“Carter…it’s me, Alexa.”
He just smiled and said nothing. Then he got into someone’s car and drove away. I chased that car down the street, calling his name to the point where my skull hurt.
I woke up from that dream in a cold sweat. This was the first of many dreams that would come to haunt me.
***
I gradually grew out of my shell by the time I hit tenth grade. I just went through the motions in high school. I couldn’t wait for it to be all over, and I had no interest in making an effort to acquire any new friends. I sat alone under a tree at lunch every day and thought about Carter. Nothing really mattered to me at that point in time except him.
“Hey, anybody home?” a female voice asked, intruding on a daydream I was having about Carter.
“Um, can I help you?”
A dark-skinned girl looked down at me. “How come you always sit alone out here at lunch?” she asked. “Don’t you have any friends?”
Peeved by her question, I snapped back, “Is that really any of your business?”
“No, but it looks like you can use a friend,” she said, genuinely.
“No, I don’t, but thanks for the offer.” I took a bite of my bologna sandwich and turned away, hoping she’d somehow get the message and be on her way.
She’d plopped herself down in front of me. “I’m Ruth,” she said, holding out her hand. I didn’t take it. “Why are you so bitter?”
“I don’t know. Why are you so nosey?”
“Wow. No wonder you don’t have any friends.”
The insult hurt like a knife twisting into my heart. “You know nothing about me, so don’t try and pretend you do.”
“Look, I just moved here three-weeks ago from Texas. I don’t know anyone.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a brown sack lunch. “And I see you in this same spot by yourself every day.”
“So what’s it to you?” I asked.
“I could just use a friend here, that’s all. And from the looks of it, I thought maybe you could too.”
I finally decided to face her. “Oh yeah? Well, where were you three-years ago?” My anger was like a volcano ready to explode—it came out of nowhere.
“Texas?” Ruth replied.
Ruth uncovered a plastic container filled with something covered in red sauce. It smelled God awful, like sweaty feet.
“Eww. What are you eating?”
“Chicken curry. My mom made it last night.” She held it out to me. “Want some?”
“Uh—no thanks.”
“It’s really good. You shouldn’t judge until you try it.”
I gave the girl a proper once-over. She was actually quite attractive with chocolate-colored skin, long black hair, and almond-shaped eyes the color of moss. Her attire consisted of a purple V-neck blouse and black slacks. Truthfully, she was as harmless as a snowflake.
“You seem very close minded,” she mentioned.
“I am not.” To prove my point, I dug my fingers into the container and pulled out a bite-sized piece of chicken that was dripping in the red smelly sauce. “If I puke, it’s your fault.”
The smell literally made me want to gag. I closed my eyes, popped it into my mouth and chewed slowly.
“Well?” she asked, waiting for my reaction.
The flavor was tangy and not overwhelmingly spicy like I expected. I actually kind of liked it. “I’m still alive, right?” I said flatly.
Her eyebrows rose in delight. “Want more? I’ll share with you. Be sure to try some of the basmati rice at the bottom…”
Thus was the beginning of the most unlikely friendship. While I struggled to pass math, sixteen-year-old Ruth Patel harbored dreams of going to law school—and not in that pie-in-the-sky kind of way either. She was already taking honors classes to prepare herself for a successful future. Ruth unlocked not only a completely new world of exotic cuisine, but also an alluring culture. Up to that point in my sheltered existence, nothing fazed me but my own provincial life.
***
Ruth came over to my house for a study session a few weeks after we met. “Can we watch MTV?” she asked. “I need a break.”
Mom appeared in the living room with a large bowl of popcorn and two glasses of lemonade on a serving tray. I could always count on my mother to go June Cleaver on me whenever I had a guest over.
“Thanks, Mrs. Moore,” Ruth said as she graciously took a handful of popcorn.
We settled on an MTV show called Total Request Live. TRL was a big deal to kids in high school. It had to do with everyone’s sudden fascination with pop bands. The viewers determined the ranking of the video slots, and each day music artists competed for the number-one spot. The show counted down videos one by one of mainly boy and tween girl pop bands.
The young, dark-haired host, Mason McFadden, stared directly into the camera as it did a close-up on his face. “Welcome back to TRL. As many of you already know, we have a brand new video premier today.”
The studio audience roared.
“The song, Stop Stepping on my Heart, has swept through the country, turning into an overnight success for this artist's first number one single. His album, Unstoppable, is highly anticipated and due to come out next month. But enough blabbing from me. Are you guys ready?”
The females screamed in pleasure.
“Then let’s check out the world premiere video of Aiden Storm’s hit single, Stop Stepping on my Heart.”
The screen cut to black before the video premiered. The start of the music video depicted an attractive girl with blonde hair wearing a red flowing dress as she walked across a garden in the rain. In the background, Aiden Storm was singing, “I live my life for you, so how could you treat me the way you do? Baby, we are meant to be. I wish I could make you see. So stop stepping on my heart. You’re ripping us apart…”
At first I thought I was dreaming. My eyes had to be playing tricks on me. The singer who showed up on my television screen looked identical to Carter. Only, he was a much more mature version. I assumed it was just a coincidence, but then I analyzed Aiden carefully. I felt dizzy, like I was on merry-go-round. Things around me started spinning. What I was witnessing was too bizarre to comprehend. Yes, this teenager was my long lost friend, no doubt about it. A physical transformation had taken place, knocking him out of his youthful awkwardness and into a heartthrob that had girls screaming his made-up name. He was somewhat muscular, and his hair was a golden blond. I didn’t know how to explain to Ruth that this teen sensation used to be my best friend. I ran into my room after the video ended and rummaged through my desk. I managed to find one of the photos Mom took of Carter and I just before that fateful fourteenth birthday dinner date.
“Okay, I have to tell you a secret.” I handed Ruth the photo. “I used to be friends with this guy—this Aiden Storm. He used to live on this street.”
Ruth inspected the picture scrupulously. “Is this fake?”
“Nope. It’s as real as it gets.” My heart beat crazily, like it would burst out of my chest. “He moved away a couple years ago because he got a record deal.”
She stared at the picture again and said, “Don’t you keep in contact with him?”
“I used to write him letters, but he never wrote back. We just kinda—we lost touch, I guess.”
In the background, Mason mentioned something about Carter. “Please join us tomorrow at the same time. We’ll have Aiden Storm right here live on TRL, and you won’t want to miss it.”
Any normal kid my age knew the latest Top 40 hit or which band was currently all the rage, but I paid no attention. I was usually watching films or flipping through fashion magazines in my free time, analyzing different styles of makeup. I was completely immersed in the world of cosmetology. Now that I met Ruth, I was able to experiment on her, so she was sort of like my guinea pig.
Ruth and I rushed back to my house after school the next day and wasted no time flipping on MTV. Over a thousand people stood outside Times Square in New York
City, screaming Carter’s new name. For the first time I witnessed signs that read: I love you Aiden Storm, Aiden’s # 1, or Aiden, will you marry me?
“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. He has a number-one hit single, and his album due out next month is projected to be the album of the year. Please give a big welcome for Mr. Aiden Storm,” Mason announced.
Carter came out from backstage, looking incredibly appealing in dark denim jeans and a white polo shirt. He skidded down the aisle with the microphone in hand, touching the hands of the screaming girls in the audience. These girls clutched their chests like they might faint or have a coronary when he smiled at them.
“Welcome, Aiden,” Mason said.
“Thanks, man. I’m so glad to be here.”
Several girls in the front row stretched their arms out and tried to touch Carter. They squealed with giddiness in the process.
“All right, so check it out. You’re seventeen-years-old. How does it feel to have all this success at such a young age?”
“All I can say is that I feel very blessed. God has given me a gift, and I’m not going to take it for granted.”
Mason glanced around at the audience. Anyone could easily see the chaos Carter had created amazed him. “So tell me about this new album coming out. Critics are already raving about it, especially since it’s your first studio album.”
“Well, the album is called, Unstoppable. It’s pretty much pop/rock. I wrote a lot of the songs with Dax Larkin. He worked with Whitney Milano on her last album, which was amazing. I’ve actually been working on the album for the last two years, spent five months recording in Sweden. It comes out April 21, and what else can I say? I think everyone will like it. It’s a great album.”
The girls in the audience screamed even louder, and Carter just laughed in response.
Mason shook his head in amazement. “I bet you’re loving every minute of this, aren’t you?”
Carter shot him a sly smile and said, “Of course.”
“Okay, Aiden, there’s one thing everyone’s been dying to know. Do you have a girlfriend?”
For the first time, everyone went silent. Carter held the microphone close to his mouth and instead of answering immediately; he shifted his eyes back and forth mischievously. “Uh no. No, I do not have a girlfriend.”
“I think you just made a lot of women very happy, man,” Mason said.
Carter just shrugged and smiled playfully into the camera.
“Aiden, before you go, you’re going to sing something for us, right?”
“Yes. I’m going to perform my next single, ‘Just Keep on Loving Me’.”
Carter was on a small stage with a live band after the commercial break. The lights dimmed, and he began to sing to a fast-tempo beat. “I think about you every day, and baby, you’re never that far away. Your love is like nothing I’ve ever had. When I’m with you, I know our love will never go bad. Baby, I don’t need another girl. Your love takes me to a higher place when I feel my heart begin to race. Baby, just keep on loving me.”
Not bad, I thought. The tune was harmonious, and the beat was like nothing I had ever heard. I not only fell in love with the song, but with his voice.
After that day, Carter’s face appeared on everything from teenybopper magazines to lunch boxes. I plastered my walls with his posters from the ceiling to the floor. And let it be said that I intended to follow him throughout every step of his career.
Sharing is Caring
1992
My spirits brightened as I approached my house after a long school day. Carter was out on his driveway shooting hoops. Just the sight of him sent sensations through my body that left me in a state of wonder. At the same time, it was kind of awkward—you know, like standing on a stage for the first time in front of a billion people you don’t know. Your knees start to wobble, and your heart pounds straight through your chest. I was unsure of exactly what to make of these new feelings.
“Hey, Carter!” I called from my driveway.
He dashed across the street with the ball tucked under one arm and greeted me. “You’re home late.”
Carter wore his usual blue-and-white basketball jersey shorts and a plain white shirt. He looked to be playing ball outside long before I got home. A ring of wetness surrounded his collar.
“I had to retake a math test. It took forever.”
“Well, do you want to play some ball?”
I never refused a good game of basketball with Carter. “Sure. Let me go put my stuff inside. I’ll be right back.”
I scampered into the house and tossed my backpack onto the couch. I was just about to make my way outside when Mom caught me.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she asked.
She smelled heavenly, like freshly baked bread that just came out of the oven.
“Carter wants to play ball for a little bit.”
Mom smiled and brushed her wet hands against her apron. “That’s fine, but I don’t want you out too late. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“I won’t be out long,” I said impatiently.
Carter sat on the curb, twirling the ball in midair. “Ready?” he asked.
“Aren’t I always?” I responded with a smirk.
We stood facing each other in the middle of my driveway. The dribbling sound of the basketball discharged the silence. Carter slid to the right, attempting a block shot. I was too quick for him. I stole the ball in one foul swoop and made a drive to the basket as Carter trailed behind me. I released the ball and aimed for the basket, but it hit the backboard and missed. This screw-up gave Carter a defensive rebound, and we ended up where we started. It went back and forth like this for the next thirty minutes. Frustration brewed inside me and I was just about to call it a day, and then I heard Dad’s voice.
“Hey, what’cha kids up to?” Dad was still dressed in his forest-green Car Depot shirt and khaki slacks. This told me he had just arrived home.
“Just playing a game of ball,” I responded.
“Hello, Mr. Moore,” Carter said politely, reaching out to shake his hand.
Dad declined the handshake. He instead wrapped his arm around Carter’s shoulder and drew him in close. This was followed by a doting pat on the back. My father never withheld friendliness.
“Oh, son, we know each other well enough by now. Call me Martin.”
As much as I would have loved to chum around with my father all night, I was just a tad bit annoyed that he had interrupted us. “So what’s up, Dad?”
“Just checking on you.” He rubbed the top of my head, disheveling my hair. “From the looks of it, you two were sporting a good game.”
Carter rolled his eyes. “Hardly. We haven’t even scored a point yet.”
“Hmmm—” Dad smiled like a man who knew a thing or two about basketball. “Why don’t you let an old pro show you how it’s done?”
“Dad,” I said with a slight huff.
My father chuckled as though the situation was amusing. “Oh sorry. I think I’m embarrassing Alexa here.”
“She told me you taught her everything she knows. I’d really like to see you play,” Carter said.
I crossed my arms in irritation. “Um, we were kind of in the middle of something.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I really shouldn’t,” Dad said with his brown eyes wavering back at me.
“No, come on, Alexa. Don’t be such a poor sport.”
Carter tossed the ball to my dad. “We can all play. Two against one.”
“Oh yeah. So whose team am I on?” I asked as I tapped my foot against the pavement.
Carter’s lips curved into a cunning smile. “Your dad and me against you.”
“What? That’s not fair,” I said with a pout.
Honestly, it had nothing to do with fairness. It was more about Dad stealing my thunder, particularly in front of someone I’d known only a few weeks. Carter was my friend, not his. I announced like a stubborn child that I was no longer interested in playi
ng ball. But did that stop the two of them from continuing on without me? Nope. I resided on the curb, fuming as I watched them in their own little world. As angry as I was, I had to admit that Dad emulated a pro out there. I always believed he had the stamina to be a professional basketball player. Yes, he was that good. I’d seen pictures of him when he was younger. He not only towered over his peers back in the day, but my father had a sleek, muscular build that put any athlete to shame. Not to mention, he was also the captain of the basketball team in high school. Dad was still as strong as an ox, but a sagging beer belly and not being able to go without a cigarette for more than an hour didn’t help much.
I envisioned my father with the son he always wanted while they battled it out on the driveway. Life was tough enough for my parents before I was born. The serious complications Mom had during her pregnancy with me just made matters worse. Dad had his heart set on a boy from the very beginning, and finding out that she would never be able to bear another child nearly devastated both of them. In a way, the outcome had affected me too. I was truly envious of the relationship Carter had with Darren, knowing I was destined to be an only child forever.
Dad would stop periodically throughout their game, and show Carter some type of technique. He’d explain it like he always did with me, advising him on how to improve a bank shot or a crossover dribble. Carter stood there drinking it all in. I’d never seen him so immersed. I would have thought Dad was giving Carter some sort of fatherly advice if I wasn’t privy to what their conversation was really about. I knew all too well by then that Carter’s father was not present in his life. The way my father and Carter paled around seemed as though they were filling each other’s voids.
“Whew, son.” Dad wiped sweat from his brow. “You play a good game.”
Forever Blue Page 6