by Earl Sewell
“So when are we going to hook up for a practice session?” Antonio asked as he sat down next to me. I glanced at him and the only thing I could think about was kissing him. “How does Saturday at noon sound to you?” he asked.
Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I talk too fast and my tongue flops around in my mouth. My words sounded awful, like a cartoon character’s once an anvil had been dropped on his head. “That’s sounds fine,” I said nervously. I took a breath and repeated myself. “That sounds like a great idea,” I answered. “Where would you like to meet?”
“Why don’t we meet here at the school? I’m sure the auditorium will be open,” Antonio suggested.
“Okay,” I said, not putting up much of a fight. Antonio and I watched every performance. There were several times when his leg rested against my own. I didn’t know if he was touching me purposely or if he honestly didn’t realize it. Either way, I didn’t say anything. I just quietly enjoyed the feel of his strong leg resting against me. I closed my eyes and fantasized about the two of us sitting alone in the darkened auditorium kissing and touching each other. I imagined myself surrendering to his strong embrace while enjoying the scent of some expensive cologne he was wearing. I inhaled deeply a few times before I was jolted out of my daydream by a sharp kick to the back of my seat. I immediately turned around.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Priscilla said, offering up a fake apology. “My leg just jerks like that sometimes.”
“Kick my seat again and you’re getting a beat down,” I threatened.
“Shh!” The director turned in his seat and gave me an evil look.
“It wasn’t me,” I quickly said, but he didn’t seem to care who it was; he just wanted silence while he worked with Maya and several other performers. I turned my attention back to Priscilla, who had a smug smile on her face that I wanted to slap off.
“You shouldn’t be sitting there anyway,” she whispered, still wanting to aggravate me.
“Last time I checked it was a free country, and a person could sit down anywhere they pleased,” I asserted in a hushed whisper.
“I know what you’re trying to do and—”
“Priscilla! Will you just chill out?” Antonio finally turned around in his seat and said something.
“No, I won’t chill out,” Priscilla snapped at him.
“Hey! Be quiet while they’re on stage!” the director snapped at us.
“I need to get some air,” Antonio said, rising to his feet. He walked up the aisle and exited the theater.
“Priscilla, you’re onstage next,” said the director.
“Now watch and learn from a real actress at work. I’ll nail my lines on the first take,” Priscilla boldy affirmed as she made her way to the stage.
When I arrived home it was almost eight o’clock in the evening. I walked into the house and kicked my shoes off at the door. I lugged my book bag up the stairs and into the family room, where Jordan was sitting on the sofa snuggled up with Barbara watching a movie they’d rented. Jordan hit the pause button.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Yeah, what was it like?” asked Barbara.
“Long,” I whined. “I’ve really got to learn my part. I’ve got to learn how to step into character and project my voice. I had to keep reading the same lines over and over and over again until I got it right.”
“It sounds like this is going to be a real challenge for you,” Barbara said as she rose to her feet. She walked past me and into the kitchen.
“Challenge is an understatement,” I said.
“I left your dinner on the stove. You can heat it up once you get settled in.” Barbara opened up the refrigerator and removed a cold soda.
“I’ll come back down and reheat it. Right now I need to get upstairs and start on my homework.” I was about to drag my book bag up to my room.
“Why don’t you use my office, Keysha? It’s easy to fall asleep when you’re doing homework while sitting on your bed.”
“Fine,” I griped as I lugged my belongings back down the stairs and into Jordan’s office.
After eating dinner and drinking two energy drinks, I’d gotten a good jolt of adrenaline and I began doing my homework. However, about a few hours later, I crashed so badly I fell asleep sitting upright in Jordan’s desk chair. Eventually, Jordan came into the room and woke me up.
“Keysha,” he said, shaking my shoulder.
“What?” I answered groggily.
“Go get into your bed. It’s midnight,” he said.
“Mid-what?” My mind was still in a fog.
“Go to bed. Come on.” Jordan helped me stand on my feet and then guided me out of his office and out of the basement. I lazily walked up the stairs and into my bedroom. As soon as my head landed on my pillow, I drifted off into a deep sleep.
sixteen
WESLEY
Saturday morning arrived and no one was more eager to hit the highway and head back home than me. I woke up early to allow myself enough time to pack up what belongings I could. Having the use of only one arm presented me with more challenges than I initially thought it would. However, I’d arisen confident and enthusiastic about returning to my old neighborhood, visiting with Keysha and clearing the air between us. Earlier during the week, my father visited with my counselor, who provided him with a copy of my transcript and other necessary paperwork for me to take back to Thornwood High. His car had been returned from the repair shop. They’d replaced the shattered glass, but hadn’t repainted the car yet. Dad said he knew of a place back home that would take care of repainting his car.
Grandmother Lorraine wasn’t as frantic as I was about returning to Illinois. In fact she grumbled continually about having to leave home.
“I feel as if I’m being run out of my house.” She raised her voice in opposition to the decision my father had made for her. In spite of my dad’s indifference to her complaints, Grandmother Lorraine didn’t put up too much of a fight and packed for what I believed was going to be an extended stay.
Dad spoke with Mr. Stein, a short, potbellied man who was the head of the neighborhood watch club. Mr. Stein was fond of walking his dog at odd hours of the night. This proved to be beneficial to Grandmother Lorraine; my dad had gotten him to agree to keep an eye on the house and to alert us, as well as the authorities, if he saw anything suspicious. Dad provided Mr. Stein with a few contact numbers and thanked him for his neighborly kindness.
After I’d packed up several small suitcases and two oversize duffel bags, I checked around once again to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything of value or importance behind. I then made several trips back and forth from the basement to the car, where I stuffed everything in the trunk. We were finally on our way around 1:00 p.m. We made one stop at a local gas station, where both Dad and Grandmother Lorraine filled up their gas tanks. I ran inside and grabbed a giant bag of gummy worms, potato chips and two sodas for Dad and me to snack on during the three-hour journey back home.
As we drove away from the noise and congestion of the city, the landscape of tall buildings and multilane highways gave way to farmland and just two lanes to zoom along on.
“I can’t wait to see the house.” Dad struck up a conversation to break the silence.
“Same here,” I said, fumbling with the radio in search of some type of decent music to listen to.
“The contractor said everything is working and we wouldn’t be able to tell there was ever a fire in the house.”
“I’m just looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.” I finally came across a rock station.
“Wait! Leave it there. I love that song,” he said as he began to sing along with an old Phil Collins song called “In the Air Tonight.”
“I was dating a girl named Kris when this song was out. We used to love slow dancing to this song. She was tall and had strawberry-blond hair. Kris had freckles, a pretty smile and was incredibly intelligent. Her hips were like two sacred stones, identifying the entrance to all
of her secrets,” my dad said, shaking his head as if clearly seeing what happened in the past.
I frowned at my father’s poetic words. “TMI, Dad.”
“What does TMI mean?” he asked, completely perplexed.
“Too much information. I don’t need to know about the woman’s hips,” I said, although I fully understood his fascination with that particular part of the female anatomy. Dad laughed.
“Anyway, Kris loved to dance and back then your old man was a dancing machine.” He laughed as he became lost in nostalgia.
I humored him and asked, “Whatever happened to her?”
“She moved away. And I lost contact with her. I heard through the grapevine that she’d become some kind of scientist.”
“Liked the brainy type, eh?” I teased him.
“A smart woman is very sexy.”
“You should get a Facebook account and see if you can find her,” I suggested as Phil Collins belted out “Oh, Lord” in his husky voice.
“What’s Facebook?” he asked. I laughed because I couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard of the social networking Web site.
“Come on, Dad, you’ve got to keep up, man. You have to live in the twenty-first century. The eighties are over and gone.”
“There is no need to be cynical, Wesley. Is it like MySpace?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s like MySpace and sort of like Twitter,” I explained. “Whenever we get a new computer I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Once we get settled in, we’ll go on a shopping spree to replace the furniture that was lost in the fire. I’m positive there will be enough money in the budget for a new computer.”
“Cool. I want a laptop.” I grinned as I put in my request. Dad and I settled into a comfortable silence.
“Oh, did I tell you that I’ll be going back to work soon?”
“No. Are you well enough to go back?” I asked, glancing over at his hands, which were still pink from his burns.
“Yeah, I’ll be able to go back at the end of the month. I can’t wait to get back to work because sitting around all day was driving me crazy,” he admitted.
“I’m sure all of your coworkers will throw you a nice welcome-back celebration,” I said.
“That would be nice, but it’s really not necessary.” Dad clicked his turn signal and switched lanes. We talked the remainder of the way home. Occasionally we were interrupted by Grandmother Lorraine, who needed to stop at every oasis along the way for a bathroom break. It was an inconvenience, but we had to be accommodating to her needs.
We finally pulled into the driveway of our home. The house looked nothing like it did the last time I saw it. The black burn marks were gone, the windows had been replaced and the place genuinely looked welcoming. As soon as Dad put the car in Park, I got out of the car, removed my door keys from my pants pocket and stepped inside. The house smelled like fresh paint and new carpet. The scents of charred furnishings and moldy-smelling water were long gone. I walked down the stairs and into the basement, which had been completely overhauled. There was new drywall, a new ceiling and a new furnace, washer, dryer and hot water tank. I hustled back up the stairs and back out to the driveway. Dad was wheeling Grandmother Lorraine’s suitcase toward the front door.
“I’ll get the rest of the stuff out of the trunk,” I said, eager to unload everything and get settled in.
An hour later, I was standing before my dresser drawer, putting away the last of my clothes. Once my task was complete, I rested on my bed and relaxed. My shoulder ached like hell. I gave myself another reminder to set up a new therapy schedule.
I then decided it was time to phone Keysha and surprise her with my return. I was optimistic about getting a chance to come over and visit with her for a while. If an afternoon visit wasn’t possible, I hoped she’d at least be more receptive to hearing my apology. I pulled out my cell phone, held it in my hand and glared at it mindlessly for a moment. I was suddenly afraid to call her because I feared she’d either ignore my call or answer it and scream at me like a lunatic. Finally, I gathered up the courage to give her a jingle.
“Hello,” Keysha answered, laughing. It was so nice to hear her in good spirits.
“Hey, how is it going?” I asked nervously, not sure of how she’d react.
“Who is this?” she asked, still chuckling. I could hear noise in the background. It sounded as if there was some type of celebration taking place.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Wesley?”
“Yes,” I answered. There was a long moment of silence.
“What are you up to?” she finally asked.
“Nothing,” I answered. The fact that she didn’t hang up on me was in my opinion a positive sign. “Guess what?”
“Wesley, I really don’t have time for games.” I guess Keysha didn’t want to play along with me.
“Okay,” I said, feeling as if I suddenly meant nothing to her.
“If you have something to say, go ahead. If not, I’ve got to get back to Antonio.”
“Antonio!” I scowled, feeling jealousy rise within me like a balloon being filled with air. “Who is Antonio?”
“Why does it matter to you, Wesley?”
“Because…it does. Why is he over there?” I wanted to know.
“I invited him over. You got a problem with that?” Keysha said.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied.
“Whatever, Wesley. I’ve got to go.” Keysha was about to hang up on me.
“Wait.” I stopped her.
“What?” she asked impatiently.
“When can I see you? I’m back at home now.”
“Really? When did you get back?”
“This afternoon. I was hoping I could see you so I can clear the air between us,” I said, hoping for an opportunity to speak to her face-to-face.
“I’m very busy these days, Wesley.”
“Come on, Keysha. You at least have to give me a chance to say I’m sorry.” Keysha’s silence meant she was considering it.
“Please. I would apologize over the phone, but I’d like to do it in person. Are you busy on Sunday?”
“Yes. Barbara, Jordan, Mike and I are driving up to Gurnee Mills to do some shopping.”
“I have to wait until Monday to see you?” I whined.
“Looks that way,” Keysha answered with indifference.
“Well, can I see you first thing Monday? I could meet you at your locker.”
“Fine,” Keysha answered. “I’ve got to go. It’s rude of me to be on the phone when I have a guest visiting. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Keysha. I love—Hello?” Keysha disconnected the call before I had a chance to tell her how I truly felt. I punched my mattress a few times with my left fist. I was frustrated and resentful of the fact she didn’t want to see me. Even more frustrating was the reality of having to compete for her affections with some new guy.
seventeen
KEYSHA
When I hung up the phone I turned my attention back to Antonio, Maya and Misalo, who were over visiting. We’d moved the leather furniture around and created an area that we pretended was a stage. Maya and Misalo would sit in two fold-up chairs that I brought up from the basement while Antonio and I stood before them and practiced our lines. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t attracted to Antonio. He had a good sense of humor and was easy to get along with. He was charming, charismatic and had alluring eyes that seemed to say more than his mouth was willing to admit.
Earlier, when Antonio arrived, I asked Barbara to answer the door because I didn’t want to show too much zeal over his visit. Barbara thought I was being silly until I told her I wanted her to take a look at him and let me know what her first impression of him was. When Antonio arrived Barbara opened the door.
“Hello. You must be Keysha’s sister, right?” Antonio immediately won Barbara over by bathing her with compliments.
“No. I’m not her sister. I’m her
mother.” Barbara chuckled as she invited him inside.
“No way!” Antonio shouted out, seemingly surprised.
“Yeah way!” Barbara matched the loudness of his voice with her own.
“You do not look like you have a daughter as old as Keysha.”
“I’m not trying to look old, either.”
“Trust me, you don’t. If I were a little older I’d certainly ask you for a date.” Antonio flirted with Barbara, who suddenly began snickering like a featherbrained schoolgirl.
“Oh, really? Too bad you’re catching me on a bad day. You should see me when I’m all fixed up.” I stuck my finger down my throat and pretended to puke. I couldn’t believe Barbara was actually flirting back with him. I made a mental note to remind Jordan that he needed to pay more attention to her.
“Earth to Keysha, are you there?” Maya teased me and snapped me out of my flashback.
“I’m sorry, I’m just spacing out.”
“Well, you need to stay here on Planet Popular People with Antonio, Misalo and me.” Everyone laughed at Maya’s comment.
“Okay, where were we?” Antonio still had the script in his hand.
“Um, we left off right here…where the lovers are about to kiss each other,” I said. Now, up until this point, Antonio and I had never really kissed. The way we’d practiced it was as follows—a spotlight would come up on us as we stood center stage. Then we’d say our lines and lean in toward each other, stopping just short of a kiss before the stage lights would go down and the stage crew would come out and hurriedly change the set. I was, without question, all set to do it the way we practiced until Misalo made a suggestion.
“You guys should really kiss each other. That would be so hot and I’m sure the audience would feel the passion the characters have for each other.”
“For a guy who doesn’t speak very much, it’s kind of awkward to hear you say something so daring,” I teasingly mocked him.
