Every Rose

by Halat, Lynetta

  “You’re welcome. You deserve a break. Things are about to get tough. Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess. One more semester then law school. I think that’s what I need to gear up for. I’m not really feeling it, though.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I can hear the disapproval in her voice.

  “I don’t know. I just…seven years of school straight through.” I hesitate, wondering what exactly my problem with school is. “It seems superfluous at this point…”

  “What are the other kids feeling? The same? Or excited?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Are you seeing someone?” She asks pointedly. “Is that where this is coming from? You don’t have the luxury of burnout, ya know?”

  Really?!?!…Have I ever not persevered? Does she not know me at all? “Mom, I’m just tired is all. And, no, I haven’t met anyone new.” Will she catch my little qualifier? I smile a secret smile.

  “Well, I just don’t want to you get caught up in something that will keep you from your studies. You’ve worked too hard to quit now or get distracted.”

  Umm…OK. “Who said anything about quitting?” I can’t keep the angry tone from entering my voice. “And, I’m not distracted.” Just because everyone you’ve ever known including yourself has quit doesn’t mean that I will.

  “You know Jerome is looking at welding school, huh?” Right on cue. Change of subject. Extremely effective in avoiding any situation that rings of emotion.

  “No, I had no idea. That’s good.” Where’s she going with this? Just catching me up or what? “Oh, hey. I maintained my four-point-oh this semester,” I say, hoping to cheer her up.

  “Good job. Anyway, your brother could use your support. This is a big deal.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course…”

  “What are your plans for the break?”

  “I don’t know yet. I was thinking about looking for part time work. I wanted to see if Ms. Jeanine needed extra help at Santa’s Sleigh this year. I have absolutely no money.”

  “You should just borrow a little from Joe to get you by. He would be happy to do that for you. You really need to relax before your final semester.”

  I consider this for a moment. It would be better to owe Joe a little money if it will give me more time to spend with Michael. If he will have me, I mentally amend. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll ask him in a bit. Is he in a good mood this morning?”

  “Pretty much. Better ask early though,” she giggles nervously.

  ……………………………………………………….

  My stepdad is in a good mood. I get my advance with a promise to pay him back as soon as I clear my first paycheck back in Oxford. I head to town to pick up some much needed beauty supplies and something better to wear. It’s been so long since I’ve shopped that I feel awkward. I contemplate seeing him after all these years. Should I dress up? Sexy or demure? I don’t have a clue. I want to make a good impression, though. I wander around the store not really wanting to buy anything but knowing that I need to. My wardrobe consists of jeans and hoodies and Converses, and they just won’t do.

  I finally decide on something moderate as is where I always seem to land. As I’m approaching the register, I spot a familiar face. One I haven’t seen in about ten years. Oh, shit. There is no way I can speak to her. Talk about awkward. My most prominent memory of her invades my previously mundane shopping thoughts. I laugh aloud. I swivel my head around as she does. I’m suddenly very interested in People’s latest celebrity updates. I have to get to my journal.

  I’ve never run so fast in my life. As soon as the bus came to a stop, I fled. I don’t know how serious the girls’ gang is, but I’m not taking any chances. I dodge unsuspecting students as I make my way to my second bus. Why, oh why, are they so pissed at me?! It’s not like I’ve encouraged the attention from the boys at my new school. Well, maybe a little. I’ve never quite had that kind of attention before, so it felt pretty good. I may have flirted back a little. That’s not exactly a crime that I deserve to get beaten and bloodied for, I think. I’m lost in this line of thought as I plow into the back of a skinny leather clad boy. I land square on my butt and am jolted back to the urgent matter at hand—saving my ass. He turns around and scoops me up off the ground in one quick movement. Oh!

  “Hey, what’s your hurry?” he asks in a heavy, almost familiar voice.

  I brush my hair off my face and look up at him. So, this is THE Michael Bang, I think. I open my mouth to speak. All that I’m able to utter is, “Uh…I…They” It wasn’t exactly rhetorical fireworks.

  He saves me from further embarrassing myself. “I was plotting about how to go about having a face-to-face conversation with you today but couldn’t quite figure out how to do it,” he laughs. “I guess you’ve saved me the trouble. How fortuitous.” A smile plays at his impossibly full lips. Why am I staring at his lips? I mentally shake myself a little.

  “Some girls are trying to kill me,” I blurt out. “They’re chasing me from the junior high bus.” I’m immediately embarrassed all over again. Why did I just say that to him?

  His look suddenly turns serious. “Go get on the bus, Lorraina. Don’t even look back.” With that, he thrusts me forward into the throng of students waiting to load. I decide to skip ahead, eliciting all kinds of comments as I stumble around the other students.

  I make it on the bus and head to the back. I make a, very uncharacteristically, gutsy move and decide I’m going to sit in his usual seat so that I can talk to him when he makes it back. After what seems like forever, I see him board the bus. He looks furious. Note to self—never piss Michael off.

  He slides down in the seat beside me. All his anger seems to slide gently from him as he does. What a transformation. He casts me a glaring white crooked smile from his copper face. He really is quite cute. “Well, that was interesting,” he grumbles.

  “What?”

  “It seems they wanted to kick your butt for flirting with Cory Austin.”

  “If speaking is flirting, then, I guess I’m guilty,” I bristle. I don’t like the way he sneered Cory’s name at me. What’s he got against him? He’s a nice enough guy.

  “Well, they won’t be messing with you again.”

  “What did you say to them?”

  “Let’s just say that I told their ‘fearless leader’ if she and her flunkies even so much as look in your general direction or allow your name to cross their minds or lips, they will be sorry.”

  “Oh, and why should they listen to you?” I scoff. This is a good thing. What do I care if he’s too cocky?

  “I’m authoritative,” he decrees as if that explains it all.

  I let it go. He asks me how things are going for me at the junior high other than my lack of female admirers and what teachers I have. Before I know it, I’m divulging my entire schedule to him, whom I eat with, what lunch I have, what activities I participate in. I tell him I don’t really have any real friends yet. I’m really a social person, so I hate this fact. I realize that he has told me nothing of himself.

  I ask him about his schedule at the ninth grade. He mutters something about it not being of consequence and tells me that his favorite class is English. I giggle. Mine too, I tell him.

  “What’s your favorite book?” I ask.

  “The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet,” he responds with a sigh.

  “Well, you don’t seem too happy about that.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” he says dryly.

  I laugh. “Yeah, I get that; but you obviously love it. You shouldn’t sound so agitated.”

  “It’s not that,” he releases a sigh. “It’s just overwhelming, bittersweet. I mean to feel that kind of passion and fight for love like that. Going against everything you’ve ever known, ever loved…”

  I’m lost in thought as I imagine that kind of love. I realize he’s stopped talking and I blink fast, trying to focus on something semi-intelligent to say. “I haven’t r
ead it yet, but I know the premise. I get what you’re saying.”

  “What’s your favorite?” He perks back up. He slides one of my notebooks off of my lap and begins to doodle. I wonder for a second why he doesn’t carry any books or notebooks.

  I try to focus on the question at hand. “Um…hard to say. I guess Black Beauty or Julie of the Wolves or Charlotte’s Web—” His laughter interrupts me. It pulls my gaze from his drawing on my notebook. I shoot him a frown. “I find it hard to decide favorites.” I shrug. I don’t think a boy has ever touched my belongings before. I’m mesmerized by his familiarity.

  “All good, solid choices,” he declares. “They all have bittersweet endings as well.”

  “Yeah, I guess they do,” I muse.

  “Oh, here’s my stop,” he says with what seems like regret. I glance up. Sure enough. That was certainly the fastest bus ride ever. Usually, it feels like I’ll never get home. I look back at his half frown. I feel myself regretting the end of our conversation as well. He’s interesting, smart, unexpected.

  “Can I call you tonight?” I hear myself ask. I feel a thrilling spark shoot through me. Did I just say that? My mother would be appalled.

  He gives me the most brilliant smile. “Yeah, of course.” He writes his number on my folder underneath whatever he’s doodled on it. “What time do you think?”

  “Around seven…”

  “Great! A thousand adieus, Lorraina.”

  My name sounds so beautiful coming from him, so when he says it, I feel this pull in me to try to keep him talking. To ask him to say my name over and over again. It’s just weird. I’m so weird. Before I can further engage him in conversation, he places my folder on my lap and makes his way off the bus.

  I watch as Michael climbs the hill to head towards his house. He throws his head back in laughter as he dodges his friend’s jabs. In this moment, he seems so carefree and alive; but if his life is anything like mine, I know this moment will be fleeting.

  I’m pulled from my reverie as I hear one of the older girls from the very back of the bus address me as she shuffles off behind him. “Whore.”

  I baulk and slide down in my seat, brining my knees up on the seat in front of me. What in the world did I ever do to deserve this level of hostility?!?! I don’t get it. I barely speak to anyone, yet everyone seems to hate me.

  Once he’s out of my line of vision, I glance down at my notebook. It isn’t doodling. It’s the most intricately drawn rose. His phone number is below it along with his signature in perfect cursive.

  ……………………………………………………….

  Later that night, I call Michael for the first time. We set up our trusty signal and commence to talk about everything under the sun. He wants to know everything about me. I insist that I’m boring, but he assures me otherwise. I try to pry information from him but don’t get very far at all.

  I confess to him that I am so lonely at my new school. In a moment of weakness, I ask him why he thinks all the girls hate me.

  “You have no idea, do you?”

  “Umm…No. That’s why I asked,” my smart mouth, which has a mind of its own, blasts.

  “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re different, you’re you,” he states matter-of-factly.

  Whoa, I think. “You have a way of wording things, don’t you?”

  “I just don’t believe in wasting time. I see that all around me. People who live like they will be here forever. Using people, hating people, hating themselves, destroying the ones they love, destroying themselves. I believe in figuring out what you want and reaching out and grabbing it. Is that so bad?”

  “No, I think it’s pretty amazing for a ninth grader actually.”

  “Well, I did get held back a year,” he jokes. I laugh because I know he wasn’t held back because of his lack of intelligence. He’s the wisest person I’ve ever spoken to. “That’s not funny,” he pouts.

  “No, that’s not why I’m laughing,” I promise.

  “Will you sit with me on the bus tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s a good idea. What I did today was very risky. My dad, umm, doesn’t allow me to talk to boys.” I leave out the part about his particular threat about Michael and the fact that he’s a paranoid lunatic.

  “Yeah, I really can’t blame him there. So what’s the deal? Will we talk tomorrow?”

  “Can I call you again? Same time.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “OK. Night.”

  “Night, Lorraina.”

  And so it began, our nightly ritual of what would become hours upon hours of phone conversations. We rarely acknowledged each other on the bus. Michael saw my dad many times but never let on that we were friends or that I sneaked away at night to call him. I quickly realized that I had never trusted anyone the way I trusted Michael.

  I suddenly wanted to be the best possible version of myself for him. I read even more than before and memorized quotes and poems so that I could contribute to our conversation. I listened to the radio religiously so that I could discuss new songs in the same analytical fashion that he did.

  After we started talking, I found my confidence increasing and found myself making friends, finally. The girls’ gang left me alone. My admirers started to calm down and back off a little. Little did I know at the time that word was out—Michael had staked his claim, and I was off limits. The new friends I made were also because of him. Years later, they would tell me how Michael talked to them and asked them to be nice to me and watch out for me. His probing questions that day about my schedule were to ensure that I had a friend in each class, at lunch, and during my various activities. I’m sure I kept the friends once made, but he was responsible for delivering them to me. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the only way he meddled.

  Chapter Seven

  No Guts, No Glory

  I managed to kill another couple of hours shopping and journaling. As I start to get ready for my outing, I tell my mom that Ginny and I are going to have dinner and hang out so that I don’t arouse suspicion. I would feel bad for lying, but I’m just too excited to care about that right now. I toss my journal and my emergency cell phone in my purse. At the last minute, I decide to take some extra clothes with me. Who knows what this night will hold?

  I walk into the living room to say goodbye, and my step falters as I realize that everyone is staring at me. Shit! Do I look silly? I glance down. Nothing seems out of place. My confidence flies straight out the window. “What is it?” I ask, hearing the tremble in my voice.

  Joe clears his throat and says, “You look different.”

  Oh, great, as opposed to what exactly? “Is that good or bad?”

  “Oh, good, good,” Joe rushes.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “I’ll probably end up staying the night with Ginny if that’s OK.”

  “Yeah,” my mom says, “just let me know for sure so I don’t worry.” Her dark brown eyes meet mine as she says sincerely, “You look beautiful.”

  I give her a genuine smile. She has no idea how much I had needed to hear that. “Thanks, Mamma. I’ll let you know. Good night.”

  ……………………………………………………….

  My plan is to arrive much earlier than he is scheduled to play. I want to sit somewhere where I can listen to him without being spotted. My conscious whispers, “Creep.” I hear Radiohead’s lyrics on repeat in my head. For so many years, it was Michael that was the Creep. My, oh my, how the tables have turned. I giggle. He would love this. It would do wonders for his ego.

  I arrive at Mona’s. I have an hour before he starts to play. At least there is plenty to read here and keep me from considering what I’m doing. I order a smoothie, best not to be too jittery. I ask if it will be Michael who plays and where he will set up and take a seat towards the back of the store. This is perfect. There’s even a little half wall to block me. If he looks this way, all he will see is the back of a
dirty blonde head. I make my way to the restroom, deciding to check my hair and makeup one more time. I can’t believe I’m so nervous: it’s just Michael! My feelings have morphed into something unrecognizable, and I fret that he will be able to pick up on that immediately.

  I stare into the mirror, focusing on what I can control. Not half bad. At least I hadn’t forgotten how to apply makeup. My eyes look fuller with eyeliner and the turquoise shirt brings out the green in my eyes. I try smoothing the frizz from my waves one more time and practicing smiling. I spin around and am, for once, grateful for what my mom calls my bubble butt because it quite nicely fills out my black mini-skirt. My legs even look halfway decent due to the sheer black hose and slightly high heels. I tried on a taller pair but got no more than a wobbling gate out of them and decided not to push it. Clumsiness wouldn’t get Michael to see what I hoped looked like the grown up version of me.

  Back at my table, I take out my journal and reread what I’ve written so far. It makes me giddy. I’ll need to purchase a new one soon at the rate I’m going. I’m so excited to see him but full of mixed emotions. I only pray that I’m still everything he once loved. I know I don’t measure up to the girl he idolized all those years ago. I hope I’m just being overly hard on myself; on the other hand, he always had impossibly high standards where I was concerned. Another memory bombards me, so I give in and put it to paper.

  “I haven’t heard from you in forever. What’s been going on? Are we OK?” He plies me with questions before I can respond to the first.

  “I’m fine. I just got ‘ungrounded,’” I complain. I don’t tell him that I also couldn’t sit down for a week because of the lashing my dad had given me.

  He busts out with a relieved laugh, “What did YOU do to get grounded?”

  I grimace. “I’d really rather not say.”

  “Did you not clean your room? Forget to feed the horses? Bad grades? Leave the milk out? What?”

  “Ugh…You’re gonna drive me insane until I tell you, aren’t you?”

  He laughs. “How’d you guess?”

  I release an answer on an impatient breath, “Fine. I wrote a profanity laced letter to Missy McIntyre.”