by Earl Sewell
“Is there any singing involved?” I was mildly curious.
“Yes, there is, but not very much and we sing as a group, primarily.”
“My grandmother told me I had a nice singing voice,” I confided.
“Really?” Maya answered, amazed by this news.
“Yes. When we were driving home we were singing in the car together. She believes that with some coaching I could do well.”
“See, that’s all the more reason you need to try out. The choir director is helping out with the play and you could pick up a few pointers if you make it.” Maya wasn’t willing to let me accept defeat without trying.
“Do you really think I have a chance?” I asked, uncertain of my ability.
“Of course I do. Look, as long as you know how to read and not stumble over your lines you’ll make it. Besides, I’ll help you,” Maya said.
“Well, let me ask if it’s okay. If I get permission, I’ll let you know and then we could set up some time to practice.”
“Really work on getting your folks to say yes. I want you to be a part of the drama club.” Maya glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to run. I need to catch up with Misalo before class begins. You know how it is when you need a kiss before you go to class.” Maya was smiling from ear to ear as she gathered up her belongings and rushed off.
I came directly home after school like I was instructed. Once I got in the house, I called Jordan to let him know that I’d arrived safely.
“Is Mike in the house with you?” Jordan asked.
“Yes. He went out to the garage to get a ladder so he could change a lightbulb in his room,” I informed him.
“Okay, I should be home in a little while. Grandmother Katie left earlier today. She said she’d call you later on this evening. We’ve also scheduled an appointment for an evaluation.” Jordan was being very direct and to the point. I cringed at the thought of being evaluated. I didn’t feel like opening up to some stranger who knew nothing about me.
“Dad, can I ask you a question?” My voice trembled with nervousness.
“Yes?”
“You think it would be okay for me to try out for the school play? I realize that I’m springing this on you at the last minute, but I think it’s something I’d really like to try.” I pulled the phone away from my ear in anticipation of a loud and negative response.
“School play?” I could hear the additional questions floating beneath his inquiry.
“Yes. I think I’d like to try out for a role. I’ve never been a part of one or done anything like it before and I want to try out. I realize I’m grounded and need to get evaluated and all, but tryouts are only for one day. So I’m asking for permission to stay after school on the day of tryouts to see if I have what it takes to be a part of the drama club.” There was dead silence. After what seemed like an eternity Jordan finally spoke.
“Let me think about it, Keysha.” Jordan was reluctant to give an answer. However, I took his response as a positive sign.
When Barbara and I arrived at the office of Dr. Pat Ursa I was nervous and uncomfortable. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing and I felt nauseous. As we sat in the waiting room, I glanced around at other patients, searching for any behavior that would indicate someone was criminally insane. I thought for sure I’d see some murderer or some nutcase who liked talking to imaginary people inside of walls or something. But I didn’t see anyone who fell into that category. There was a middle-aged woman, who on the surface appeared completely normal. She picked up a copy of Family Circle Magazine and began thumbing through it. There was another guy dressed in a very nice suit fumbling around with his BlackBerry.
“This is nothing like I imagined it would be,” I whispered to Barbara, who’d just sat down next to me after filling out some paperwork with the receptionist.
“What did you think it would be like?” Barbara asked as she stuffed her wallet back down into her purse.
“Full of crazy people wearing straitjackets, sitting in white padded rooms banging their heads against the wall.”
“We’re not in a mental institution, Keysha.” Barbara took my hand into her own and began rubbing it. Her touch was soothing.
“I’m sorry about all of this.” I spoke from my heart. “I mean—I don’t know what I mean. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing and end up on some operating table getting my head shaved in preparation for brain surgery.”
“Keysha, you’re letting your imagination get the best of you,” Barbara said as her cell phone began to vibrate. She answered it and I could tell it was Jordan. After she informed him of our location she handed the phone to me.
“Hello,” I said.
“Just relax, Keysha. It will be okay. It’s not uncommon for people to see a psychiatrist.”
“Have you ever seen one?” I boldly asked.
“Yes.” Jordan’s answer surprised me.
“What for?” I inquired.
“Grief counseling. After my dad passed away I had some trouble adjusting to the loss. Dr. Ursa helped me through that difficult time.”
“Oh. I see,” I responded, not certain of what to say next.
“We’ll talk more when you get home,” he said before asking me to let him speak to Barbara once again.
I went in to see Dr. Ursa, who was a man with steely gray-and-black hair. He had deep-set and warm eyes, slightly bushy eyebrows and an oversize forehead. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties and in great shape for his age. He asked me to have a seat in a chair situated in front of his desk. I sat down and began to scan the room, feeling a little weird and slightly paranoid.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, seemingly concerned about my well-being.
“I’m cool,” I answered as I looked at his degrees displayed on the wall.
“How do you feel today?” he asked.
“Crazy—I mean not crazy in the traditional sense of crazy. I mean…never mind.”
“It’s okay to feel a little strange or out of place. A lot of my patients feel the way you do when they first come to my office. However, in due time you’ll probably look forward to your visits.”
“Oh. I won’t be coming back, that’s for sure. You need to ask me some questions, right?” I wanted to get right to the heart of the matter so that I could move on with my life.
“No. I don’t want to ask you anything. I’d prefer to talk about whatever is on your mind.” I didn’t expect Dr. Ursa to say that. I also didn’t expect for him to be so calm and easygoing.
“Well. How long have you been a doctor?” I was curious.
“Well over twenty years,” he answered.
“Why did you want to become a psychiatrist?”
“I didn’t want to be a doctor at first. I wanted to be a jazz singer, but I just didn’t have the voice for it.”
“I cannot imagine you singing jazz.” I chuckled. “Now my Grandmother Katie, she could’ve been a jazz singer. She has a beautiful voice.”
“It sounds like you’re close to Grandmother Katie,” Dr. Ursa ventured.
“I like her a lot. But we really haven’t known each other for very long.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. She and I got off to a great start when we met. Have you ever met someone and the two of you instantly hit it off?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Well, that’s how it was with Grandmother Katie and me. Felt like I’d known her for years and I’ve been acquainted with her for less than a year.”
“It sounds as if she’s a very special woman.” Dr. Ursa got that one correct. He and I continued to make small talk about school, my friends and my mother, whom I really didn’t want to talk about on any level.
“Do you not like your mother?” Dr. Ursa struck a sensitive nerve with that question.
“I don’t want to talk about her at all. So just drop it, okay?” I scowled. I suppose the expression that formed on my face was a rather nasty one, which Dr. Ursa took note of. My mo
ther was a very selfish woman and cared only about herself. When I lived with her, she put us in a lot of dangerous situations. My mother’s biggest problem was she loved the criminal lifestyle. She was allergic to holding down a good ol’ nine-to-five job and the consequences of a jail sentence didn’t deter her.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about her.” He finally agreed to drop the topic of my mother. Discussing my mother was the only taboo subject that caused an immediate emotional knee-jerk reaction during the course of our meeting. Once we got past that wrinkle in the road, I put forth a yeoman’s effort to demonstrate how normal I was. After all, I wasn’t suffering from peculiar obsessive behavior like walking around in circles for no reason, or standing in a corner licking wallpaper. Nor did I walk around having detailed conversations with invisible friends who accompanied me.
Dr. Ursa talked with Barbara and Jordan via telephone afterward. Dr. Ursa informed them that he wanted to schedule more sessions with me. The agitation of having to sit through therapy when there was absolutely nothing ailing me was beyond comprehension. Dr. Ursa believed I had some unresolved anxiety and abandonment issues with my mother, which caused periodic erratic emotional behavior. That was a bunch of bull because I really didn’t care about my mother or anything she did. I totally didn’t even think about her and under no circumstances did I ever want to see her again. I mean, what was wrong with that? For example, if some burglar breaks into your home and kills your family, would you want to have dinner and a conversation with the guy? Probably not! My mother was the type of woman who could cause chaos at a one-man parade. She’d find some way to trip the guy just for the hell of it. She was just not the type of person I wanted to be around. Personally, I believed Dr. Ursa was looking forward to generating an enormous bill to submit to Jordan’s insurance company, but of course I couldn’t prove my theory. By the time my parents and Dr. Ursa had reached an agreement, I had no choice but to attend future sessions—something I wasn’t looking forward to.
Jordan and Barbara agreed to allow me to try out for the school play, which was called Teenage Love Affair. Just as Maya had promised, she coached me for the audition. On the day of tryouts I was very nervous, but Maya encouraged me and insisted that I just relax and let everything come naturally. When it was my turn to read, I walked into the school auditorium and onto the stage. I stood in front of the play directors and stated my name. I exhaled a few times then acted out the lines I’d memorized. When I was finished I exited the stage and met up with Maya in the hallway outside the school auditorium.
“You did good,” Maya said, smiling at me.
“No. I don’t think so, Maya. I was so nervous. I was shaking like a wet cat stuck in the middle of a blizzard,” I admitted.
“You did just fine. Your voice is so unique and strong. I’m positive you’ll get picked for one of the parts.”
“Ha, that’s a laugh. There is no way a rookie like her is going to make the cut,” said this girl who was eavesdropping on our conversation. She was about my height and had long hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. She was a little on the thick side and had on too much lip gloss because her lips looked as if she’d just finished eating a bucket of chicken. She combed her fingers through her hair as if to say, “I have long hair and you don’t.”
“Priscilla, no one was talking to you, so why don’t you just see your way out of our conversation.” Maya quickly put her in check.
“Hey, I’m just telling the girl the truth instead of filling her head with false hope. Girlfriend, you can’t act,” Priscilla said directly to me. I couldn’t believe this chick just appeared out of nowhere and offered up a nasty attitude instead of friendship and encouragement. I sized up Priscilla. She was a big-boned girl, rather tall with fish eyes and a gap between her upper front teeth. Enormous boobs, and full baby-mama hips.
“Keysha, don’t pay her any attention. Priscilla Grisby is just afraid of competition. You and her both tried out for the same part.”
“And I know for a fact that I’m going to get the part,” Priscilla said, boldly proclaiming her victory.
“The only reason you want the part is so you can be all up in Antonio’s face. He doesn’t want you, Priscilla.” Maya was clearly becoming irritated.
“All the boys want me. Including your boyfriend, Misalo. I could have him just like that!” Priscilla popped her fingers. “If I wanted him.”
“Oh, hell no. Keysha, hold my coat.” Maya was getting ready to fight. She removed her earrings, unlatched her necklace and spit out her the gum she was chewing. I pulled her away before any hair was pulled or any skin was clawed.
“Come on, girl. Let’s go before this gets out of hand,” I said as I moved her away from the explosive situation.
“Ooh, I can’t stand that girl!” Maya railed. “She just makes my skin crawl.”
“She’s probably right, though. I didn’t think I was all that good, Maya.”
“Keysha, you were much better than her. She uses her looks to get her way. She’s just a spoiled brat who’s used to getting her way. She sucks as an actress! You’ve got more natural talent in your big toenail than she’ll ever have.”
I laughed.
“I’m serious, Keysha.” Maya began laughing with me.
“Come on, girl. I’ve got to get to my locker so I can get my stuff. I’ve got a ton of homework that needs to get done.”
twelve
WESLEY
AS my court day drew closer, so did the unwanted visits from Claude and a few other goons, whose sole purpose was to intimidate and antagonize me. I decided to try to handle this on my own without getting my dad involved, because he was already dealing with construction workers who were repairing our house, as well as medical issues he was having from the burns he suffered when our house caught fire. I didn’t want to burden him with any more drama than I already had. I decided to report Claude to the principal, who called us both down to the office to have a discussion and to squash the beef between us. I arrived at the principal’s office first. The principal, Mr. Dewey, looked fairly young, about twenty-eight years old. He had light brown skin the color of corn muffins, cascading dreadlocks and was fond of wearing bow ties.
“How is your shoulder coming along, Wesley?” he asked as I sat in a seat in front of his desk.
“It’s okay. Just sore and stiff,” I answered.
“How long will your arm be in a sling?” he asked.
“The orthopedist says anywhere from ten to twelve weeks. Then I go in for physical therapy,” I said. There was a knock at his door and I looked over my right shoulder and saw Claude standing in the doorway.
“I got a message saying you wanted to see me,” Claude stated as if he were completely annoyed by the fact he was called into the office.
“Yeah, Claude, have a seat,” said Principal Dewey. Claude sat down in the empty seat next to me. “I believe you already know Wesley Morris,” said Mr. Dewey as he took a seat behind his desk.
“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Claude lied as he slouched down in his seat. He fully extended his right leg, then placed his right hand on his crotch while simultaneously digging in his ear with his left index finger.
“That’s a lie,” I said, exasperated.
Claude glanced over at me and once again said, “I’ve never seen you before.” He removed his finger from his ear and flicked the brown, sticky earwax on his finger in my direction. I instinctively moved out of the way so his ear slug wouldn’t land on me.
Mr. Dewey got to the heart of the matter. “Wesley says that you’ve been harassing him. Is that statement accurate?”
“I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Claude stuck to his lie.
“Claude, you know you’re skating on thin ice. You’ve been involved in a number of altercations this year and if you get involved in one more, off to reform school you go. And I can guarantee you they are not going to put up with your macho attitude.”
“Macho? What in the world
does that mean?” Claude asked, looking perplexed.
“He means that no one is going to put up with your bull,” I explained to him in a condescending tone as if he were dumb for not knowing the meaning of the word. Claude’s eyes were suddenly ablaze with hate. That’s when I knew I’d just made things worse.
“Claude, if I even so much as hear that you’ve bumped into Wesley, I’m kicking you out of this school. And Wesley…”
“Yes, sir,” I answered Mr. Dewey.
“Stay away from him and don’t aggravate or taunt him in an effort to get him to mess up.”
“Trust me. I don’t want anything to do with him,” I assured him. “He’s all ticked off at me because his cousin is in jail for trying to kill me.” Mr. Dewey leaned back in his seat and remained quiet. His eyes darted back and forth from me to Claude.
“All of this violence among young people has got to come to an end. It seems to me as if your generation is hooked on violence like it’s some sort of narcotic. Claude, is your locker near Wesley’s?” asked Mr. Dewey.
“I don’t know,” answered Claude.
“Boy, stop lying. Your last name is Morgan and Wesley’s last name is Morris, so I’m pretty sure your locker is near his.” Mr. Dewey removed a sheet of paper from his top desk drawer.
“Claude, I’m going to assign you a new locker on the other side of the school so you won’t be tempted to do something stupid. I’m going to save you from yourself. Wesley, is he in any of your classes?”
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Good. The less you two see of each other the better.”
“I like my locker where it is. Make him move to the other side of the school,” Claude complained.
“No, Claude. Effective immediately, I’m assigning you a new locker,” Mr. Dewey said unapologetically. “Wesley, you’re free to go. Claude, you wait right here while I fill out this locker transfer form and escort you to your current locker so that you can gather your belongings.”
“Thank you,” I said as I rose to my feet and hastily exited Mr. Dewey’s office.
