstage.
Mr. Stancil scurries over to us, along with another gentleman who is wearing a tailored three-piece suit.
“Girls I just don’t know what to say. I couldn’t have planned that any better myself. If that was secretly planned, well done! I never pictured the story that way, but it worked. Though, if I do a rewrite, I will move that to the end of the story, that’s where it should be. It even came across as symbolic. A girl survives a life filled with excess. A rebirth. Bravo. Oh, this is Mr. Steven Riley, with William Morris Endeavor.”
© Always Here ~ Part 15
“Okay guys, I’m off. Wish me luck.”
They didn’t respond, didn’t blink, didn’t move and didn’t utter break a leg. Typical for that bunch, they clung shoulder to shoulder, staring forward with no cares in the world. There is no sympathy, no advice, only watchful eyes. Concluding they are in shock because I had actually gone through with it, I retrieve my bag and leave my stuffed googley-eyed friends to rest where they had for some time now.
On the way out, I mumble to myself. “Christian, where are you?”
I need him now just as I needed him as the motivating force that led me to this moment. Is that what he came to me for in the first place? I hope he hasn’t forgotten that I need him while he is off somewhere in space, time, whatever it was, and doing cartwheels creating an unexpected draft of wind to blow on an unknown victim.
Somewhat sure that I have regained control of the runaway train of a romance fantasy; I agreed to hitch a ride with Devin back to school. What an uneasy ride this is seeing as how I don’t know how to introduce something for conversation, and I consider that Devin doesn’t either.
Still the gentleman, Devin opens doors, smiles his unforgettable smile, and uses all the tools of the lady killer trade. I’m not intentionally being cold, but my nerves are busy ticking in sync with every blink of the two dots that separate the minutes from the second on the digital clock on the dashboard.
Turing into the parking lot, the memories of Christian, his car, his attempt to save Pam from the Ham, and the upcoming performance weigh on me. Not forgetting that despite my decision to take myself out of the girl group equation, on some level I adore Devin, but I can’t let myself trust those feelings. Maybe he is indeed a vampire, unknown to me his magical appeal still calling.
Inside, Mr. Stancil is relatively calm, but I suppose that at any minute the dust will be flying. Oddly, Pam is backstage rocking back and forth on her crutches, which surprises me since I didn’t anticipate her showing up for the event. If the roles were reverse, I would be far too humiliated to show my face, literally.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Wow, you look much batter.”
Pam grew emotional. “Thanks, make-up helps. Thank you for doing this. I just wanted to come and wish you good luck.”
I can tell that Pam is hurting. More is happening behind the exterior of the girl I thought lived on top of the world.
“My mother hates that I even enjoy singing. She’d prefer I make good grades, act like a stupid blond, and wait and let a man with money take care of me.”
“Pam, if you want to do this, do it. Trust me, I won’t complain.”
“No, I can’t. I just need to lay low, get my head straight and try to survive until I can go away to school. I’ll be eighteen soon. Anyway, I don’t want to put a damper on the night. I could talk about this stuff forever as long as someone is actually listening.”
“You’re sticking around right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure that Mr. Stancil wouldn’t mind if you hang out backstage. He is so nervous he probably wouldn’t even notice.”
“Thanks for that. I only came to wish you luck. You know, you sing very pretty.”
“Thank you so much for that. I could so use Christian right now, his humor.”
“Always here.” Distant, yet Christian’s voice is clear.
Pam stops bobbling on her crutches. “He saved…”
Mr. Stancil bursts through in a full throttle panic.
“Ten minutes folks. Lets go, lets go, lets go!”
“Guess I better get ready. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, you better hurry.”
Pam limps down the corridor, heading in the direction of the theatre seating. The most popular girl in the school and she doesn’t have anyone to talk to? I thought that, but realizing the key point in her statement was the word listen. Hearing and listening are different verbs.
#
Beyond the school grounds, overhead, a dark cloud looms as the weather person had predicted during the morning broadcast earlier that morning. Prepared, Nana brought along an umbrella which she held in one hand, and the other grips a bouquet of flowers that she picked up from the florist for Miranda.
Taking their spots in the theatre round, Nana is relieved when Nathan and Greer share that they are parting to go to the bathroom. During the ride over, the two boys and their untranslatable conversation grated on her last nerve. Using the umbrella, she had already pecked one of them on the shoulder for farting in the backseat of the minivan.
Miranda’s father agrees as Miranda’s mother complains about the small theatre seating. Nana wants to remark that the seats aren’t the problem but it’s her daughter’s caboose complicating the comfort. She keeps it to herself though because the taunting at the gym was enough for one day.
With the tips of his fingers barely touching the backrest of Nana’s seat, Christian is in a full on handstand, with his face falling just to the side of Nana’s head. His legs spread apart, and then move together resembling a pair of scissors in action. His face remains animated the whole time, making faces and lastly sticking out his tongue like he is putting it in Nana’s ear.
Faintly his spirited voice suggests. “Take the flowers now.”
Nana withdraws from the seating. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to run to the back and give these to Miranda.”
#
Nathan and Greer weren’t heading to the bathroom as they said; instead, they were heading to find Pam. The second the minivan hit the quickly crowding school parking lot, Nathan had spotted Pam’s car. Months had passed and his detective skills were more fine-tuned. He probably smelled her perfume from the ticket booth like a hound dog, and within the gibberish that Nana didn’t understand, he and Greer trumped up plan to track her like a laser-guided heat seeking missile sailing through the auditorium.
When they enter the corridor leading backstage, Nathan is confident that fate is on his side. Halfway, leaning against the wall, Pam stood sobbing into her hands.
Even though the hormones held the leash of Nathan’s drive, his approach is deeply sincere.
“Pam, what’s wrong?”
#
Mr. Stancil makes another nervous pass updating the countdown to his long awaited masterpiece. In my head I repeat, Christian, Christian, Christian, trying to figure out the magic sequence that makes the genie poof to the surface. I conclude I should’ve ask that question while he was present, along with asking him what he was doing here, but who controls the constant interruptions? Is he gone? Another question I should’ve cleared is how long he would be visible, like this, as he put it.
So like him, Devin detects that I’m edgy.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
I immediately fall prey due to the delicate tone of his question, but the reservations continue haunting.
“Are we okay?” Devin’s face expresses that of a helpless wounded animal.
“I need time, I guess. It’s what Christian said, made me start thinking too much.”
As Devin leans in, poof, Christian is present.
“Miranda, I was wrong about him. I like him.”
I need not say that my mood changed in an instant for many reasons. Very important to me, Christian approves.
Tenderly, Devin rests his hands on my shoulders as he and Christian’s voices blend together.
“What happened with my parents made me think that way.”
“Don’t you think the situation with his parents made him think that way?”
The pleasure I felt is revealed in my smile.
#
Leaning on Nathan’s shoulder, Pam drenches his shirt with tears. Out of her sight and shocked, Greer, sticking out his tongue, and shoots Nathan the approving thumbs up.
His presence missing for four days, bringing the corridor to a detectable level of fear and anxiety, Tristan quickly paces towards Pam, Nathan, and Greer.
“Well, what a touching moment!”
Violently, Tristan yanks Pam from Nathan’s caring shoulder.
Nathan reacts. “Whoa pork chop.”
“I was right about you all along you whore.” Tristan jerks Pam around like a rag doll; her crutches fall to the floor.
Greer and Nathan glimpse at each other and quickly hurl forward to protect Pam from the monster.
“Let go of her Big Bird!” Greer demands.
Letting go of Pam, Tristan snatches Greer by the shirt. At the same time, Nathan jumps up, latching himself onto Tristan’s bulky back, clasping he arms around Tristan’s thick neck.
“Let him go you big ham.” Nathan tugs.
Saturated with the memory of a punch in the face, rolling across black asphalt, as well as the sound of metal crunching followed by rapid successions of emergency lights, Pam begins screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Stop it!” The shout echoes in the slender corridor.
#
Hearing a high-pitched scream coming from down the hall that leads to the auditorium, Devin and I rush to find out what was happening. First, I thought something was on fire caused by the lighting. Reaching the corridor, my heart begins racing. Pam is screaming, Nathan is clinging to Tristan’s back, and Greer is trying to rip his shirt off in order to escape a hand that was use to gripping sweaty footballs.
About the same time, on the other side of boy twister, Nana shuffles forward dropping a bouquet of flower. In one swift motion, Nana raises an umbrella, swings, and pegs Tristan right in the middle of his nose. His face already wounded, I hear him grunt as he kneels to floor while Nathan rides his back on the way down. His hand releases Greer’s shirt causing Greer to stumble a few steps forward.
Reaching for Pam’s arm, I grab hold, pulling her several steps backwards to a safe distance. Christian appears at my side and causing me to gasp, a feeling that I can never fully express hits me like lightening, as Christian’s arm quickly brushes against mine. Catching my breath, I continue pulling Pam further away from the drama.
“No wait.” Still sobbing, Pam tears from me.
Pam moves nearer to where, in pain, Tristan, is squatting on the floor, doctors his broken nose. Since the moment Pam heard his monstrous voice fill the corridor, and felt his angry touch, she’d returned to a Saturday night speeding down a highway to the location where a wreath now rest as a memorial for my dearest friend in the world. Pam was ready to speak the words that she hadn’t shared with anyone on the night of the tragedy, or shared with anyone since.
They didn’t respond, didn’t blink, didn’t move and didn’t utter break a leg. Typical for that bunch, they clung shoulder to shoulder, staring forward with no cares in the world. There is no sympathy, no advice, only watchful eyes. Concluding they are in shock because I had actually gone through with it, I retrieve my bag and leave my stuffed googley-eyed friends to rest where they had for some time now.
On the way out, I mumble to myself. “Christian, where are you?”
I need him now just as I needed him as the motivating force that led me to this moment. Is that what he came to me for in the first place? I hope he hasn’t forgotten that I need him while he is off somewhere in space, time, whatever it was, and doing cartwheels creating an unexpected draft of wind to blow on an unknown victim.
Somewhat sure that I have regained control of the runaway train of a romance fantasy; I agreed to hitch a ride with Devin back to school. What an uneasy ride this is seeing as how I don’t know how to introduce something for conversation, and I consider that Devin doesn’t either.
Still the gentleman, Devin opens doors, smiles his unforgettable smile, and uses all the tools of the lady killer trade. I’m not intentionally being cold, but my nerves are busy ticking in sync with every blink of the two dots that separate the minutes from the second on the digital clock on the dashboard.
Turing into the parking lot, the memories of Christian, his car, his attempt to save Pam from the Ham, and the upcoming performance weigh on me. Not forgetting that despite my decision to take myself out of the girl group equation, on some level I adore Devin, but I can’t let myself trust those feelings. Maybe he is indeed a vampire, unknown to me his magical appeal still calling.
Inside, Mr. Stancil is relatively calm, but I suppose that at any minute the dust will be flying. Oddly, Pam is backstage rocking back and forth on her crutches, which surprises me since I didn’t anticipate her showing up for the event. If the roles were reverse, I would be far too humiliated to show my face, literally.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Wow, you look much batter.”
Pam grew emotional. “Thanks, make-up helps. Thank you for doing this. I just wanted to come and wish you good luck.”
I can tell that Pam is hurting. More is happening behind the exterior of the girl I thought lived on top of the world.
“My mother hates that I even enjoy singing. She’d prefer I make good grades, act like a stupid blond, and wait and let a man with money take care of me.”
“Pam, if you want to do this, do it. Trust me, I won’t complain.”
“No, I can’t. I just need to lay low, get my head straight and try to survive until I can go away to school. I’ll be eighteen soon. Anyway, I don’t want to put a damper on the night. I could talk about this stuff forever as long as someone is actually listening.”
“You’re sticking around right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure that Mr. Stancil wouldn’t mind if you hang out backstage. He is so nervous he probably wouldn’t even notice.”
“Thanks for that. I only came to wish you luck. You know, you sing very pretty.”
“Thank you so much for that. I could so use Christian right now, his humor.”
“Always here.” Distant, yet Christian’s voice is clear.
Pam stops bobbling on her crutches. “He saved…”
Mr. Stancil bursts through in a full throttle panic.
“Ten minutes folks. Lets go, lets go, lets go!”
“Guess I better get ready. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, you better hurry.”
Pam limps down the corridor, heading in the direction of the theatre seating. The most popular girl in the school and she doesn’t have anyone to talk to? I thought that, but realizing the key point in her statement was the word listen. Hearing and listening are different verbs.
#
Beyond the school grounds, overhead, a dark cloud looms as the weather person had predicted during the morning broadcast earlier that morning. Prepared, Nana brought along an umbrella which she held in one hand, and the other grips a bouquet of flowers that she picked up from the florist for Miranda.
Taking their spots in the theatre round, Nana is relieved when Nathan and Greer share that they are parting to go to the bathroom. During the ride over, the two boys and their untranslatable conversation grated on her last nerve. Using the umbrella, she had already pecked one of them on the shoulder for farting in the backseat of the minivan.
Miranda’s father agrees as Miranda’s mother complains about the small theatre seating. Nana wants to remark that the seats aren’t the problem but it’s her daughter’s caboose complicating the comfort. She keeps it to herself though because the taunting at the gym was enough for one day.
With the tips of his fingers barely touching the backrest of Nana’s seat, Christian is in a full on handstand, with his face falling just to the side of Nana’s head. His legs spread apart, and then move together resembling a pair of scissors in action. His face remains animated the whole time, making faces and lastly sticking out his tongue like he is putting it in Nana’s ear.
Faintly his spirited voice suggests. “Take the flowers now.”
Nana withdraws from the seating. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to run to the back and give these to Miranda.”
#
Nathan and Greer weren’t heading to the bathroom as they said; instead, they were heading to find Pam. The second the minivan hit the quickly crowding school parking lot, Nathan had spotted Pam’s car. Months had passed and his detective skills were more fine-tuned. He probably smelled her perfume from the ticket booth like a hound dog, and within the gibberish that Nana didn’t understand, he and Greer trumped up plan to track her like a laser-guided heat seeking missile sailing through the auditorium.
When they enter the corridor leading backstage, Nathan is confident that fate is on his side. Halfway, leaning against the wall, Pam stood sobbing into her hands.
Even though the hormones held the leash of Nathan’s drive, his approach is deeply sincere.
“Pam, what’s wrong?”
#
Mr. Stancil makes another nervous pass updating the countdown to his long awaited masterpiece. In my head I repeat, Christian, Christian, Christian, trying to figure out the magic sequence that makes the genie poof to the surface. I conclude I should’ve ask that question while he was present, along with asking him what he was doing here, but who controls the constant interruptions? Is he gone? Another question I should’ve cleared is how long he would be visible, like this, as he put it.
So like him, Devin detects that I’m edgy.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
I immediately fall prey due to the delicate tone of his question, but the reservations continue haunting.
“Are we okay?” Devin’s face expresses that of a helpless wounded animal.
“I need time, I guess. It’s what Christian said, made me start thinking too much.”
As Devin leans in, poof, Christian is present.
“Miranda, I was wrong about him. I like him.”
I need not say that my mood changed in an instant for many reasons. Very important to me, Christian approves.
Tenderly, Devin rests his hands on my shoulders as he and Christian’s voices blend together.
“What happened with my parents made me think that way.”
“Don’t you think the situation with his parents made him think that way?”
The pleasure I felt is revealed in my smile.
#
Leaning on Nathan’s shoulder, Pam drenches his shirt with tears. Out of her sight and shocked, Greer, sticking out his tongue, and shoots Nathan the approving thumbs up.
His presence missing for four days, bringing the corridor to a detectable level of fear and anxiety, Tristan quickly paces towards Pam, Nathan, and Greer.
“Well, what a touching moment!”
Violently, Tristan yanks Pam from Nathan’s caring shoulder.
Nathan reacts. “Whoa pork chop.”
“I was right about you all along you whore.” Tristan jerks Pam around like a rag doll; her crutches fall to the floor.
Greer and Nathan glimpse at each other and quickly hurl forward to protect Pam from the monster.
“Let go of her Big Bird!” Greer demands.
Letting go of Pam, Tristan snatches Greer by the shirt. At the same time, Nathan jumps up, latching himself onto Tristan’s bulky back, clasping he arms around Tristan’s thick neck.
“Let him go you big ham.” Nathan tugs.
Saturated with the memory of a punch in the face, rolling across black asphalt, as well as the sound of metal crunching followed by rapid successions of emergency lights, Pam begins screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Stop it!” The shout echoes in the slender corridor.
#
Hearing a high-pitched scream coming from down the hall that leads to the auditorium, Devin and I rush to find out what was happening. First, I thought something was on fire caused by the lighting. Reaching the corridor, my heart begins racing. Pam is screaming, Nathan is clinging to Tristan’s back, and Greer is trying to rip his shirt off in order to escape a hand that was use to gripping sweaty footballs.
About the same time, on the other side of boy twister, Nana shuffles forward dropping a bouquet of flower. In one swift motion, Nana raises an umbrella, swings, and pegs Tristan right in the middle of his nose. His face already wounded, I hear him grunt as he kneels to floor while Nathan rides his back on the way down. His hand releases Greer’s shirt causing Greer to stumble a few steps forward.
Reaching for Pam’s arm, I grab hold, pulling her several steps backwards to a safe distance. Christian appears at my side and causing me to gasp, a feeling that I can never fully express hits me like lightening, as Christian’s arm quickly brushes against mine. Catching my breath, I continue pulling Pam further away from the drama.
“No wait.” Still sobbing, Pam tears from me.
Pam moves nearer to where, in pain, Tristan, is squatting on the floor, doctors his broken nose. Since the moment Pam heard his monstrous voice fill the corridor, and felt his angry touch, she’d returned to a Saturday night speeding down a highway to the location where a wreath now rest as a memorial for my dearest friend in the world. Pam was ready to speak the words that she hadn’t shared with anyone on the night of the tragedy, or shared with anyone since.
© Always Here ~ Part 14
Whatever the universe has up its sleeves, has me completely confused. Accepting what I thought is a hint I went ahead and auditioned for the musical. An encounter with a handsome boy in a parking lot and then again in a driveway, I agreed to go on a date. Without warning, the divine order threw a curve ball. First the wreck, next the revelation that Christian was right all along about relationships. Perhaps these situations were meant to remind me not to be so critical about my humble place in the world. Even if that place were in my room singing into a flatiron appraising the world through a large window.
After taking a long deep breath, I decided I had to get back to my reality, mainly get back to being me, and stop it with this fantasy.
“Dad, would you mind stopping by the grocery store? I need to pick something up.”
“Sure dear.”
From the stack right of the stores entrance, I retrieve a shopping basket and head to number seven, the baking aisle. Removing all of the packages from the shelf, I place them in the basket. Nearly laughing as I catch him out of the corner of my eye, Christian, on the tips of his toes, is perched on the end of some woman’s metal shopping cart balancing with ease.
“How cool is this right? I got tricks.”
Christian flips backwards, somersaulting until he reaches the far end of the aisle. I survey as he moves a few feet, taking a step upward as though he were stepping onto a surfboard. That is exactly what it looks like too, he is surfing with no board and no water as he glides right in front of me with a big smile.
“Woo hoo!”
Closer to my end, Christian circles around the corner and I hurry to see what he might do next. Reaching the end-cap, I peer in both directions. He was gone.
“Christian?”
Back home I dump my items onto the kitchen countertop and start stacking the small boxes so I could put them away. One hand filled, balancing the stack, I head for the pantry and open the closure.
“BOO!” Christian shouts as the door cracks open.
Jumping, my boxes tumble to the floor as I let out a scream.
“Gottcha!”
I bend over to gather the boxes.
“I’m baaaaack.” He says in a poltergeist manner.
“You scared the hell of me.”
“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.” Christian beams.
“Well, you are a ghost.”
“For lack of a better explanation.” Christian joins me on the floor.
One after the other, I stack the boxes. One was a bit out of my reach. Christian inches near the box, though he doesn’t touch it, his hand hovers just above the package and like he is flicking a bug, the small box slides closer to where I’m squatting.
“Well, did you see what happened today?”
“I did. Congratulations chickie.”
“I feel bad for her you know?”
“Don’t be. That night was real eye-opener.”
“For her, but for you it was…”
Laughing, Christian adds. “Eye closer.”
“How can you take it so lightly? I mean, if I’m not crazy, I still see you, so it’s not like your gone, but you’re gone, well, you know what I mean.”
“If you could see it Miranda. If the world could see it. Just for one second. If they did, tomorrow everyone would stop fighting, weapons would be destroyed, the hungry would be fed, and those that feel unloved would know they are. And so much more”
“Did you…” I pause as tears fill my eyes, “did you feel pain?”
“Don’t get upset. I was out of that body before the first piece of metal impaled it.”
“This might be a silly question, because I don’t have any experiences with, uh, ghosts, but will you always be here?”
"Not like this. Not visually. And I have to tell you honestly that you will forget about this kind of, talking to me, but you’ll always have a feeling, which is the best I can do to describe it. Truths are for the other side.”
“So, what are you doi…”
With her hands full, Nana strolls into the kitchen ceasing my question about what he is doing here.
“Hey dear. We had to catch up on the shopping.”
“Hey Nana.”
Nana places the bags on the counter, leans in and whispers. “Not only would they have ugly babies, they’d be dumb as a bag of rocks. Those two boys drove me crazy. They kept talking and I’ll be damned how they understand each other because I never understood a word.”
No skipping a beat, Nana and Christian express their thoughts at the same time.
“Can’t wait to see what happens with the Jell-O.”
“What’s with all the boxes of Jell-O?” Nana inquires.
When Greer and Nathan come in hauling numerous grocery bags, I realize that Christian is no longer there. Well, I don’t know if he is or not.
“Nathan, if you don’t stop stalking her she is going to knock off your watermelon head.”
“It looks like somebody already tried to knock yours off flat face.”
#
The rest of the week was a complete blur. By the conclusion of Tuesday’s rehearsal, Mr. Stancil had lost a few more hairs from his balding head. There were a couple of incidents where he overreacted and ran out of the theatre swearing that he couldn’t take it one more minute. I thought he was sneaking out for a drink myself because every time he came back he seemed mellower. Unless he was staying up late at night clamoring over the details of the performance, there had to be an explanation for his bloodshot eyes. He was a product from the sixties though; he could’ve had a batch a brownies hidden in his office desk for all I knew.
By Wednesday, the key elements of the show ran smoother than ever and for once Mr. Stancil finally relaxed. Sitting dead center of the row seating, he crossed his legs, clasped his hands together, pointed his index finger upwards and rested the tips on his dimpled chin. If he hadn’t smiled, I would’ve believed he was pretending the shoot himself.
Thursday made the third day that I kept my conversations with Devin limited to talking about the show. He tried, I’ll give him that, but still every effort that he made seemed like a page right out of the textbook. Though I tried refraining myself from observing, I notice that the girls still fawning all over Devin during the breaks. For that matter, a few of the boys were too, and that made me feel even worse about the situation because I knew the odds of winning in a competition against those guys is impossible. Gay guys are always stylish, put together, and more forthcoming and blunt about what they’re after. If Devin had an inkling of sitting on the fence with his sexuality, he would sway in the direction of boys since it was less complicating relating to someone who had the same body parts. Honestly, if I couldn’t be the winner in the feud, I’d rather him take the easy road. For me that was less ego crushing somehow.
The best part of Friday was not having classes, well, for the members of the production anyway. Since the first performance is later in the evening, my nerves have ramped up enough that I want to approach Mr. Stancil about sharing his stash of the chief. I wouldn’t dare however because drugs aren’t my thing, but it is funny to think about the shock on his face if I were to ask him to share his brownies.
For three hours in mayhem and madness, the production crew works feverishly to put the final touches on the set. Mr. Stancil claps, skips, shouts, and sprinkles his glitter in the dark recesses of the auditorium. I’m relieved to see Devin socializing with the boys more, which gives me one less thing to ponder before the show.
Once the glitter settled, we all part for home to rest, relax, prepare or panic.
#
Following the accident, police officers escorted Tristan home that evening. Not that he was in trouble-the ride home was a courteous gesture on the part of the officers. Pam, in hysterics and injured was carted to the hospital in an ambulance, leaving her car to be towed away by a wrecker. Since Tristan was not the rightful owner, he wasn’t allowed to take the car. Not that she would have, but Pam was in no state to grant permission.
Clever with his explanation of the event, Tristan had won over the police officers. The fact that he was a football player aided in the appeal of course, and when Tristan suggested his father was a drinker, the officers volunteered to drop Tristan off on their way back to the police station.
Even if he had had the officer explain the hold up to his father, his drunken father wouldn’t have listened or cared. All Tristan’s father knew was, is that Tristan had missed his curfew and for the last three hours, Tristan’s father listened to Karen worrying aloud about the whereabouts of her son. Making it worse, as she waited, Karen stared out the window and saw the Tristan exiting the police car. Mentioning this to Tristan’s father only revved up his anger.
That night, with Karen screaming in the background, Tristan and his father fought until they were bloodied, bruised, and exhausted. Furniture was out of place, lamps were broken, and sheetrock walls were caved in, but that didn’t stop Tristan’s father from filling his glass with vodka, raising it, and offering a toast at the conclusion of the confrontation.
“I might be older, but I can still whip your ass.” The drunkard said.
Karen did her best to help Tristan with his injuries, but with the monster fully alive, he felt nothing, not even the four-inch gash above his eyebrow. Not even the blood that filled his eye socket.
Tristan pushed away his mother’s hand. “Leave me alone.”
Tristan’s father slurred. “You hear the big baby. Leave him alone. Let him do whatever he wants to do. He does anyway.”
Later after the two had fallen asleep, Karen removed a suitcase from the closet, packed some clothing inside, and sat it by the front door. Her husband hadn’t reached rock bottom and if rock bottom wasn’t beating ones’ own child, then she didn’t know what it was, or if it would ever come. Karen’s own child was no longer the little boy that needed protection for all those years. Karen knew she had failed Tristan, but it was too late to do anything to resolve that or even take it back. She couldn’t step back in time, swoop the young boy up in her arms and flee. It would get better she had always told herself, but the proof was in front of her. And time was behind her.
Karen urged Tristan to come with her, that they would get help, and start a new life, but Tristan, or the personality that dominated him refused, exclaiming there was no way he was leaving his girlfriend behind. Still after all that had happened, Tristan continued claiming Pam as his property.
Karen kissed the sleeping shell of her son, left his room, walked down the hall, picked up a suitcase and exited. When the door closed, she knew that the next time she heard any news about her family, one of them would be in jail or dead. Did it matter really? Weren’t they dead already? Weren’t they prisoners already? She cried, realizing that inside, she was dying as well, from a broken heart. She cried because she knew she was freeing herself from a prison.
Lying in bed, not asleep, but with his eyes closed, Tristan heard the door down the hall shut. Opening his eyes, the tears welled, and Tristan wiped his cheek with a closed fist just before punching a hole in the wall next to the bed.
For hours into the night, Tristan lay there fuming, seething, the monster feeding from the fuel. Not able to sleep, Tristan eased out of bed and went to the living room.
True to form, his father’s intoxicated body covered a portion of the rug in front of the displaced sofa. Tristan got closer, his feet crunching on shattered ceramics, unafraid, his heart racing. Reaching for his fly, Tristan eased down the zipper, removed his penis from the opening, aimed it at his father and began peeing.
He growled. “Piss on you, you son of bitch.”
After taking a long deep breath, I decided I had to get back to my reality, mainly get back to being me, and stop it with this fantasy.
“Dad, would you mind stopping by the grocery store? I need to pick something up.”
“Sure dear.”
From the stack right of the stores entrance, I retrieve a shopping basket and head to number seven, the baking aisle. Removing all of the packages from the shelf, I place them in the basket. Nearly laughing as I catch him out of the corner of my eye, Christian, on the tips of his toes, is perched on the end of some woman’s metal shopping cart balancing with ease.
“How cool is this right? I got tricks.”
Christian flips backwards, somersaulting until he reaches the far end of the aisle. I survey as he moves a few feet, taking a step upward as though he were stepping onto a surfboard. That is exactly what it looks like too, he is surfing with no board and no water as he glides right in front of me with a big smile.
“Woo hoo!”
Closer to my end, Christian circles around the corner and I hurry to see what he might do next. Reaching the end-cap, I peer in both directions. He was gone.
“Christian?”
Back home I dump my items onto the kitchen countertop and start stacking the small boxes so I could put them away. One hand filled, balancing the stack, I head for the pantry and open the closure.
“BOO!” Christian shouts as the door cracks open.
Jumping, my boxes tumble to the floor as I let out a scream.
“Gottcha!”
I bend over to gather the boxes.
“I’m baaaaack.” He says in a poltergeist manner.
“You scared the hell of me.”
“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.” Christian beams.
“Well, you are a ghost.”
“For lack of a better explanation.” Christian joins me on the floor.
One after the other, I stack the boxes. One was a bit out of my reach. Christian inches near the box, though he doesn’t touch it, his hand hovers just above the package and like he is flicking a bug, the small box slides closer to where I’m squatting.
“Well, did you see what happened today?”
“I did. Congratulations chickie.”
“I feel bad for her you know?”
“Don’t be. That night was real eye-opener.”
“For her, but for you it was…”
Laughing, Christian adds. “Eye closer.”
“How can you take it so lightly? I mean, if I’m not crazy, I still see you, so it’s not like your gone, but you’re gone, well, you know what I mean.”
“If you could see it Miranda. If the world could see it. Just for one second. If they did, tomorrow everyone would stop fighting, weapons would be destroyed, the hungry would be fed, and those that feel unloved would know they are. And so much more”
“Did you…” I pause as tears fill my eyes, “did you feel pain?”
“Don’t get upset. I was out of that body before the first piece of metal impaled it.”
“This might be a silly question, because I don’t have any experiences with, uh, ghosts, but will you always be here?”
"Not like this. Not visually. And I have to tell you honestly that you will forget about this kind of, talking to me, but you’ll always have a feeling, which is the best I can do to describe it. Truths are for the other side.”
“So, what are you doi…”
With her hands full, Nana strolls into the kitchen ceasing my question about what he is doing here.
“Hey dear. We had to catch up on the shopping.”
“Hey Nana.”
Nana places the bags on the counter, leans in and whispers. “Not only would they have ugly babies, they’d be dumb as a bag of rocks. Those two boys drove me crazy. They kept talking and I’ll be damned how they understand each other because I never understood a word.”
No skipping a beat, Nana and Christian express their thoughts at the same time.
“Can’t wait to see what happens with the Jell-O.”
“What’s with all the boxes of Jell-O?” Nana inquires.
When Greer and Nathan come in hauling numerous grocery bags, I realize that Christian is no longer there. Well, I don’t know if he is or not.
“Nathan, if you don’t stop stalking her she is going to knock off your watermelon head.”
“It looks like somebody already tried to knock yours off flat face.”
#
The rest of the week was a complete blur. By the conclusion of Tuesday’s rehearsal, Mr. Stancil had lost a few more hairs from his balding head. There were a couple of incidents where he overreacted and ran out of the theatre swearing that he couldn’t take it one more minute. I thought he was sneaking out for a drink myself because every time he came back he seemed mellower. Unless he was staying up late at night clamoring over the details of the performance, there had to be an explanation for his bloodshot eyes. He was a product from the sixties though; he could’ve had a batch a brownies hidden in his office desk for all I knew.
By Wednesday, the key elements of the show ran smoother than ever and for once Mr. Stancil finally relaxed. Sitting dead center of the row seating, he crossed his legs, clasped his hands together, pointed his index finger upwards and rested the tips on his dimpled chin. If he hadn’t smiled, I would’ve believed he was pretending the shoot himself.
Thursday made the third day that I kept my conversations with Devin limited to talking about the show. He tried, I’ll give him that, but still every effort that he made seemed like a page right out of the textbook. Though I tried refraining myself from observing, I notice that the girls still fawning all over Devin during the breaks. For that matter, a few of the boys were too, and that made me feel even worse about the situation because I knew the odds of winning in a competition against those guys is impossible. Gay guys are always stylish, put together, and more forthcoming and blunt about what they’re after. If Devin had an inkling of sitting on the fence with his sexuality, he would sway in the direction of boys since it was less complicating relating to someone who had the same body parts. Honestly, if I couldn’t be the winner in the feud, I’d rather him take the easy road. For me that was less ego crushing somehow.
The best part of Friday was not having classes, well, for the members of the production anyway. Since the first performance is later in the evening, my nerves have ramped up enough that I want to approach Mr. Stancil about sharing his stash of the chief. I wouldn’t dare however because drugs aren’t my thing, but it is funny to think about the shock on his face if I were to ask him to share his brownies.
For three hours in mayhem and madness, the production crew works feverishly to put the final touches on the set. Mr. Stancil claps, skips, shouts, and sprinkles his glitter in the dark recesses of the auditorium. I’m relieved to see Devin socializing with the boys more, which gives me one less thing to ponder before the show.
Once the glitter settled, we all part for home to rest, relax, prepare or panic.
#
Following the accident, police officers escorted Tristan home that evening. Not that he was in trouble-the ride home was a courteous gesture on the part of the officers. Pam, in hysterics and injured was carted to the hospital in an ambulance, leaving her car to be towed away by a wrecker. Since Tristan was not the rightful owner, he wasn’t allowed to take the car. Not that she would have, but Pam was in no state to grant permission.
Clever with his explanation of the event, Tristan had won over the police officers. The fact that he was a football player aided in the appeal of course, and when Tristan suggested his father was a drinker, the officers volunteered to drop Tristan off on their way back to the police station.
Even if he had had the officer explain the hold up to his father, his drunken father wouldn’t have listened or cared. All Tristan’s father knew was, is that Tristan had missed his curfew and for the last three hours, Tristan’s father listened to Karen worrying aloud about the whereabouts of her son. Making it worse, as she waited, Karen stared out the window and saw the Tristan exiting the police car. Mentioning this to Tristan’s father only revved up his anger.
That night, with Karen screaming in the background, Tristan and his father fought until they were bloodied, bruised, and exhausted. Furniture was out of place, lamps were broken, and sheetrock walls were caved in, but that didn’t stop Tristan’s father from filling his glass with vodka, raising it, and offering a toast at the conclusion of the confrontation.
“I might be older, but I can still whip your ass.” The drunkard said.
Karen did her best to help Tristan with his injuries, but with the monster fully alive, he felt nothing, not even the four-inch gash above his eyebrow. Not even the blood that filled his eye socket.
Tristan pushed away his mother’s hand. “Leave me alone.”
Tristan’s father slurred. “You hear the big baby. Leave him alone. Let him do whatever he wants to do. He does anyway.”
Later after the two had fallen asleep, Karen removed a suitcase from the closet, packed some clothing inside, and sat it by the front door. Her husband hadn’t reached rock bottom and if rock bottom wasn’t beating ones’ own child, then she didn’t know what it was, or if it would ever come. Karen’s own child was no longer the little boy that needed protection for all those years. Karen knew she had failed Tristan, but it was too late to do anything to resolve that or even take it back. She couldn’t step back in time, swoop the young boy up in her arms and flee. It would get better she had always told herself, but the proof was in front of her. And time was behind her.
Karen urged Tristan to come with her, that they would get help, and start a new life, but Tristan, or the personality that dominated him refused, exclaiming there was no way he was leaving his girlfriend behind. Still after all that had happened, Tristan continued claiming Pam as his property.
Karen kissed the sleeping shell of her son, left his room, walked down the hall, picked up a suitcase and exited. When the door closed, she knew that the next time she heard any news about her family, one of them would be in jail or dead. Did it matter really? Weren’t they dead already? Weren’t they prisoners already? She cried, realizing that inside, she was dying as well, from a broken heart. She cried because she knew she was freeing herself from a prison.
Lying in bed, not asleep, but with his eyes closed, Tristan heard the door down the hall shut. Opening his eyes, the tears welled, and Tristan wiped his cheek with a closed fist just before punching a hole in the wall next to the bed.
For hours into the night, Tristan lay there fuming, seething, the monster feeding from the fuel. Not able to sleep, Tristan eased out of bed and went to the living room.
True to form, his father’s intoxicated body covered a portion of the rug in front of the displaced sofa. Tristan got closer, his feet crunching on shattered ceramics, unafraid, his heart racing. Reaching for his fly, Tristan eased down the zipper, removed his penis from the opening, aimed it at his father and began peeing.
He growled. “Piss on you, you son of bitch.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)