by Nesly Clerge
Damn easy to say. Not so easy to practice.
His father’s absence from his life was one he never meant to copy, and certainly never in this way. Starks’s father stayed with his wife and son until Starks was three. Then he left; removed himself from their lives, as though he’d never existed.
Starks’s mother had struggled to support them. When Starks was five, she moved them into her father’s house, at his insistence, and where several other relatives lived within a small radius.
His grandfather had never gone beyond fourth grade—he’d quit school to help his family with their farm, which they lost—and was why he, along with his daughter, was strict with Starks about education. That time had formed habits and beliefs about a work ethic, which he demonstrated to a young Starks by rising each morning at five to get some chores done and to get to work a half hour earlier than his 7 a.m. shift at the clothing factory. He woke his grandson as well.
A sleepy six-year-old Starks asked, “Why do you get up so early. Why do I have to get up too?”
“Better to start early, Freddy. You get a lot done that way.”
“But why do you go to work so early?”
“I go a half hour early because I don’t own the factory. If I owned the factory, I’d go two hours early. It’s a discipline you want to practice. You want to take good care of your family when you’re a man, don’t you? Want them to be proud of you, don’t you?”
“I guess. Can I have some cereal?”
The old man poured cereal into a bowl. “You practice now so it becomes natural to you later.” He added milk. “Practice now to build stamina and character. A man’s character’s his calling card in life.”
Every weekend, holiday, and summer break, no matter the weather, Starks did yard work and chores at his home and for a few older relatives. His services were unpaid—“So you learn the true value of being paid for your labors”—his grandfather told him. The older and stronger he got, the more work the old man found for him to do, until Starks was legally old enough to get one or more part-time jobs that paid. He was allowed to keep a small amount of what he earned to use as walking around money. The rest went into savings.
The other relatives, for the most part, were old-school. This included how they felt about divorce: It just wasn’t done. This, however, didn’t prevent husbands from cheating on their wives and not being bothered about doing so. Even if the wives felt shamed by their husbands’ infidelities, they shared the belief that it was even more shameful to divorce, and equally shameful to remarry. How many times had he listened to these matters discussed by the older relatives over coffee at their kitchen tables? They’d practically spoon-fed such beliefs to him.
Starks’s mother, Lynn, remarried anyway. The relatives showed leniency in her situation, since her husband had abandoned her and her child. It was a short-lived union, lasting long enough to provide Starks with two stepsisters for a couple of years. The three children had been close, until the divorce and his stepsisters’ move with their father to the opposite coast ended any interaction.
He still believed the philosophy of the men in his family, his role-models: satisfy your curiosity and appetites; no point in going hungry when life’s a buffet.
They should have told him to be discreet.
And he should have listened to his family’s initial opinion about Kayla.
***
He introduced Kayla to his family a few months after he took her to the prom. His uncles, aunts, and cousins had come to the house to meet her. They hadn’t been invited; they’d been expected. Duty called.
All were polite to Kayla as they shared iced tea and a large sheet cake his mother had baked. Seemingly general questions were asked about her family and life. They listened attentively as Kayla, blushing, explained that her father had left them; that she couldn’t remember him. They nodded in understanding, and some of the aunts patted her on the arm, since her story, in part, was similar to Starks’s and his mother’s own experience.
The family got animated when Kayla said she had five brothers, and contained their shock when she clarified her brothers had five different fathers.
Two hours later, when Kayla said her good-byes, the congenial ambiance shifted. Everyone was silent. All but Starks’s mother looked everywhere but at him.
His mother’s lips were set in a hard line. “This girl isn’t for you. Just look at her family.”
“Too similar for your tastes, Mom?”
“Don’t you sass me, Starks. Her mother is like a revolving door for men. Consider what she’s taught her daughter by example. Mark my words, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’”
The proverbial floodgates opened, spilling comments from the relatives that were much the same. Starks slouched in the chair, with his arms crossed at his chest, and kept his gaze focused on his sandaled feet stretched out in front of him. He listened in silence for the half hour they barraged him with arguments and pleas.
Red-faced, he leapt up, “Enough! All you care about is how who I go out with reflects on you. You’re so close-minded. You’re wrong about her. Wrong. This is the girl I want. This is the girl I love.”
“You’ll regret this one day.” His mother stood with her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“What do you know about real love?” he said. “Look how that turned out for you.”
“Frederick Starks!” His grandfather yanked him to his feet. “You’re still wet behind the ears, boy. And here you are, acting like you know everything. Your mother’s right. You continue to see this girl, to—God forbid—marry this girl, and the day’ll come when you regret it.”
“I’ll never regret it. I’d only regret letting her go.”
No, not a pleasant memory at all.
Not because of what they’d said, but because they had been right.
CHAPTER 28
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD STARKS CHOSE a desk near the window. English class. The first period of the first day of his freshman year at a new school.
The facility had taken three years to build, and merged students from two broken-down high schools that had been around for decades and would cost more to repair than to build one larger building.
He looked around the room to see who was familiar and who wasn’t. Two rows over and one chair back, he saw her.
The dark-haired girl with pale skin and aqua eyes looked his way, saw him staring slack-jawed at her. Her smile was shy. Then she blushed in a way that made him feel a thirst that needed quenching.
In that brief moment, he was lost. He listened carefully when the teacher called roll: He had to know her name. Kayla Dixon.
He had to meet Kayla, had to go out with her or he wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep ever again.
As Mr. Thorpe droned on about what they’d cover that school year, Starks planned how he’d catch up with Kayla in the hall after the bell rang; how he’d introduce himself in some intriguing way. By the time he gathered his books and thought of something sort of clever to say, she was gone.
That night he let his imagination run wild, creating one future scenario after another he wanted to share with Kayla, using a third of a new box of tissues in the process.
The next day, smitten even more after a night of fantasizing and convincing himself that she shared his feelings, he approached her.
“Hey, Kayla. I’m Frederick Starks. But everyone calls me Starks.”
She stared at him with wide eyes and parted pink-glossed lips but said nothing.
“I was wondering… What I mean to say is… do you have a picture of yourself you could give me?” He realized how his request might sound, but it was too late.
Kayla covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. She didn’t answer. No photograph was handed over. No promise to do so was made. Instead, she turned and walked away.
As much as he wanted to, he didn’t trail after her. He refused to believe he’d blown his chances with her. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Whatever it took,
however long it took, he’d make her his.
First period the following day, Starks sat in the same desk by the window. Tortured by his adolescent longings, he jabbed the arm of the classmate whose desk was between his and Kayla’s.
“Cripes. Why you pokin’ me?”
“I’ll give you five bucks to swap desks with me.” He pulled a folded five-dollar bill from his pocket, flashed it then held it in his palm.
“Sure. I don’t care where I sit. Hand it over.”
His plan was thwarted almost as soon as it started. Kayla reached the classroom door, saw where Starks now sat, and walked over to the teacher.
“Mr. Thorpe, I need to move to a first desk. My new contact lenses aren’t in yet, so I need to sit closer to the board.”
The teacher directed the student in the first desk of Kayla’s row to move to another. Before taking her seat, Kayla acknowledged with a subtle smile the disappointment Starks expressed through his eyes.
Seating arrangements were finalized for the remainder of the school year. The student to Starks’s left snapped the five-dollar bill and laughed.
Starks’s further attempts to speak with Kayla or get a photograph or her phone number fell flat. Many times he caught Kayla and her best friend, Jenny Hamilton, with their heads together. They’d watch him watching them. They’d whisper to each other and laugh. And each time, Kayla would meet his gaze for a tantalizing moment, blush then look away.
Resigned that she was painfully shy and that he was ineffectual, he stopped trying to talk to her. He watched her from afar, suffering in silence and longing. He dated a number of girls but never seriously. And he never gave up on winning Kayla.
It wasn’t in his nature to give up whenever he wanted something.
CHAPTER 29
ELEVENTH GRADE PROM was two weeks away. Starks was desperate to go with Kayla and terrified to ask her.
For two agonizing years, she’d given him lots of looks at school, but hadn’t said more than a quick hello before rushing away. As far as he knew, she wasn’t dating anyone in particular. If he waited too long, some other guy would hold her in his arms during the slow dances. Some other guy’s lips would kiss her goodnight.
He’d never abandoned the idea of making her his. Especially after watching her grow more beautiful as the days, months, and years passed since the first moment he saw her. Summers and seasonal school breaks had been torture for him. All that time without a glimpse of her or hearing her laugh. He’d thought about finding out where she lived and knocking on her door to make her talk to him, but his grandfather and his part-time jobs kept him too busy.
He needed help. The answer came to him: Jeffrey.
Jeffrey was popular with everyone. He was charming, polite, genuine. Mothers adored him. Teachers loved him. Girls, especially, were crazy about him; he had a natural way with them, having grown up in a house full of females. He had a stable of girlfriends who knew they weren’t the only ones Jeffrey dated and he still managed to keep all of them happy. Guys liked him, trusted him, were jealous of him and called him Jeffrey the Juggler. They’d learned quickly that the payoff for being with him and not against him was a better deal. That he was likeable took some of the sting out of his success with girls that most of the guys couldn’t imitate.
It was Monday. Starks was cutting it close, but maybe he wasn’t too late. He caught up to Jeffrey during a classroom change.
“I really need to talk to you. Can we sit away from everyone at lunch?”
“Bro, that’s some serious face you’re wearing. I’m intrigued. Meet me at the cafeteria door. We’ll grab some eats and head out to the commons area.”
Starks’s shoulders relaxed when he finally saw Jeffrey ambling his way. “Can’t you hurry up?”
“No problem, bro. But you should chill. Tension has zero sex-appeal. And the girls are always watching.”
They found a bench in the corner of the outdoor area. Jeffrey chomped into his sandwich and asked, “What gives?”
For several minutes, Starks poured out his frustrations and desires. He took a breath and said, “I want to ask Kayla to the prom, but she never says more than hi to me, if that. I’ve tried. For a long time. What’s with her? Does she have a boyfriend? I didn’t think she did. Does she?”
“Well—”
“Is she going to the prom with anyone? Do you know?”
Jeffrey laughed. “You’ve got it bad, bro.”
Starks stared at his unopened sandwich now squished in his clenched hand. “Tell me about it.” He unfolded the wrapper on his sandwich then wrapped it back up. “How come you never went out with her?”
“She’s not my type. I like ’em outgoing. Give me two days to ask around; I don’t want to be too obvious.”
Wednesday, they went back to the same corner bench outside.
Between bites, Jeffrey made his report. “From the girls, I learned Kayla’s not dating anyone. But, she thought someone would’ve asked her to the prom by now. From the guys, some of them don’t know if she’s quiet because she’s stuck up. No way they want to ask and be rejected. Some guys think she’s too shy and won’t be any fun, so they won’t ask her.”
“That’s a relief. Thanks.”
“Time to do your thing. By the way, I put in a good word for you.”
“What’d you say?”
“Good stuff, I swear.” He punched Starks on the arm. “Get a move on. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, bro. Pun intended.”
Starks took a bite of his pizza slice, unaware of chewing or swallowing. And half-heartedly listened to Jeffrey talk about his plans for the prom.
CHAPTER 30
INSTEAD OF IMMEDIATELY asking Kayla to the prom, Starks watched her in every class they shared and followed her between classes like a predator studying his prey.
On Thursday Jeffrey told him, “Get a grip. It’s like you’re a stalker or something. Haven’t you seen her walking slower or hanging around to give you a chance to ask her?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. You’re gonna blow it if you don’t ask her soon.”
Still, he made no move to speak with her.
Friday morning, Jeffrey cornered him between morning classes.
“Bro, time’s running out. She’s gonna need a dress. At least. You gotta figure out a suit or tux or something. What about a corsage? A limo? If you’re gonna feed the girl, like you should, restaurant chairs at the good places are getting scarce. Unless you plan to take her to a burger joint, and wouldn’t that make you the number one desirable date from now on.”
Starks’s jaw dropped. “I don’t know what she likes to eat.”
“I know how you can find out?”
“Yeah?”
“Ask her!”
“Everything has to be just right.”
“Nothin’s gonna be anything if you don’t fricking ask her.”
“She has to say yes. I can’t make it through the weekend without knowing.”
“Ask the girl. Give us all a fricking break.”
The bell rang. Starks rushed from the classroom toward the cafeteria. Kayla, facing the other way, was by herself near the entrance. Jenny hadn’t met up with her yet. It was now or never. He ran.
“Kayla!”
Startled, she swung around.
“I… um… that is…” He tucked in his tucked-in shirt. “Would you like to go to the prom with me?”
She held his gaze for a moment then lowered her eyes. “Yes.”
“Great. That’s… great. Let me get your phone number.” He dropped his notebook, picked it up. Dropped his pen and retrieved it. “I’ll call you after school. Four o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
The day could not end quickly enough. He sprinted home, grabbed a snack, and watched the clock. Usually he did his homework then played basketball for an hour. Not today.
He opened his notebook to the page where she’d written her number. Studied her handwriting, wished he kn
ew more about that science. What secrets might he learn about her, if he knew what to look for?
He dialed, swallowed hard then panicked. He was about to talk to her and had no idea what to say.
“It’s Starks. So, how’s it going? What’re you doing?”
“Homework.”
“I can call back if you want.”
“No! I mean… this is a good time.”
Silence.
“Very awkward moment,” he said.
She laughed.
Starks relaxed. “What are you wearing to the prom?”
“I’ll get a dress this weekend.”
“Great. Let’s sit together at lunch on Monday, alone, if you can arrange it with Jenny. You can let me know what color your dress is so I can get the right corsage. I’ll take care of everything. The limo… everything.”
Someone said something to Kayla. “My mother wants me to get back to my homework.”
“See you Monday. Lunch. Just us.”
He had her phone number and could be expected to call her, was entitled to call her. And a week from today, he’d finally be able to hold her close. He prayed for more slow songs than fast one to be played.
There was a lot to get done before the prom.
Then he cursed.
He’d promised her a special night but had spent his pocket money and wasn’t allowed to touch his savings.
He had to wow her or risk losing her.
CHAPTER 31
AFTER SOME ENERGETIC teenager-style pleading, Starks’s grandfather and several other family members agreed to help with prom expenses in exchange for extra chores.
That weekend, he got his suit, had his hair trimmed, shined his dress shoes. All other arrangements were made; though, it took a lot of frantic calls since he’d waited so late. The first three evenings that week, he put on his suit and shoes and practiced dancing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. His grandfather told him, “If you don’t stop doing that, that suit’ll have to be cleaned and pressed and the shoes re-shined.”
