“Thanks, Charles. What about your story?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not a writer.”
“At least think about it.”
“Okay, but don’t expect anything. Oh, I saw Julia Stine after class today. She said to say hi.”
“Oh, really! Did she remember my name?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. I told you, you were in the game.”
I knew Charles was a gambling man, so I took a chance. “Charles, if I get Julia Stine to go on a real date with me, will you write your story and share it?”
“If you get her to go on a date and give you a kiss good night, then I’m in.”
“Deal. Now if you don’t mind, I have some planning to do.”
I walked outside and took a deep breath. I was about to see whether Charles was right about me being in the game. If Julia was into non-wealthy, poorly dressed men, then I might have a shot. This was not going to be easy. The moon was out, and I strolled outside along the waterfront, planning how I’d approach Julia.
Remus droned on as usual in his nasally voice. I sat behind Julia, admiring her long blond hair. I could see that she was taking notes, but I was too fidgety to do so myself. I glanced at the minute hand as it made its gruesomely slow lap around the clock face. In my hand, I held a small sonnet neatly tucked into an envelope. Its future owner was just feet away, but she might as well have been on another continent. Finally, Remus was forced to stop by the packing up of pencils and papers and the zipping of bags, which sounded the end of his long-winded self-indulgent speech that had dribbled seven minutes over the hour.
Deep breath. I could feel the frogs moving up my throat. All I had to do was smile, say hello, and deliver the letter. Then graciously evacuate the premises and pray that the letter would do the rest. Boldness. Courage. Daring. I gave myself a brief pep talk and took my feet. Julia was already leaving the classroom. Oh the frogs. Deep breath.
“Hey Julia.” She stopped and turned in my direction, clearly surprised.
“Hi, Tom.” I could feel my legs shaking, and I felt like everyone in the room was watching us. Somehow, I remembered to smile.
“Umm… I just wanted to give you this.” I pressed the envelope in her hand.
“Thank you. May I ask what it is?”
I could see Charles out of the corner of my eye, and he was giving me two thumbs up. I felt my face growing red. “It’s nothing. Just a little note.”
Thankfully, she chose not to pursue it. “Okay, well, I’ll read it later. Have a good day.”
“Thanks, you too.” I watched her walk away. What would she think when she read the note? Only time would tell. Charles took it upon himself, of course, to thump me on the back and loudly congratulate me, much to my chagrin. “Shut up, Charles. Don’t make a scene.”
“Make a scene. Why, I believe you already did that. You will be the talk of the town by lunch.”
I groaned. “Was it really that obvious?”
“Yep, and when your face turned tomato red, it just made it all the more delicious.”
“I’m going to hide in the library.”
“Don’t hide too well, Romeo. Fair Juliet must be able to find you.”
“Well, Mercutio, don’t push your luck.”
“Who the heck is Mercutio? Should I be offended by that?”
“Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet?”
“In theory yes, but in reality no.”
“I should have known. I’m off to the library.”
I didn’t make it to the library. Halfway there, I was spotted by the dean, who motioned for me to come over to him with one of his long tentacle fingers. He sneered at me. “Hello, Tom. You are just the person I was looking for. Walk with me to my office for a few private words.” He turned and slinked away as I did my best to keep up. People turned to watch as we went by. It was rarely a good omen for a student to be called to the dean’s office. It was even worse if he sought one out in person. Where was Charles when I needed him the most?
It only took us a few minutes before we were seated in his office. He looming behind his large desk as if ready to pounce, and I sitting still as if trying to blend into the scenery or play dead. This day had been a long time in coming. After precisely cracking each of his knuckles in such a fashion that made my skin crawl, he turned his attention to me.
“I think we both know why you are here, Tom. I have a strong hunch that you were the mastermind behind my car being vandalized. Unfortunately, I cannot have you expelled merely on a hunch, but rest assured that my hunches are never wrong. You are a slippery one, but even the sneakiest of criminals makes mistakes. I will catch you, and then you will pay. Not even Charles Montgomery or Dr. Emory will be able to protect you. This game of yours isn’t over. I always win, Tom. Always. Do you hear me, boy?”
“I do, sir.”
“Good. Now leave my office and go tell your little friends that I am not a man to be trifled with.”
I left the office as quickly as possible and hid in the library. I wondered if the dean would go so far as to fake evidence to have me expelled. I would not put it past him. I decided not to tell Charles. He would just worry. Thus far, Groves hadn’t found any way to connect us with the car heist. In my mind, that was a good sign. If people were going to rat us out, they would have come forward by now. In spite of his ongoing threats, I figured we were pretty clear. I got almost nothing done the rest of day in the library between thinking about Groves and Julia.
Sometime mid-afternoon I felt someone standing over me. I look up, and it was Julia. I braced myself for rejection.
“Hi, Tom, I thought I might find you here.”
“Well, you guessed right. Would you care to sit down?”
“No, thank you, but I thought maybe we could talk downstairs without so many people watching. Meet me down there in five minutes. We’ll go separately.”
My heart jumped. “Of course.”
I waited a few minutes, then made my way downstairs, feeling like a sailor who had yet to get his sea legs as I clung to the rail. As usual, there was nobody downstairs. Julia peered out from behind a bookshelf and motioned for me to come over. Why did everything important in my life seem to happen down here in the basement? I found this thought rather odd as I approached her.
Mercifully, Julia spoke first. “Thank you for your sonnet. It was very sweet.”
“You are welcome. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“You embarrass me? I think it was the other way around.”
I blushed again. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“I don’t know very much about you, Tom, but you seem different from a lot of the other guys here on campus, and I like that.”
I could barely believe my ears. Be bold! “So does this mean you will go on a date with me?”
“Yes, but only if I get more poetry.”
I beamed. “Poetry I can do. How about this Friday night? I’ll meet you at the dock house at 5:30.”
“That sounds fun. I’ll see you then.” I turned to walk away. “Oh, Tom, I also think I owe you a dance at some point and an explanation.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, but I will take you up on that dance.” This time I turned and walked away for real.
I didn’t tell Charles about our meeting or Friday night. Julia’s last comment made me a little worried that she was just doing this because she felt guilty about standing me up before. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I would just have to make an impression. The rest of the week bumped along and suddenly, it was Friday night.
I made sure to get to the boathouse early to ensure that everything was set in place. I looked out over the water, skipping stones. Tonight was about more than just getting Charles on board to share his story. Tonight was about moving on. It was about growing up. It was about taking chances and living life. It was about Julia Stine—the most beautiful girl I’d ever met. I wondered what Mom would have thought about me going on my first date. She probably w
ould have made sure that my clothes were freshly ironed and my hair was neat. She would have been chattering away, giving me tips and advice, fussing over me, and then I’m sure she would have waited up for me until I came home to hear all the details. I picked up a large stone and stared at it before watching it skim away across the waters and sink out of view. She was gone.
Without him knowing, I had borrowed Charles’ excessively large beach towel and picnic basket including thermoses, plates, and a wide assortment of cutlery. I ringed the towel with small candles and set out a small dinner for two. This was my best attempt at being romantic, and of course, there was a small piece of poetry that I’d prepared.
Suddenly, a second stone skipped across the water, and I looked behind me. Julia was standing there with a stone in hand. “I challenge you to a stone-skipping contest!”
“You better be careful. I’m sort of an expert.”
“I grew up on a lake. I think I can hold my own.”
“Ladies first.” I motioned with my arm for her to take her best shot. “One, two, three, four, five, six.” I looked at her impressed. “Not too bad for your first try. My turn.” The competition went on as the sun dipped beneath the mountains and we could no longer count the skips of the stones across the smooth water. In the end, I conceded defeat. Julia was indeed an expert. Feeling more confident after our light chitter chatter, I gave her my arm and escorted her to the beach towel. I lit the candles while she unpacked the basket of food I’d managed to heist from the dining hall. Everything was going swimmingly.
After dinner, we laid back and watched the stars come out. It was so surreal lying next to Julia Stine all by myself. In that moment, we might have been the only two people underneath the canopy of blinking stars. I wondered if my mother and father ever did this. I mostly listened, asking Julia questions about her life. She was another rich kid who grew up on a large Southern estate, but there was more to her than just her good looks. Underneath that pile of golden hair, there was a thinker. Julia wasn’t just here to find a husband and learn how to plan cocktail parties. I’m guessing that was the reason for the revolving door of suitors.
Sadly, all good things must end, and we packed up the supplies. As we walked back, I was floating on a cloud. There was just one more thing that would make this night perfect. When we got to the edge of the buildings, she unlooped her arm from mine.
“Thank you, Tom. Tonight was fun.”
“I have one more thing for you.” I took out a small folded sheet of paper and handed it to her. “Read this on your way home.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll do that.” Then she slipped away silently into the night.
It took everything in me not to shout out loud. Julia Stine kissed me. I could still feel the warmth of her lips against my cheek. I sprinted back to the men’s dorm, basket in tow, praying that Charles would be in the room.
I skidded into the room, breathless. Charles took one look at me and jumped up from his chair. “What are you doing with my picnic basket and beach towel on a Friday night?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
“Nothing! Don’t you dare try and keep this from me. You went on a date with Julia Stine! I know it! What happened?”
“This happened.” I pointed to my cheek where there was a small lipstick imprint.
“Miracles do happen.” He came over and touched the lipstick like Thomas sticking his hand in Jesus’ side to be sure he was real. “The sweetest lips known to man rested here. Oh, what that must have been like.”
“Okay, Charles, that’s enough. You’re starting to creep me out a little bit. It’s just a little lipstick.”
“Just a little lipstick! That lipstick was on the lips of Julia Stine. You have accomplished what no man before you has ever done. You must have been quite the charmer.”
“Not really. I just sort of listened.”
“Hmm, is that what women want? Perhaps I should try it sometime.”
I grinned. “I’m guessing that the candles, the sunset over the lake, the picnic basket, and the star-gazing didn’t hurt.”
“Okay, Okay, that’s enough, Romeo. I don’t want to hear about it. It looks like I owe you a story.”
“I expect to have it on my desk tomorrow afternoon.”
“Not a chance. This is not an assignment for Remus.”
I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I wrote until my eyes finally began to sting and I could feel fatigue creeping into my shoulders. I lay down and stared up at the ceiling. The lipstick was still on my cheek.
It took Charles a week to write his story. He was right when he said it wouldn’t be poetic. That wasn’t his style. His style was awkward and halting. It was painful to read, not because of the wording, but because of the pain that crept out. Ideas and stories long buried were finally being dragged into the light. I put it down and stared at Charles. “This is good. People need to read this.”
“Hey, that’s what I said about yours.”
“I know, and the same goes for you,” I said. “I’m your best friend, and I didn’t know half this stuff.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the sort of stuff you go shouting on the street corner.”
“Actually, that is precisely what we are going to do. Patrick is in charge of the paper, and he already agreed to print copies. We are going to put them all around school and then invite people to add their own stories and give them to us to collect.”
“You are out of your mind,” said Charles. “There’s no way people are going to give us their stories.”
“Oh ye of little faith. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
CHAPTER 29
Story Time
OUR STORIES WENT OUT LATER that week anonymously and caused quite a scandal. People just didn’t do this sort of thing at Locklear. On the bottom of each story was a brief note to the reader:
We invite you to join us by sharing your story. There is power in the telling. Please drop off a copy in box 325, and we will see that it gets shared.
The following week, Patrick ran an article about our endeavor in the school newspaper to garner more interest.
I waited a couple of days before going to check the mailbox. I didn’t know exactly what to expect as I turned the combination lock. When I got it open, the box was filled with letters! I could hardly believe it. I stuffed them in my bag and ran back to the room, looking for Charles.
We sat down on the floor and began to open the letters! Some were written in perfect penmanship, while others were barely legible scribbling. I was overwhelmed by the responses. Some sent thank you letters for our bravery. Others shared their own stories. Some wrote to commiserate with the stories we’d shared. Through them all, there was a beautiful chord of humanity that seemed to bind us all together. We were all wounded people struggling to make sense of our place in life. We were struggling to be adults and live up to expectations. We were struggling to deal with absent and abusive fathers and mothers. We were all fighting to find our voices in the midst of the chaos, and somehow Charles and I had provided a place of safety and refuge for those discussions to surface. It was remarkable. The power of the prophet is found not only in his ability to speak but also in his ability to hear and to listen.
I looked at the letters in my hand and thought about all the secrets finally being told. I thought about the healing taking place. I looked through bleary eyes and saw Charles with tears running down his face. I had never seen him cry. Crying was a sign of weakness and defeat. This was the boy who refused to cry while his father whipped him mercilessly. I watched as he wept over the words of his comrades. At last, when we had read all the letters and wiped away our tears, we stared at each other, not knowing what to say.
Finally, Charles spoke up. “What do we do next, Tom?”
“I’m not sure, really. I have to be honest. I didn’t expect such a big response, but people need to hear these stories. I’m sure Dr. Emory will have some ideas.”
“You won’t t
ell anyone about what just happened, right?” Charles pleaded.
“You mean how you cried like a little girl?”
“I most certainly did not. I shed a few tears on behalf of those who are hurting. You can’t fault a gentleman for that.”
“Of course not. I spilled a few tears myself, so we’ll call it even.”
“Sounds good.”
I slipped Julia a note in class. “Looks like you still owe me a dance. How about Saturday night in the library at 8?”
That afternoon, Dr. Emory was out back on the porch as was his custom this time of year. A few leaves here and there were just beginning to turn color, but we were still waiting for our first onset of cold to sweep through.
Sitting by his side, I handed him a few of the letters and explained the whole project. For a long while, he stroked his mustache, said nothing, and just read.
At last he spoke. “Tom, I cannot tell you how proud I am right now. You have stumbled onto something wonderful, and from the sound of it, you are really just at the beginning. I recommend you create an anthology of all the responses and then publish them. You could also prepare an evening where people can share one another’s stories. There is power in the spoken word.”
I loved the idea of a communal reading. “Dr. Emory, would you host the event? I want you to be a part of it.”
“I would be honored to, Tom.”
CHAPTER 30
Finding My Voice
JULIA SLIPPED ME A NOTE later that week. “Saturday sounds good. Bring your dancing shoes.” I read the letter and couldn’t contain my smile, so I put my head in my hands. It looked like the first date wasn’t just a pity date.
I worked closely with Dr. Emory to figure out all the details of the event. We secured the recital hall, which had a small stage for performers and a seating arrangement made for a cozy intimate environment. In spite of all the posters we’d hung and the mailings put into student boxes, I was worried the event was going to be a flop. I really wanted to hear the different voices of the community, but it was a lot to ask people to stand up in front of their peers and share their stories. I was asking people to be vulnerable. Thankfully, Charles was a shameless advertiser and took every opportunity to tell people about the event, encouraging them to come. There was no question that people knew about the event; the question was whether or not they would show up.
Finding Tom Page 16