by A J Walkley
I wished my dad was home so I could talk to him about it. He had been gone for several weeks on business now, and he wouldn’t be home for at least one more. I couldn’t wait for his green Dodge to pull into the driveway. Maybe then, assuming Cameron was still interested, I could ask him for some advice. Even though I was on the verge of adulthood, sometimes a girl just needs her dad.
***
It was easy to question why my parents were together. Believe me, I did all the time.
There was Mom: anal and work-oriented to a fault. It was almost as if, once she felt Em and I were old enough to take care of ourselves, her job as Mother was over and it was back to helping other people on a daily basis.
They had that in common: their absentee-parent status was based on their good intentions.
I found an old yearbook of my dad’s from high school once. It was obvious that he was a child of his generation, flannel-clad with hair to his shoulders, pulled back into a ponytail more often than not, and a peace sign necklace around his neck. He had been the same way as a parent as I pictured him at my age: very laid-back, free-spirited and extremely loving.
Charleston, South Carolina was where Roger MacManus had grown up. Known for its presence of hippies, as I found out growing up there myself, it made perfect sense why my dad was who he was. Though the population of flower children was not exactly overwhelming in presence while I was a kid, they were when my dad was a teen. He was drawn to College Lodge at the College of Charleston as a high schooler, known for its plethora of drugs (though Dad maintains cannabis and magic mushrooms are the only illegal substances he’s ever used).
A young Roger stayed out until two in the morning listening to live music with his friends at the bars in town that never carded. One of those friends, Frankie Gonzalez, my dad seldom spoke of. All I really knew about him was that Frankie’s parents had come across the border from the south. Mrs. Gonzalez was eight months pregnant and, since she got to Texas before having Frankie, he was a citizen of the United States of America.
My dad and Frankie were attached at the hip until Frankie went to Vietnam when he was only 16. Since the country had provided a life for his parents and him that they could not have even imagined back in Mexico, he felt like he needed to fight. He lied about his age, having grown a full beard already, and they didn’t ask too many questions. Not too surprising, considering the mess we were in with the Vietcong and the lack of soldiers, I guess.
Leon King was his other buddy. From what I had heard, Leon was the troublemaker of the three, daring Frankie and my dad to smoke out the teacher’s lounge after school had closed for instance. After high school, Leon had moved to Florida to follow some girl who ended up dumping him only a month later. He stayed though, and my dad made pit stops on his way to Mexico to see him at the garage he owned in Pensacola. I met him once at a holiday party my dad threw at our house when I was six. All I recalled was the loud, hardy way my dad laughed with Leon standing on our back porch smoking cigars (although, now I wonder if they were cigars at all). He never laughed that way any other time.
Once Frankie was gone and Leon had left, my dad decided to continue his schooling. The smartest of the group, he got an academic scholarship to study psychology at the College of Charleston. I think his interest came from the psychoactive drugs he had experimented with, mixed with a never-ending need to help others. He thought becoming a psychologist or counselor would be a good career to do just that. He told me he knew he had made the right choice the second month into his sophomore year when he met my mother.
Karen Phillips, a biology student from D.C., probably wouldn’t have given my dad a second glance if he hadn’t been adamant about tutoring her. I think the charm he’s always exuded helped, too. My mom was in one of my dad’s psych classes, a requirement for her own degree. Always a whiz at the human body, the mind was another world altogether for my mom. By leading her through the intricacies of the psyche for several months, my dad was able to learn more and more about the body in turn – the heart, first and foremost, and then, eventually, every other part as my mom opened herself up to him.
That’s all I’ve been told about that. I stopped my dad there every time I asked because, come on, who wants to know the intimate details about their parents? Not me, that’s for sure.
The fact was that Karen was more of a workaholic than Roger was, and they balanced each other in that way. My dad taught her to relax while my mom showed him the importance of going after what you wanted. After they graduated and got married, had me and then my sister, my dad really took that lesson and ran with it.
A guidance counselor was what he had become at what would later be my high school, but by the time I was a freshman there, he had had enough.
“Kar, I need to do this,” I overheard him tell my mom one night.
“Roger, this is absolutely, one hundred and twenty percent INSANE,” she retorted.
I found out soon after that they were talking about my dad’s dream of helping people better their lives; not through mental health therapy, but by smuggling struggling Mexicans across the border.
“We’re all immigrants, Karen. They have as much of a right to be here as we do,” he would tell her time and again, any time she doubted his chosen way of life.
But she loved him and she let him quit his job and do what he needed to do.
By the time I was nearing my sophomore year at Charleston High, however, it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to continue if we stayed in South Carolina. Gas prices were on the rise and my dad was not making as much money as my family needed to maintain our way of life. The do-gooder that was Roger MacManus usually wouldn’t take the total $1,000 he charged the Mexicans he smuggled as a coyote, knowing they needed something to start their new lives with.
Love outweighed logic for my mom then and she started looking for jobs closer to the border. When she found a nursing job in Prescott, Arizona, she jumped on it.
Knowing that Nick had gotten into the prep school he had applied to when my parents broke the news, I wasn’t as upset as I probably would have been otherwise. Emily, the chipper little middle school kid that she was, ended up being the one that needed more convincing.
I just thought it might be the perfect chance to reinvent myself, hopefully into the person I was supposed to be.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray
of my heart. I am. I am. I am.”
- Sylvia Plath
SEPTEMBER
The first week of school was not what I had expected it to be. I went to football practice Wednesday, where Cameron introduced me to the rest of the team, all of whom happened to be his best friends.
There was Brian, who I recognized as Jew Fro from my Pre-Calculus class. He was the typical, lumbering meathead; a sophomore, who had been kicked off the actual football team the year before after being caught selling pot at the middle school.
Then came Shaun. He was about my height, a scrappy little guy, with a buzz cut and a sly grin on his face at all times.
Finally, Liza – the only other girl on the team aside from me. From the moment we were introduced I had no idea why any of these guys would have chosen her for a teammate. She was wearing skin-tight stretch pants, a body-fitting sweater, and more make-up than I have ever worn in my entire life. She didn’t look like she had ever played a sport, and once we started practicing, I was certain I was right. Liza spent the entirety of the hour either complaining about smudging her mascara, or flirting with Brian who was too dumb to notice.
As for me, even though I hadn’t held a football before, I wasn’t half bad – and not only compared to Liza. I wasn’t afraid to dive for the ball when it was passed to me and I was definitely a fast runner; being smaller than the boys had its advantages when it came to speed.
We were working on throwing the ball accurately this first practice. I didn’t have the spin down, but it usually made it into the hands of the teammate it was meant for. Sixty minute
s later, Cameron was grasping me around the shoulders.
“Nice job, Greer! I knew you would be a good addition to the team as soon as I saw you!”
“Yeah right, you did not!” I scoffed before I realized that this was the guy I was supposed to be impressing. Instead of backing off, he thought I was flirting. He changed his grip on me and turned me into the cleft of his arm, giving me a light hair tousle before letting me go.
“Well, you still need some work, don’t get me wrong,” he winked at me as we headed into the locker rooms. “Maybe we can cut out on study hall tomorrow and practice a little more?”
“Maybe,” I replied before heading into the girls’ room. I had never skipped before in my life, nor had I really had the opportunity to. High school wasn’t exactly a prison during the school day, but if you tried to cut, you would never get too far; you always needed a hall pass to leave the classroom. I could always do homework at home (novel idea, I know). Hatherly didn’t take attendance, and even if we were two of ten or so students in the library, she was probably too old to notice. What the heck, I figured one missed study hall couldn’t do too much damage.
***
I met Cameron outside Hatherly’s classroom Thursday just before the bell rang to start the period. He smiled at me and took my hand, leading me to the gym. I was so anxious about skipping class for the first time that I didn’t register our entwined fingers until after he let go.
“Okay, get changed and I’ll meet you on the practice field,” he said, trotting off to the boys room. I stared after him curiously, his sweat cooling where he had left it on my palm, before getting my workout clothes on and heading out to meet him.
“Nice shorts,” he said when I jogged out of the locker room, giving me a quick slap on my ass for emphasis. I played it cool like the cheerleaders did when the football players did the same to them in the halls, marking their domain. “So what do you wanna work on, Greer? Wanna pass around for a bit?”
“Sure, sounds good,” I said noncommittally. We started throwing the ball; his passes always perfect spirals, mine wobbling one way or the other. After several minutes of silence, Cameron broke it with a question.
“So, what’s your favorite color?”
I laughed at him, amused by such a trivial query.
“What? Don’t you have one?”
“Sure. I guess, yellow?” I figured he’d make fun if I said pink so I went more neutral. “What about you?”
“Black. Definitely, black.” He said this and pointed to his ensemble. Despite some red and yellow accents, he was completely dark.
“Too bad that isn’t a color,” I taunted him.
“What you talking ‘bout, Willis?” he asked.
“Come on Cam,” I smirked, drawing out the ‘a’. “Everyone knows black is the absence of color.”
“Ooh, Little Miss Smarty Pants over here,” he threw the ball to me before running full speed in my direction. Not knowing whether to react to the ovular object coming at my head or the massive body lunging at my chest, I covered my face with my arms and waited. Cameron threw me to the ground, causing the football to miss me by a few inches. I struggled to get up, but he had me pinned. “That’s what you get for making fun of me,” he said, his nose barely touching my own.
I pushed him off me in one big heave, unable to breathe under his weight. Catching my breath, I started laughing, Cameron following suit.
“I wasn’t making fun, I was just letting you know.” I tried to be flirty, but I was sure it just came off as haughty. Nevertheless, Cameron didn’t notice. He got up and put out a hand for me to take.
As I stood up I caught a flash of light at the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw Becca walking out the backdoor of the cafeteria, lighting up a cigarette before closing the door behind her. Seeing where I was looking, Cameron turned too.
“You know her?” he asked me. I tried to read his face, wanting to know if knowing her was a bad thing or a good thing.
“Kinda. She swims with me and she’s in my math class.” I looked at her again, drawn to her lips puffing on the cig.
“She’s, like, the only dyke at our school,” he said, as nonchalantly as if he had been describing her eyes as blue, or saying she was Welsh. I looked at her a beat longer before answering him.
“Yeah, I thought I heard something about that,” I replied as coolly as possible.
“Just ask her. She doesn’t hide it. I think she has a girlfriend in France. A model, I heard.”
“Have you ever even talked to her?” I asked.
“Nah. I mean, not personally. It’s kind of hard to believe though, you know? I mean, look at her. She’s a hottie!”
“So?” I burned Cameron with my eyes. “That means she can’t be, you know…”
“She ain’t no Rosie O’Donnell, that’s for sure,” he said. “Why don’t you bring her to the party tomorrow night?”
He asked me this before I could respond to his prior, offensive remark.
“Party?” I questioned, though ‘Lesbian?’ was resounding in my head. It was hard to concentrate on what Cameron was saying when Becca was so nearby.
“I thought I told you,” he said, resuming our game of catch. “Party at my house. Our team will be there, of course, and some other guys I know from football. My brother’s gonna buy us a couple of cases and Brian’s always got the hook-up on the grass. You gotta come.”
I was taken aback by the invite. Despite my late night mirror exploration, I was still uneasy about this group of friends. Sure, I knew teenagers could be superficial, but I had no special quality to cause them to enlist me in their entourage, especially when I had never drank before, or done any other drug for that matter. What was I getting myself into?
“Sure, sounds like fun. I’ll ask her.” As soon as I said it, I wondered if it would be like world’s colliding. I didn’t know any of these people at all. But, if Cameron still remembered that we were supposed to see a movie this weekend, I figured it might be a good idea to spend some group time with him first.
And Rebecca.
Is she really a lesbian? I thought on my walk home. For some reason, the thought of being friends with her became even more appealing. I was intrigued.
***
I called up Becca as soon as I got home, surprisingly excited to have a reason to talk to her. She didn’t have plans Friday so she agreed to come with me. We decided to meet at her house before walking over to Cameron’s together.
I arrived with five minutes to spare. I was always early, a habit that came from my mom who was never late to anything – unless she had a meeting or business dinner that took priority that is. I rang the doorbell and waited.
“Greer! Hey! Right on time!” Becca said, coming out with her purse in hand and giving me a hug. I hadn’t realized we had progressed to that level of friendship, but I didn’t complain.
“Hey, yeah. You ready?” She smiled a reply and nodded for us to start walking. “I’ve never been to his house, but he said it’s easy to spot. Big and blue at the end of a cul-de-sac.”
“Cool. So, how’d you meet Cameron Keeting? He’s been the talk of the school for years. Cutest junior in your class and not quite as idiotic as the group he hangs out with, by what I’ve heard.”
I was shocked to hear this. I mean, I was shocked Cameron was into me at all and that was before knowing just how popular his reputation was. I felt my palms starting to sweat.
“Really? Oh, well, we’re playing flag football together. I’m just filler because they needed one more girl.” We walked side-by-side, looking up at each other every few steps. “How do you know him?”
“Everyone kind of knows him, and I saw you throwing that ball around the other day, so I kinda asked around about him. You like football?”
Any curiosity I had about her inquiring after Cameron was overshadowed by her question. “It’s okay. I like swimming more, but the intramurals fill up after-school time. Do you play any?”
“Nah, swimming’s
enough for me. Plus, I have a bunch of friends in Clarkdale and we hang out when I’m not swimming. Actually, you should come sometime. That is, if you’re not busy rolling around in the mud,” she offered, squeezing my arm and winking. I couldn’t tell if my cheeks were getting warmer because we were getting closer to the party, or because Becca had touched me.
“Sure, sounds good. Anytime.” A vision of teenagers came into my head unannounced; possibilities of friends Becca might have. In my mind they were all extremely good-looking, athletic, intelligent and cool – perfect, basically. People I wanted to get to know; people I wanted to be.
“If this turns out to be lame tonight, we could always go back to my place, watch a movie or something,” Becca suggested, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Yeah, okay,” I replied, inwardly grimacing at my lack of conversational ability. For whatever reason I couldn’t think of anything to say or ask, even though I had been thinking about her all week, wanting to know more. “So, how was your first week?” Boring, but a start.
“Oh you know, same as everyone, not much work yet but the promise of a shit ton to come. Senior year is looking harder than last year and I’m not the smartest. I mean, I had to take that math class again, you know?” She gave me that mischievous smile I had already come to know and love over the past week or so. “Watch it!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the mailbox I was about to walk into.
“Oops!” I said, trying to imitate her laid-back attitude with a nervous laugh. “Hey, I think that’s his street up there.” I pointed to a sign about a quarter of a mile from where we stood. I couldn’t read it by a long shot, but I was pretty sure our turn was coming up. Suddenly I wanted other people around us so I wouldn’t embarrass myself further.
***
An hour in and I still hadn’t had anything to drink. I knew I didn’t have to drink the beer even if I just held it in a plastic cup all night, but the orange soda alternative on the table in Cameron’s basement was much more up my alley. Unfortunately, this meant that everyone around me was half-wasted while I was stone sober.