“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Karen said, but she already felt disappointed, crushed, as if the ceiling had collapsed.
“So, how does this work?”
Karen stopped scanning for Bobby and started scanning for someone else. “First I have to sign up with...oh, there he is.”
Purple Scarf was standing near the stage, talking with a group of people that didn’t seem interested in what he was saying. Tonight there was no scarf, but she still found it impossible to think of him as anything other than “Purple Scarf.”
Karen and Jacoby made their way to the front. She felt as if everyone was staring at her as she walked up the center aisle, but she knew that was mostly her imagination. Yet knowing that didn’t decrease her sense of being scrutinized.
When they reached Purple Scarf, they stood behind him, waiting for him to stop talking. The group he was chatting with had largely turned away, engaging in their own conversations. Still, Purple Scarf rambled on.
After a moment, Jacoby tapped Karen on the shoulder and whispered, “He’s standing on my foot.”
Karen glanced down, and indeed at some point Purple Scarf had taken a step back and now the heel of his shoe was on top of the toes of Jacoby’s. How could the guy not notice he was standing on someone’s foot?
“Excuse me,” Karen said, and when Purple Scarf did not turn or acknowledge her, she spoke louder. “Excuse me, but you’re standing on my friend’s foot.”
Purple Scarf stared at her for a few seconds then, without moving, glanced down as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Oh,” he said, lifting his foot and turning back to his disinterested crowd, a few of whom were wandering away. No apology or anything.
“Excuse me,” Karen said one more time. “I want to sign up for the Open Mic Poetry Night.”
“Ah, another fellow poet,” he said, holding up a clipboard with a pen stuck to its clip. “I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”
Karen nodded and scribbled her name on the sign-up sheet; there were seven other names above hers.
“Finally decided to stop standing on the sidelines and join the game, huh?”
“Something like that,” Karen said, handing the clipboard back.
“Well, let me assure you that you shouldn’t feel bad if you bomb. Most first-timers do.”
Karen recoiled as if slapped. She was anxious enough as it was; she certainly didn’t need Purple Scarf predicting failure before she even got up on stage.
“She’s not going to bomb,” Jacoby said, taking Karen’s hand and leading her away from the stage. “Her poetry is amazing.”
“You’ve never read any of my poetry,” Karen said quietly as they found a seat near the center of the theater.
“No, but you’ve got a poet’s soul, that much is obvious.”
“Thanks,” Karen said, but she was already scanning the crowd again, craning her neck to look back toward the hallway that led from the coffee shop.
“Still no sign of Bobby?”
Karen turned to face forward again. “No, but something may have come up, or maybe his mother wouldn’t let him come.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s no big deal.”
But it felt like a big deal. Bobby had promised her he’d be here, promised she wouldn’t be alone if she agreed to get up and read one of her poems. How could he bail on her?
Of course she wasn’t alone, Jacoby was here with her. But Bobby didn’t know that—he didn’t even know Jacoby was coming.
The crowd quieted as Purple Scarf took the stage and welcomed everyone. Karen actually heard a few groans when he announced that he was going to open with one of his own works. It was titled “Your Face Would Be Good for Target Practice.”
What she heard of the poem was putrid, but her mind wasn’t really focused on the words being spoken on stage. She kept glancing back at the hall, wondering where Bobby was.
* * *
When she’d signed up, seven had seemed like a lot of people ahead of her, but despite the fact that some of the poems read were quite long, they might as well have all been reading haikus because it felt like no time passed before it was Karen’s turn. When Purple Scarf said her name, she scanned the crowd a final time, then turned to Jacoby and whispered, “Let’s just get out of here.”
“What are you talking about? You’re up, now’s your chance to show everybody what you can do.”
“Really, I don’t think I can do it. My poem is stupid. Everyone’s going to laugh.”
“No,” Jacoby said firmly, and looking in his eyes she saw him more focused and present than she’d ever seen him. “You’re going to do great. Now get up on that stage.”
Then he reached over and squeezed her hand, and Karen felt herself flooded with...well, maybe not confidence but at least strength. Taking a deep breath she stood and started down the aisle toward the stage. The small theater didn’t have spotlights or anything, but she felt spotlighted.
Purple Scarf stepped off the stage without a word of encouragement as she took her place behind the microphone. She looked at the crowd, now dwindled to about ten, but that still meant twenty eyes trained on her, drilling into her like laser beams. She again felt the overwhelming urge to bolt, but then she spotted him. Not seated, but standing at the back of the theater. Bobby, here after all.
He seemed to notice her noticing him, because he smiled wide and gave her two thumbs up. The floundering strength that she’d gotten from Jacoby intensified and spread like a blossoming flower at the sight of Bobby and his supportive smile.
“Hi, my name’s Karen,” she said into the microphone. There was a bit of feedback, and then she continued, “I’m reading a poem called ‘Nothing More than People.’”
She closed her eyes briefly, took several deep breaths, then looked out into the crowd, caught first Bobby’s eye, then Jacoby’s, and began to read, reminding herself to speak slowly and enunciate:
We live in a society
That offers no variety;
It leaves no room for change.
So if you don’t conform
To what is called “the norm”
You’re looked upon as strange.
People tend to keep a distance
From anyone who’s different.
We pass judgement on those we’ve never met.
But our diversity is our source
Of strength and power of course,
But at times it seems we forget.
For when it comes the time
To have an open mind,
Instead we close our hearts.
It really is a shame,
But everyone’s to blame;
We all have played a part.
But I pray the time is near
When prejudice and fear
Will vanish into the past.
Then the deviant and the poor,
Who’ve been bound down before,
Can say, “We’re free at last!”
I am dreaming of a land
Where every woman and man
Is treated fair and equal.
No matter what our race,
Or what our sexual taste,
We’ll all be nothing more than people.
When she was done, Karen looked up from the paper and stared out over the crowd. She winced a little, half-expecting people to start pelting her with rotten fruit like she’d seen in old movies. For what seemed an eternity but in reality was little more than ten seconds, there was just silence. Then the applause began.
Bobby and Jacoby started it, that she saw clearly, but the rest of the audience followed. The crowd being so sparse, the applause couldn’t exactly be categorized as thunderous, but it was loud and didn’t seem perfunctory. Jacoby put his pinkies in his mouth and wolf whistled.
With a relieved smile, Karen mumbled a thank-you into the microphone before hurrying off stage. Jacoby met her in the aisle and gave her a tight hug, saying, “Told you you’d be great” in her ear, hi
s breath tickling her neck. She was thrumming with energy that coursed through her body like an electrical current.
“Well, that was certainly cute,” Purple Scarf said, taking the stage again. “That was our last participant of the night...unless anyone else wants to give it a shot.”
People were already gathering their things and heading into the aisle. Several people stopped to congratulate Karen and tell her how much they enjoyed her poem. A goth lady who looked much too old to still be goth told her, “Right on, you tell it, sister.” Karen thanked everyone who complimented her, but she was searching for Bobby. She no longer saw him, and she could only assume he ducked out sometime after she finished her poem, but she couldn’t figure out why.
She and Jacoby started following everyone out of the theater, but Purple Scarf came up behind them and said, “Can I have a second, Kathy?”
Turning back with a tight smile, she said, “Karen.”
“Of course. I just wanted to say that you made a valiant first effort, but....”
“But what?”
“As someone who has been published in a few very prestigious poetry publications, I just wanted to give you a little advice. Rhyming poems are from the Dark Ages. Free verse is where it’s at these days. Everything else sounds like Dr. Seuss.”
Karen shrugged. “I like poems that rhyme.”
“That’s all well and good, but if you want your work taken seriously, you should listen to me.”
Before Karen could formulate a response to this, Jacoby spoke up. “I think the most important thing about a poem is its emotion, what it makes you feel. The form is rather inconsequential next to that.”
Purple Scarf smirked. “Form is everything.”
“The people seemed to like it,” Karen said rather timidly. She wasn’t a fan of confrontation, even when she knew she was being insulted.
“Well, I don’t concern myself with what the people like. People like Dancing with the Stars.”
“So you don’t care about your work being popular?” Jacoby asked.
“Not at all.”
“I’m so glad, because I was worried you’d be upset that no one liked your poem.”
This elicited a bark of a laugh from Karen, and Purple Scarf looked stunned, but Jacoby smiled bright as ever, and Karen mused that the young man truly had not meant what he said as an insult but out of honest concern. And the purity of the remark, Karen suspected, made it sting all the more.
“Let’s go,” she muttered, taking Jacoby’s hand and dragging him into the café, then out the door.
“I can’t believe you said that,” she said as they emerged onto the street.
“Said what?”
She stared at him for a moment then patted him on the cheek. “Don’t ever change, Jacoby.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Karen turned her attention to the sidewalk, scanning the passersby.
“Still no sign of Bobby?”
“He was in the theater when I read my poem; I saw him in the back. I’m not sure where he got to after. I don’t know why he wouldn’t hang around.”
Jacoby scanned the street, then he pointed up the block. “Is that him?”
She followed his finger and saw Bobby standing a few feet away, inside the alcove for a Thai restaurant. Without a word, she headed that way, Jacoby tagging along behind her.
“Hi, Karen,” Bobby said as she approached, ducking his head like a child who has done something wrong and is expecting punishment.
“What’s going on, Bobby? I didn’t see any sign of you in the theater until I got up to read my poem.”
“You know I’m not a fan of crowds. I decided to hang back. But I made sure you saw me when it was time for you to perform.”
“What about after? Why did you bail?”
He glanced over at Jacoby, his lips twisted down at the corners. “Well, you weren’t alone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t even introduced you two. Bobby, this is Jacoby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jacoby said, and though his voice was pleasant enough, Karen noted that he did not offer his hand.
Bobby eyed the other young man almost suspiciously. “You...you’re friends with Karen?”
“We met on campus the other day. She’s a terrific person.”
“Yes, I know.”
It was strange for Karen to be standing here, listening to two young men talking about her as if she weren’t present. Yet in a strange way she also found it oddly exhilarating. She briefly considered letting it go on for a while longer but decided against it.
“I am glad you came, Bobby,” she said. “It was great having two friends out in the audience. A comfort, really.”
“You looked wonderful up there, and I loved your poem.”
“Thanks. I’m glad I caught up with you.”
“I was waiting on you, actually. I thought I’d walk you back to your car.”
“That would be nice.” She was thinking about her last trip to Coffee Underground, and the coven members that had accosted her in almost this exact spot. It would be nice to have some company if they tried anything like that again. But that wasn’t the only reason.
“We can both walk her,” Jacoby said, and Karen started, having forgotten for a second that he was there.
“That’s okay, Jacoby. If you have somewhere else you need to be, I’ll understand.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
She looked at Jacoby for a moment, then at Bobby, before turning her gaze back to Jacoby. If Brittany had been right, and tonight was just about Karen reaching a decision....
Well, she was grateful that Jacoby had come and she appreciated his support, but the nearly paralyzing disappointment she’d felt when she’d thought Bobby wasn’t going to show and then the blissful relief when she’d spotted him in the theater...that told her all she needed to know.
“I kind of have something private to discuss with Bobby,” she said, not wanting to hurt Jacoby’s feelings. She still liked him a lot and wanted to remain friends if possible. “Let’s meet soon for a tea.”
Jacoby didn’t respond right away, just stared at her with eyes wide and wet. His lower lip seemed to tremble, and she felt like a total shit. Finally he forced a semi-convincing smile and said, “I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”
“Jacoby, listen, I—”
“It was really fun, and I’ll catch you soon. I want you to be very careful.” He said this last to Karen, but was looking directly at Bobby. Then he bolted down the street in the other direction.
Karen stared until she lost sight of him, then behind her she heard Bobby say, “Shall we go?”
The two started off toward Springwood Cemetery, near which Karen had parked. It was usually easier to find a spot around the cemetery as opposed to the heart of downtown; it was a couple blocks further, but she certainly didn’t mind that.
They walked in silence at first. Karen wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he kept his hands in his pockets. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was an intentional strategy, and her mind kept turning to his odd comments about “not being like other guys.” Yet she didn’t think she’d imagined that Bobby and Jacoby had been vying for her, and she also thought it was clear that she’d made a choice. So why was he now being Mr. Hands-in-His-Pockets.
“So this Jacoby character...,” he said suddenly.
“He’s just a friend.”
“Have you guys ever talked about me?”
Karen paused before answering. She wondered if she should mention that Jacoby knew Bobby’s mother. Considering that the young man’s opinion of her was less than flattering, she figured it might be a good idea not to bring it up.
“Well, I did tell him about you.”
“What did you say?”
“Just that you were a good friend of mine that I valued a great deal.”
Bobby nodded and walked with his head down. His expression was forlorn, and it looked to Karen as if
he were near tears.
“Jacoby and I are just friends,” she said. “Nothing more.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and when he did speak it was to change the subject. “I liked your poem.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I’d have been able to read it if you hadn’t been out there.”
They were approaching the entrance to Springwood and Bobby suddenly stopped, staring into the darkness beyond the pillars. “Have you ever been in there?”
“The cemetery? I’ve walked through a few times.”
“I love graveyards. I find them rather...peaceful. Guess that sounds pretty morbid, huh?”
“Not at all. I get it.”
Bobby looked at her, their eyes locking, and Karen felt a not-unpleasant fluttering in her stomach and a tingling in her skin like she’d felt after reading her poem to an approving audience. This is it, she thought. He’s going to lean in and kiss me.
Only he didn’t. Instead he motioned with his head toward the cemetery and said, “Want to go exploring?”
“You mean now?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re supposed to be in there after dark.”
“You’re not going to let that stop you, are you?”
“Seriously, there are no lights in there. We wouldn’t be able to see our hands in front of our faces.”
“Come on, don’t you want a little adventure,” he said with a half smile, then turned and walked into the cemetery.
Karen remained rooted on the sidewalk, looking in after him. After only a few steps, he was swallowed by shadows. She glanced around, but there was no one nearby. What should she do? She knew it was stupid to follow a man into a dark, abandoned place...but this was Bobby. Shy, sweet-natured Bobby.
But how well did she really know him? She remembered Jacoby suggesting that Bobby might be dangerous. Why would he entice her into a graveyard at night unless he wanted to do something there away from prying eyes?
The question was, did Karen want the same thing? The idea of feeling Bobby’s arms around her and his lips pressed against hers sent a thrill through her body. She wasn’t planning to wait until her wedding night to lose her virginity, and she would be lying if she didn’t admit she’d had erotic thoughts about Bobby....
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