Portrait of a Girl Running

by J. B. Chicoine

  She kicked the fence behind her. “Always, I love you, but always the music first. All the apologies and the promises that we’ll settle down, live in a house. I went from being the band mascot and gopher to a nursemaid.”

  Kyle stepped forward as tears streamed down her face.

  “Yeah, I’m a difficult person to be around. I don’t know the first thing about making friends.”

  He pulled her close. The tighter he held her, the harder she cried.

  He tried to sort through everything she had just divulged. As her body heaved, his own throat tightened and his eyes burned. As he pieced together all the parts of the puzzle that previously did not fit, he understood why she did not want a relationship with Micah. Why she seemed always on edge around kids her own age. Why she was sick after parent-teacher conferences. He now had an inkling of why she lived where she did. And why she was always running.

  Kyle did not withdraw until her breathing slowed, and she pulled back just enough to retrieve a paper towel from her pocket. She blew her nose. Saying nothing, he stroked loose hairs from her face. She evoked the tenderest feelings. As she leaned into him again, his lips brushed her forehead.

  “Let’s go back to my house,” he whispered. With his arm across her back, he led her off the field.

  In his room, Kyle shoved aside books and papers on his desktop and pushed up the sash of the gabled window above it. He pulled himself out onto the roof overlooking his backyard and then offered his hand. Leila followed.

  Brisk air ruffled the trees that blossomed with full autumn color. Noonday sun warmed the roof shingles. They sat close, looking out over a small brick patio. The emotional crescendo had fallen and Leila sat quietly. Kyle had questions, and although he waited for her to take the initiative, it occurred to him that she might be waiting for him.

  “I’m really sorry about your father,” he said.

  Leila acknowledged his words with a stiff, close-lipped smile.

  “How did he die?”

  “Cancer.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Never knew her.” Leila stared straight ahead, pursing her lips.

  “Wow.”

  “Have I completely freaked you out?”

  “Are you kidding me?” His hand found hers. “No way! You’re like the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

  Her dimples deepened with a real smile, and her eyes met his. She had a very different look than Maryanne, but she was just as pretty—prettier when she wore her hair down. At the thought of his girlfriend, he became aware of Leila’s hand beneath his, and withdrew, planting both hands behind him. “So, does anyone else know?”

  “Ian—I mean, Coach Brigham and Mr. Myles know.”

  “Oh God! Myles knows?”

  “Yes.” This time, she gave details, filling in the formerly vague elements of Myles’ place in their relationship. The alliance forced upon him and Leila now made sense.

  “So what’s the deal with Brigham?” His arms wrapped around bent knees.

  Leila’s eyes gaped. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I was just wondering if you had a thing for him, or something.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “For one thing, all the girls do. And that day when the two of you were talking in the gym—I don’t know, it seemed like you were talking about more than just track.”

  Leila shrugged and looked straight ahead. “He was just concerned about the Friday thing, when I went home sick.”

  “Yeah—but you do have a thing for him, don’t you?”

  She said nothing.

  “’Cause, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re even trying out for track. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that you’re not into it. So, I’m thinking, you must have a thing for Coach Brigham. What else could it be?”

  Leila sighed. “I actually met him at the beach last summer, just after I arrived on Long Island. He knows I’m on my own. He was pretty horrified to find out that I was only seventeen and going to the school where he’s the coach.”

  Now his eyes widened, and then he frowned. “So, he’s got a thing for you, too.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Even at homecoming, when he was taking pictures of you on the bleachers—there was definitely something between you two.” He glanced at her. “And that’s not all. You should have seen the look on his face when Micah was singing ‘Layla.’”

  She stared off as Kyle continued, “And you seriously have a thing for him, too. And it’s not just a crush.”

  Leila now looked straight at him. “I do. I guess you think that’s pretty pathetic.”

  “You know he could get in a lot of trouble.”

  “Of course I know that. That’s why we try to avoid each other.”

  “That’s what you call trying to avoid each other?”

  “Don’t be laying a guilt trip on me, Kyle. You don’t know how it feels to be alone.”

  “Sorry,” he said. The last thing he wanted was to push her away. “So, you live where you do because you can’t afford to live anywhere else?”

  “Sort of. It’s a long story.”

  “Then tell me about the old guys you play with. What kind of music?”

  “We play mostly Delta blues, a bunch of old-time Southern guitar. A lot of harmonica. Artie, the old guy I live above, was actually pretty famous in his day. Any hardcore-blues musician knows his work.”

  “It’s kind of cool that they let you play with them.”

  “Yeah, it is, but they’re pretty laid back. I think they just like having someone young around. Besides, I cook him dinner every Saturday night.”

  “Is that what you’re doing tonight?”

  “Yup.”

  “’Cause you know, Maryanne is out of town with her parents this weekend, and I’m going to be all alone ….”

  Leila giggled for the first time in days. “You want to come with me, Kyle?”

  “You know I do. If you don’t think they’d mind.”

  “Actually, I think Artie would like to finally meet you.”

  “He knows about me?”

  “Of course he does. You’re the ‘tall, handsome boy.’”

  ~

  Carrying a full sack of groceries, Kyle followed Leila as they approached Artie’s front stoop. Catching his breath, he wiped his free hand on his jeans and steadied his nerves.

  Artie flung the door wide open and smiled with big choppers. “This must be Kyle.”

  “It sure is,” Leila said.

  Kyle extended his hand, juggling the groceries. “Hello, sir.”

  The old man’s hand looked frail and felt cool but gripped with surprising strength. As they stepped inside, Kyle surveyed the dim apartment. It was odd that an old man living alone had so many chairs eating up so little floor space.

  Artie grinned. “Now, you go on and get a pop from the icebox.”

  Pop? Icebox? Sidling past the sofa, Kyle followed Leila into the outdated kitchen.

  “Set the groceries on the table,” she said.

  He placed the paper sack on Formica, which sat atop chipped linoleum.

  Leila handed him a root beer soda. “Take it back out and go sit with Artie. I’ll get dinner started.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “He’s an old man. He won’t bite you.”

  “Yeah, but did you see the teeth on him?”

  Leila laughed as he took a deep breath and exited. Artie looked at him sideways and patted the worn cushion beside him.

  Kyle sank into the sofa. His knees jutted upward.

  “Well, son, what do you play?”

  Kyle gulped a breath. “I only play records.”

  “What? No instrument?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, you got two hands, don’t’cha?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I heard you can dance, so you can keep time and hit something can’t’cha?”

  “Y
es, sir.”

  “Then go on over to that closet and fetch the bongos.”

  Kyle leaned forward, placed his soda on a scuffed coffee table, and pried himself from the cushions.

  As he opened the closet door, the scent of Vicks and mothballs greeted him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go digging. To his relief, amidst crammed overcoats and boxes, a set of bongos lay on the floor beside a guitar.

  He returned to the sofa, and this time sat on the edge of the cushion, balancing the small set of drums between his knees. Meanwhile, Artie had picked up his guitar and began picking.

  A gristly old black man thundered in, belly first. The door slammed behind him. The near-ancient man squinted hard, looking Kyle up and down.

  “We have a guest,” Artie said to the man. “This is Kyle.”

  Full lips parted in a big smile. “So this is Kyle.”

  By the time dinner was over, Kyle leaned back in his chair along with his host, talking and laughing. Within an hour, several other regulars showed up, and by nine o’clock, all were tuned up and ready to jam. Leila took to the piano bench. Kyle claimed a chair opposite Buddy, who grinned at him the whole time. Unsure of how to proceed, Kyle fidgeted with the bongos.

  “Just keep time with the bass. You think you can do that?” Buddy said.

  Kyle did his best, encouraged by Leila’s occasional glance. It didn’t take long before he warmed up, alternating between the bass and tenor drum. He even experimented with half and quarter beats. As he watched Artie playing his harmonica while strumming his guitar, something about the combination made Kyle’s hands more responsive. It was impressive, how so much emotion came from one small instrument.

  Around half-past midnight, Artie asked Leila for a glass of water and then directed his attention to Kyle.

  “You’d like to play the harp, wouldn’t’cha son?” Artie said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on over to that chifforobe.”

  Kyle set aside the bongos and stood in front of the doorless cabinet where a couple guitar cases leaned against its interior.

  “In the bottom drawer, there. Fetch that there little box in the corner.”

  Kyle brought it over to Artie, and sat at his side.

  Artie pushed it back at Kyle. “If you don’t learn on it, you have to give it back. See there, it’s got instructions and everything.”

  “Yes, sir, I sure will. I’ll definitely learn to play it. Thank you.”

  “Hey, Kyle,” Leila said. “Don’t you have an eleven-thirty curfew?”

  “Oh man,” he said glancing at his watch. “I gotta call my mother!”

  Three minutes later, after an even-tempered reaming out, Leila drove Kyle home.

  “Are you in big trouble?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, smiling. “But this was seriously worth it.” This was the most extraordinary thing Kyle had ever done in his entire starchy, white-middle-class life.

  ~

  Kyle could hardly wait to see Leila on Monday morning, their first post-weekend encounter. Even though his parents had grounded him for two weeks, and Maryanne was more upset about it than he was, he still smiled every time he thought of playing with Leila and Artie and the boys. He had practiced on the harmonica every spare minute and couldn’t wait to show off.

  As soon as he sat in homeroom, he nudged Leila with his harmonica.

  “Check this out,” he said. Momentarily caught up, he played a scale.

  “Mr. Schultz,” Myles thundered.

  “Oh crap.”

  “Please bring that up here.”

  Kyle shuffled to Myles’ desk, wincing at the possibility of losing his harp. “Mr. Myles, I am so sorry, I swear, you will never see this or hear from it in your class again. Please don’t take it away from me.”

  “Hand it over.”

  Kyle hesitated and then placed it in his teacher’s outstretched palm.

  Myles weighed it in his hand and flipped it over, examining it closely. “How did you come by this instrument?”

  “A friend gave it to me.”

  “Really. Well that friend must like you very much. Do you have any idea what I’m holding?”

  “A harmonica.”

  “A harmonica? This is not just a harmonica. It’s a Hohner Marine Band, diatonic harp. An old one. And a clean one at that. Someone must like you very much.” Myles cast a glance behind Kyle, as if he deduced that Leila had been a party to it. “You’d better take very good care of it.”

  Myles slapped it back in Kyle’s hand.

  “Yes, sir.”

  After class at their locker, Leila smiled as Kyle demonstrated his first accomplishments on the harmonica. Behind Leila, Maryanne approached and he tucked the harp back into his pocket.

  “I’d better get going,” Leila said.

  “Hey, Annie.” Hoping she might have softened, he moved in closer. “Baby, tell me you’re not going to stay mad at me. I just can’t stand it.”

  He couldn’t read her silence, but she allowed him to stroke her hair. “Please let me make it up to you.”

  She stared into his eyes, unwavering. “Do you have feelings for Leila?”

  “What do you mean, like romantic feelings?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kyle couldn’t believe she even needed to ask. “I like her, sure, but I don’t feel anything for her like I do about you. You’re the one I want, Annie. You know that.”

  He pulled her close and hoped his kiss would reassure her. She didn’t respond at first, but he knew how she liked to be kissed, and that seemed to do the trick.

  Chapter 16

  Two weeks into November, the cold stalled, ushering in an Indian Summer. Only a few leaves clung to the trees. It reminded Leila of the February she once spent in Mississippi, when the temperature continuously hovered above freezing. The pungent aroma of decomposing foliage permeated the humid air.

  Saturday marked the end of Kyle’s two-week sentence, although his parents still allowed him to run with and tutor Leila. But more significantly, Saturday marked his one-year anniversary with Maryanne. It always amazed Leila when any teenage couple lasted more than a few months. So, if Maryanne made Kyle happy, and she seemed to, then fine. Just the same, Leila would miss her exclusive time with him, likely to Maryanne’s relief. She had given Leila the cold shoulder for the past two weeks, perhaps because Leila and Kyle now shared a musical interest, that Leila spent time with Kyle while Maryanne couldn’t, or that Maryanne worried that Leila and he might have something going on.

  As usual, Kyle and Leila spent an early morning on the track. As they wound down, he invited her back to his room. “I have something really special I want to show you.”

  Music played in the background as they sat on his bed, facing each other. Kyle handed her a velvet box. Her eyebrows rose in anticipation as she cracked the lid; it sprung back revealing a ruby-encrusted heart of gold.

  “Wow,” she gasped.

  “It’s her birthstone. You think she’ll like it?”

  “She’d be crazy not to ….” Leila fingered the ornament, making it twinkle. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to get something this nice from a boyfriend.”

  “What do you mean? I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of nice presents from boyfriends.”

  “Yeah, well that would require actually having a boyfriend.”

  “Are you kidding me? A pretty girl like you?”

  Leila’s ears burned at the word pretty. Her stomach fluttered. She chuckled. “Well, there was Billy Peterson in third grade—he even tried to kiss me, but I punched him in the gut.”

  “Seriously? That’s the only time you’ve been kissed?”

  “Well, there was the drummer who drank too much and tried to kiss me. My dad beat the crap out of him.”

  “Really? How old were you?”

  “Around fourteen. After that, my dad made me take a self-defense class so I could beat the crap out of men myself.”

  “Jeez, remind me nev
er to try and kiss you.”

  Leila laughed. She doubted she would put up a struggle.

  “So, like, you’re even a virgin when it comes to kissing?” He shook his head, as if a seventeen-year-old girl who hadn’t been kissed was unfathomable. “I mean, I’m, you know, I haven’t actually done it, but I’ve gotten in a whole lot of kissing, and then some—”

  “You’re a virgin?”

  “That’s a girl word. Guys can’t be virgins.”

  “Oh, right,” she rolled her eyes. “Guys have either done it or not done it.”

  “That’s right. Maryanne is the virgin.”

  “But not you, even though you haven’t done it.” Leila passed the box back.

  “That’s right. I mean, sure I’d like to … I’m a teenage guy after all. But I don’t push her.” Kyle looked at the symbol of his devotion. “I really care about her.”

  Leila envied the tenderness beaming from Kyle’s eyes. How would it feel to be his girlfriend? To be the recipient of such a gift? How would his lips feel on hers, kissed the way she had seen him kiss Maryanne? Her stomach rolled at the thought, pushing blood to her neck and cheeks.

  Kyle looked up at her as she bit her lip. Their eyes met and she lingered a moment too long. Her gaze flashed away. Had he read her thoughts? Could he tell her heart was pounding out of her chest?

  “What was that about?” he said.

  “I um ….” She forced herself to look at him, but the frisson had not cooled. “I just think it’s really sweet what you’re doing. Maryanne is really lucky.”

  Kyle swallowed hard, his eyes still on hers. Even in their mutual discomfort—seeing the same expression she had seen on Ian’s face—neither looked away.

  “So,” Leila hoped to squash the tension. “Where are you taking her?”