The Secret Life of Lula Darling

by Alex Dean

  I had also heard through the grapevine that there was a small chance Marcus would be able to perform as part of tonight’s entertainment segment.

  There were also rumors on social media that reps from certain record companies were here to see his act and possibly offer him a recording contract.

  That Marcus could survive being shot in a drive-by and be discharged from the hospital, only to perform in front of tens of thousands at Soldier Field, should not have surprised anyone.

  Part-time jock. Part-time music artist. All-around awesome.

  That was my Marcus.

  Chapter 27

  Ariel and I sat in the stands with her parents, her boyfriend, Tommy, and Marcus, who had left to talk to someone he knew backstage. Marcus and Ariel had both graduated last year and were home for their summer break from college.

  Fifteen minutes before the start of the ceremony, I descended from the stands and walked across the grass, across the white yard lines and numbers on the field, and toward the north end zone to join my classmates in a procession that would enter from the north end of the stadium. Several minutes later, the entire class of graduating seniors settled into folding chairs and sat together on the field.

  With security standing by, the mayor walked onto the speakers’ platform, followed by the Board President and the Superintendent of Chicago Public Schools.

  They smiled and shook hands before each took their turn welcoming our entire class of graduating millennials.

  In an effort to save time, the actual handing out of diplomas was postponed until a later date that was determined by each individual school.

  When the guest speaker, a local rapper, activist, actor, and philanthropist, and one of the fastest rising stars in music, was introduced, the massively combined crowd erupted in raucous cheers and applause.

  I grinned and looked up at Ariel and her parents just as the guest speaker finished his speech. Then I glanced down at the program, which lay unfolded in my lap, keeping track of the evening’s itinerary.

  “Look,” someone behind me yelled, pointing at the huge scoreboard behind one of the sections at the south end of the field. A colorful sequence of numbers flashed on the big screen…5…4…3, encircled by a burst of animated fireworks.

  The crowd followed along by counting down to zero.

  There was a loud explosion from the speakers and then a trombone blat. It was like a New Year’s Eve celebration in the middle of summer.

  I watched as a five-hundred-piece student marching band strutted out from one of the gates. Ten of the top band members from schools citywide had been chosen to participate. They wore red uniforms with green hats and gold tassels and played “Time of Your Life,” by Green Day.

  From where we were sitting it was extremely loud. I briefly turned around, scanned the crowd and watched what had to be sixty thousand people singing along, swaying from side to side.

  I’d wondered if some of the adults were already drunk, although no alcohol was being served for the occasion. To my right, halfway up the stands, there was a white-haired man dancing in the aisle, waving his hands about.

  One of the staff had seemingly urged him to go back to his seat. But the man said something in protest and then fell backward, tumbling over the knees of a woman sitting behind him.

  In the same row as the man and woman were some undergrads, apparently from one of the other schools. They started to instigate the whole thing, egging the man on to punch the usher in the face.

  They thought it was truly funny. But I didn’t. I looked at the terrified face of the little girl holding the woman’s hand.

  In that split second, I thought about everything that had happened in my life and had brought me here, everything that was going on in Chicago, the world.

  The pain caused by so much evil and chaos.

  For just a moment, I’d forgotten that I was a senior about to graduate and speak in front of the largest crowd I’d ever seen in my life, when Eva Ortiz, a student I shared period one with, banged her left knee against mine.

  “It’s almost time,” she said. “You’re up next, Lula.”

  Nervously, I grappled with the reality of what was about to occur. My stomach tightened. I felt a surge of panic.

  Mrs. Stoudemire suddenly walked from the left side of the field to the row where I sat. She signaled for me to go to the back of the stage.

  “Good luck, Lula,” I could hear some of my classmates say as I stood and made my way past them.

  “Come this way, young lady.” A stadium staff attendant guided me through a cordoned-off section of tented poles and news cameras and up a flight of aluminum stairs.

  I shook both the mayor’s and the superintendent’s hand as we stood by the right edge of the stage. A female mayoral assistant came from behind a curtain, whispered into the mayor’s ear, and handed him a sheet of paper before he walked to the podium.

  He looked a lot shorter in person compared to the few times I’d seen him on TV. And after years of deteriorating morale and even lower test scores, with so many graduating today, he seemingly brimmed with pride and confidence as he adjusted the mike downward to speak.

  “Students, faculty, and CPS guests, this year I have the distinct honor to present someone very special. Someone I’m proud to call Chicago’s very own. This young lady has accomplished truly great things. She’s worked hard to overcome any obstacles she’s faced. She’s made it her goal to achieve the highest GPA possible in the Chicago Public School system and has even managed to achieve perfect attendance for this past year.”

  The crowd applauded, and the mayor looked back at me and smiled.

  “Her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Hazel Stoudemire, and the staff at Chicago Prep Academy all tell me that she has a great attitude, a warm personality, and a charming smile. But more importantly, they say, she has a willingness to put others before herself. Helping and encouraging others in their time of need. Being a source of light and positivity on an otherwise cloudy day. These are the traits that each and every one of you should embody in your everyday lives as you face the challenges that are certain to come your way. And trust me when I tell you, I know a thing or two about challenges,” the mayor said amusingly to a round of cheers.

  He paused briefly and then peered out into the expanse of the crowd and smiled. “2016 Graduation class of the city of Chicago . . . please stand on your feet and give a very warm welcome to this year’s top valedictorian, Miss Lula Darling.”

  I stepped forward, smiled, and shook the mayor’s hand, my eyes sweeping the sea of people cheering, clapping. After several seconds that seemed like a nervous eternity, they finally settled down.

  I took a deep breath, adjusted the microphones on the podium and began.

  “Dear graduates, students, faculty, family, friends, and City of Chicago officials, I am honored to stand before you today as this year’s top valedictorian. Please know that I accept this designation with the utmost humility and honor.

  “I certainly could not have achieved such a distinguished title without the help and support of my teachers, Chicago Prep Academy, and my family, who I can’t begin to thank enough for their guidance and support.

  “As many are here today in attendance, and many more watching via social media, know that you, as well, can achieve whatever goals you strive for. But let me be the first to say, I know that it is no easy feat. There are challenges we must all face.

  “Believe me when I tell you, I too know about a challenge, about overcoming obstacles that many of you could never imagine, about adapting to a world and way of life that had become all too terribly unfamiliar.

  “But I’m happy to announce: I’ve made it! Through perseverance and an unwillingness to yield to those negative forces, that darkness which comes from high places, whose main objective is to derail us from the paths in our lives which God Himself has set forth.

  “My fellow students, I would be lying to you if I told you that the world was not hurting. Our city is hurting
. Today, I am hurting for the amount of violence that plagues our city and so many others. For the pain felt by so many mothers as they watch their sons and daughters become victims of senseless violence. The same violence that has torn so many families apart.

  “To my classmates, please realize that generations of your forefathers fought for their freedoms as well as ours, died so that we might have the opportunities we have. So that we may have the right to a world-class education, the right to vote, and the right to start a business to control our own economic destiny.

  “Many of us are not taking advantage of these rights and opportunities, but instead have given ourselves over to certain paths of destruction. To this, I say, no more!

  “I challenge each and every one of you, and those watching from afar, to please make better choices. For the choices we make today will largely determine the quality of our lives in the future!

  “Think about many of our forefathers, slaves brought to the New World through no fault of their own, who never had the chance to achieve what we are capable of achieving. And think about the immigrants who came to this country with nothing more than a glimmer of hope and a dream. A desire to live in the land of the free, and to build a better future for themselves and their families.

  “We stand on the shoulders of those who have come before us, born of the desire of their dreams, hopes, and their sacrifices. Some of us come from a past full of challenges and adversity, treatment and conditions which many of you could never imagine.

  “But in our God-given resiliency, we still rise.

  “Neither our past nor the opinions that others have about us define who we are. Despite the glass ceilings, brick walls, and an overall lack of opportunity in years gone by, still, we have achieved greatness, not the least of which is our first African-American president. CEOs of major corporations who just happen to be women.

  “But, my fellow graduates, there is still much work to do. As we boldly go out into the world, climbing the ladders of our respective chosen endeavors, please remember to reach back and to help someone else. Pay it forward. Be our brother’s and our sister’s keeper. As we carefully forge that road to success, there can be no excuses!

  “If generations before us, with all they endured, did not let excuses deter them from achieving what was important in their day, ask yourself—how can we?”

  “So, in closing, I ask that we take these words to heart and decide today to be the best that we can, to be all that we can, and make a positive difference. Our lives, our families, our city, and the world itself will be better for it. Thank you!”

  I smiled as I scanned the stadium, not sure how this speech would even be received. But then I felt a sigh of relief when the crowd gave me a roaring ovation.

  There were more cheers, hand clapping, and people were actually hugging one another. I waved and then stepped away from the podium. As I turned, the mayor met me at the back of the stage to shake my hand.

  “Good job,” he said, and smiled. “Lula, in a few minutes, we’d like to get some photographs.”

  I nodded. “Sure. I’d be glad to.”

  The mayor went toward the edge of the stage to briefly speak with someone else.

  On the field students were still giving high fives, tossing caps and congratulating each other. Coming out of the gate near the twenty-yard line, I saw a small group of media types pushing through the crowd.

  Others slowly began heading for the exits. The news media maneuvered past students and staff to get closer to the stage. Amid the group, I recognized several teachers from school, including Mr. Honoré.

  Meanwhile, the president of the school board, the CEO of Chicago Public Schools, and I stood by waiting as local journalists and other media professionals set up their cameras and tripods.

  Moments later, the mayor’s assistant walked over to me and tapped me on the shoulder. “Lula, it’ll be just another minute. He’s still talking to the press.”

  “Okay. No problem,” I replied.

  As we waited for the mayor to join us, I’d noticed that Ariel had sent me a troubling text. She told me that there was some kind of disturbance involving her mom and dad in the stands.

  I looked over and zeroed in on Section 138, where we had been sitting. Her father, in a defensive stance and now standing, was seemingly in a heated confrontation with a group of well-dressed men.

  A shiver of fear immediately washed over me. Right away, I assumed those were the men from the government here to take me away.

  How ironic was this. I’d just given a speech about overcoming fear and facing obstacles, only to be faced with one myself moments later.

  I knew that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. No longer concerned about a photo op with the mayor, I walked to the rear of the stage onto the field to head toward where the Evanses were seated.

  I walked hurriedly toward the commotion. There was yelling back and forth, and in a knee-jerk reaction, one of the men reached for a pair of handcuffs from his waistband.

  People seated in the same row were glued to the disturbance as it all unfolded. One of the stadium staff pointed to where I could walk up the stairs to get closer. He quickly followed behind. Suddenly, Ariel spotted me approaching, then stood and screamed:

  “Lula, run!”And then all hell broke loose.

  The men in suits abruptly stopped in the midst of the chaos and turned to look in my direction. I quickly reached down, removed my pumps, and began running across the field’s natural grass surface.

  I ran to the other side of the stadium, through a tunnel, which led to the indoor walkway of concession stands, guests, and vendors.

  Sifting through the sea of people, I frantically looked back and saw three of the men in pursuit as I continued running.

  Merging into the crowd, I managed to slip into a women’s bathroom and into a stall. I closed the door and retrieved my smartphone, which had been tucked away in my waist pouch. Nervously, I glanced down at the device, scanned through several saved contacts and sent Marcus a quick text to let him know that I was in trouble.

  Marcus, please help! Running for dear life from a group of men and need to get out of Soldier Field asap!! Please get your car and meet me in the North parking garage. Now!

  Considering Marcus’s recent discharge from the hospital, I was hoping and praying that he could make it into the garage before I’d been spotted and captured.

  After sending the text, I removed the graduation gown I’d been wearing, quickly laying it over the toilet’s condensation-soaked hardware.

  “Lord, please help me,” I whispered.

  I heard more people come into the bathroom. I peeked between the small opening of the stall’s door and sidewall. There was an older woman sporting an XXL Chicago Prep football jersey, a camera around her neck, holding a shiny helium-filled graduation balloon.

  Accompanying her was a younger woman around twenty-something and a little girl. I waited patiently as they assisted the little one in using the bathroom.

  Once everyone was finished, hands washed, and mirror checked, I left from inside the stall and followed closely behind them out onto the mezzanine. One big happy family.

  After walking past a stadium vendor on my right, I pushed for the elevator to head down to the garage. As I waited patiently for the first car to arrive, I saw Mr. Honoré slowly approaching while talking to a group of students.

  While holding a piece of paper he looked straight-ahead, and then at the kids on his left, pointing out something as he talked. It appeared as if the students were leaving too.

  Fortunately, the elevator’s doors opened before he could see me. I quickly stepped inside and was immediately squeezed into the crowd. As we descended, my heart beat madly against my rib cage.

  Watching the LED display of numbers, I’d hoped it would be Marcus waiting for me when I got to the garage and not those agents or whoever they were from the government.

  The elevator jerked for a moment before it came to a complete stop. We
’d finally made it to the parking lot. The doors opened, and I was one of the first to get out.

  I stopped and scanned the dimly lit garage and then hurried past several concrete pillars, looking for Marcus. Had he made it on time? Had he gotten lost?

  “Lula, over here!” he suddenly called out from an adjacent row of parked cars. I was hoping that no one else had heard him yell my name. I rushed over to where he’d been waiting. His car was still running. Marcus was standing, leaning against the side of his SUV.

  “You better get in the backseat and lie down,” he said.

  He opened the door, and I got in, tossing a few of his sweatshirts and empty CD cases on the floor. Marcus got in the front seat and slowly pulled off as not to draw any unwanted attention.

  We had spun around several curves before we found an exit onto South Lake Shore Drive.

  “Now, you mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked while looking in the rearview mirror.

  “Some men from the government are here to take me to D.C. They want to examine me and talk to me about what happened and how I got here,” I said.

  “The government?” Marcus asked, astounded.

  “Yeah, exactly,” I responded. “I can’t do it. I just can’t,” I added. “I don’t trust them.”

  Marcus shook his head. I know he had to be wondering what on God’s green earth he had gotten himself into fooling with me.

  “Where am I taking you?” he asked.

  “How about your house?” I responded. “I can stay there, can’t I?”

  “What? Are you crazy? How am I gonna explain all this to Mama D.?”

  “Just tell her the truth,” I said.

  “Lula, my grandmother isn’t going to believe none of this stuff.” Marcus paused as he looked in the rearview again. “No worries, though, I’ll try to explain it as best I can.”

  I nervously lifted myself up and briefly looked out the side window as Marcus wheeled onto South Michigan Avenue, and then pulled into the driveway on the side of his house.

  The skies had begun to darken, and Mama D. had already switched on a yellow porch light over the front door. Its soft, inviting hue cast a warm and friendly glow over what was otherwise a tense situation.