by E. Graziani
“Okay, that would be great. Thanks.” I smile into the handset.
“No problem. Can you get a ride up here?”
“I’ll take the bus, no big deal.” The more I think about it, the more excited I become. A party at Connie’s. She’ll be an adult in every way now—able to buy alc. Anyway, I don’t care about that—I am going to my big sister’s nineteenth birthday party! I can’t tell Des, though, because she’d feel left out. This is obviously only for older kids—and despite the fact that in a few weeks I would only turn sixteen, I felt very much in my mind and soul that I was one of them.
“Okay. See you tomorrow, Faith.”
“Bye.” The line goes dead, but I feel very much alive. More alive than I have in months. I didn’t realize how much I missed Norma until that very moment.
...
At lunch the next day, Ishaan and I went to the drugstore near the school and scoured the shelves for something unique, finally settling on a purple-streak kit for my now jet-black hair. I loved wild colors, and I was ready for a bold statement.
“You are gonna look on point tonight, Faith,” cooed Ishaan.
“This’ll look sick with my outfit!”
“Hmm, you’re gonna snag yourself a man tonight—I’m jealous. I wish I could go with you.”
“Me too, but it’s Connie’s party, and it’s only for people that she’s really close to.” I felt very important at that moment, and Ishaan’s face brightened with a big smile.
We walked back to school, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the clock for the rest of the day. Time crawled by until finally, it was time to go home.
...
That night, I warn Gran Dot that I’ll probably be sleeping over at Connie’s and not to expect me home. I also dodge Des, to avoid having to explain why I’m so dressed up.
Convinced that I look cool beyond words with my purple-streaked hair setting off my brow and lip piercings. I swagger to the bus stop in my black skin-tight jeans and a red and black lumberjack shirt under a parka, garnering lots of head turns on the way. I wait there, cold beyond words by now, with a bare midriff peeking out from under my teeny-tiny crop top. I have to take two buses to get to Connie’s house, so I need to board the 7:50 if I want to get there for around nine.
At long last, I catch sight of the Number 55 lumbering along Purdy Street. The operator stops the bus in front of me, opens the doors, then looks me up and down as I board.
I drop the change in the money slot. “Can I get a transfer?” I say gruffly. The driver tears a slip from the holder and hands it to me, staring at my piercings and my hair. I grab it and mumble, “What the frig are you lookin’ at.” The driver immediately snaps his gaze to the road in front and accelerates, jerking the bus forward, so that I almost fall flat on my ass and make a fool of myself.
The bus jogs along in an endless succession of starts and stops, loading every variety of Friday-night freak and unsavory character along the bus route. I smile as I look out the window into the darkness of the chilly January night. We get downtown, so I buzz and exit. Then, looking focused and straight ahead, I walk confidently to my next destination—Connie’s bus. I can’t wait to get to her house out in the suburbs.
Riding on the bus, swaying side to side, my thoughts drift to my future and to my little sister’s future. She is smart, me not so much. Connie is smart, too, and she has privilege and opportunity. Could I dream?
It would be great if we could all live together again, me and Connie and Des—all together, like Mom would have wanted. One day, we’re gonna make it happen. I’m gonna turn the page, keep turning the pages, study, go to school, and go to college—learn how to cut hair or something and make it happen. I’m wearing what I know is a stupid grin; Do I care? Hell, no—I am going to my sister’s nineteenth birthday party in Irony Heights and I couldn’t be happier.
Neely Boulevard flashes on the scroll at the front of the bus. That’s Connie’s street. I press the buzzer, and soon the bus pulls to a stop. I feel Connie’s card tucked into my jacket pocket and think of how she might react to what I have placed in it for her. I made her a bracelet from tiny beads, a really intricate design that I found on YouTube. It has all our names on it—Constance, Faith, Destiny. Actually, I made three; one for each of us. Connie’s is purple, her favorite color, mine is red, and Destiny’s is green, ’cause she is all environmental. I started them over Christmas break and worked on them so they’d be ready for Connie’s birthday. It took me weeks to finish them, but it was worth it, because I know that her rich friends can buy her all kinds of fancy stuff, but this bracelet is one of a kind—correction, three of a kind—LOL!
I get off the bus and start walking the half block or so to Connie’s. I can already see activity up ahead. Even though it’s cold, people are outside, milling around, with beers and red drink cups in their hands. My stomach tingles with excitement as I walk, crunching the course salt still hanging around from last week’s snowfall. I make my way past the five or so guys, who stop talking and gawk at me. On the porch, some uppity chicks stare at me like I have three heads. I let myself in.
Connie’s house is jumping. Drake is blaring—not exactly my taste, but this crowd probably hasn’t even heard of the bands I listen to. Everyone is drinking, and some people are making out on the couches.
I scan the place for Connie, all the while drawing looks and raised brows from the preppy crowd. Most of the guys are wearing jeans, and the girls are in posh-looking clothes and makeup-store makeup. Truthfully, they all look like clones to me, but whatever. They’re Connie’s friends so I keep my mouth shut.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I jerk around. There’s Connie, and for a split second, it looks like she’s assessing me up and down. Then her face breaks into a grin, and she puts her arms around me. “Hi, Faith!”
“Happy birthday, Connie,” I say, pulling the card out of my coat pocket and handing it to her.
“Who’s this, Connie?” asks an athletic-looking, thick-necked guy who happens to be standing next to us. He has two beers in his hands and sips from one bottle, then the other.
“This is Faith.”
“So this is your sister!” He extends a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Matthew.”
I do the civil thing and shake his hand, but I don’t like him. His smile is fake and he has too many teeth. “Hi.” Connie peers at me like she wants me to elaborate, so I add, “Nice to meet you, too.”
She pulls me closer and whispers, “Isn’t he hot? He’s asked me out on a date tomorrow. He’s in college.”
“Sure,” I lie.
“Come ’ere.” She takes my hand and leads me down the hallway and into the dining room, where there are fewer people. “Sit here so I can open this—God, I missed you!” Her breath smells like she’s had a few, and her speech is a little slurry.
Connie opens the card and catches the bracelet in her lap as it slips out. “Hey, what’s this?” She scoops it up and looks at it lovingly. “Oh my God, you made this, didn’t you!” Then she reads the inscription—Big Sister. She smiles and reads the card.
Dear Connie,
Even though sometimes we don’t agree on stuff, I still love you—my big sister. I love talking to you, even though lately it’s mostly been on the phone. Hope you like the bracelet. I made one for Des and one for me, too, so we can all have something that’s the same. And thanks for all your help and advice. Even though I come off sounding sometimes like you’re sticking your nose in my biz, I really don’t mean it.
Still can’t believe you’re 19!!!!!!!!
Happy b-day! hugzzzzzzzzzz and XXXXXXXX….
Your sis,
Faith
“Oh my God, Faith,” she says as she side-hugs me. “Thank you so much. It’s beautiful. Help me put it on.”
“Okay, here.” I take the bracelet from her and tie the strings around her slender wri
st. “See mine?” Middle Sister. I show off its triplet, wrapped around my wrist. “They’re like the ones we had when we were kids, remember?”
“Oh, yeah! Ooh, I love it!” she coos.
I’m elated and feeling extremely proud of myself. Even if Connie and I have drifted apart for a while, I know that deep in her heart she loves me. “So where’s Josephine? Did you kick her out for the night?”
She laughs out loud. “No. She’s upstairs in her bedroom, keeping an eye on all the other bedrooms.” Connie rolls her eyes and laughs again.
Yeah, she’s had a few drinks, that’s for sure.
My eyes stray to the French doors behind her, and I notice six or seven girls looking in at us. One of them says something to another girl who snickers. I have a feeling they’re not commenting on how cute and sisterly we look. I glance back to Connie and motion toward them. “What the fuck is up with them?” I say, my tone suspicious.
Connie turns around, then peers back at me. “Don’t worry about them.” She stands and pulls me up, leading me to another door and heading upstairs. “Come on. Josie will want to say hi to you.”
I take a fleeting look back at the giggling blond clones and, honestly, I can’t help it. I hold up my hand and give them a one-finger salute.
I hear a chorus of “Oh my God” drawl out as we make our way up to see Josie. I revel in that because shocking people kinda makes me feel good.
“Look who’s here, Gran Josie,” announces Connie as she opens the door to Josie’s bedroom. I walk in behind her and see Josie sitting on her chaise, reading a book. I don’t know how she can read with all that pumping music.
“Oh, Faith.” Her face looks a little startled. “You colored your hair, I see.” She takes off her glasses, gets up, and walks toward me, her arms out. She hugs me and air-kisses my cheek. “And you have more piercings on your pretty face…. Oh, why are you doing that, sweetheart?”
“Hi, Josie.” I half-smile at her. She is such a grandma. A typical grandma who can’t keep her opinions to herself. And I’ll admit, I like her for it, especially since most of the time I’m not sure if my own Gran even cares if I am around or not.
“Sit here and talk awhile—how are things with you? And Destiny, how is she?”
“I’m okay, and Des is doing well. She’s really smart and—”
Connie clears her throat and starts backing out of the bedroom. “Hey, Faith, Gran Josie—I’m going to let you two catch up, okay?”
I open my mouth and step to the door, too, wanting to follow her out. “Well, I guess I should—”
“Oh no, Faith, wait,” Josie interrupts. “Come sit for a minute or two. I want to talk to you.”
I breathe deeply, then surrender to her wishes. Connie winks at me.
“See you downstairs,” she says, then turns and closes the door behind her.
Chapter 16
“Talk to me about you. Are you well?” Josephine looks concerned.
“I guess I’m okay.” I sit down beside her on the chaise lounge and shrug, not thinking I was that messed up anymore. “I stopped doing weed and I don’t mix drinking with prescription drugs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Josephine gives a little start. “Well, that’s a good thing, Faith.” She smiles. “I’m glad you are living healthier—Connie is proud of your progress—she tells me, you know.”
“Yeah—I’m proud of me, too. I mean, you know, sometimes I still have trouble sleeping and stuff, but Connie kept on telling me to think about what I was doing and about where I was going. She made me look inside myself, you know?” I’m pleased to share this with her. “I’m glad I listened because a lot of people I know don’t have anyone to tell them to straighten up, and they fall into bad spaces or they let bad stuff fill the spaces that are empty inside them, you know?”
Josie nods. She is really, really listening to what I’m telling her. “Yes, I know.” Josie reaches over and puts her hand over mine. “I know, Faith. I think your mom felt those empty spaces.” She bites her lip. I look in her eyes and think I see her hesitate. “Your mom was very much in love with Connie’s dad. When he died, I don’t think she could handle the loss and went into a depression of sorts, trying to find ways to forget. I know she loved you girls so much—her heartache was just too much for her.” She stops there and brightens. “But I’m glad you’re stronger, dear, and I’m happy you put all that unpleasantness behind you—and I’m happy Connie invited you tonight.”
“Me too,” I say. Then I give her hand a little squeeze and rise. “I should be getting back to the party.” I lean down to kiss her cheek. “See ya, Josie.”
“Take care, Faith.”
I close the bedroom door behind me and sigh. Could this night be any better?
My heart is light and I feel—loved. Yes—I will allow that. And it is time to celebrate with my sister. And though I’m not looking forward to running the gauntlet through all the preppies, I do want to get my hands on a drink and also look for Connie.
My feet skip down the winding staircase, dodging the few bodies who are milling about at the bottom of the steps, engaging in the social dance of teen binge drinking. Some are already staggering, being obnoxious and stupid; some are being led out the door to a waiting taxicab, probably going to a friend’s house for the night to sleep it off and call Mommy or Daddy in the morning for a ride home.
I make a beeline for the kitchen, where I hit the jackpot. There’s a sink full of ice, into which is jammed a plethora of beers, sodas, and vodka coolers. On the counter sits an abandoned tray of Jell-O shots, red as candy apples, just waiting to be shot back. I grab a couple and down one right away. When it sinks nicely into my belly, I blast the second one to the back of my throat. I set the empties on the counter and grab a can of beer, open it, and take a big sip. I am off to a good start. I sip again.
Now to find Connie. I’m beginning to feel a nice warmth inside. I walk around the house at a leisurely pace, observing the people Connie chooses to hang with these days and come to an inevitable conclusion—they’re all cookie-cutter kids just looking to fit in to the rich-kid mold. I would have expected people with a little more substance, a bit more intelligence and character. But if that’s who Connie wants to hang with, who am I to comment? I take more sips and finish up the beer, so I go back and get another.
The music is loud, and now there are more people in the house, if that’s possible. This was a little get-together? I’m having trouble keeping up with what is happening around me. I feel warm—then someone appears.
“Hey.” A big guy is swaying in front of me with a beer bottle in his hand.
“Hey,” I echo.
“Is that your real hair color?” He has a stupid grin on his face and his tone is mocking.
“Yeah,” I reply. “And my pee is purple, too.”
At this, he hoots out a loud laugh. “Hey, you’re funny. Connie’s sister, right?”
I jerk my head back, ’cause in addition to beer breath, he’s slurring his speech badly and spitting all over me. “Yeah. Have you seen her?” I take a sip.
“Who?”
Are you kidding me? “Connie,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Uh, yeah, she’s in the sunroom, I think.” He lifts his beer hand and points, slopping beer onto the floor. “It’s back there.”
“I know where the sunroom is,” I say in a snarky tone. “I’ve been here before, lots of times.”
“Hey, you’re a feisty little bitch, aren’t you!”
I hate that word. With every cell of my body, I hate that word. I whirl around and push my face into his, spilling some of my drink on his shirt.
“Don’t you dare call me a bitch, you brainless jock.” His face splits into a big stupid grin. I want to kick him in the ass, but I think maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea, because he looks how I figure Goliath must have looked. E
ven though I am tipsy, I can still make a judgment call. So I down my drink, turn on my heel, and continue my quest for Connie.
I feel his belittling, critical eyes following me as I approach the sunroom doors, and that bothers me.
Maybe if I’d acted on my anger toward him, I would have turned and created a scene, after which Connie would surely have either come to my rescue or admonished me for my sins against her precious friends. In any event, I wish, above all other wishes, that I had done something different. I should have stomped in and declared my presence; anything besides walking to those sunroom doors at that very moment and just standing there like an idiot, because what happened next changed everything.
Chapter 17
As I approach, I see the top of Connie’s head poking up from behind the enormous wicker couch in the center of the room. Several of her Barbie doll friends sit around her like she’s the queen bee. This room is away from the living room, where the music is blaring—another twist of fate. If she’d been anywhere else in the house, her words probably would have been drowned out by The Weeknd’s latest single blasting away.
“Oh my God, like, does she think she’s a hipster with that skanky look of hers?” says one of them, with disdain in her voice. My mind races as I hang back in the shadow of the doorway.
“Like, I feel so fucking bad for you, Connie—what’s wrong with her?” asks another, her tone sickeningly sympathetic. The realization that they are talking about me sweeps over me like a tidal wave.
“God,” huffs Connie.
I feel a glow of anticipation as I wait for her response. Tell them, Connie. Tell them they are fucking losers and to get the hell out of your house, and how dare they talk about your sister like that, those bony-assed, white-trash nasty things.
