Always

by Timmothy B. Mccann

  “What about Cheryl?”

  “Man.” And then he looked down.

  “David. What’s up, man? Something happened to Cheryl?”

  “Listen, jack. You know you my ace boone coon’. But you don’t need to go round that corner.”

  I just looked at him, because I now knew why she was crying. As I tightened my jaw and my fist, I just had to see who he was. I walked toward the corner with the other students coming toward me like salmon swimming upstream, and David hollered, “Stang! Don’t start anything. It might mess up your ride, man. You got a full ride, man. Don’t blow it.”

  The scholarship offers were the least of my concern as I turned the corner. I remember how hot it was. At least ninety-five degrees under a tree. I was full of sweat from the run and now my heart was beating like a snare drum.

  There she was, standing next to him. Darius Kingsley. Darius was a wide receiver on our team and dumb as wet clay. In fact, this was the first year he was out of special ed, and he and Cheryl were in first-period cooking class together. They were not holding hands, smiling, or anything. They were just standing closer than acquaintances stand. And then she looked up at me.

  “Henry? What are you doing here?” The look in her eyes confirmed everything I needed to know.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing here?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in AVC? You gonna be late.”

  “What’s going on, Cheryl?”

  David stood behind me, and said, “Man, cool down. It ain’t worth it, blood. Not for some chick.”

  “It’s not what it looks like, Stang,” Darius said.

  “What does it look like, Cheryl? Since when is this dumb”—I paused for the right word and it just sorta rolled out—“dumb motherfucker walking you to algebra?” Neither Cheryl nor David had ever heard me curse before, but no other word seemed to fit.

  “Who, who, who you calling dumb!” Darius stuttered with this sinister smile on his face as his eyebrows arrowed downward and he took a couple of steps in my direction.

  “He called your punk, short-bus-riding ass a dumb motherfucker!” David said. “You ain’t got no business even talking to the chick!”

  “You, you, you ain’t in this shit!” Darius replied. “So you might wanna find you some business to get into and stay out mine.”

  “Listen, Stang, let’s go, man,” David said, tugging on my jersey. “We ain’t losing our ride fighting over no damn broad, man!”

  Darius dropped his books, spread both arms crucifixlike, bugged his eyes, and sneered, “Yo, David, you really want sum a dis? I been wanting to peel off in yo ass anyway. You know I ain’t scared of your backwoods, musky, sced-of-deodorant country ass!”

  As David and Darius traded insults, Cheryl and I spoke with our eyes. It’s funny. I guess because we were together so much, our communication went beyond the physical. For only the second time in my life, I saw her tears fall. Those hazel eyes, her full brown lips, and her body were expressionless, but her face glistened from a tear track on her cheek.

  I could tell she wanted to say something to me, but she could not. What was it? Did she feel more comfortable with Darius? He, after all, didn’t expect anything from her. He wouldn’t push her to stay on the A-B honor role. He wouldn’t bring her college catalogs and stick them under her nose. He wouldn’t insist she start a college fund and save her money while other girls her age headed straight for the mall they had just built in town.

  We broke our stare into each other’s eyes as a teacher came out of the classroom to quiet David and Darius. I turned to walk away and I heard her plead softly, “Please don’t leave, Henry. Please don’t leave me. I need—I want to tell you something.” But for a moment I couldn’t stand the sight of her. I already knew, in a way, what she both needed and wanted to say.

  As I walked around the corner, the bell rang, students bolted for their rooms, and I heard the door to her classroom close. As it did, I leaned against the redbrick wall trying to catch my breath. For the first time, something happened to me that had never happened before. My chest burned, there was a white blindness and I couldn’t think straight. There were no colors, no noises, yet my eyes were wide open. It was as if I had entered this chasm, and I knew my life would never be the same.

  It was not supposed to be this way. I’d planned every detail of my life and this was not a part of it. And then David came by and said, “Listen, man, I gotta get to the coach’s office, but we gonna handle this later on. You cool?”

  “Hey.” I looked at him with not enough strength to crack even a fake smile, and said, “Yeah I’m cool. I’m cool, man. Get to the gym.”

  “All right, man. I’ll see you after school in the weight room. Hold ya’ head up and don’t be late this time.”

  As David ran away, I heard Darius talking to another girl in the hallway. I had too much to lose to waste my time with him or Cheryl if this was the type of guy she wanted to be with.

  I walked slowly toward my class, trying to think of an excuse for Mr. Rivers. But as I walked, Darius passed me, and said, “Man, if that’s your woman, you better keep that fine ass of hers on a leash, because a brother like me would—”

  I waited in the dean’s office for more than two hours. They called in our principal, Dr. Langston, and the head football coach to determine the best way to handle such matters since I was an athlete. At that time colleges, especially Florida A&M, were strict about player conduct, and my coach did not want it to affect my ride. Apparently I’d knocked out one of Darius’s front teeth and shaken another one loose. I don’t even remember the punch, it happened so fast. One minute he was saying something, and the next I was waiting for Nurse Arndorfer in the dean’s office holding a wet paper towel around my split knuckle.

  Later David told me he had seen the two of them together at a house party. He said he never saw them kissing or even holding hands, but he had noticed that Darius would walk her to all the classes I could not due to my schedule.

  When I got home that day, I wanted to call her. I wanted to call her so bad. Because even though it was her who was in the wrong, I felt guilty. For the past three years we had spoken on the phone at least once a day. As I paced in my room, it occurred to me that she and I had never so much as had an argument before. Sure, we had a Romeo and Juliet–like pressure from my parents, but that was a minor thing, because she knew I loved her, and up until that day, I knew she loved me.

  We used to say our love was so deep, the word love could not possibly define it. That true love transcended four letters. I once read that Eskimos have more than fifty words or phrases for snow, because snow affects their lives in so many ways. So it befuddled me how four letters could begin to describe the love for a brother and the love for a job and my love for Cheryl. I felt the word love was deficient because I was supposed to use this word to describe just how much she meant to me? So we had our own word to describe how we felt. And that word was simply always. Because we felt that our love would never die and would last forever. That it would last . . . for always.

  When the phone rang, my heart stopped. I remember falling over the couch onto the floor to answer it.

  “Stang. What’s up, man?”

  “‘Sup?”

  “Damn, man, you sound like stewed shit. Listen. I got some good news for you. Coach handled that situation. He told Dr. Langston that he would discipline you, because he didn’t want you to miss any days from school. He said he would have you run stadium steps and your parents would have to pay to get Darius’s teeth fixed.”

  “Umm.”

  “Umm? That’s all? Umm? You know, they talked that punk out of calling the pigs. If you had a record, you could have forgotten about FAMU. You know how Coach Gaiter is.”

  “I’m happy, man. I just—”

  “Yo, get over it, brother,” David shouted. “Like Coach says, either you’re the hammer or the anvil. That’s life. Deal with it and move on!”

  The next day I was at the stadium
running the steps and trying to focus on my halfback physique. Coach Niblack sat in the distance watching me but it didn’t matter. I felt good running up one row and down the other. I never stopped my conditioning after the season, so I was in the best shape of my life. Up one row and down the other. I attacked the steps as if I were trying to punish them. I wanted to push my body to the limit, and Cheryl out of my mind. Up one row and down the other. Then I did something I rarely did. I pulled off my shirt and tossed it on the bleachers. I knew a few girls from the pep squad were watching and I could hear them making comments, but I never looked back. At this time I was getting more definition in my thighs and abdomen. My chest, which was always large, was now accompanied by a flat stomach and thick triceps. As I ran, sweaty and hot, I had no time to even get tired, I was too busy punishing the stadium and trying to forget Cheryl.

  And then I saw her, and almost tripped on a step. I regained my balance and I could hear a couple of the girls giggle. When they did, Cheryl looked around and noticed me running. We had not spoken the previous day, although someone had called the house two or three times and held the phone without saying anything. I’d called her house and done the same thing. She knew it was me. I knew it was her. But neither of us knew how to give in.

  As she watched, I continued running. I ran harder, as if the answer to what had happened to our “for always” were buried in the cinder-block steps. Up one row and down the other. Up one row and down the other. I pounded the steps as if they contained answers. I could feel my heart pump acid throughout my body and it didn’t matter because I saw her and I saw Darius. I saw them standing closer than close and I saw her tears. I saw her choosing to stay here with him instead of going to Tallahassee with me. And then I sprinted the rest of the way, skipping two or three steps as I ascended to the top. Sweat flung from my arms like a wet mop being shaken outside a back door. Breathing heavily, I finally stopped and gathered my composure, determined that I would stare her down. When I looked in her direction, she was gone.

  After school I got off the bus and ran home as fast as I could. Herbert, who came in a distant second, thought it was because I wanted to control the TV. Getting to pick which program to watch on television was the last thing on my mind. I listened to the radio and did my chores and my homework with one ear waiting for the phone to ring at all times.

  That night my parents went to church, and while I was tempted to call her, I didn’t. I picked up the receiver one time and held it so tight to my ear I felt my biceps cramp, then Herbert noticed and asked me what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” I lied as I returned the receiver to its cradle and decided that the next day in school I would resolve this one way or another. I didn’t need her and the more I thought about it I didn’t even want her. I had my pick of any number of females so if our for always was over . . . so be it. Then the phone rang.

  “Hello?” While the person didn’t say a word, I did hear background noise. It sounded like the faint sound of traffic, but I wasn’t sure. My head said “Hang up and make her call back,” but my heart would not allow me to play the game. “Hello?”

  “Henry . . . Henry, I love you. That’s all I can—wanted to say.”

  I said nothing as I held the phone, trying to form the words. Previously four letters could not contain our love. Now four thousand could not share the way I felt. My love for her was infinite, there was no doubt in my mind about that, but I didn’t want her to know just how much I needed her.

  There was silence until she said, “I know . . . well, I know what I did was wrong and I’m sorry. I just . . . Henry,” she said with tears in her voice, “I do love you. And I hope you can still love me too.”

  Say “I do,” say “I do,” I shouted in my thoughts. Say “I do!” Just say the damn words! But my stubborn tongue would not allow the sound to pass my lips.

  “You know, Henry, sometimes I wonder if we could have ever stayed together, because—”

  “What do you mean, if we could have stayed together? You quitting me?”

  Silence. “Let me finish,” she replied as what sounded like a semitrailer blew its horn in the background. “I wonder if one day I could be the right person for you. I mean, my life right now is crazy and I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix it. I don’t know . . . Actually, Henry, I can’t be the person you want me to be. I can’t live up to your—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Silence. Then I heard her exhale a deep breath. “Henry, remember when you wanted me to be a cheerleader and I didn’t try out?”

  “Yeah. At first you wanted to and then you changed your mind. Just like I guess you changed your mind about going to FAMU, like you changed your mind about us.”

  “I never changed my mind about being a cheerleader!” she exclaimed. Then she gathered herself and said, “And you never asked me one time why I didn’t try out!”

  “Because you didn’t want to!”

  “You never asked me, Henry, never once. Did you know after my mom was diagnosed with diabetes that not a day has passed that I have not had to cook and clean that house? That I could not be in student government because I had to come home and—”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me? All you had to say was ‘Henry I’m not trying out because—’”

  “Because you didn’t ask, damn it! You never seemed to care. That’s why, Henry. You never cared. We spent all our time talking about you, and getting married, and you and children, and you and the election, but we never spent any time talking about me. What’s my favorite color, Henry?” Silence broken only by more traffic in the background. “We never spent any time talking about us.”

  I was tongue-tied. The words hit me like a blunt object across my shoulders, because it was true. It just never occurred to me to ask her what was happening in her world. “So,” I whispered, “is that why you’re going with Darius now?”

  “Henry, this has nothing to do with him.” And then I heard a monotone female voice on the phone say, “You have two minutes.”

  “Henry,” Cheryl continued, “this is about us. You never asked me if I wanted to go to Florida A&M. You never asked me if I wanted to leave Miami and my parents.”

  “Is that what this is about? If you don’t want to go to FAMU, we could go to the Bethune Cookman or even the University of Miami. Wherever you want to go, I’ll go. Okay?” And then I heard her tears again. I could feel them sliding down her face as I said, “Cheryl, just tell me what can I do to make it right? I’m sorry, okay? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “If the truth be told, Henry, yes,” she said with a smile in her tone, “I would love to go to Florida A&M. I would love to go out for Rattlerette when I got there and help you run for student-government president too. It’s just not that simple. See—”

  “You have one minute left.”

  “See, I have an aunt . . . in Arkansas who is ninety-five and deathly ill. She has a few kids, but none of them can move in with her. So my momma and daddy want me to move up there to be with her for a while.”

  “But—”

  “Henry, I can’t talk much longer. I just wanted you to know that I love you and what you thought you saw, you didn’t see. I would never quit you and go with Darius. I would never do that to you. Henry, I’ve never met a boy like you before. And I mean that. But I’m not going to be the person you need in your life. I just can’t. And sometimes we just have to face what is. But I do love you. I really . . .”

  The previous smile I heard in her voice was no longer present and I could hear the tears flowing nonstop. I had to say it. If I was going to ever win her back, I had to tell her then. And then this loud truck started honking its horn in the background as I said, “Cheryl? Cheryl, can you hear me?”

  “Just barely, Henry.”

  “Cheryl,” I repeated, wanting to make sure she heard me say the words. And then the phone line went dead. There was no traffic. There was no truck horn and there was no Cheryl.

  The next time I
would see her would be in the spring of ’73, exactly two years and one day since she had seen me running up and down those stadium steps. When I saw her, I wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to love her even then, but I couldn’t.

  Washington, D.C.

  NBS News Studio

  8:00 P.M. EST

  “Welcome back. This is Franklin Dunlop reporting from the NBS Studios in Washington, D.C., on election night 2000. Tonight we have our reporters all across this country to bring you the latest news as America travels on a course to elect the first president of a new millennium. So far it is shaping up just as the experts have expected, with Senator Henry Davis jumping out to a sizable lead as all the work he has done on the East Coast starts to pay dividends. For more on the story we will turn to Butch Harper down in Miami, Florida, home of the Dolphins, Marlins, Heat, and possibly the first president of the new millennium. Butch, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Franklin, but just barely. The crowd here is exultant and has almost doubled in the last half hour as the results begin to come in. Although they expected the election to run its present course thus far, as one campaign official told me, it’s like a baby. You may already know its sex, but there’s nothing like seeing the birth.”

  “Tell me, is there any concern about the Lone Star State? There was a considerable amount of speculation regarding friction between Davis and his running mate, Dirk Gallagher. Can you confirm that story?”

  “There has been friction, Franklin. There is no question about that. Many of us in the traveling press corps detected it as far back as two weeks ago before the last debate when Senator Davis attempted to distance himself from remarks made by the outspoken Texas governor. They have tried to paint the best face on it. I spoke to the press secretary for Senator Davis, Edward Long, about five minutes before going on the air, who said, and I quote, ‘When America elected its first Catholic president and a Texan, they, too, had friction, but the country was never in better hands.’”

  “Well, thank you, Butch Harper, for the inside scoop. Now we will look at the tote board thus far.