by S. B. Niccum
“I … need to find Dorian,” I told Wes and the group at large. “I’ll be right back.”
I stole away from the group almost at a dead run while blinking back the oncoming tears. When I found Dorian, he could tell that I was distressed and I could swear he knew why. He smiled tenderly, almost knowingly, then he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed a bit. He usually didn’t appreciate this type of closeness, but he didn’t seem to mind this time, so like this we made our way back to the group.
He had grown so much in the last year. He was about six feet tall, still thin, but muscular. At his school he had started playing some sports, and he found that he enjoyed running track a lot, and this, perhaps accounted for his toned muscles.
When we got back to the group, Dorian seemed like a different person. Usually he’s reserved and doesn’t like to interact with people, especially new people, but he responded well to Alex and his family. He shook hands with all of them, something he never does. He even smiled, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eye—though I have to say he tried.
“We heard you are an artist yourself, Dorian,” Dane said.
Dorian shifted his eyes and looked down, shyly. I stole a quizzical glance toward Alex but he only gave me a cold look in return. I had told Alex about Dorian on that night that he found me in the storm and he had apparently he told his parents about it too. The thought of them discussing Dorian and me around their kitchen table; left me feeling a bit uncertain. What was said? What did they think of us? Did they pity us?
“I would love to see some of your work,” Valerie said with a motherly smile.
She was a beautiful woman, tall and fit, with dark brown hair that was stylishly cut short. Her eyes were her most striking feature, being almost violet. She was dressed in nice designer clothes, but not over the top. Katie had inherited much of her mother’s beauty, but her eyes were lighter colored, like Alex’s. Katie had dark hair like her mother and had her father’s sweet expression. Alex was a good mix of the two; he had his father’s build, tall broad shoulders, light brown hair and Caribbean blue eyes. He also had those dimples when he smiled, and I could see now that he got those from his father as well.
By now the rest of our group found us and insisted that they had seen every picture there was to see and that they were ready to eat.
“What do you say, buddy? Should we go get some food?” Wes slapped Dorian on the back and wrapped one arm around him, only to have Dorian jerk away from him and sidestepping to put some distance between them. “Whoa!” Wes exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, as if he had been charged with an undeserved foul.
“It’s OK! He doesn’t like to be touched,” I explained. But Wes looked unconvinced. “I’m the only one who can touch him,” I explained again and tried to soothe Dorian, who was now rocking back and forth, and hitting his face with his fists.
Alex’s dad, stepped forward too, but evaluated the situation from a safe distance.
“Wanna go home, home, home!” Dorian’s voice was gaining crescendo, making people turn and stare.
“Look Wes, you’re going to have to take us home,” I told him, and he looked positively crestfallen. Right then, displeased murmurs from our group rose up.
“I’ll take him home,” Alex asserted through the noise. I looked at him, and his eyes still looked hard.
“Yes, we’ll take him home, Tess. Don’t worry,” Dane reiterated.
I shook my head, “I appreciate it, but he won’t go without me,” I looked pleadingly at Wes.
“Then we’ll take you both home, and your friends can go on without you,” Valerie said with a firm voice that sounded more like a command than a suggestion.
Wes had no option, but to agree to this. He kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’ll call you later.” Brandy shot me a reproachful look before turning on her heels and walking away. What? Did she think I orchestrated this?
Katie made sure to let me ride in the back of the Preston’s SUV with her brother. Her intentions were so transparent, that no one was fooled—not even Dorian, who by now had miraculously regained his composure. I was feeling relieved, nervous, exited, angry and puzzled; all wound in one tight little bundle. Alex was wound tight too; I could feel his un-ease as he snapped his seatbelt on. Everyone was quiet, so I broke the silence, by thanking them for their kindness.
Dane immediately said that it was no problem at all and that they were on their way home anyway. Then the car fell silent again, and my heart sunk with dread.
“So … did you read Great Expectations? I asked Alex quietly, almost in a whisper.
He turned his head and frowned. I returned his frown and looked down wounded.
“It was a good book,” he finally answered, dryly.
“I really liked The Count of Monte Cristo,” I said, trying hard to make the conversation more pleasant.
“Yes, you told me that already.”
I looked back at him, stung by his coarseness.
“Great Expectations has two endings, does it not?” Alex’s dad said from the driver’s seat.
“Yes, Charles Dickens’ publisher didn’t like the first ending, so he asked for another.” I said.
“Well, I agree with the publisher; no use in reading a book if it’s going to end badly. It sours the whole story,” Alex put in as he looked out his window.
“But real life doesn’t always end well,” I interjected.
“People don’t read fiction to get reality; they read it to escape it,” he added without turning.
“The first ending doesn’t necessarily end badly; it’s open-ended in my opinion,” Dane looked at us through the rear view mirror.
“Estelle clearly rejects him,” Alex stated.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” I countered.
“Estelle… my grandmother’s name was Estelle,” Valerie said, trying to change the subject. “She was a popular Celtic singer, in her time.”
“Yes, I heard that,” I said choking on a few tears.
“Tess is a fan,” Alex added; his voice seemed gentler now.
“Really? You’ve heard of her?” Valerie turned to look at me.
“We heard her on the radio,” Dorian spoke up, in an uncharacteristic bout of talkativeness.
Dane looked at him through the rear view mirror and smiled at him. Valerie smiled too and began to tell us all about how her grandmother was discovered, and her path to stardom.
Alex seemed to relax a bit in his seat; he even turned and looked at me. I ventured a look as well, but we said nothing.
“She didn’t get your e-mails!” Celeste shouted in Alex’s ear.
“That Agatha girl is the Devil’s spawn, I swear!” Estelle said with disgust while shaking her head.
“She really is. No doubt about it!” Celeste agreed emphatically. “How she hacked into Tess’ e-mail is despicable! … I swear if I ever get a hold of one of those Cast-outs … I wish we could expose her somehow.”
“Hacked?”
“Yes, that’s what they call it when someone breaks into electronic data.”
“Oh …” Estelle nodded. “Well, she does whatever they tell her, that’s for sure. Why doesn’t Tess get one of those … um … cell phones like all the other kids?”
Celeste shook her head, “Tess hates cell phones! Besides, she can’t afford them, she’s saving up her money.” She looked down at the couple in the back seat, they were both looking out their respective windows, each wrapped up in their own misery. “Were you really a singer?” Celeste asked in a sudden change of subject.
“Yes, I was.”
“Oh, I would love to hear you sing.”
“Really? Here? Now?”
“Of course, why not?”
I wasn’t sure why, but I felt a chill that gave me goose bumps and then heard the faint noise of hushed whispers. I shuddered again, and Alex turned away from his window to look at me. I didn’t turn; my eyes were welling up with tears that I didn’t want him t
o see.
He shifted in his seat, then I felt the tips of his fingers brushing against mine again. Without turning, I inched my own fingers toward his until our hands were once again intertwined. Right then the vehicle seemed to fill with music; a sweet bright tinkling like sound that flowed in the air like an enchanted water fall that with each drop made a crystalline type song. The sound seemed to pacify all inside the car. Dorian took his pencil and paper out from his backpack and his hand started moving fast across the page.
On Monday, before first period I found Alex waiting for me by his locker. He looked lost in thought and he watched me approach with an apologetic look on his face.
“I really did like the book,” he said remorsefully. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk the other night,” he added.
“It’s okay,” I lied.
“Can I ask you a question about Dorian?”
I nodded, a bit taken back by his request.
“Did you see the picture he drew for my mom?”
“No.” In fact I didn’t even know he had given her a picture.
“Has he ever … drawn a picture for you?” he asked suspiciously.
“A few, why?” I immediately thought of the pictures that he had given me on my last birthday, but I didn’t want go into the details of those pictures. They were very important to me, bordering on sacred. There was a mystical magic to them. They brought more questions than answers, and what Alex wanted were answers, and I had none.
Alex started to speak, but then stopped himself. He did this a few times until he finally decided on something. “Has he ever seen a picture of Estelle?”
“Estelle, your great-grandmother?” I asked; he nodded. “I don’t think so. The first time I saw her picture was at your grandfather’s house, but I don’t think he’s ever seen one. Why?”
“He drew her,” Alex said plainly.
I nodded for a moment, how was I supposed to explain to Alex the complexities that I take for granted. How am I supposed to tell him that my life is filled with inexplicable phenomena; from pictures of things that a boy could not possibly know about, to reliving things that never happened but feel like they have, and hearing whispers of people who are not there? I hate to admit these things, even to myself, but they happened and I simply could not explain them.
“He … does things like that sometimes,” I finally said, hoping to leave it at that.
“What has he drawn for you?”
“A woman … that I’ve never seen before,” I said bluntly.
“Who do you think it is?” he insisted.
“No idea.”
“Does she look like you? Could it be your mother?”
The thought had occurred to me, but she really looked nothing like me, with the exception of the eyes. “She’s blond … we do have similar eyes, but who knows,” I shrugged.
“What else?” He looked genuinely interested now.
I sighed, and wondered whether I should reveal to him what I considered to be too close to my heart. “A house that I’ve never seen before, with a dock in front of it.” Then the image of the picture came to my mind, and I remembered how there was a boat docked in front of it, The Odysseus was the name, just like the boat from my dreams.
“A dock?” he asked with interest. “What else?”
I shook my head, there were too many people around us now, and I was bordering on tears, again. I wiped my blurry eyes with my hand and looked at him pleadingly. I wanted to tell him but not now, not here, and not like this.
“I can’t … ” I shook my head.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he looked crestfallen. Then smiled sympathetically and started to walk away.
“Alex!” I called before he got too far, “I like happy endings too.”
He turned and looked back at me, with a faint smile forming on his face. He stared at me for a long while. “Trouble is… they don’t come until the end,” he said with intensity.
“The end of what?”
“A very long, dramatic story.” Alex flashed a quick, sad smile then turned and walked away.
Chapter 8
I never liked riddles much, so it was a mystery to me why I liked Alex so much. Everything about him was a riddle when it came to me. Sometimes he would ignore me and other times he acted like he wanted to kiss me right then and there. Some days we could talk like he was my best friend, and then others, he was so mad at me he, his jaw would tense up, and he looked as if it took a great deal of self-control to keep from screaming. But no matter what mood he happened to be in, one thing remained a constant—my complete adoration of him.
What makes the needle of a compass always point North? I know it has to do with magnetism. Well…whatever pulls that needle North is what pulls me toward Alex. He is my North. I’m lost without him, and this realization, has finally made me feel intensely guilty.
It is painfully obvious to me now, that I don’t love Wes, and that I never will. But I’m a coward, and with Wes, one thing is for sure, he likes me—a lot. The other painful realization was that high school was coming to an end for Alex, and that perhaps, I would never see him again.
This distasteful thought, I pushed aside. I couldn’t process that into my life. I had to hold on to the hope that perhaps one day …
Prom was right around the corner, and Wes looked so sad when he asked me to go, that I had to say yes. Brandy had forgiven me somewhat, especially since she was a bit preoccupied with her own guy problems. She was asked to go to the prom by a senior who had recently transferred to the school. He had created quite a stir among the female student body, and singled Brandy out, who seemed to be the only girl—besides myself—who didn’t care about him in the least.
“He gives me the creeps,” she confided during lunch.
Wes nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s something fishy about that guy. Why don’t you insist on coming with us?”
I immediately agreed to it and told her that I would go with her, when she broke the news to him.
“If he doesn’t agree, you can be my second date!” Wes beamed, sticking his chest out and looking grand. “I’ll dress like James Bond,” he added, making what he thought would be a Bond-ish face.
After school, Brandy told me that the deed was done by way of a note during one of the classes she had with the guy. He apparently shrugged, in aloof response.
“You’ll have to come and get ready with me. My mom makes a big fuss about prom night-day.”
I looked at her uncomprehendingly and she expounded. “Prom night-day is an excuse to pamper ourselves all day long. My mom says that it’s practice time for your wedding day, so we girls spend the day exfoliating, getting pedicures, manicures, and facials, then we start on the hair. It’s an all day event!”
“That actually sounds like fun! But I’m afraid of pedicures.”
Brandy laughed, knowing the story about Agatha and the metal file. “No, I mean it, I don’t let anyone near my toes now,” I assured her in all seriousness.
Prom day at Brandy’s was the most fun I’d had in a long time, quite possibly, ever. Her mom had a stylist and a masseuse, come to her house to give us the full spa treatment. I declined the pedicure, and got a lesson instead, on how to do my own toes.
When word got out that I had made my own prom dress, and that I was somewhat of a gifted fashionista, everyone—stylist, masseuse and all—gathered around me for the unveiling of my dress. It was in fact one of my best “Frankenstein” efforts. It consisted of several thrift-store dresses, all taken apart and put back together in quite a magical way. It was still very formal, but with a deliberate tattered look that made it fabulous. The ripped layers of taffeta from an old eighties dress, were cut diagonally making overlapping flat ruffles in three, different, muted shades of green. The top was angled as well with only one strap over my left shoulder, and cascading beads attached to the top, by a taffeta flower with the beads hanging all the way down past my waist.
&n
bsp; I showed them how the beads could be worn down, or tossed around to the other side, as a necklace or scarf. The beads were threaded through a thin satin ribbon that matched the color of the dress. Once I was done explaining my dress, and the many ways to wear the beads, I noticed that the room was in complete silence.
I looked around me, worried that only I thought this was cool, but by the look on their faces, I surmised that the silence was really awe.
“Tess … ” Brandy’s mom said breathlessly, “This is amazing! You know how to sew like this?” She looked at the seams and the careful stitching on the hems of every layer. Then she let her fingers touch the beads slightly and looked up at me with newfound respect. “You’re going to be a designer,” she stated. It was perhaps the best compliment I could have received too, because I wanted to be a designer, and she was the type of woman who knew about fashion.
Slowly the others, Brandy, Brooke, the stylist and the masseuse approached the dress and started making all kinds of comments. “You’re like one of those artists that turn trash into art!” one said, “But with dresses!” said another.
Then, Brooke asked if I could alter her dress, because there was something that she didn’t like about it. Her mom insisted that there was no time for that now, but I took a look at it any way. In fact, I ended up giving finishing touches to both, Brooke’s and Brandy’s dress while I waited for my facial to dry. After a few hours at the sewing machine, both their dresses had the ‘Tess’ stamp of approval along with their own.
Once we finished getting dressed and the stylist was tucking the last strands of hair into place, I realized that perhaps, this was going to be the best part of prom. During the course of the day, Brooke had let it slip—casually or not, I couldn’t tell—that Alex and Genie had broken up a few months ago. She said though, that they were still going to prom together because Genie made him promise to, as a parting favor of sorts. I knew that Genie had done this as a way of getting back at me, but I made no comment and pretended to not be interested in the least about this information.