He Said, She Said

by Kwame Alexander

  Her eyes get big. Her hands tighten around mine. Then they collapse. I see the perspiration forming on her forehead. Maybe it’s the heat from the flame, because it’s definitely not hot in here. By the way she drops her head to gaze at the candlelight, our eyes unglued for the first time in who knows how long, I know that something else is causing her to sweat.

  “I’m sorry, Claudia, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  The tear that comes from her eye mixes with the sweat, and now I just want to hold her. I relax my hands, to wipe her tear, but she grabs me tighter.

  “No, don’t let go.” Now she’s crying even more. It’s not like I’ve never had a girl crying in front of me. But this is different.

  “It’s just a game—we can stop. Let me get you a tissue, Claudia.”

  “No, I’m good,” she says, and then tries to laugh but winds up crying some more. Something tells me to crack a joke, but something smarter tells me to just sit here and be quiet. And let her cry it out. Eventually she talks.

  “I sort of lied a little when you asked me why Leo and I broke up,” she admits, looking back up at me.

  “Yeah, I caught that.”

  “What’s that, like two kisses?”

  “Actually, it’s four now, but who’s counting?” I squeeze her hand reassuringly, like my mother did me when I burned my first lemon pound cake.

  “I was a virgin when I met Leo. I told you how religious my parents are. Well, they didn’t just forbid me and my sister to have sex, they actually told me if we did before we got married, we would die.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, exactly! So I grew up afraid of sex. I mean, what little girl wants to get murdered?” she adds, and offers a weak laugh. “My sister didn’t buy any of it. When she became a Buddhist in college, she totally started having sex, not like a slut or anything, but she was like, ‘If I’m in love, and the guy loves me, I’m going to share the temple of my body with him.’”

  “Whoa!” The temple of my body.

  “I know, right. I’m not sure what being a Buddhist had to do with it, but she definitely was a free spirit. My parents hated it, but she was in college, so they really couldn’t do anything about it. Anyway, a few years ago, I went to a party with her, and I met Leo. He was a college freshman.” She pauses, looks at me even more intently than she’s been doing all night. It’s almost as if she’s deciding if she should go on or not. I got you, homegirl.

  “I got an itch,” I say. “I need to scratch my head.” I pull her hand on top of my head, and we both rub together. “Oh, that feels so much better. Thanks. Okay, continue.” She gives me a half smile.

  “Fast forward a year, and Leo and I are getting serious. He’s telling me he loves me, talking about marrying me one day. I’m happier than I’ve been. But I still haven’t had sex with him.”

  “Because of the whole being-killed thing,” I say, and she laughs out loud, which is a relief, because I know this is tough for her to talk about. Whatever this is.

  “Right. So, one day, I’m at his dorm room studying. He’s working on a song. Did I tell you he plays guitar?” I shake my head. “Well, yeah, he plays neo-soul. Anyway, so he tells me to listen to something he wrote. And he plays this incredible song about me and how I’m the apple of his eye and he wants to peel me, and it’s just this beautiful, touching song. Well, at least I thought it was then, but in actuality it was just a song he sang to impress me, to get me into bed. Sound familiar?” Now I feel really stupid.

  “Did it work?”

  “You already asked your question, friend. Now you owe me.”

  “I’ll be glad to pay my debt.”

  “I bet you would. Anyway, after hearing this remarkable love song, I kiss him. I end up spending the night, and sharing the ‘temple of my body’ with him. And apparently my parents were lying, because I didn’t die.” The fire is blazing higher and brighter than it has since the beginning of this game.

  “Afterward, he changes. I mean he literally changes the next morning. He doesn’t call me every day like he did before; has meetings all of a sudden and can only see me on Tuesdays. This goes on for a month or so. One day I show up on a Wednesday, because I miss him.” She pauses and squeezes my hand hard. “Actually, not just because I missed him, but because I had to tell him something important.”

  “And he’s with another chick.” I knew he was cheating on her.

  “Well, yeah, but as it turns out, he was with several other chicks. Playa had a different one every night.” All of a sudden, the word “playa” doesn’t sound so cool anymore. “I cried all the way home and into the next morning. I don’t think I even went to school the next day. What I’d wanted to tell him was that my period was late.”

  This hits me like a sledgehammer. Knocks me so hard I almost fall backward. I hold her hands tighter to keep my balance.

  “He’s avoiding me, but one day I catch him as he’s leaving work, at a clothing store on King Street. He hugs me, tries to act like he’s been so busy, but he’s happy to see me. I tell him I think he’s going to be a father. I don’t know why I said ‘I think,’ because by then I was almost two months late and three tests had been positive. He doesn’t even pause to think or smile or frown. He just looks at me all nonchalantly and says, ‘Maybe it’s not mine.’ Like I wasn’t a virgin before him. Like there was another guy, other guys, that I’d been with. Like I was just some rotten apple that he’d thrown away.

  “He came over later and apologized, and I thought that maybe I had misjudged him, that maybe it was me, not him. And then he kissed me on the cheek, slapped four hundred-dollar bills on the table, and turned to leave. ‘It was just bad luck, Claudia,’ he said. “I mean, we did use protection. How the hell unlucky is it that the condom broke?’ and then he laughs, like it’s a big joke. ‘Look, I’m heading out of town for the weekend, so I won’t be able to take you to get the procedure done. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, though. I’ll holla.’

  “He called it a procedure. Like lying back with my legs spread wide, altering destiny for all of eternity, is a fucking procedure. Sure, I asked him if he had protection, but why didn’t I ask him if he had enough of it to guard my heart, to give shelter to my soul in case of emergency?

  “My sister took me to the clinic, sat with me while I waited to be called. Held me when I came out bawling. Told me everything was going to be all right. Took me home, put me to bed, watched over me. I never thought I would be one of those girls. It was the worst day of my life. And I’ve never talked about it with anyone, not even Blu. I just felt so stupid and horrible.” She takes my hand, and we wipe the tears that are coming fast and furious. “So to answer your question—”

  “Finally,” I say, hoping that my attempt at sarcasm will make her smile, even a little. It does.

  “Yes, I had an abortion.” We are both hushed. We sit quietly, staring at each other, listening to our hearts beat. I want to tell her I’m sorry. There are simply no words to punctuate the air. I am sorry.

  After about ten minutes, she finally says, “Thank you, Omar.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For letting me open up with you. Now don’t you start tearing up, too,” she says.

  “Ain’t nobody crying over here,” I say, sniffling.

  I wish homegirl didn’t have to go through that mess. Ol’ dude really is a jerk. Am I? I know a couple of girls who had abortions. I even went with one of my exes in Brooklyn, to get one. It wasn’t a big deal. Until today.

  “Liar! That’s two kisses you owe me,” she says, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You all right, Claudia?”

  It feels like an hour of quiet passes between us. Thing is, it’s not even awkward. I feel close enough that I can smell her mint breath. I would have said something by now, but I don’t know what to say. Give me a football and eleven guys bulldozing toward me, and I can figure out what to do in a split second. But this situation is strange and unfamiliar. So I sit here, tightly clutc
hing her hands, waiting for Claudia. To. Be. Okay.

  “Enough of the drama. This is supposed to be a fun game,” she says, as if she can hear my thoughts.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh, you already asked that question. Yes. My turn. Omar Smalls, are you afraid of death?”

  “Wow, really. Yeah, this is a lot of fun now,” I say, and we both laugh. “I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it. I don’t want to die. I got a lot of things I want to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like play in the NFL. Like buy my uncle Al a pimped-out RV, so he can hit the road with his boys. Like travel. Like get the arts funding back. I’ve been thinking about it, and we should have better textbooks. And we should have a school marching band. And we should be a better school. Feel me.”

  “Omar Smalls wants to change the world. Go figure!”

  “I also want to be your dude, like really.”

  “I feel you, babe.” She calls me babe about fifteen more times during the game, and it sounds better than any nickname I’ve ever had. Even T-Diddy. We ask each other questions about random stuff, like favorite TV shows and rappers. We talk about girls I’ve dated. She tells me about the time she cheated on a spelling test in fifth grade. I tell her about how I’d like to have my own cooking show one day. After my NFL career, of course.

  The free game goes on and on, until the light from the candle is no longer our source of illumination. Until we look out the window and see a remarkable sight.

  The sun.

  Claudia

  Blu McCants Where you at, trick? I need my java. SIXTY-FIVE MINUTES TODAY! #SpeakUpNow

  Like · Comment · Share · @ladysingsblu · Tuesday at 7:16 am ·

  After I take a shower, I throw on one of Omar’s hooded Miami sweatshirts and a pair of jeans I have in the trunk. There are no extra toothbrushes in the house, at least ones that are unused, so I use my finger. No lotion either, so my face is close to ashy. Not a good look, Claudia.

  Fortunately, Mr. Smalls is a late sleeper, because I’d hate for him to get the wrong idea about me.

  “Thanks for getting my jeans. Is it cold out there?” I ask him.

  “Colder than a witch’s nose,” he says, laughing. “Did you call your sister?”

  “I left her a note to let her know where I was going last night. Trust me, she’s not the worrying type.” One of the perks of having a free-spirit older sister and parents gone for half the year. “Plus my phone’s dead. Forgot to plug it up last night.”

  “Yeah, mine too.”

  Omar checks the hallway first and then motions for me to come. He holds my hand as we tiptoe down the stairs and out the door.

  “I thought y’all didn’t have cold winters down here. Sure feels like winter. I’ve got to run back in the house—T-Diddy needs a hat.” He lets my hand go, and now I feel even colder.

  In the car, I look at the dashboard and it reads twenty-nine degrees. I put the hood over my head and blast the heat. When Omar gets in, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Why’d you do that?” I ask.

  “The free game is over, enough with the questions, homegirl. Just drive.” And like it’s the most normal thing, he sticks his left hand under my right thigh and leaves it there. “I need some hot chocolate. Can we make a run to Starbucks or something?”

  “Oh, shizzle! I was supposed to pick up Blu for coffee this morning.”

  “Shizzle, really?” He shakes his head and laughs.

  “I’m serious. Blu and I go for coffee every Tuesday and Thursday. We’ve been doing it for years.”

  “She’ll understand. Just tell her you’re in love.”

  “So I should lie to her.” Now it’s my time to laugh.

  “Whatever.” He moves his hand from under my leg like his feelings are hurt.

  “It’s not love, Omar. It’s just a lot of like. It takes time to love someone.”

  “Well, then give me some of that like.” He leans over to kiss me on the cheek again.

  “Omar, you don’t learn to love someone in sixteen days.”

  “You’ve been counting, huh? Sixteen days or sixteen years, it’s all the same. All I know is in this cold, harsh world, you are my winter coat.”

  “Who said that, Omar?”

  “That’s all me, homegirl. Give me some time, Claudia Clarke, and I could learn to love you completely. Now let’s go to Starbucks. What’s up with the heat in this car?”

  The line at Starbucks is so frickin’ long that we decide to skip it and just grab some of the watered-down hot chocolate and muffins in the school cafeteria.

  The TV cameras are still in front of our school. Fortunately, we can park around back and go in through the gym, which Omar has the code to. One of the perks of being Mr. Football.

  “Sixty-five minutes is like the whole first period. I feel kind of bad for Mr. Washington.”

  “Why? He’s riding with us.”

  “True. I hope you don’t get suspended again. Actually, I hope you don’t get expelled this time.”

  “She’s not going to suspend me again. Uncle Al’s lawyer sent her an email about freedom of speech and whatnot. Nobody gonna break my stride.”

  Omar tries to hold my hand in the hallway, but I pull it away. He tries again, and I do it again. Not because I don’t want him to hold my hand; it’s just that my emotions are still a roller coaster. I tell myself if he just does it one more time, grabs my hand, I will let him. He does.

  Hand in hand, we walk into the noisy cafeteria, where every student who gets to school early hangs out. Some people eat, some don’t. But almost everybody has a jumbo cup of iced tea.

  The cooks at our school make the best sweet tea on earth, but they haven’t quite figured out that hot chocolate requires more than a teaspoon of chocolate powder in an eight-ounce cup of hot water. Jeez!

  Once we’re inside, and a few people see us, I wonder what the response is going to be. Not for Omar, because people are used to seeing him with any and every girl. But no one, except Blu, has ever seen me with a guy. And I’ve never dated a guy at West Charleston. This should be interesting.

  We walk past a few students, and they stand up, face us, and start clapping. A few more do the same. It’s like the domino effect. Before you know it, the entire cafeteria, even the cooks, are applauding us. I’m thinking, Are they joking us, or are they seriously that happy we’re together?

  A few minutes ago, when we were on the other side of the cafeteria door, I didn’t know what to expect. Sure wasn’t this spectacle. Even the cafeteria workers are clapping. It’s like we’re the president and Michelle.

  Omar, of course, eats it up. He starts waving at folks like he’s the frickin’ president.

  “Omar, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, homegirl, but it’s kind of cool, right?”

  Luther, the smoker kid, jumps up on a table.

  “Attention, attention!” He stomps his big black boots, and everyone turns to face him.

  “When we started the silent treatment, we didn’t know what we were doing. Some of us even thought being silent was silly. Real talk.” More applause. “We didn’t know if it would work. We just took Omar and Claudia’s word for it.” Are we getting some kind of award?

  “We trusted them to right the wrongs at West Charleston. We trusted them to lead us to the promised land.”

  Loud chants begin to race through the cafeteria. “WE’RE FIRED UP, CAN’T TAKE NO MO’! WE’RE FIRED UP, CAN’T TAKE NO MO’!”

  “Today, we shout out Omar and Claudia,” Luther continues, “for keeping it real, for representing West Charleston, for getting the band and the drama club reinstated. YEAH!” Omar and I look at each other, unsure of whether we’re dreaming. We’ve just spent the last ten hours sitting on opposite sides of a lit candle and staring into each other’s eyes. Surely we could be asleep and this could all be a dream. “It worked?” I mumble to him.

  “T-Diddy, you’re the man. Thanks, d
awg, we’re going to the Battle of the Bands. That’s what’s up,” Belafonte comes over and says.

  “T-DiddyAndBeyoncéRunThisWorld,” Freddie says, and winks at T-Diddy.

  “I guess we did it, homegirl. Yeah, it worked. Wow!” My head is spinning. The last time I was this happy was when my dad took me to meet Alice Walker, my other favorite writer, and she invited us to have dinner with her.

  I see Blu walking toward me. Finally someone’s going to congratulate me for the work that I did.

  “Trick, you nixed me for some jock. Really?” she says, laughing. I slide my hand out of Omar’s, and he kind of looks at me like, “What’s up?” Blu and I head over to get some hot chocolate.

  “My bad, Blu, time got away from me,” I say, trying not to blush.

  “Yeah, I bet. Nice shirt.” And she rolls her eyes.

  “So we got the dance team back. That’s great.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Did he smash?”

  “Nope, we just played a game that lasted all night,” which is technically true.

  “Your nose is growing, trick.” Even though she is my best friend, I’m just not ready to tell her about Folly Beach. But I will. “You didn’t check your email?”

  “My phone is dead.”

  “Girl, the school board held a special meeting last night. They gave us the band back and a few other things.”

  “Thank the lord,” I say.

  “Don’t go hallelujahing already.”

  “What?”

  “The library is still closed. And the school board said they may have to make another round of layoffs.”

  Before I can react to this nonsense, someone pushes me in the back.

  “You’re fired, bish,” Kym King says from behind me. “You think you’re all that. I got something for you. Believe that.”

  “I got something for you too,” I say, feeling a little cocky and over-the-top happy. “A breath mint.” Blu laughs.

  “What you laughing at, dude?” Kym says, emphasizing the last word.