Grey

by Aundrea Ascencio

  "So what was up with that nigg...I'm sorry, I mean that tall dark gentleman who was in here earlier?" Eric asked her. "Friend of yours?"

  "Am I on trial now?" she asked, walking away. "My business is my business and your business is yours. That was part of the agreement."

  "Ya but it's nobody's business getting in your face like that," Eric said, following her. "If you didn't want me involved, fine, but why didn't you ask someone else in here for help?"

  "Because I didn't need any help," she said firmly. "Stop interrogating me. I got other things to do."

  "Well, I'll walk you to your dorm, in case he's outside," Eric offered.

  "Ow, I feel so much safer."

  "You should. I'm the one everyone's scared of, remember?"

  "You're not intimidating, Eric, and I highly suggest that you find a hobby," Chantel told him. "Mia's going to walk me back."

  "Really?" Eric said, looking around. "Does she know that?"

  Chantel glanced back at her table. Mia's seat was empty. She had completely vanished from the vicinity. "That bitch," Chantel whispered.

  Eric held his arm out for her to take. "Might as well," he said, shrugging. "We're going the same way anyway, and I have an umbrella."

  Chantel refused to take his arm and marched ahead of him. "Since when do you carry an umbrella?"

  "I am human, you know."

  "Barely."

  "Damn, can you just stop with the bickering for five minutes?" he asked her. "Five minutes. From here to your dorm. That's all I'm asking. Then you can go back to calling me whatever you want."

  "Five minutes is too long."

  "We'll walk fast," he said, opening the umbrella for her as they stepped into the rain. Chantel snatched the umbrella from him, and resumed her stride ahead of him, high nosed as ever.

  "I don't get why we can't be friends," he continued, walking into the rain after her.

  "You really don't see it?"

  "What happened in the past is in the past now. It's over," he told her. "We're in the now, so let's be in the now. I didn't know you back then, and I wish I had because things might have been different. But I know you now and you know me."

  "No, I don't know you, and what I do know is really not that impressive."

  "Well, you could know me more if we spent less time bickering and more time having an actual conversation," he suggested.

  "It's not the fighting. It's the fact that we're incompatible," Chantel said. "You love everything I hate. You want things that I don't want. You say things that I don't say. You advocate philosophies that I find offensive and unforgivable. You're different, Eric. That may work where you're from, but for me, it's inexcusable."

  "No, by all means, go on. Why stop there? How else are we different?"

  "Black is a depressing color. I hate music that screams at me. You drink and you smoke. You're sexually promiscuous. You're probably suicidal. Probably got some issues going on upstairs. And that's beside the whole racist thing. You don't give me much to work with here."

  "And I'm the bigot?"

  "Well, am I wrong?"

  "Ok, so you're black. That must mean you're low standard. You're loud and smack when you talk. Your ankles are ashy. You can't find a job. You live in the ghetto. You're uneducated. You got nappy hair. You listen to 2pac. Your brother got shot up in a drive-by. You got ten kids by twenty possible fathers. Your daddy left when your mom got knocked up. White guys see you as a quick bust, and black guys know you by 'whoe' instead of your first name."

  Chantel slapped him.

  Eric hadn't seen it coming. The girl could throw a punch. If she had hit him with a bat instead of her hand, he would've been in a coma. Luckily, all she had was an umbrella and he knew she wouldn't risk getting her hair wet to use it as a weapon.

  Instead, they stood each other off, her chest heaving with fury and his drawing in steady breaths.

  "Feel better?" he asked finally.

  "I hate loud people," she informed him. "That goes for people of all colors. I've never lived in a ghetto and I work hard so I never have to. I graduated valedictorian from my high school in San Francisco. My hair is no different from yours, and even if it was, I'd still wear it with pride. I like all kinds of music, except yours. I've never had a brother. I'm an only child. My real mother and father walked out on me, but that doesn't decide who I am. White and black guys call me Chantel, with respect, and they both open doors for me when I walk into a room."

  "I like the color black," Eric said. "Not because I'm depressed but because it's a neutral color. I wear other colors too, if you've cared to notice. Gray. Green. Blue. Brown. Whatever's clean. But my personality is more than just a color. I'm not suicidal. I lost a buddy of mine to suicide in high school and it tore me apart. Since then, I've been an active advocate for stricter anti-bullying policies in schools. Yes, I do drink, but I've never depended on it to function. I do smoke. Smoking doesn't have to be a vice. It can also be a form of communication and social alliance. You offer someone a cigarette, and he's your friend for life. I take friendship seriously. I got friends who would take a bullet for me if they had to, and they can expect the same from me.

  “As far as the promiscuity accusation, obviously, I'm a guy. I like sex, therefore I engage in the act of casual sex when it's offered. I've made love too, and yes, I know what the difference is, and it happened with one girl, and she meant everything to me. There's not a day that I don't regret her walking away. As for the rebellious punk that you think I am, I only break the rules when I have to and when it's right. I pretty much tolerate most of them. As for music, ya, I listen to metal, but I also write my own songs for guitar, and that can be influenced by anything. Folk. Spanish. Jazz. Classical. I got a lot of favorites in those categories too. I'm not just all about metal. In fact, it wasn't until recently that I started exploring R&B, and I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it's my thing, because it isn't. Still, there are some bands that I think are decent, like Boys II Men."

  "How do you know about Boys II Men?" she asked.

  "Because of The Beatles," he admitted. "Boys II Men covered their song, 'Yesterday'. It was cool. It was different."

  "That doesn't count," Chantel said. "You only like it because it had something to do with The Beatles. I bet you can't name one singer who isn't loosely tied to a rock song."

  "Trey Songz."

  Chantel laughed. "Name one song, and don't say 'The Neighbors Know My Name'."

  "Overrated. I preferred 'Simply Amazing'."

  Chantel nodded in approval. "So someone actually has been listening to my playlists. But that's still cheating. There's an electric guitar in the chorus and rock undertones in the verses."

  "You can't give me credit, can you? It would just kill you." He smiled at her.

  They stopped, having arrived at the entrance to Anne Spencer's Hall. Chantel tried to close his umbrella, but the handle refused to budge. "It's jammed. You got to put some muscle into it. Remember whose umbrella this is," he said, shoving it into submission.

  Chantel smiled and shook her head. "Figures. Anyway, thanks for walking me back. I'm sorry I lashed out at you like that earlier."

  "Hard to believe how painless it is, right?"

  "What?"

  "Conversation," he said. "You say something. I comment. You say something back. I comment again. Easy."

  "I just don't get you sometimes," she replied. "You're hard to read."

  "I haven't even got to the complicated stuff yet," he said, smiling.

  "Well, what I mean is, I don't get why you're doing this? Why we're doing this, this facade?" she told him. "What's to gain in the end?"

  "I don't know," Eric replied, honestly. "I asked myself the same thing. I don't really know what answer to give you."

  "Tell me the truth," she said, looking him in the eyes. "Is it another revenge scheme of ours under the surface? Honestly? Let's be for real with each other."

  "You want the truth?"

  "Only the truth.
"

  "It's not a scheme. When I asked you to go out with me, I meant it. Completely," he told her. "I know it doesn't make sense, but that's the truth. You've got a good heart. You're smart. You're funny. You don't surrender. Sometimes, you can even be fun, even when you are a pain in the--"

  "I get it, ok. You like me."

  "I guess that's it," he shrugged.

  "It's never going to work between us. You know that, right?" Chantel told him softly. "I don't mean to drop it on you like that, but it is what it is."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Eric said.

  "There's no maybe about it. Do you know who you are, and have you seen me?"

  "I see you all the time. Even when you're not with me," he answered quietly. "You're beautiful, Chantel. I've always thought you were, and I wish I had told you sooner."

  Chantel gave no reply. She didn't even look at him. She stared at her feet, and tapped her foot in the tiny rain puddles pooling on the sidewalk.

  "So there it is. That's the worst of it," Eric sighed. "Anyway, you know where to find me."

  He opened his umbrella back up and marched off as fast as he could before things got anymore awkward between them. Chantel didn't even see him off or say goodbye. She hurried into Anne Spencer's Hall without another word and locked herself in her dorm room the rest of the day.

  “Studying”

  A night in wasn't such a bad idea to Eric either. He must have been sick because he turned down two party invites so he could catch up on some studying. It wasn't just an excuse either. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the café downstairs, set a Deftones album on shuffle, and dropped the textbooks onto his desk. There were just three of them this semester as he was only enrolled part-time. Really, he should have applied for graduation a semester ago, and the psychology classes he was taking had nothing to do with his degree. They were more like an insurance, a way to keep the university from dropping him for not making academic progress toward graduation. If anyone asked, he was working on a minor in psychology to accompany his degree in Economics.

  He planned to put in the application for his degree eventually, but until then, he hadn't been up for the trouble of graduating. Of course, graduating and going home was his ultimate priority and he would always miss home, but California had grown on him. It wasn't the heat. He'd never get over the heat, but somehow he would miss beaches and Mexican taco trucks on every corner. He might even miss the Mariachi music they rocked out to every night while they made his tacos. All the parties back home could never add up to one Los Angeles kickback. He would miss city life and all the interesting homeless people downtown he met on his midnight walks. Some of them weirdos, but those were usually the ones with the best stories. In addition to all that, he wasn't sure how well his newly acquired L.A. driving habits would sit with the jumpy citizens of his quiet and reserved hometown. Returning to Colorado would certainly put the brakes on life, and he feared it be a step backwards for him.

  While engrossed in a chapter on eating disorders, his train of thought was cut short when his phone vibrated beside him. "The Final Boss" flashed on the caller ID.

  Eric ignored it.

  It rang again. And again. And a whole twenty minutes straight until he finally snatched it off the desk. "Do you know what time it is?" he answered irritably.

  "Eric, where have you been?" his father demanded. "I've been calling you for three weeks straight."

  "Then obviously I've been busy."

  "I sent you a plane ticket a month ago. I'm looking at the bank statement right now and it says here that the airline refunded me the money, which means you didn't get on that plane."

  "You're barely realizing I'm not in Colorado?"

  "I've been in Michigan this past month. It'll probably be another three weeks before I make it home. I called your mother and she said she hadn't heard from you either. What's going on with you lately, Eric?"

  "I got caught up," Eric replied. "I couldn't leave as soon as I thought I could. I still don't have a diploma yet."

  "Are you kidding me?" his father ordered. "You've been in California for two years. What the hell have you been doing over there this whole time?"

  "Why does that matter to you all of a sudden?" Eric asked. "Aren't you in Michigan?"

  "Don't talk to me like that, you little punk. You know good and well why it matters. I sent you over there to work, to get your life together, and finish your degree. I'm not paying all this money so you can fuck around there like you fucked up your life in Colorado. Do you realize what me and your mother have gone through since you've been gone? Of course you don't. You just leave messes behind and expect other people to clean up after you. I've done you a disservice there, but things are going to change. You're almost 22 years old, Eric. Eventually, you're going to come to a point in your life when I'm not around to pull the strings for you, and you're going to have to step up to the plate. I'm fed up with this. Get on that plane tonight and be in Denver by tomorrow. I'll have somebody pick you up."

  "I can't just leave. I've already started the semester."

  "Then you need to drop out of those classes and do whatever you need to do to get back here. Are you listening to me? I'm not sending any more money. If you stay in California after tonight, you're on your own."

  "I'll come home, but not by tomorrow. I have to tie up some loose ends first."

  "That is not your priority right now. Your priority is to start helping me out with these contracts coming up and to stand in for me in Colorado while I'm gone. I have gone through hell to clear your name here and keep people quiet so that you can come back. You promised you'd be back to co-partner the J&J investment, so people could finally see that you are serious about turning your life around and capable of regulating the business, but I've had to make excuse after excuse for why you're not here, and why Reginald James shouldn't sue this family for everything we're worth because of your little stunt."

  "He can't sue me," Eric said. "He's got no evidence. Die Gerechten doesn't exist. It's ashes."

  "I don't want to hear that name. Ever," Mr. Chandler declared. "You young kids are just flat out stupid these days. I can't believe a son of mine was involved in something so stupid. You couldn't find a better way to make yourself feel like a man? Is Taylor a man? He's locked up. He's got 20 to 30 years on his life. He's nobody now. You were that close, Eric. That close. And where are your other so called friends? Dead, arrested, or on the run. If that's all these so called brotherhood clans lead to, then what's the point? What are you accomplishing? Doesn't look like much to me. You're going to be in there right next to Taylor if you don't start rethinking your life. If you want to stand up for something, that's fine, but the way you're going is the wrong way, boy. Remember that you got a good life on your hands and you're throwing it away. I'm trying to keep that from happening, but there's only so much I can do. In the end, it's your life, son. Nothing changes if you won't change."

  "You're right," Eric said.

  "Don't bullshit me, boy."

  "No, I'm actually agreeing with you," Eric replied. "It was reckless and irresponsible. I was angry, and I just let myself fly off the hanger in the past, but I don't handle things that way anymore. California has been a learning experience, and right now I don't feel like I'm ready to leave that yet. I need to finish what I started here. I know it's a change in plans but I believe you'll come to realize how much it was worth it. You just have to trust me."

  "Just by the way you talk now, it sounds like you really have made some changes, and I acknowledge that, but this can't wait any longer. It's time to come home, son," his father replied. "You have business to look after here and your mother misses you."

  A quiet tap sounded at Eric's door.

  "I got to go, dad. Can I call you back later?"

  "Eric, this is important. Do not hang up this phone-"

  Eric ended the call and dropped his phone back on the desk. Upon glancing through the peep hole at his door, he found Chantel Pari waiting impatiently out
side.

  "Oh! No, no gracias!" he cried through the door in a high pitched woman's voice, trying to pull off his best Spanish accent. "We no speak-it the Englie."

  "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" Chantel asked.

  Eric quickly snatched the door open to admit her. "Now that's hot."

  "How's my accent?"

  "Overtly American, but I got the message," he said. "What are you doing here?"

  "Mia's out," Chantel said.

  "Ya. So?"

  "So, are you busy?" she asked.

  "Well I was studying."

  "When did you start wearing glasses?" she asked.

  "They're for studying," he said. "That's what I'm doing. I'm studying."

  "Is that a code word for something else?"

  "No, I'm studying means I'm studying. I got a midterm tomorrow, so as much as I'd love to chat, you're gonna have to take your anger issues out on someone else tonight. I got to get back to it."

  He barely got the words out before Chantel shoved him against the wall, pressing her lips hard against his. Eric ripped himself away from her grasp, and retreated to the opposite wall. "Whoa, you must be drunk," he said, bewildered.

  "So what if I am?" she replied. "You want it. I want it. What's the problem?"

  "What's wrong with you?" he said, still quite perplexed. "No, I'm sorry, everything about this is wrong. You have to go."

  "Why are you shutting me out?" she persisted, blocking the door before he could open it again. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who said you're down for anything if it's offered. Well it's offered."

  "I didn't mean like this!"

  "Why not like this?" she demanded. "How am I so different from all the other repulsive girls you've had in here? Did you give them this much lip?"

  "Well, no, but-"

  "But what?" she pressed him. "Go on and say it. Are you disgusted by me now? Are we still stuck on the race thing? Because if that's really it then-"

  "No. Can we just completely drop that already?" he said firmly. "It's got nothing to do with race."

  "Then what?" she ordered.

  "I respect you," he said quietly. "That's what sets you apart from the rest. I don't want to hurt you."