Outcast

by Susan Oloier

  “He was home for Thanksgiving.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “He mentioned you.”

  My heart skipped a little.

  “He said his friend thought you were cute.”

  Oh.

  “Everyone seems to like you.”

  “Not everyone.”

  The play. My parents didn’t come. They gave some excuse.

  Stage nerves set in. Molly Collier who played Snug was sick with the flu. Because Grace memorized every line of the play, Father Dodd shoved her into the part. Jake and Mike came for support. Although I believed Mike had other reasons for being there.

  The hardest part for me was seeing Chad. He gave me courtesy hellos, but mostly he glided past, pretending we were strangers. I had pushed him away and pushed him hard—right into the arms of Trina. He smiled at and talked to her, and she drank in every ounce of it. I was jealous. Jealous because only a week ago, he gazed at me with those dreamy eyes. Jealous because I still liked him.

  Then I heard Aunt P’s voice in my head, the words I thought she would say: Who cares about him? Two college guys are sitting in the audience. You know one of them likes you. Use Mike to make Chad jealous.

  I tried to concentrate on the play. I thought I was focused, but I was wrong. I stumbled over my lines. It was a disaster, and I felt embarrassed because I ruined Father Dodd’s production. He worked so hard to make it perfect, labored and toiled over it like an artist with his masterpiece, nursed it like a child. Because of a few stressful moments, I destroyed what he had created. He’d never ask me to be in another of his plays again. The whole thing was made worse by the storyline. Just as the love potion caused Lysander to think he loved Helena, so it was between Chad and Trina. Except, in the real-life ending, the portion never wears off; Hermia and Lysander never find their way back to the other. Lysander stays in love with Helena.

  When my last line was spoken, I considered flagging down a taxi and escaping into the depths of Central Park. Except this wasn’t Broadway, it was St. Sebastian High School. And we weren’t in New York, we were in Scottsdale.

  I didn’t want to face the other members of the cast, but I refused to turn a cowardly heel and dart out the door. I at least owed Father Dodd an apology for my flubbed and forgotten lines. I desperately needed Grace’s consoling.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I guess I was upset because my parents didn’t show.” It was easy to blame everything on them rather than list the real reasons for screwing up.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  I moved in to hug her because I needed her support. She barely hugged me back, like touching me was an inconvenience and an embarrassment. I never expected Grace to be callous, so I pulled away.

  Trina waltzed backstage. “You did that deliberately.” She moved closer to me than she had ever been before. She whispered so that no one else would hear her. “You think falling off that ladder was bad? Just wait.”

  She stormed off like a spoiled Hollywood celebrity.

  A team of students and cast members, including Grace, gathered around to console and pamper her.

  Father Dodd approached me as I watched from afar. “Off night?”

  I nodded. “I’m really sorry I messed up your play.”

  “You didn’t mess it up.”

  “I’m through with theater.”

  He scrutinized me for a moment, searching for something profound to say. “Maybe. But that will be your decision, not mine.”

  Of all the people who were there that night, Father Dodd was the only one who believed in me, even more than I believed in myself. For some reason, that made all the difference in the world.

  I wandered backstage, but stopped when I saw Trina standing dangerously close to Chad, her hand resting on his bicep. “…cast party at my place. Everyone’s invited. Wanna come?”

  He hesitated. Then his eyes moved over Trina’s shoulder and met with mine. He searched my face for a reason to say no to her. But I didn’t give him one. I didn’t stop him.

  “Yeah, I’ll come,” I heard Chad say.

  “Great!” I could hear the sparkle in Trina’s voice as I walked away, completely devastated.

  Though Trina spoke the phrase everyone is invited, I knew I was excluded. I didn’t want to go anyway. The last thing I needed was to watch Trina and Chad grow friendlier with one another—and at Trina’s house, no less.

  As audience and cast members spilled into the parking lot, I called home. Grace, Jake, and Mike approached just as I finished the call.

  “Hi, Noelle.” Mike offered a smile filled with implication. “Nice improv.”

  I flushed, lowering my head in shame.

  “I guess we’re driving you to that North Scottsdale party,” Jake said.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Boyfriend picking you up?” Mike was as see-through as a Ziploc bag.

  “She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” said Grace.

  Despite Mike’s lack of good looks and missing finesse, Grace seemed jealous of the attention he gave to me. “We should get going,” Grace pushed.

  “I think we should wait for Noelle’s ride to show up,” Jake gallantly offered.

  “But I don’t know how to get to Trina’s house. We need to follow someone,” Grace insisted.

  Selfish Grace. I had seen that side before.

  “Why don’t you get directions?”

  “But…” Grace was unrelenting.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Mike volunteered.

  “That’s all right. You two go. I’ll wait with Noelle,” Jake offered.

  He tossed his keys to Mike who reluctantly caught them. I didn’t like so much attention being placed on me.

  “I don’t need anyone to wait with me.”

  Grace, noticing the onslaught of departing cars, rushed toward Jake’s car. She beckoned to Mike to follow her so she wouldn’t miss her chance to rub elbows with Saint Sebastian royalty. Mike grudgingly complied.

  “Why don’t you go with them?” I insisted, though I was glad he stayed.

  “And miss the chance to spend time with Hermia from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” He chided me lightly.

  I smiled and rallied a bit. “I suppose you want my autograph?”

  He studied me, seeming to measure his next words. “That’s a good start.”

  I dropped my eyes, wanting my blush to take cover in the building’s shadows.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Jake said, lifting my chin until our eyes connected.

  “You…didn’t.” I swallowed hard.

  Just then, Chad emerged from the theater.

  “So no boyfriend, huh?” Jake asked.

  Chad looked over, his eyes raking over Jake. Chad seemed to percolate with envy.

  It would have been so easy to say yes, to walk over to Chad and tell him I didn’t mean what I said, to turn the tide completely between us. He had wanted to be my boyfriend. I wanted it, too.

  “No,” I said to Jake, giving Chad a final and regretful glance. “No boyfriend.”

  I watched Chad leave. Jake didn’t seem to notice the trajectory of my stare.

  “What about you? I finally asked. “Do you have a girlfriend?” It was mere chitchat to avoid thinking about what happened between Chad and me.

  Jake eyed me for a moment before answering. “No,” he said coyly. “Not yet.”

  It was the end of the semester. Time for Chicago. I dumped clothes and toiletries into pieces of luggage.

  “Do you have everything you need? A warm jacket? Calling card? Clean underwear?”

  “Mom!”

  My mother glanced nervously at the clock. Our flight was scheduled to depart in forty-five minutes. P was late.

  Becca loomed at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed silently in protest.

  The honk of a car. I dragged my suitcase to the door.

  “Call me every day,” my mother insisted.

  “Every day?”

  “I can
still say no,” she threatened.

  “All right, all right.”

  “And make sure your aunt takes you to mass while you’re there. I mean it.”

  Mass? I was going to Chicago, the Windy City. The last thing I wanted to do was go to mass. What was the point anyway? God didn’t care if I went or not. I would still be an outcast whether or not I attended church. I wanted to pour out my theories to her about God. I wanted to tell her that I secretly believed He looked at all of us like pieces from the game of Life. Honestly, he probably enjoyed the fact that we suffered. It wasn’t any different than people being magnetically drawn to the television set after a plane crash or going to the movies to watch tragedy unfold. If we were created in God’s image, why should He be any different than us? I kept my opinions to myself. If I offered them up to her, she’d immediately take the trip away. And I wanted to go to Chicago.

  I lugged my suitcase into Aunt P’s car. In my peripheral vision, I saw my mother barely wave. I ignored her. I only wanted to look ahead. Not back.

  My aunt smirked at me from the driver’s seat. I was in her control now, and she loved it.

  “Kiddo, this trip is going to make a woman out of you.”

  I suddenly felt uneasy. What exactly did she have in mind for me?

  “You’ve never been to a real city before, have you?”

  “I’ve been to Orlando.”

  Aunt P chortled. “Orlando! Your mother won’t recognize you when you get back.”

  “I’m sure she’ll love that.”

  “Since when do you care what she loves?”

  I thought about it. More and more, I felt the urge to defy my mother. I just never had the nerve to do it in the past.

  Chicago. I felt overwhelmed by the masses of people and how the skyscrapers enclosed you in their prison walls.

  It was nearly claustrophobic between the canyons of glass and steel, the forest of concrete. I rode in a taxicab for the first time in my life, and the driver deposited us at the Marriott Hotel on Michigan Avenue. It was—to say the least—impressive. The bellhop wrestled my bag from me. Aunt P pushed a fistful of money at him.

  “We have a lot to do, so let’s get busy.”

  I stood at the window, mesmerized by the view and sounds of the city.

  “Chop, chop. We have dinner plans at eight. We need to get you a decent outfit and a makeover.”

  “I don’t need anything. Really.”

  “First things first,” she put her arm around me. “I need you to call me Claire for the remainder of the trip.”

  “Why?” I wiggled my way out from under her arm. Her request made me feel uneasy.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “All right … Aunt Claire.”

  “Not aunt, just Claire. Secondly—”

  “There’s a second thing?”

  She ignored me. “You do not have a choice about the new outfit. The place we’re going to dinner will not accept the Sunday church clothes you brought with you.”

  Ouch. That hurt.

  She tried to smooth over her candor. “I don’t blame you. It’s your mother. And,” she continued, “you’ll definitely need a makeover. They have excellent foundations and concealers that will hide all those freckles. No excuses. If you don’t get one, you don’t get to travel with me.”

  So there it was. I had no choice. She planned to mold me into the person she wanted me to be. If it took hydrochloric acid, she’d dissolve everything about me that reminded her of my mother.

  We went to a high-end boutique. Aunt P, a.k.a. Claire, selected a confining skirt and a V-neck, silk sweater. After a speedy purchase, she marched me over to a cosmetics store for a spur-of-the-moment makeover. Two wiry associates took turns applying moisturizer, foundation, concealer, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, and powder. Aunt P provided her opinion about colors and application techniques even when it wasn’t requested. When the two representatives presented the mirror to me, I didn’t even recognize myself. I looked like a drag queen who just came out of retirement. My face felt like it had been paper mache´d and dried overnight.

  “Don’t you just love it?” P seemed thrilled with the results.

  There was no point in being honest; it would only drape darkness over her demeanor. “Yeah, it’s great,” I lied.

  “You look so mature and grown up. If you would’ve let me do this sooner, you could have been sitting pretty with both those boys.”

  She focused her attention on the sales women. “We’re set then. We’ll take one of each.” She fingered cosmetic bags and perfumes, as well. “Add a bag and that fragrance, too,” she said pointing to one on the counter.

  “The purchase comes with a complimentary cosmetic bag.”

  “Well, I don’t want my niece walking around with a freebie bag.” Aunt P rolled her eyes, astounded they would consider such a thought.

  “Yes ma’am.” They kissed up to her with their perfectly painted lips because Aunt P threw money around like George in It’s a Wonderful Life. I knew she received divorce settlements and alimony, but I didn’t think it was that much.

  With an overflowing bag in hand, I trailed Aunt P as she headed out of the store: a woman with a purpose.

  We arrived at the restaurant at ten after eight. The moment we stepped inside, I knew why Aunt P discouraged me from wearing any of my own clothes. This was definitely not a trip to the Ponderosa or Denny’s. The customers dined in elegance. Even the servers wore suits. It was a high-brow Italian place in the heart of downtown Chicago. Located on the twelfth floor, the atmosphere was pretty romantic with its multi-colored, blown-glass lights hanging elegantly over each table. Fine linens in rich colors were laid out like pieces of art. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Lake Michigan. It was, by far, the nicest restaurant I’d ever placed my inelegant foot in.

  The host greeted my aunt with a courteous nod.

  “Hogan party.”

  “Right this way.” He escorted us to a table where a man already sat. He had dark hair, slightly long and feathered in the back. He appeared fortyish, but was a twenty-something wannabe. When he smiled, his teeth were too white like a porcelain toilet seat. He stood when my aunt approached. The host held out her chair.

  “Claire, stunning as always.”

  Porcelain Teeth folded his hand around my aunt’s, held it to his pink lips, and kissed it. The host patiently waited for the formalities to end, then pushed in both of our chairs as we took our seats.

  “This is Noelle. Noelle this is Doctor Douglas Hogan.”

  “You can call me Doctor Doug,” he interceded.

  Just what I needed, another nickname to have to call someone. Who was this guy, anyway? I listened to their small talk: glad to see you, what have you been up to lately? while faking interest in the menu. If Aunt P wasn’t going to enlighten me, maybe I could glean some information from their conversation.

  “So what kind of doctor are you?” I swirled the maraschino cherries in my Shirley Temple, completely breaking their train of thought with my question.

  “I’m an orthodontist.” It was as though he threw his words into a lottery barrel and spun them around.

  That explained the fluorescent teeth. The two of them looked at each other then at me.

  “That’s all I wanted to know. You can continue your conversation.”

  “We’ve been leaving you out, haven’t we, Noelle?”

  I tipped my chin into my hand. “No, I’m fine,” I lied.

  They started in on their discussion again, picking up where they left off. “Remember Maui,” my aunt reminisced, “and the sea urchin story?” She laughed.

  “That was some urchin,” Doug smirked. “Did we even set foot in the ocean that day or were we too busy—”

  P nudged him while making eyes at me.

  “Right,” he said.

  “So how long have you known each other?” I finally asked.

  The awkwardness returned. Porcelain Teeth looked to my
aunt to answer the question. She fished through her head for answers.

  “We’re old college buddies.” She winked at Doug, assuming that the gesture was lost on me.

  “Yes, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

  The whole situation felt awkward. I wanted this trip to be woman-to-woman time with my Aunt P, not woman-to-man-to-unwanted girl time with Doctor Doug and Claire.

  “I don’t feel so well.” I pulled the ‘ole lunchtime routine from school.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” Doctor Doug made an attempt to be a real doctor.

  “My stomach. My head,” I added for extra measure. I wanted to make sure he couldn’t easily cure me.

  “Why don’t you drink some water? That should make you feel better.”

  He returned to Claire without further regard for me. My stunt didn’t pay off. I was forced to sit through another hour of dinner and boring conversation while I picked at my pasta, head in hand. Then, Claire and Doug decided to interlace their fingers from across the table. God!

  The meal finally ended, and we were able to leave. We stepped into the icy chill of night. When we entered the cab, I was more than ready to return to the hotel, crawl into bed, and watch television. Regrettably, that didn’t happen. My head spun, watching the Marriot disappear in the rear view mirror as we headed toward Lakeshore Drive. Maybe it was just an errand. Hopefully for aspirin and antacids. The whole scene had certainly made me ill.

  The errand turned out to be a visit to Porcelain Teeth’s downtown condominium. He and Claire still held hands as the three of us quietly rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. All I knew was that he must have been one hell of an orthodontist to live there. The place was decorated in black leather and abstract art. His view overlooked Lakeshore Drive.

  “Noelle, have a seat. We need to go over some—paperwork. We won’t be long,” Aunt P showered me with sweetness.

  “Want anything to drink?” Doug added.

  I ignored him, addressing P instead. “Is it going to take long? I’m really tired.”

  Doug, who had already removed his jacket, opened a wooden case and pulled out the remote control to the television.

  “Here’s the clicker. We’ll try to move through it quickly.” They exchanged smiles and then left. I decided not to use the clicker as Doug called it. Instead, I waited in silence, examining the many treasures displayed on the shelves and end tables. So-called Peruvian statues basked in track lighting that rained from the ceiling; clay vases, never intended to hold water or flowers, dotted the empty spaces on the bookshelves. Doug definitely wasn’t much of a reader. There was only one novel masquerading on his bookcase. It was an untouched, hardbound edition of Call of the Wild. Strange since I always considered that a young boy’s book.