by Luke Loaghan
“I’ve got nothing to lose,” I smirked.
I paid the bill like a real gentleman, like the characters played by Bogart or Cary Grant in those old movies. On our way out, I blurted, “I have to tell you, you look really different lately. Much better than before.”
“Is that a compliment…or…are you saying that I looked terrible before?” she asked with a confused expression.
“That did not come out right. I meant that you look beautiful.” I really had to be more careful. “Are you going to the April dance with anyone?” It sounded as if I was asking her to the dance.
“I think you are a really nice guy, and we could be friends but I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Natalie.
“Natalie, I wasn’t asking you to the dance for me. I was asking for my friend John.”
She glanced down, obviously realizing the reason we had cheesecake was so that I could bring up John.
“Is there another guy?” I asked.
“No, not exactly.” She sighed, and her eyes peered to the left, and then to the right. “I just joined the GLBU and...”
“Did you just say the GLBU? Why would you join that club, everyone is going to think you’re a lesbian,” I said.
There was a new club at school called the Gay Lesbian Bisexual Union. There were a plenty of jokes about the club. I didn’t know anyone in the club, but I did laugh at many of the jokes that were going around school.
“Well, that’s the thing. I think that I am a lesbian.”
“Wow…all this time I thought you were Puerto Rican.” We both laughed. She seemed nervous, and I was in shock, but I didn’t want her to feel awkward.
“Well…good for you…” I playfully punched her on the arm, like I would with one of my guy friends. I was stunned and speechless.
“I hope you don’t think of me differently,” she said.
I had new visions of our future together. I daydreamed about us playing basketball, and arm wrestling, and fixing cars together. I snapped out of it.
“Well, you’re the first lesbian I’ve ever met. But I’d still like to be friends,” I said.
“I’d like that too.”
“Natalie, how do you know that you are a lesbian? You’re so young and it’s a big statement. Have you ever dated a boy?” I asked.
“I have dated boys before, though nothing serious. I just feel attracted to girls. My parents are freaking out; we’re Catholic and they want me to talk to a priest.”
“If you change your mind about John, let me know,” I said.
We walked to the subway, and took different trains. I gave her a hug good-bye.
“David…”
“I won’t say anything to anyone. That’s your business.”
January had come to a shocking conclusion. Later that night, John called.
“She’s not interested,” I said.
“Why not?” John asked.
“She’s out of your league, man…way out of your league.”
The next day, Delancey and I were walking toward the Subway. The psychic was standing outside and invited us for a palm reading.
“No thanks,” I was replied when Delancey interrupted.
“Sure! Let’s see how good you are.”
Reluctantly, I entered the psychic’s storefront. Delancey had already sat down. The psychic introduced herself as Delfina. Delancey’s face was full of hope and amazement, even before Delfina said anything.
Delancey placed her open right palm into Delfina’s hands. The curtains were closed; very little daylight entered the room. Several candles flickered. I sat skeptical.
“First I will tell you what I see about you. Then you may ask three questions,” said Delfina, in a low voice, just above a whisper, with a foreign accent.
The dim room was replete with statues from a myriad of religions, and small pictures of saints and demigods. The flickering candle light created hard to ignore shadows on the walls. An ominous feeling overtook the room. Delfina stared fixedly into Delancey’s palms.
“Listen, I don’t want to do this; its better if you leave,” Delfina said, releasing Delancey’s right hand.
“Why, is it bad?” Delancey asked. I rolled my eyes, but held my tongue. I figured this was how Delfina lured someone for more money.
“I really don’t want to do this…please just take your money and go home.” Delfina looked seriously frightened.
Delancey was unwilling to leave. She offered an extra twenty dollars. Delfina turned it down, and remarked that it would be better if Delancey did not know her future. Delancey offered more money, which Delfina rejected again.
“Listen, if you don’t read my palm, I will just find someone else who can. I know a very good clairvoyant in the East Village.” Delancey folded her arms, and stared at Delfina.
“Okay…have it your way,” Delfina replied.
Once again, Delancey placed her right hand in Delfina’s hands, and opened her palm.
“I see that you are a very head strong person, maybe even a feminist. You are independent, and you want to remain an independent person. I see lots of sadness in your life…are your parents divorced?” asked Delfina.
“Yes they are.”
“You are depressed…for a long time. You are very close to your father, but he is overbearing. He loves you very much, but he is very controlling and you don’t handle this well. You are more like your mother…you want to be free...There is pressure in your life, and you stay up late unable to handle it….tell me, what kind of pressure do you feel?”
A tear rolled down Delancey’s face, and her eyes welled up.
“I just…can’t deal.…I mean…. my father is very controlling, and he tries to make every decision in my life for me. I can’t choose the colleges I want to apply to, or even what I want to major in. I can’t choose what I want to eat for dinner….he’s worried I’m going to get fat so he orders a salad for me whenever we are out. It’s really a lot to deal with.” Delancey was crying. I remained silent, feeling her pain.
“You have a digestive problem?” Delfina asked.
“I was bulimic last year.”
Delfina asked if she should continue, and Delancey nodded.
“You are unable to sleep, and even when you do, you don’t sleep well. I see that you are afraid to disappoint your father; his expectations are very high for you. You come from a wealthy family, but you are not happy. I see that you are looking for an escape, and you drink or do drugs when you can’t handle the pressure anymore. You rebel by letting yourself get out of control…it’s how you cope with a controlling father.”
Delancey wiped her face, but tears continued to fall silently.
“You try to portray yourself as strong willed, an overachiever…but that’s not who you really are…you want to be a normal teenaged girl…more than anything else. You would rather be a normal woman, wife, mother, kids, married. You really don’t want to be an overachiever. Now you may ask three questions.”
“Will I get married? I’m just so worried that with all I have to accomplish in life, I won’t meet someone,” said Delancey, trying to compose herself.
“Yes, you will, sooner than you plan.”
“Tell something about the man I’m going to marry…” Delancey giggled, seeming much relieved.
“He’s someone who will go to great lengths to find you, and to bring you home. Someone that is not afraid to go anywhere just to see you.” Delfina glanced at me, just for a split second.
“Last question…what do you see becoming of my friendship with David?” Delancey glanced at me with a smile.
“It won’t last…you will leave after high school. And he is crazy in love with you, but he is not mentally strong enough to hold on to you.” We left the psychic’s storefront.
On the subway ride home we hardly spoke. I was disappointed and pessimistic…about my future with Delancey, and insulted that Delfina called me mentally weak. I decided not to bring up her bulimia or anything from the readin
g. There was no evidence that the psychic had any special abilities. It was just rubbish.
Chapter 13
I’d never liked the month of February - too much going on in too short a time period. February in New York is too cold for the gangs and street thugs. They don’t hang around in plain sight. Instead, they lurk like shadows in alleyways, housing projects, and of course the subways. February is also split in half – by Valentine’s Day, a much feared high school holiday.
The month began on a cold Wednesday, the weather calm; the real storm was brewing in school. By third period, news was circulating of two suicides. One was a girl named Amy. The other was a boy named Albert. It was disturbing, although I did not know either student personally.
It was rumored that Amy ingested the contents of an entire bottle of Tylenol. She left a note stating her life had not turned out the way she had intended, that she felt like a major disappointment to her family and school. Albert did not leave a note. Instead, he jumped in front of a subway car on his way to school.
At lunch, Sam was still bragging about all the fun he was having with his young girlfriend. The look on Carlos’s face was classic – he was fascinated and at the same time envious. I wondered if Carlos had his own brain. Still disgusted, I told Sam to end it. He refused.
“You don’t get it. I’m not like you, and I have no intentions of being like you, with your high brow, condescending attitude. Her parents are okay with it, and I’m having a lot of fun. Worry about your own girlfriend and mind your own beeswax,” Sam said.
A flyer was distributed throughout the cafeteria about Valentine’s Day. A student organization was arranging to have a rose delivered to the person of your choice for one dollar. Around the cafeteria, there was both giddiness and despair. Panic spread like the creeping death, from girls and boys, who felt the pressure to both send and receive roses. This would be normal at any other high school, but at Stanton, the kids are academically smart and emotionally underdeveloped.
John said, “I’m going to send some roses to a handful of girls.”
“Oh yeah, like who, John?” said Sam.
“There are five girls that I kind of like. Nothing serious, but now they will know.”
“I think I’ll send one to Doreen,” Sam joked. I glowered at him.
While ordering a few roses for Delancey, I saw Sal out of the corner of my eye. He had been there all along, completely unnoticeable, standing and watching, sipping coffee, studying all of us in the high school cafeteria. I approached him from the left, catching him off guard.
“Sal what’s going on?” I asked.
“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know. Hemingway said that, and it’s truer at Stanton than anywhere else,” Sal said.
“You can’t quote Hemingway, not now, not here. You’re not qualified yet,” I remarked, impressed with my own wit.
“Qualified? What would make one qualified to quote Hemingway?” Sal didn’t look my way, but kept observing the students in the cafeteria.
“About twenty years of hard drinking and womanizing. Then we’ll know if you mean it.”
“Very funny, David. Why aren’t you eating with your cafeteria friends?”
“I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and wondered what you were doing here. I thought you had started college.”
He held his hand up signaling that I should remain quiet. I stood next him trying to see what he found so interesting. But, after several minutes, I had no idea what he was doing. Finally, he lowered his hand, and faced me.
“I had the day off and decided to come here. High school has a collective consciousness. It’s the mood, emotions and minds of the students. It changes from day to day, emitting energy that cannot be seen, but can be measured. There is a considerable amount of negative energy today. Look at my device.” I glanced at a device in David’s hand. “It is connected to diodes in the heating system. The mood of the school changes the charge of the water in the heating system. When the kids are really stressed out, they give off negative energy, collectively.” Another of Sal’s crazy assertions.
“I’m observing the students because I believe I can predict the next student death.” I peered out the window, searching for a padded wagon going to Belleview.
“It sounds nuts. But it’s true. I’ve been studying the patterns for sometime. The pressure is really building; I can feel it…like steam in a pipe, about to burst. Someone is going to crack.” I shook my head in disbelief and left.
I was distracted by the Valentine’s Day flower delivery. It was nice to have someone to send flowers to on Valentine’s Day. I thought about asking Delancey to the April dance or the prom. Then I grew nervous, reminding myself how different we were.
She was on my mind every waking moment of the day. We were good friends, but she had made it clear that we are not dating. Perhaps if I had money, or a fancy car, or if I was attending a fancy private college in the fall, maybe she would want to be more than friends.
Mr. Zoose saw me in the newspaper office. He asked if I was all right.
“Well, Mr. Zoose, I’m not really dating Delancey, although we spend a lot of time together. I really like her, and I think she likes me, but I’m from a poor family, and well, you know she has money and lives a fancy ridiculous life. And I’m having a hard time with it.”
“How so? Is Delancey giving you a hard time?” Mr. Zoose wondered.
“No. I was at her place a little while ago, and it was apparent how mismatched we are.”
“David, high school is a short period in your life. Don’t waste time on things that you can’t change. So what if her family is wealthy. It doesn’t mean that they are better or smarter or kinder or nicer people. If she’s okay with it, you should be too.”
Sal was in the hallway.
“Sal, what are you still doing here?”
“I heard about Amy and I wanted to stick around.” Sal seemed distracted and was fidgeting.
“Amy? Were you too very close?” I asked.
“I’m not close to anyone by design, but I did have a few classes with her. I liked her a lot.” Sal sighed. “Besides, I was working on a project in the basement, and needed to make some notes.”
I didn’t ask. I knew better. Sal went into a lengthy explanation about his experiments into the Astral Plane. He claimed to have developed a scientific device that was able to transport him back and forth and bring him closer to understanding the spirit world. He seemed genuine and honest, but he also seemed crazy. Despite the strong conviction in his voice, I remained unconvinced.
“I can tell that you don’t believe me. But I can prove it to you.”
Sal asked for my home address, and phone number, and reluctantly, I gave it to him.
“You’ll see what I mean. Soon enough.”
I had an appointment with Ms. Eris, the psychologist, at her request.
“David, have a seat,” she said.
“I can’t stay long.”
“I just wanted to check in with you, make sure that things were going smoothly.” She smiled her plastic smile, and spoke very slowly, as if I was a preschooler.
“Everything is fine, Ms. Eris.”
“Have you heard back from any colleges yet?” she asked.
“Not yet. I only applied to one, a state school up North.”
“Have you received your SAT scores yet?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, you should be getting your scores very soon. Albert and Amy had just received SAT scores prior to their passing.” She gazed intently into my eyes.
I understood why I was here. She was concerned that I might be disastrously disappointed with my scores.
“I am not suicidal.”
“No one thinks that you are. My job is to talk to all the kids that I am assigned to. This is a tough time of year. There is a lot happening all at the same time. Lots of kids start to feel depressed. Some of it is hormonal, some if it has to do with an overwhelming feelin
g that things are spiraling out of control. The SATs do not define your success in life or your happiness. Don’t place too much emphasis on them.”
“Are you saying that I did poorly on the SATs?” I asked.
“I’m not saying that at all. I have no idea what your score is. I am saying that many kids think that the SATs define their lives and they do not. It’s not like anybody walks around with their SAT scores in their wallets for the rest of their lives. The score is just a number, nothing more. That may have been part of the problem with Albert, who felt like he was a failure and jumped in front of the train.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that she was suicide prevention at Stanton.
“Was there something else?” I asked.
“Feel free to talk to me at anytime…about anything. I can offer advice sometimes, and sometimes I can be a good listener. How’s your guitar playing coming along?” she asked.
“I haven’t really been practicing. I’m getting more serious and more focused about life.”
“If playing the guitar makes you happy then do it. Remember that happiness is the goal. Don’t deny your own happiness.” This was in stark contrast to the school’s opinion of me when I played guitar in the cafeteria. They had thought that I had cracked. Now she was telling me to play guitar if it made me happy. I left her office and went to hang out with Delancey.
Delancey and I went to Ray’s Famous Pizza in the East Village. I stared at her face while we ate. She had angelic features, and I loved the way her eyes smiled along with her lips. She was more than beautiful, in the traditional sense of the word. There was something special about her, something that not only invited me to be open and honest with her, but also something that made me very possessive toward her. She talked about school, college, and Valentine’s Day…and I just sat staring, my eyes fixated on her eyes, and the movement of her lips. I leaned over and kissed her. I didn’t think about it, and I didn’t overanalyze it. I wasn’t worried about what her reaction was going to be. It was something that I had wanted to do for a long time, since the first time that I saw her, nearly three years ago.