Something She Can Feel

by Grace Octavia

  “Bored in Tuscaloosa? I couldn’t imagine,” Billie joked.

  “As exciting as my life is here,” I said, laughing, “what I did wasn’t fair to Evan or Dame, so I’m moving on. I’m growing up and I’m going to accept my life the way it is. I’m lucky. What other husband in the world would put up with all this?”

  “One you met on the Internet!”

  “Exactly,” I said, watching Evan pull into the parking lot behind us.

  “Now, don’t think this is crazy, but as your best friend, I have to ask,” Billie said.

  “What?”

  “I had your back when you got married. I had your back a little while ago when you announced that you wanted to have a baby ...”

  “I know ... I know.”

  “And even though I wasn’t sure if you really wanted to do either thing, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be all up in your business.”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Evan eased up beside us and just sat there in his car.

  “No,” I admitted quietly. “But I don’t think I can know what I want right now.”

  Every year on the Saturday night before graduation, Evan and I dressed up to attend the senior prom. He’d pull out his tuxedo and I’d go shopping for a blush-colored dress—the same color I’d worn when it was our prom and we’d been crowned class king and queen, and he’d arrive at the house just in time to pick me up, with a corsage in his hand and I’d have a pink rose to pin to his lapel. It was a silly tradition we’d enjoyed every year since I’d started teaching, and it wasn’t only because we were able to put on our black-tie best and dance beneath soft light, but somehow, going to the prom always helped us to reconnect. The silly night when my seniors got ready to enjoy their first recognized evening of true freedom, we were remembering how long it had been since we’d been the couple leading the pack, looking back at no one and dreaming, like only young people can about what our future together would be like.

  When I got home from work on Friday evening, after going over the songs the chorus was to sing at the graduation for hours after school, and walked into the bedroom, I was surprised to see that Evan had pulled his tuxedo out of the closet. It was hanging behind the bathroom door in a fresh plastic covering from the cleaners. While I’d seen the flyers all around the school and a couple of people had asked if we were attending, I didn’t think to ask him to go. With everything going on, the drama with Dame just two days behind us, I thought he’d want to stay home. But when I saw the suit, I was actually happy. A bit relieved. If Evan could see himself going to the dance with me, surely he was serious about forgiving me. Maybe we could move on from what happened. Maybe this could be our new start.

  And the next evening, just as he had for years, Evan picked me up at 7:30 p.m. He’d left the house earlier, so I could get ready on my own. When I came outside, dressed in the same blush gown I’d worn the year before, he was standing in front of his open car door holding a pink corsage in his hand. His legs spread a bit apart, his shoulders up straight, he looked dignified and handsome. While none of our parents were there waiting on the steps to see us off, beneath the setting sun, he seemed like a teenage boy who was courting his love for the first time. It was an uneasy moment to say the least, but still, even in our stress, I appreciated his sweetness.

  When I was in front of him, Evan got down on his knee and slid the corsage on my hand.

  “I don’t have a boutonniere for you,” I said with a slight grin.

  “I picked up one,” he said, pulling one from his jacket pocket. “I figured you’d forgetten.”

  “Oh, Evan,” I said.

  “There’s been a lot going on.” He got up and stood in front of me. “A lot of mess. But let’s just let tonight be beautiful. Let’s let it be our new start.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  As wild and out there as we all claimed our students were, on prom night they always proved us wrong. These kids had style and panache; they were creative and bold. And each year, walking into the prom, this was put center stage. The girls looked like movie stars. Hair was everywhere and their dresses, most of which they’d designed themselves and had someone sew, made them look beautiful and so grown up. And while they were usually underdressed, on prom night, the boys came to be seen. They were clean from head to toe. Some in all white and others with silly top hats, coat tails, and canes.

  While we didn’t have the money to rent a space or go to a catering hall, the students did a fine job of turning the school gym into an underground Atlantis, blanketed in colorful nets and seashells that shimmered with glitter. All of the students looked so proud in their moment, and having worked with most of them for four years straight, I was able to remember the hard times when some of them had left school temporarily or didn’t look like they’d ever make it through. But here they were, beating the statistical odds and moving up in the world. For some of them, this would be the last stop, but others would see many more black-tie balls, and even with all of the stress, I was happy to have been an usher along the way.

  As Evan and I danced in the middle of the floor, where no other teacher could come up to try to grab him to get more information about how the school was going to divvy up the million dollars, I thought of Zenobia and prayed she’d someday make it to the prom. After I’d spoken to her, I walked her to the school psychologist’s office, and together we got her mother to the school and she told her about the baby. It was hard for both of them at first, but once Zenobia’s mother realized that the girl was serious, she agreed to come up with a plan so they could all just survive. I knew it was no solution and that there’d be many more days I’d find Zenobia crying, but it was a start.

  “What are you thinking about?” Evan asked.

  “Just one of my students,” I answered. “What about you?”

  “What I always think about,” he said. “You.”

  I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Do you remember what happened the week before our prom?”

  “Oh, no, don’t bring that up again,” I said.

  “No, tonight is about reminiscing.” He laughed.

  “You got hives,” I said reluctantly.

  “Yep. My father was adding a new room to our house, and I fell on the insulation and got hives all over my body.”

  “It was gross,” I added.

  “My face was red as a strawberry, and the doctor said there was no way I’d be able to make it to the prom.”

  “You didn’t come to school the whole week,” I remembered.

  “And you cried. You called my mama and you cried so hard about how you didn’t want to go to the prom alone that I could hear you through the phone.”

  “I was not that loud,” I protested playfully.

  “Yes, you were,” he went on. “And she was in the kitchen on the phone, so you know that was loud.”

  “Well, who wants to go to the prom alone?”

  “Not my Journey,” he said, holding me tighter. “And I felt so bad—”

  “You swallowed half the bottle of antihistamine the doctor gave your mama!”

  “Almost died. Mama had to rush me to the hospital,” he said, and we both laughed. “But then I got better ... and the next day, by the time they sent me home from the hospital—”

  “The rash was gone.”

  “That’s right.”

  Evan kissed me on the forehead, and we danced slower for a few minutes until the next song came on.

  “I always try to think what in the world would make me do that,” Evan said. “And then I remember your smile ... the way you looked when I got to your house and you came outside in your dress.”

  “After my father lectured you for half an hour.”

  “That’s right. And it was worth it. Because you just had this look on your face, this brightness, that made everything okay—even getting my stomach pumped.”

  “Tell
your mother that. I still don’t think she’s forgiven—”

  “I’m sorry, Journey,” he said suddenly.

  “Sorry for what?” I asked, looking up at him.

  “I stopped doing stuff like that for you after we got married. I let my work take over, going to all these meetings, and working nonstop. I thought I was doing all of it for you, but maybe you’ve been lonely.”

  “Don’t do that, Evan,” I said. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

  “If we’re going to move on, to really move on, then something has to change. We have to work harder to understand each other. Maybe I need to be home more.”

  “And give up your dream? It’s not like you’re out there meeting with a bowling team. You’re getting ready to run for office,” I said. “I support you.”

  “But what about you? What about your dreams?”

  “I ... I don’t know.”

  “When are you going to start singing again?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said and I realized I hadn’t even thought of singing in weeks.

  “We have to get you back to singing,” Evan declared. “Maybe we could find a studio where you can write your own songs and everything. You could do a CD.”

  “Really? You think that would be a good idea?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll look into it Monday. The summer’s starting. You have nothing but free time on your hands.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

  “Well, you’ll be hearing a lot of stuff like that from me from now on. I really want this to work.”

  We kissed on the lips. Evan closed his eyes, but I kept mine open. I had to see him. To see who he was and remind myself of who I was with him. I loved Evan dearly and if he was willing to work so hard to make me happy, I was signing up, too.

  “I was about to come over there to throw some of this punch on you two,” Billie said. We were standing at the punch bowl, watching the students dance. Evan had gone to our table and was chatting with Principal Williams and his wife.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what’s come over Evan. He’s all Mr. Nice Guy right now.”

  “So he really meant what he said about working things out?”

  “I guess so.” I took a sip of my blood-red punch and looked around the room. “Where’s Clyde?”

  “Ain’t seen him; ain’t trying to see him!”

  “I suppose that’s a good thing,” I said, waving at some of my students walking by.

  “He’s been calling me all day,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not answering. I don’t want to hear another word about him or Ms. Lindsey. I just want to move on now. I have a clean slate. No more drama in my life.”

  “Good for you,” I said, slapping her a high five. Billie and I stood in silence, people-watching and sometimes giggling at the few fashion mistakes and mishaps walking by. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man walk into the room in a sweat suit. I turned quickly to see that it was Clyde. Unshaven and underdressed, he made heads turn in waves as he walked through the tables set up behind the dance floors. “Billie?” I called, noticing that he was headed to us. She was looking in the other direction.

  “What?” She turned and because she had her punch to her mouth when she saw Clyde, she nearly choked. “What the hell?” she managed, clearing her throat.

  “I need to talk to you,” Clyde said, almost running her down.

  “Yeah, I gathered that,” Billie said nastily.

  “Look, Billie, I’m not trying to fight with you tonight,” he said. “I just need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Outside,” he said.

  Billie looked at me, and I put my hands up to say I was staying out of it.

  “Can you hold my purse?” she asked, handing it to me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I watched Billie follow Clyde charging back through the crowd. Everyone watched, but only the students looked surprised. For us, it was just things going back to normal.

  “What was that?” Evan asked, coming up beside me and picking up a full cup of punch.

  “He said he wanted to talk to her,” I said. “Looked pretty crazy, too.”

  “Hmm,” Evan said, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking something.

  “What?” I asked. “Do you know something?”

  “When I was at the mall today getting your corsage, I saw him fighting with Ms. Lindsey.”

  “Really?” I looked at the door to see if Billie had come back inside.

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to get involved, but he looked so torn up when she stormed off that I asked him if he was okay and he said she broke up with him. Said she was in love with her ex and wasn’t coming back to Black Warrior next year. I didn’t say anything because I figured Billie would tell you.”

  “She doesn’t know,” I said. “But I wonder what their breaking up has to do with Billie.”

  “Who knows with those two,” Evan said, and then Billie came rushing back into the room.

  At first I thought she was angry, but then she flicked her hand up in the air and screamed so loud that I could hear her even over the music, “I’m engaged!”

  “What?” Evan asked.

  “I’m engaged!” Billie said to every face she passed in the crowd. Clyde was behind her, standing tall and proud, smiling at everyone as they congratulated them. Everyone was clapping and then Billie was standing right in front of me with the ring on her finger and Clyde at her side.

  “Congrats, man,” Evan said to Clyde.

  “Can you believe it?” Billie said, hugging me. “He just asked me outside.” She looked down at the sparkling ring and then back at me. “Can you, Journey? Can you believe it?”

  “No,” I said, and seeing how happy my friend looked, I didn’t have the heart then to say what I was really thinking—that Clyde had done this because Ms. Lindsey was leaving to find Benji. I hugged Billie again and kissed her on the cheek.

  After that, the prom became a kind of engagement party for Clyde and Billie. They led the electric slide and when the king and queen went up on stage to claim their royal crowns, they handed them off to Clyde and Billie. I was so happy to see her getting what she wanted for once. And then I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe Clyde did want to marry Billie and Ms. Lindsey’s leaving only helped him see it. I knew he loved her. And I knew she loved him. I couldn’t see myself bursting Billie’s bubble. Not then.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was the close of the 7:30 service at the church. Tired and sleepy-eyed, I’d inched out of bed that morning to follow our old ritual of going to church right after the prom and before the graduation ceremony. When I was in high school, I thought it was so absurd that they’d have the prom on Saturday night when most of us had to be in church the next day and we’d also have graduation right after that. But the older I got, the more it made sense. If kids knew they had to be in church at the early service the next day in order to make graduation in the afternoon, they were less likely to be out in the street too long after the prom. While this didn’t keep them from breaking even their extended curfews, it gave the adults something to laugh at as the kids crept miserably to their seats at church, some just an hour or so after getting home from wherever. Nana Jessie said that the church service between prom and graduation was once considered a send-off, the last time many of the kids would congregate in their church as official members before leaving for college. Back then, she’d said, some of them were going a long way. They were catching rides all the way up to Wilberforce in Ohio, Howard in Washington, D.C., and Hampton in Virginia. Many of these routes still weren’t safe for them. And transportation and lodging were few and far between. The church gathered to bless them. To lay hands on them before they headed out into the world.

  My father was in the pulpit. Dressed in a kente cloth robe one of the African church members
had specially made for him, he was pensively looking out into the seats as the choir sang “Grateful” together with him at the lead.

  “Flowing from my heat are the issues of my heart. /Is gratefulness,” they sang as my father embellished with “hallelujah” in his tenor voice.

  Grateful

  Grateful

  Grateful

  The tenors roared.

  Grateful

  Grateful

  Grateful

  The altos chanted.

  And just before the sopranos began to cry out, I was on my feet shouting.

  Grateful

  Grateful

  Grateful

  I joined in, praying for God’s mercy over my actions as I lifted my hands, my palms facing upward for just one touch from God.

  “I’m not a perfect man. Never have been,” my father said as the choir began to hum softly behind him. “I’ve tried. Lord knows, I’ve tried.” I looked to see my mother’s eyes transfixed on him. She moved not once. Just kept her hands on the Bible. “But I learned long ago that there are no perfect men. Just us all down here striving to be. Just to be. Be. And we fall. And sometimes we stay there. But you know, church—” Taking my seat, I watched as he paused and took a sip of the water sitting beside his Bible. “I’ve never been surprised to see a man fall. What surprises me is what he does when he falls down. Who he talks to. Goes to. Chats with. And, church, that’s because it seems that when most men are down, they go to everyone and everything else but their Creator to get fixed. We self-medicate. We drink. We smoke. We cheat.” A humbling silence unfolded around my seat and almost visibly swam around to my brother and rolled up to my father’s feet. “We pay thousands of dollars to sit in a chair and talk to some other man who has problems of his own. And I’ll never know why we do this. Why we don’t go to the Maker, take it to the altar.”

  The organist hit a chord and the entire congregation, even the tired and reluctant kids who’d been forced out of bed after the prom, began to make indistinct sounds in agreement.