Girl in the Song

by Chrissy Cymbala Toledo

  Even after the song ended, its melody and message followed me, clung to me. I began taking inventory of every part of myself, feeling more and more uncertain about who the girl was under the makeup and fancy clothes. I was so unsure whether or not I could be what I wanted more than anything. Even more than wanting to be the beautiful image in the magazine—I wanted to be the girl in the song.

  Since Jaye had made only one comment about me and it was about how I dressed, I figured that appealing to his sense of fashion was my best chance of keeping his attention for now. I pulled my closet door open to assess the situation. Scanning from left to right, I looked over my wardrobe. It was quite incredible, thanks to my parents. It was really the only thing I ever asked for on a continual basis. My appearance had been my focus since I was thirteen. Hanging in my closet were high-collared pastel shirts hanging stiffly next to denim jackets and jewel-toned blazers. Perfectly pleated and creased pants with coordinating belts hung next to an array of beautiful dresses.

  On the floor were my most prized possessions: my shoes. I bent down, admiring my favorite pair: pearly white tie-up boots with lace mesh-patterned cutouts on the inside and outside. I examined the two rows of shoes, neatly lined up. The back row, my boots: shiny black patent-leather boots with a diagonal side zipper, camel-colored knee-high leather boots with a cinched ankle, taupe slouchy boots that folded over, and black suede boots with zigzag patterns on the sides. The front line had pumps, brightly colored flats, and sandals. There were more than twenty pairs of shoes that I carefully arranged by color, shoe type, and season.

  I stood there staring blankly, hanging on to the closet door. Although I had put tons of energy into this wardrobe, as I looked it over now, I felt so unsatisfied. I had an abundance of beautiful clothing and shoes, but they needed to be better. I need some new clothes before I see him again, I thought. My stomach fluttered like butterflies, imagining how he would think I looked. I can’t ask Dad or Mom for money again—they just bought me some really nice things last weekend. They’ll think I’m crazy. . . . But I need to go to the store.

  I came upstairs to the kitchen, walking into a familiar scene. Mom was standing in front of the stove in her cozy robe and slippers, making us breakfast. “What can I make you, Chrissy? Would you like some cornmeal or pancakes?” she offered sweetly.

  “Cornmeal, thanks,” I replied distractedly. I walked over to the cupboard to grab a juice glass and looked out the window. Our home in Little Neck, Queens, was quite different from our previous home in Brooklyn. Living at the top of the hill gave us a great view of autumn’s beauty. On days like this, I sometimes felt as though we were tucked away in an Old World European village hidden from the busyness of New York City, which was only at the bottom of the hill. The aromas of the season slipped in through the kitchen window: damp leaves on the ground, crushed pinecones, and the sweet smell of logs burning.

  I could tell by looking at her that my mom was especially tired today. “How was choir practice last night, Mom?” I asked, pretending to be interested.

  She gave me a weary smile. “Oh . . . what a night. We had ten people visiting from Norway who love our albums and came to the States especially to see how we do what we do. But Chris, it was a rough practice. Of all nights, the choir was not very focused. I don’t know if it was because it was a long workweek or what, but they weren’t really tuned in to me, or the song I was teaching them. I could do nothing to keep their attention. They kept forgetting their parts, and were chatty.

  “Ugh! I thought to myself, If there was any night I wish we didn’t have visitors, it’s tonight. They just had to be thinking, Does she even know what she’s doing? I had no other recourse but to stop everything. So I finally said, ‘Choir, we are going to pray right now.’ We all got quiet and began to wait before God. And Chris, all I can say is that it felt like His presence rushed into the room. The choir started to worship God and our practice turned upside down. It was incredible! As exhausted as I was when we dismissed, I thought that if our visitors only came to experience those last twenty minutes, it was worth their trip.”

  I began moving the cornmeal around the bowl with my spoon. “Wow, Mom. That’s . . . that’s great. So, what are you going to do today?” I asked.

  She turned to me and her eyes lit up. “Nothing really. Why? Do you want to do something?”

  I paused, sensing her desire to just simply be with me. To be close.

  A part of me wanted nothing more than that—to spend the whole day with my mom—but I felt that my agenda was undoubtedly more important. “Sorry, Mom. I already have plans.”

  She quickly covered her disappointment, “Oh . . . okay. Well, I’m going upstairs to shower,” she said cheerlessly. She set the dish towel down and slowly walked out of the room, perhaps hoping that I would change my mind. I sat there looking at my bowl, thinking about what was next.

  Walking over to the sink, I put my dish in and waited. I stood there nervously, listening for the shower to go on. My heart began to race and a gloom came over me. Voices started clamoring in my head from all directions. Growing up, I had done a few “naughty” things but had never betrayed my parents in heart and spirit. Until now, my life had been squeaky clean, compared to even many of my church friends. I had never had a drink in my life, I had never smoked a cigarette, and had never held a guy’s hand, let alone kissed a guy.

  First of all, I knew my life was dedicated to God. I always had a sense that God’s hand was on me. Second, the thing that kept me from sin was my fear of it—fear because of the consequences I watched it always produce. But now, suddenly, my mission to get Jaye to be attracted to me was dousing my fear of sin—really, for the first time in my life.

  I found my mother’s purse on the floor next to a chair and picked it up. I paused momentarily, as different Bible verses I’d stored away inside rose up in protest to what I was determined to do. But I need to go to the store. My mission took precedence once again.

  I dropped the purse for a second and ran over to the window to make sure Dad wasn’t home. There was no sign of his car. I grabbed the purse again, quickly rummaging through it to find my mom’s wallet. I slipped out her credit card and then noticed some cash sticking out of the side. I took forty dollars and put the cash and the credit card into my back pocket. Mom will never notice that anything is gone. I called upstairs. “I’m going to take the white car, okay Mom? I just need to go get something quick.”

  “What, Chris? I can’t hear you.”

  I was already out the door. Racing to the department store, I knew I had a short amount of time to get the credit card back without being discovered.

  On the road, I began to draw images in my mind of how I should look and what I had to buy to make it happen. Visions of me walking into the room and Jaye telling me how amazing I looked started to make me smile inside. I drove a few miles to Macy’s and began scouring the top name-brand sections of the store to find the best outfits. Piling a stack of clothing in the fitting room and soon adding a second stack, I began to try on outfit after outfit until I achieved the look I desired. I laid three supermodern ensembles on the counter, pulled out the credit card, and signed Carol Cymbala, replicating Mom’s beautiful signature.

  Thankfully, when I got home, Mom was in her room resting, which gave me a chance to sneak in my purchases. As I put the credit card back in her wallet, a sudden pang of guilt began to come over me, but as quickly as it came, I brushed it off. Overnight, I felt myself starting to ignore things that I had grown to accept as the truth, and somehow just dismiss every guilty feeling. It seemed like the tormenting voices and now Jaye were snuffing out the guilt, as if it were a candle being blown out.

  THE SKY WAS A SWIRL OF REDS, blues, and purples, with white wispy clouds creating a backdrop for the sea of cars on the Long Island Expressway. It was jam packed, which was typical for any highway leading into Manhattan on a late Saturday afternoon. As I followed the sign for the Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan’s striking skyline
was in full view. In my parents’ white Mitsubishi, I inched closer to what had been my favorite place to hang out since I was old enough to take the subway by myself.

  In the near distance to my left stood the Empire State Building—the image of regal elegance—and straight ahead, my favorite: the Chrysler Building. It was beautiful how the light of the sun caught the upper levels of the mirrored Chrysler Building, making it sparkle like a diamond. Farther away but close enough to still see, I saw the Twin Towers marking Lower Manhattan’s skyline.

  The traffic was crawling, so I pulled down the visor and added some more lipstick while I still had time. It was a shade called “Delicate Orchid” by Lancôme, matching the color of my midriff top, which hung slightly off the shoulder and was a soft knit with shimmery thin stripes across the front. My pants were baggy but in a flowy gray material with a high waistband, skimming my top and flattering my thin waistline.

  Traffic came to a halt as I started approaching the incredibly long line for the tollbooths. I glanced in the rearview mirror and thought my hair could probably use a bit more reinforcement. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the bottle of hair spray I always carried and began to pump short squirts on my carefully styled hair. Not realizing I had reached the tollbooth, I was thrown off guard when the attendant practically yelled at me, “Miss! You should really pay attention to whatchya doin’!” I jumped in my seat and dropped the bottle in my hand.

  “You know, you can’t be in a daze, hon, when you’re driving in the city!” She waited with one hand on her hip and the other stretched out toward me for the change.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” My face flushed with embarrassment as I quickly grabbed the coins to hand her. Driving off, I was still preoccupied—I would be meeting Jaye in less than an hour. I knew it was a long shot, but I had decided to call him when I got home from Macy’s, asking if he had plans for the rest of the day. When he told me he was free, I quickly laid out a potential plan.

  “Why don’t I meet you in the Village, on the corner of West Eighth and Broadway? We could hang out for a while and maybe have dinner together?” He agreed right away, and my heart started to beat a bit harder. This was going really well, almost too well.

  I purposely didn’t want to pick him up in the car this time. If I parked and met him somewhere outside, he would immediately see how I looked. I felt really good about what I was wearing and figured that I’d be able to tell right away what he thought. Making my way over to Broadway and then heading south, I repeatedly touched up my makeup at nearly every traffic light. To my left and right, the sidewalks were full of people, evidently enjoying their well-deserved weekend. By now the sun was beginning to set, casting a rosy hue on people’s faces that made everyone seem like they were glowing. I cracked my window and breathed in the delicious aroma of roasted candied nuts being sold on almost every street corner, one of my favorite signs of fall in New York City.

  I managed to find a great parking spot right on West Eighth Street, a few cars down from our meeting place. Stepping out of the car, I checked my pants for any wrinkles and admired my outfit again. As I walked up the block, a guy who was making a delivery said something very flirtatious to me. I purposely didn’t acknowledge him, even though I probably should have felt disrespected or demeaned by what he said. I straightened my shoulders but I didn’t feel angry. Instead I felt the opposite; his comment bolstered my confidence, confirming that I looked good and had a chance of getting Jaye’s attention today.

  I stood at the corner of Broadway and West Eighth in Greenwich Village, looking for Jaye to emerge from the nearby subway station. There was a slight breeze, almost enough to muss my hair, but I wasn’t too worried since my hair spray was reliable. He was about ten minutes late now, making me a bit anxious whether or not he was going to show up.

  I leaned my shoulder against the building, watching some punk rockers walk by with their super-high mohawks, dyed a shocking fluorescent green. I was looking in the opposite direction when Jaye suddenly tapped me on the shoulder, startling me.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Hi.” Although I tried not to show it, I was upset by the fact that I didn’t see him coming. I had hoped to read his expression as he walked toward me, positioning myself in such a way to be the display I thought he might like. But instead of feeling confident, beautiful, and in control, a wave of nerves washed over me. He smiled at me and said, “It’s nice to see you.”

  “You too,” I said, as I gave him a quick side hug.

  Jaye didn’t compliment me right away as I had hoped, but as we made small talk, I could feel him paying attention to me in a different way than the other night. His mannerisms said he was “into” me. I began to feel somewhat better about the way things were going.

  We walked down West Eighth, peeking into the boutiques and shoe stores that lined the street. The more we walked, the more I felt a special connection taking place. While I was focusing on impressing him with my opinions about fashion, I sensed him focusing on me. Although he didn’t say it, his vibe made me feel like this day was all about me. I started to relax. We have so much in common. Everything Jaye liked, I liked, and vice versa.

  After walking for more than an hour, we stopped at Washington Square Park and sat on a bench to talk. We didn’t face each other, though, because I was still too self-conscious. He didn’t push me to look at him; instead, he made me laugh. He made me laugh so hard that I couldn’t help but come out of myself and be less guarded. Our eyes kept meeting and although I glanced away quickly, he didn’t, and it made me swell with excitement such as I had never really known before. I wish this day could last forever. Every once in a while, though, I would get a pang of insecurity because I knew I was with a man, a man who was looking for magic.

  We went to dinner, and this time was much better than the last time. We talked and laughed and he looked at me; it felt absolutely perfect. At the end of the meal, he pulled out his American Express card to pay, and while he looked over the bill, I found myself staring at him. I can’t believe I am on a date with Jaye. I love how good he makes me feel.

  When we started walking to the train station, Jaye said he had some things to take care of but didn’t mention what they were. It just made for more mystery and more desperate curiosity on my part. I saw the subway entrance a block away, the wrought iron poles framing the staircase leading underground. I knew Jaye would soon disappear, and I wanted to make sure that the night ended right, but I didn’t know what to do. I began to wish I could have gotten advice about what to do in this situation, but nobody knew about my rendezvous. My mind began to race: How should I say good-bye to him?

  “Is everything okay?” Jaye asked, realizing that, all of a sudden, I wasn’t talking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I replied quickly. “I was just thinking about how I was getting home. Maybe I could go through Brooklyn on my way to Queens and drop you off?”

  As soon as the question came out of my mouth, I felt stupid and blushed.

  “Yeah, that would be great but I have to stop by and get some camera equipment from a friend. I’ll look for you tomorrow at church, okay?”

  I nodded as he looked me in the eyes and said, “I’ll see you then.” He leaned over and gently kissed me on the cheek, catching the corner of my mouth, and then he disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell.

  A rush of emotions flooded me as I walked back to the car. I wanted to smile but I also wanted to cry. I longed for this man whom I really didn’t know and became anxious, not knowing when we would be alone again. I had found him, and even though I was only sixteen, I just hoped that he would say the same—that he had finally found me. Driving up the brightly lit streets of Manhattan, I kept replaying our date as if I had videotaped every second and was rewinding it.

  As I crossed into Queens, my thoughts shifted. How am I going to convince Dad that Jaye is not only a great guy but great for me? I began to compose a list of reasons why he was so special and so
worthy. For one, Jaye was really gifted. My parents recognized the gifts in me and valued them, so surely they would have to see his incredible potential. Second, although Jaye wasn’t necessarily searching for God as his friend Al was, the fact that he was coming to the Brooklyn Tabernacle proved that he was on a good track—didn’t it? Three . . . I stopped.

  Right now, none of those things really mattered. If Dad knew that I was out alone with a twenty-one-year-old man tonight, someone who kissed me good-night, it wouldn’t be pretty. Obviously, it was in my best interest to keep this relationship under wraps. That won’t be too difficult. I was used to keeping things to myself.

  The next morning everything was Sunday as usual. I arrived at church smartly dressed, thriving on the admiring looks I was receiving. But today, I wanted nothing more than to see Jaye. I saw him step out of the balcony stairwell and my heart quickened. Making my way through the crowd that was waiting for the next service to begin, I approached him, and he smiled when he saw me.

  “Did the service just end?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said as I turned around and followed him toward the exit. People were greeting me along the way, and I managed to greet them politely in return, while staying close to Jaye. “Do you want to go get something to eat?” I whispered in his ear. “We can go to Brooklyn Heights.”

  He looked confused for a second. “Sure. But didn’t you just get here?” he whispered back. “Don’t you have to go into the service?”

  “Don’t worry. Let’s just go.”

  We made our way outside, in front of the building. “I can drive,” I told Jaye, “but it would probably be better if I meet you around the corner and pick you up there. Is that okay?”