3
The New Specimen
Alex sat up in bed, her eyes blurry and moist from tormented sleep; the bed sheets tangled about her legs like prison bonds. She stared blankly at a spot on the wall. Remnants of the dream still clung to her like the wet leaves did, when she used to go skating under her grandmother’s nutmeg trees in the country. It was the same dream she’d been having since the day her father had left. It would start with that buried memory of being pushed into the air and feeling so utterly free, like nothing in the world mattered; it was a point in her life when there was nothing else she wanted to do but fly.
But then the dream always took an odd turn, reminding her of the loss and the coldness of reality, where human beings couldn’t fly and fathers disappointed. She always woke up frightened and missing him more, wishing he was here and hating her subconscious for its vicious reminder of her loss. But she missed it every time she didn’t wake up scared and longing for her father. The father who had always called her his Angel, who acted like the world revolved around his only daughter.
Sometimes she could imagine her father speaking with her, sometimes she would close her eyes and she could see him as vivid and as alive as on the last day she’d seen him. One would think that after eight years, a child would reject that loyalty for bitterness. One would think that imagination would lose its appeal and that a girl of fifteen would soon come to terms with the fact, that the present existence of her father was based on her own imagination. Any other way, and her idea of what is real and unreal would have become meshed, locking her into a world without margins. But Alex was not confused, in fact she had accepted the fact that her father only existed to her now, in her head. She was just holding on because there was nothing else to hold onto.
No one else seemed to recall the dark haired, blue eyed man with the thick British accent and the sputtering motor cycle. Always with a battered guitar that seemed permanently strapped to his back, the man with the quick smile, slow temper, and rabid appreciation for poetry and philosophies of success; who had been her axis from birth.
Most children her age had been grown up by dolls, action figures and puppet shows, but she grew up with the famous words of Goethe, Thoreau, Church hill and all the other famous minds of history. Still lodged in her mind, was Goethe’s ‘Whatever you can do or dream, you can begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it…’ and she did believe and apply it to her life. Holding on to a childish fantasy and living within the bounds of imagination, was a choice Alex had made, in relation to her father’s belief that dreams and imagination were the beginning of every great achievement.
She dropped back onto her pillow with a sigh and looked up at the corrugated metal roofing, now splotchy and spotted with rust and dents. She lifted her hand, and shoved it under the pillow behind her head, wiggling her fingers until she felt the cool handle of her knife. She wrapped her fingers around it, and closed her eyes, feeling her father’s initials embedded on the body. It had been a tough eight years without him and she was just beginning to get the handle of dealing with it on her own.
“What you still doing in bed gurl!” came her sister’s upbraiding voice.
Alex turned lazily and looked up at her, “girl I tired nuh,” she muttered.
“Whatever Alex, you’re gonna be late for school,” Nicole said, as she dropped her shoulder bag on the floor next to the dresser and started to remove her work shirt.
“Trust me, you don’t know anything about tiredness until you’ve worked all night at that crappy hotel,” she fumed.
Alex groaned, as she crawled out of bed and stretched.
“You chose it remember, if you don’t like it just quit,” she replied.
Nicole arched both eye brows at her, “I love you Al, but we live in two very different worlds. I live in the world of the cold hard reality and you...” she turned and picked up Alex’s biology book and shook out the university brochures hidden between the pages, onto the bed, “you still live in the world of fantasy. I guess depending on how you look at it, that could be a good thing.”
Alex looked down at the shiny brochures on the bed, frowning at the way her sister stomped on her dreams. But Nicole was usually like that after a hard night’s work, so Alex allowed herself to take comfort in the hope that, she would probably tell her later how great it is that she had big dreams.
“Get cracking nuh!”
She jumped out of bed and dashed out of the room to get ready.
Alex arrived at school five minutes before the bell rang, signalling the start of school. She was still tugging at her freshly tied tie on her crisp, white shirt, self consciously patting her haphazard bun. School really did excite her and not because it was the one place her mother couldn’t get to her, but because she absolutely loved learning, just like she remembered her father did. Her one and only friend Nicka, fell into step with her and looped her arm through hers.
“So how was your night, you got all Ms. Burns homework done?” she asked in her mousy voice that would otherwise have been annoying if it wasn’t for the airy way she always spoke.
“I did, and I managed to study for that test we have after lunch,” Alex replied proudly.
“Wow! I don’t know how you do it,” she waved to a passing girl, then turned back to Alex.
“Alex you’re way too smart to not sign up for the Science scholarship, I really believe you can get it,” she said.
Alex shrugged, “don’t you think I want to, I got a letter from Mr. Matthews to give to mom. It’s still lying on her dressing table,” she replied with a resigned sigh.
“Make sure she reads it Alex, that could be your ticket out of here,” Nicka persisted, then with a toss of her neatly braided singles, reaching almost halfway down her back said, “I haven’t even gotten around to studying; I might do some cramming during lunch.”
“I can help if you’ll like,” said Alex.
“Would I like?” Nicka gave her a ridiculous wide eyed look, and Alex laughed.
They walked into class and Alex dropped her bag on her desk, as Nicka slid into the seat next to hers.
“Guess who called me last night,” she started; her eyes seemed to dance.
“Who?” she asked, partially interested, as she started removing her books from her bag.
“Oh come on Al, it’s not fun if I just tell you,” Nicka rolled her eyes, “come on guess,” she urged.
Alex looked over at her with an exasperated roll of the eyes.
“Robbie?” she finally asked.
Nicka giggled and pulled her chair closer to Alex’s, “it was crazy. When Terry told me I had a phone call I thought it was you or one of the girls, but then there was his voice, so deep, so manly...” she was staring up at the cracked ceiling with a dreamy look in her almond shaped eyes.
Alex said nothing; she continued to unpack her bag, making the extra effort to stack them in order of time of use, she really did not care about Nicka’s new crush.
They were very close but very different. Alex wanted nothing out of life than to be successful, leave home and find her father, but Nicka seemed to be only interested in the simple pleasures of life; the food, the clothes, the parties and the little extra on the side, the boys.
“Alex when are you gonna step out there?”
Alex rolled her eyes, “I have better things to think about, more important things,” she replied.
Nicka reached up and smoothed the front of her friends hair, “look at you, you’re hot! You’ve got the best of two races; the gold streaked bush fire you call hair, the smooth spice coloured skin, oh and your most appealing quality, those dazzling grey eyes.”
Alex expected her to start singing the best of both worlds from The Hannah Montana show, she did stuff like that. She didn’t. Instead she continued with her evaluation, making Alex blush and cringe sporadically.
“I see the way guys look at you,” Nicka cont
inued, “and then you open your mouth and start talking about the state of the economy or alloys, or some stupid equation you figured out, and my personal disaster, the quotes from poets and dramatists, and then they just drift away,” she made a dramatic drifting motion with her hands, “That is, if you don’t curse them off in French for looking at you too hard, then they run away screaming, forever traumatized by beautiful girls like you.”
Alex glared at her, “I’m not that pitiful, those boys are just too immature to understand the value of good conversation.”
Nicka shook her head and eased back onto her chair, “oh I just remembered. I saw your mom yesterday,” she said as she absently filed her nails.
Alex grunted, disinterestedly.
“Yeah, she was talking to Mr. Thomas. They looked real cosy standing together by the produce section in the super market. The funny part though, was the look on his face, he was so smitten. Your mom, is a boss!”
Alex looked up with wide panicked eyes, “Oh no,’ she groaned.
“Speak of the devil,” whispered Nicka, as a tall dark man entered the class room.
“Good morning girls,” he greeted, “bonjour,” he seemed to have addressed the whole class but was looking pointedly at Alex, as though they shared some secret. Alex hunched down in her seat, “oh boy.”
Mr. Thomas was young and quite handsome; at a point most of the girls had a major crush on him. Starting from the first time he entered their fourth form class speaking fluent French. But time and the heavy workload of most fourth formers, soon eliminated that notion. Besides he turned out to be just like any other teacher; demanding, annoying and now that they were in fifth form, just plain old.
“So we’re gonna go right into class this morning, I hope you guys have been practicing your situations.”
Alex looked down at her feet, trying to catch her breath, and she briefly imagined getting up every morning and finding this young French teacher in her kitchen, or on the couch, cuddling with her mother and it made her weak with dread, this wasn’t good, this wasn’t good at all.
“What happen Al?” Nicole asked coolly. She was standing at the stove stirring a pot of soup. Alex looked up from her notebook. Nicole knew her so well, all she had to do was look at her and she would know that something was wrong. Maybe it came from all those years of being each other’s shoulder. They’d endured a lot together; being the only young girls in a house, where all sorts of men came and went. Where a mother did not care about anything they did, as long as they were home within the hours of seven and six on a school day and up to eight thirty otherwise; that was more designed for the teenage girls than Michael. Sherry still held firm to the “tie yuh hen, free yuh cock” mind set.
Alex told Nicole about what Nicka told her about her French teacher, and after Nicole took a moment to swear to herself, she turned to Alex.
“Has mum lost her mind, how could she hit on your teacher? I’m gonna talk to her,” she said.
“That’s a sweet thought sis, but we both know that would only make mom kick up a storm,” Alex said coolly.
Nicole chuckled, “you’re right, wish I could tell yuh things would work out – but I don’t believe Sherry Moore is planning to make any changes soon.”
Alex pursed her lips in a troubled frown, “you think she’s serious about him?”
Nicole snorted, “who? Big eyes Thomas? Hell no!”
“Mom’s a lot of things but she doesn’t stray from the bum catalogue.”
Alex laughed, that was true. Since her father, Sherry hadn’t been in a relationship with a decent man ever. They were always the kinds that were washed up, homeless, in debt or just too nasty to maintain human ties with normal people.
So maybe her father could fit in with the washed up category, he was after all an aspiring musician from the time he’d dropped out of college to the time he left, and still showed no hope of making it.
They were still in the kitchen when they heard a car pull up in the front yard, Alex looked up at her sister with a frown and Nicole shrugged, leaving the pot to go to the window. Alex followed after her, and peered over her shoulder through the drawn curtain.
“That’s a nice car,” Nicole noted.
Alex was no car expert, but she could definitely agree with her sister. They were still standing at the window trying to get a better look at the visitor, when the back door opened and Sherry stepped in.
She was dressed extra special, in a floral off the shoulder mini dress and strapped three inch heels, with a large sunglasses propped atop her newly weaved hair, balancing two shopping bags and her purse.
She looked up at them and her face fell, “What all yuh doing here?” she asked in annoyance.
“We live here,” Alex replied.
But Sherry wasn’t talking to her, instead her annoyed tone and expression of scorn was aimed at her oldest. Nicole returned her cold stare, daring her to make a fool of herself when she had company. Sherry didn’t take the bait; instead, she set down her bags on the table and sniffed the air.
“Who cooking?”
Neither of them responded, so she went to the pot and lifted off the cover, “Well what this is? This suppose to be food? That look like Nicole work. I can’t believe you working in a hotel with the people food and this is the kind a thing you cooking.”
With a darkened expression, Nicole picked up her shoes and bag and headed for the door, “Let me get out of your hair Sherry.”
Sherry sucked her teeth; then turned to Alex, “don’t stand there, go let the guest inside.”
“The guest? You mean your new conquest? That’s not gonna happen,” Alex replied sharply.
“Yoo hoo, Sherry...hellooo” they could hear the sing song call at the front door.
Sherry waved at her with both her hands, “go!”
Alex opened the door and found herself looking down at a primly dressed, clean shaved man with a polite smile and perfect posture. She stared.
“You must be Alexis?” he asked.
Alex hesitated. His eyes were still fixed on her and Alex shifted uneasily. The realization that they had been discussing her, made her even more uncomfortable.
“Come now Alex, don’t just stand there. Where your manners?”
Sherry always settled into an airy voice whenever she was with a new boyfriend, and tried her best to maintain speaking Standard English. She was not always correct grammatically but somehow she managed to make it sound right.
Alex took the man’s outstretched hand; he smiled up at her and introduced himself as Ryan Hubbard.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Hubbard,” she said as pleasantly as she could.
The man frowned “Call me Ryan.”
The minute Sherry got his attention; she quietly went away to her room. Alex was disturbed by this new man. Here she was thinking that her mother would finally give her a break, that she somehow cared about what had happened only four weeks ago, even though she was feigning disbelief. But here she was, bringing another man into the house. Antonio’s stench hadn’t even faded yet.
She sank onto her bed and lay down on her back, bracing herself for the next few months that would follow, until the polish and new car scent faded from this new specimen, at least he wasn’t Mr. Thomas.
Twist of Faith Page 4
