“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said pertly, and she walked away.
The students wandered back slowly, looking tired. Miss Jenkins lifted her spindly finger into the air and announced that practice would resume.
Except practice never did resume. I was standing in the middle of the stage all alone, readying myself for the solo. The stage had been set. The orchestral music had already begun. I sensed all eyes zeroed in on me, curious, expectant. I breathed in and felt a pocket of air gather in my lungs. Let it germinate in there, I could hear Mr. Matthewman’s gravelly voice saying. Let it crystallize into sweet musical notes.
It was only then as the lights dimmed down that I first noticed the swiveling blue, red, and white lights sashaying on the ceiling. We all blinked at those lights, none of us, I don’t think, really understanding their true import at the time. But then gazes shifted away from the ceiling and towards the high windows. The siren lights radiated in like a sickly rainbow.
And then suddenly the door to the auditorium opened. A voice yelled out, heard clearly even above the dying, discordant notes of the orchestra. “They’ve found the bodies! They’ve found the bodies! In the pond, they’ve found the bodies!”
All thoughts of the show ground to a halt. The air in my lungs halted mid-flight, plummeted to the ground.
There was a pictorial beauty about the next few moments, a slavish energy to them that seemed to emblazon punctuated images into my memory. I remember them with both an ease and a revulsion: the ease with which one recalls the most whimsical of memories, the revulsion of nightmarish images that won’t go away.
In my memory, silence pervades the whole scene. This cannot be; surely there must have been shouts, screams, worried cries, the crackle of police radios filling the air. But in my memory there is only silence, the silence of a mime where the whole troupe of actors move in a seamless, effortless synchronization with one another. If there was a cry of protest from Miss Jenkins, we didn’t hear it, nor do I hear it in my memory. We scampered down the scaffolding; we rushed down the auditorium steps; we jumped out of the orchestra pit; yet there was no sharpness to our movements, no herky-jerky. It was all an aqueous slide, a silky flow out of the auditorium, a stream of light mercury pouring out.
And then we were running, gliding along the fields toward the pond. The siren lights from afar splashed languidly on the ground before us, soft, lazy sweeps of blue then red then white. We must have run for a minute, at least, but in my mind there is no effort, no exertion in our legs or chests. There is only the softened glee of children flying to the circus as one.
Even when we reached the pond, even when we saw that they were pulling the sodden bodies out of the break in the ice, the reverie continued. There must have been police officers intercepting us, for I can see them in my mind holding outstretched arms towards us. But they look more like ring-masters beckoning us to come closer, to take a closer look. And there were yellow ticker tapes on the perimeter, but in the matte-dulled lights of revolving red, white, and blue, they look drained of color, indecisive. Off to the side was a man in a jogging suit, hugging himself, his dog rapt at the end of a taut leash, still barking, its breath gusting out of its mouth in thick, loutish clouds…
Two bodies are lying on the ground, shining with wetness. The ice water has preserved them—Anthony Hasbourd and Winston Barnes, pale white as stripped mannequins. A peaceful expression on their faces, as if they have only just fallen asleep while gazing up at the canopy of stars above. And the last body is now being pulled out, stiff and unwieldy, and laid on the icy ground. Trey Logan. And just before a blanket is hastily drawn over him, I see his open eyes, pools of black set in harsh relief against the shock of whiteness that covers his face. The eyes stare at me with pinpointed condemnation.
Even an hour after the bodies were discovered, police kept pouring into school, carpeting the fields with swiveling siren lights. Reporters rushed over, their cars and vans careening around the slick roads. Uniformed officers began dispersing the swelling crowds, but I was already gone by then.
I biked to church. Not to seek some kind of spiritual solace, but because Naomi was there. At some kind of youth group meeting where she’d be singing on the worship team or sitting in a circle studying the Bible. I needed someone to talk to. I needed Naomi.
It was so dark and quiet in the sanctuary at first that I thought everyone had already left. But then I heard a murmuring of voices coming from a corner in the front. There was a group of them, hunched over, praying. I sat down in the back pew, far removed, and waited. My back was slick with perspiration. I waited.
There were only a few of them tonight, no more than ten. Attendance was sparse, affected no doubt by the disappearances. There were long periods of silence interspersed with short, somber prayers. I saw Naomi sitting on the steps leading to the pulpit. A faint haze of light fell on her; her head hung down against a kneecap, and she barely moved. Her slim porcelain arms extended out of her sleeveless turtleneck like white silk. I looked away.
Not too long after, they finished with a chorus of soft amens. I stood up; Naomi saw me immediately and came over.
“What are you doing here?” she said, surprised.
“Hey, just wanted to see how you are.”
“You’re all hot and sweaty. Did you bike here?”
I nodded, then began to tell her about the discovery of the bodies at the pond. Her eyes widened as I spoke, her hand clasping me tightly on the arm.
“Jason should know,” she said as she spun around, referring to the pastor’s son. “Come on, let’s tell him.”
“Wait, Naomi.” I touched her on the shoulder.
She paused and looked at me. “What is it?”
“I need to tell you something,” I said urgently. I glanced around. A few of her church friends were observing us from the front, not openly, but with curious, sideway glances. “Not here, OK? I can’t do it here with all these people around.” Maybe it was the bodies I’d just seen, how tangible they made the possibility of death, but I found that I could no longer wait. Enough pussyfooting around. I looked at her. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time.”
And then the most amazing thing happened. Her eyes suddenly softened like diamonds melting, glistening with a new wetness.
“Look,” she said, and stepped a little closer to me. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, too. We’ve both been so busy, it’s been forever since we’ve had a chance just to talk.” She reached out and took my hand. I could smell her shampoo, she was so close to me. “During the time we’ve barely seen each other, something amazing happened.” She was smiling now and stepped even closer. “I’ve come to realize something.”
The light was hitting her eyes just right, illuminating their deepest pools. I could see beautiful brown flecks in her eyes.
Barely able to speak, I whispered, “I know. I’ve realized something, too.”
Her eyes widened, then moistened even more. Her hand touching mine was soft, gentle; it was Naomi holding my hand in a way she never had. Fifty moonlight kisses were nothing compared to that one touch on my arm.
“Naomi,” I whispered. “I feel the same way. I know. I know.”
Her eyes flashed with surprise. “I didn’t know you knew.”
“How long have we known each other, Naomi?” I asked her tenderly. “I know you better than anyone else does.”
And just then, the moment was destroyed. A couple of teen boys moved into our space, clearly wanting to speak with Naomi. I backed off.
“Let’s talk later, OK, Xing?” she said crisply, cleanly.
As I watched her, I realized I had underestimated Naomi’s rise to superstardom in the church. She had gone from pew-warmer to attention-getter to godly princess. There’d been hints of this meteoric rise, but the days of suggestion were now officially over. Now the boys were going to start moving in on her like a tsunami wave. On Sundays at church, in her frilly summer dres
s, or at picnics in her spaghetti-stringed shirts and short-shorts, they were going to swarm her. Like they were already beginning to do now.
Afterwards, she came to me, glowing from all the attention.
“Whew,” she said, feigning exhaustion. “Too many people.” She made a show of arching her eyebrows in fatigue.
“Do you have some time we can talk now?” I asked her. I sat close to her, the length of our arms almost touching.
“I think so. Until the next batch of people comes running for my advice.”
I paused, not really sure how to proceed.
“Jason told me the police are all over school,” she said.
“Yeah, they got there pretty quickly.”
“He also heard that they really botched it. They didn’t seal the area off quickly enough. Again.”
I nodded, remembering the crowds of people. “Onlookers got there pretty fast. Everybody’s curious, everybody’s afraid.” I shook my head. “We had to cancel rehearsal.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. But you’ll be ready for tomorrow night, right?” She smiled at no one in particular. “But, wow, it gets me every time. I still can’t believe you’re the lead.” She saw my reaction. “No, I mean that in a good way,” she said, placing her hand for a fleeting moment on my arm. “So, big Broadway star, how does it feel to be just a day away from your debut?”
“I guess it’s OK.”
“Whatever,” she said, grinning. “Whatever you say, Mr. Man of Jerusalem. Not to sound corny, but you are The Man.”
I shook my head. “There’re more important things going on.” I turned to look at her. “What’s going on with you,” I continued quickly, “that’s more important.”
She stared at me for a moment, slightly bemused. Then she broke into a smile. “Oh, Xing, that’s so sweet.” Then she patted my shoulder.
She patted my shoulder. As one would a cute puppy.
I sat very still, sensing something off-kilter about this moment.
“I just can’t understand,” she went on, “how you found out about us. We’ve been careful to keep it a secret.”
I did not say anything. A sodden, cold weight hit me on the back of my head. I fought against it. I straightened my back and lifted my chin.
“Oh,” she said, gushing, “here he comes.”
Of course, it was a white boy; of course, it was the pastor’s son. Of course, he was attractive with sparkling blue eyes. Of course, he had a good build, was sensitive and spiritual, and of course, he was a great guy.
She cuddled up next to him. He was taller than me, broader than me, handsomer than me, spoke English better than me.
“Jason, this is Kris.”
And of course, his grip was firmer than mine.
“Kris, great to meet you. Nai’s told me all about you.”
It was awkward for about three seconds. But I could be strong before her. I could fight off the waves of disappointment. The next words out of my mouth were, “Tell me how you met, please.”
Naomi jumped at the opportunity, her words spilling out in joyful abandon.
I didn’t hear a word she said. Something about church, something about chemistry, something about the same wavelength. If she said more, I missed it. I blanked out on her words. I felt only one emotion. Betrayal. I wanted to grab her by the throat and ask how she could do this, how she could betray me by going out with one of them. I wanted to punch her; I wanted to kiss her.
I was afraid, too, but I shoved the fear aside. Back then, I didn’t know what I was afraid of, but now I do. I was afraid of the great well of loneliness that awaited me.
I felt her slipping away, even as she spoke. And after a while, she did slip away, with him, the white boyfriend. I could tell that they wanted to hold hands; perhaps once outside, alone in the car, they did. It was all I could take.
I biked to the mall, thinking of nothing. It was cold. I bought a movie ticket, walked into the closest theater, and to this day cannot recall a single image. When I came out I was hungry, and it was dark, and I had no money for food.
It was a long ride back, and I was freezing by the time I got home.
I sat on my bed with the lights off. I was numb; numb from the cold, numb from shock, numb from betrayal. It did not matter to me that I was shivering on the bed. It did not matter to me that the house was draped in complete darkness, bereft of a single sound within.
Moonlight angled into my room in refracted beams. Everything in the room was burnished into the mercuric colors of black and white. Everything, that is, except for the painting bursting in vibrant colors. I stared at it, again drawn to it. I felt myself yearning for that something which the painting only hinted at, that elusive place of belonging. It made me yearn, made me believe that there was more to life than the yellowed crust I nibbled at.
Naomi’s bedroom light was on when I reached her home. Her parents’ bedroom was dark; they had already gone to sleep. I laid my bike down at the base of the tree and climbed until I was level with Naomi’s room.
Her drapes were drawn, so I couldn’t see what she was doing inside. I rapped softly on the window, mindful that her parents were light sleepers. After a half minute, the drapes parted and her face appeared in the window. She was surprised to see me; I signaled her to put a jacket on and pointed upwards toward the apex of the tree.
When we were really young, we used to climb to the very top where the view was incredible. Perched up there, we’d be relatively out of earshot of her parents and could talk freely, taking in the vista of the Ashland night.
She closed the drapes; when they were opened again, she was fully decked out in winter clothing. In her hand was a thermos likely containing some leftover hot-and-sour soup from the Panda House.
We climbed up without saying a word. I let her climb ahead of me, and she moved nimbly, catlike. Even in the dark, I easily followed her, taking hold of grips and convenient footholds I knew were there. The night sky was sprinkled with stars, glittering with abandon. Our breaths coagulated in frosty plumes.
We gazed out at the silver spread of land before us. “I’ve never been up here when it’s so cold,” I said. “Can’t even feel my cheeks.” I felt less stable up here in the winter; the branches, so warm and coarse in the summertime, were now slicked over with snow and ice. I fastened my right arm hard around a branch.
“There,” Naomi said. She was pointing towards a cluster of lights sparkling upon the darkened plains like a tray of diamonds. “The dot of light all by itself over there. That’s the school.”
“That one?”
“No, that one. Follow my pointed finger.”
I angled my head along the trajectory of her arm. “Oh.”
We both gazed at the lighted dot for a time. It looked so far away, so impossibly small.
“The police are still there,” she said quietly.
“Maybe it’s just light from the auditorium. The stage crew’s supposed to be working through the night to be ready for tomorrow.”
She wiped her nose against the back of her glove, something she did only when she was alone with me. “So, do you think you’re ready for it?”
“The performance? I think so. I’ve done everything I possibly can. Matthewman’s been incredible, coaching me. I’m just worried that I haven’t even sung with the chorus yet.”
“It’s so weird to think you have the lead. Still trying to get my mind wrapped around that one.”
“You and the rest of the world,” I said.
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that I’ve never heard you sing before.”
“I saved you a ticket,” I said, turning to her. “It’s third row.”
“Xing,” she said tentatively, “do you have an extra ticket? I’d like to bring Jason, if I can.”
I did not say anything.
Minutes passed. Naomi took out a chocolate bar and offered half to me. I took it. As she chewed, she took out the thermos she’d been keeping under her jacket. “It’s Ah-ma and
Ah-ba’s soup,” she told me, and we both drank it eagerly. The heat hummed down into our stomachs. One by one, the lights of the town flickered off until only a few isolated dots of light remained, like the fading embers of a dying campfire.
“I know it bothers you, Xing.”
“What does?”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
She patted the branch in front of her. “It just kinda happened so fast, and it was all so…incredible. I would have told you, honestly I would have, but that was around the time when you got really busy with your voice lessons. We didn’t see each other a whole lot anymore, we lost touch with each other, and suddenly…I started to spend a lot of time with Jason, and I kind of neglected our friendship.” She looked remorseful. “It was my fault. I should have let you know earlier. But I had to deal with my parents, too, who were dead-set against the relationship. There were a lot of disagreements, angry words thrown…” She wiped her eyes. “But I should have told you. I’m sorry, Xing, really I am.”
She turned her head away. A sliver of moonlight lined her soft jawbone and full lips.
“Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Did you and I…did I ever have a chance of being more to you than just a friend?”
She turned back to me now, and I saw the look of a Naomi she never showed to anyone. It was that of a lost girl, an unsure person, that dependent Naomi who had once clung to my sleeve in school because I was the only person who looked like her, who didn’t tease her, who explained things slowly to her. The Naomi to whom I had taught English, those countless hours at the food court. Those innumerable walks to and from school. Rides together on the bus. The letters we wrote to each other, the little comments she’d write on my notebook during class. Movies we had sneaked into, staying there the whole day, jumping from screen to screen. Playing catch on deserted park fields; on the phone till late at night; swimming at deserted ponds in the summer all day; midnight meetings on this very tree, scribbling notes to one another.
Crossing (2010) Page 13