Shh…Mine
By Shannon Dianne
(This. Is. Not. Over.)
Copyright 2013 by Shannon Dianne
All Rights Reserved
www.shannondianne.com
October
There she is. I’m a ghost that she looks right through. It’s as if she doesn’t see me. I push my cap over my eyes and look around. This is her favorite spot. She’s a book-girl, editor of St. Bernadette’s newspaper and only a sophomore. Impressive. She’s a badass I hear, the kind of girl that likes to deliver blows to the head with a smile. Shut the fuck up (whop!)…thank you ever so much. I’ve seen her work before, just a few months back:
“Nothing’s ever fucking good enough.” Fern says as she storms out of Gully’s Scripts Journalism Building, her mascara doing that disgusting slide down on her face. Why do girls wear so much goddamn makeup? Especially if they know that they’re criers. “It’s like, I can do nothing right.” She runs into the arms of Tam who agrees with her, “That girl is like a total bitch.” Ah…they must be talking about Red. Red, the one who requires every member of the newspaper’s staff to have a current passport or risk termination.
“Passports! When she says that, I’m like, seriously?” Tam says during one of the weekend bonfires on campus. She laughs along with the rest of our group. I laugh for another reason, Tam has no idea whose she’s fucking with. She’s met her match. “Mine’s expired so, oh well.” She shrugs. Two weeks later she’s let go from the paper. Don’t fuck with Red. “Bitch!” Tam says at the next bonfire as the girls all take turns hugging her. Totally, they all agree. “Badass is at it again.” My best friend Nat whispers to me, laughing over his shoulder. Again? Did she ever stop?
Now, I’m in the library and since this is an expensive ass private Catholic school, it looks like a college professor’s office in here: dark, smoky, and deep. You know the type of office, where they have the beige and brown globes inside of them and maps on the wall that are drawn according to 15th Century explorers. The kind where the professor is always a teacher of History or English and is of course a Mason, not to mention an undercover CIA cell, who has knowledge of some dark hidden shit that a smart ass college student figures out and now he wants answers to. Sorry, I’m a deep thinker. But I’m also a Republican so that means that all of my depth can be answered with: because God says it’s so.
Well anyways, I’m here and as usual, midterm is crunch time. No talking in St. Bernadette’s Library or you may be given the look: umm pardon me, please shut the hell up. I’m trying to make up for half a semester where I didn’t do shit. The tables are filled with blinking, narrowing eyes rescanning the same page for twenty minutes. Did Mr. Clemmons ever talk about this? It’s my last year here before I’m off to Princeton which is a five hour drive from St. Bernadette’s campus. Bernadette’s is a campus tucked far away within Boston’s gemstone painted woodlands which looks beautiful and rich, much like everyone here on campus.
I do my best to ease into the library but I’m a big guy so as expected, I bump a few book bags off the back of seats. Oh, sorry for knocking your book bag off the back of your chair…what’s the look for? Calm down, it was a mistake…yeah, it’s me Malcolm. You’re forgiven…and then I slide down into the seat across from her. Of course she continues to type. Red hair the color of fall leaves, almond butter skin, and eyes the color of Scotch. I can’t see her eyes now but I watch them every day as she walks the halls with her roommate, Jasmine. Both are boarders here, both are the only black people here, both keep to themselves. Red won’t even look up from her computer to see the person who just came to join her table; everyone knows that you’re supposed to give a polite smile that says, midterms are a bitch aren’t they? She has no respect for standard protocol. I like that.
“This seat taken?” Oh god…Fern. Time to smile (Smiling is Rule One of being in control). I halfway stand and pull out the chair for Fern Crawley, daughter of Congressman Richard Crawley, best friend to the recently unemployed Tam.
“Of course not.” I say with a smile, hoping it’s reaching my eyes. The rules with a smile is that is has to reach your eyes in order for you to not look like a politician. So, let’s see if I did it well. Fern smiles and winks. Hmm…guess I did.
“I missed you last night after the bonfire.” She whispers in my ear.
“I’ll make it up to you.” I whisper back. This time she smiles and purrs. I nearly laugh from the theatrics but that’s Fern. She’s a purr-er and the loudest piece of ass I’ve ever had. Damn, that last part was unnecessary. Let me rephrase that: she’s vocal. There, better. I don’t want to be seen as a dickhead. Image is important and I don’t want people to see a dick when they look at me…well sometimes I do. Actually, sometimes I want them to pretend to be blinded by it but, now I’m going off on a tangent. Back to Fern, let me smile to show her I care.
“All night?” I watch her take a seat and then look towards Red. Yeah Fern, I can’t help it either. It’s something about Red where she makes you look at her. I’m not the only one; I’ve seen her come into a room and I’ve watched eyes as they trail her. Look at me…validate me. Umm, what were Fern and I talking about? Oh yeah, me fucking her brains out “all night.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Another quick shot of my eyes towards Red and she’s still studying. She feels familiar. Have you ever met someone who felt familiar? Have you ever seen someone and immediately felt that you knew this person? Something seemed familiar about that person? That’s what it feels like with her. I’m sure it’s the fact that she doesn’t seem to give a shit about me and won’t look in my direction no matter how hard I stare. Sure, I’m partial to caps and pull one on each day but it’s not hard to notice me even if you can’t see my eyes. Well, let me clarify that, I’ve never had a problem with a girl not noticing me. I’m tall and dark on a campus full of skinny blonds, who wouldn’t notice me? Red. You’re dark, they’re blond, I’m Red. What’s your fucking point? That’s something she’d say. Damn, I love a badass.
“I’m like so ready to graduate.” Fern says as she slams her book bag on the table. The thud shatters through the library and heads pop up. Shit. I place a hand on her back and smile while helping her take some books out of her bag. Quietly.
“Yeah, me too.” I whisper. Notice how I’m doing this? Follow my lead. I look to Red and she’s placing earphones on, her eyes still glued to her computer screen. I smile. She’s a badass. She’ll put on earphones right in front of you so that you’ll get the point. I’m being passive aggressive and telling you to shut the fuck up. Thank you ever so much.
I don’t know much about Red other than she’s a sophomore from Boston. She doesn’t come to the football games, because if she did she’d know that she was sitting across from the starting wide receiver and I’m sure she won’t be coming to the basketball games to see me as the forward. In other words, I’m an all-American white boy and I have a right to be as loud as I want to be. Got that Red? I’m sorry, just joking, won’t happen again. St. Bernadette has written about me dozens of times though I’m sure Red’s unable to place the face with the name. For once in my life, I’m wondering if a girl notices me. Crazy as hell.
“Who are you looking at?” I’m surprised Fern has caught me staring at Red but I ease my head back towards her. (Rule Two: never let someone know they’ve caught you off guard). Fern makes a show of looking at Red and then back to me and now Fern’s caught the attention of a few others at our table. She has no respect for library decorum. It’s the very reason why you won’t find me in her bed anymore. Hey Red, you hear that? Doesn’t that make you proud?
“No one.” I wink at her, lean over and kiss her lips. Shut up. A
light pull of her bottom lip and her mouth eases into a smile. Thank you ever so much. (Rule Three: Be nice.) Fern purrs. I pull back and Fern gets comfortable in her chair before giving me the latest news. It’s the usual run down of her day with Tam who’s been like so depressed after being let go. She says that part loud but without looking at Red. Red does nothing.
“Anyways, you want to grab some hot chocolate after we study?” Fern asks as she leans into me and buries her head in my neck. I must admit, she may be a bit of a nuisance but she’s a good lay. Damn, yet again, that was unnecessary.
“You know I don’t drink hot chocolate.” Not only do I not drink it, I hate the shit.
“Well coffee, whatever…” She backs away and starts sorting through her books, scattering them on the table in an effort to make a show. She’s studying with the real studiers. She means business. I see Red adjust in her seat, look at her watch and then begin to pack up her computer. She slides her earphones off and then stands. I know Fern is sitting right here but I can’t resist.
“I’m sorry, we were being loud.” I say. I feel Fern’s head snap towards me. Red says nothing. Did she hear me? “Red-”
“It’s fine.” She says. And then she’s gone.
November
“If you plan on killing me, keep in mind that you’ll get more use out of kidnapping me instead.” She says without turning around, her legs hanging over the pier’s ledge as she looks up towards the heavens.
Red may be intimidating but I’ve got gumption. All that means is that we equal each other out. We don’t scare each other. And I’ve grown tired of watching her walking around and looking through me. So the rest of these scrawny ass white boys may be scared of the pretty black badass on campus, but not me. I’m here Red, what do you plan on doing about it?
I laugh and stop a few yards behind her, her red hair the only thing I can clearly spot in the shadows of the woodlands as it blends in with some of the leaves scattered around. The light is courtesy of the moon’s reflection bouncing off of the water just beyond us. I saw her from the parking lot as I was coming back from Fern’s dorm. I know, I said I was done with her. Hey…Rule Three: Be Nice.
“You have enemies?” I ask. Tam and Fern come to mind.
“Do I have friends is the better question.” She raises her head. I stand behind her and watch her legs swing back and forth on the pier’s ledge. This sounds like it may get deep. Wait, she’s swinging her legs. That’s such a playful move for Red.
“Seems to me that you’re never short on friends.” I crouch down onto the grass. Every time I see Red, someone’s buzzing around her, doing their best to kiss her ass.
“You may need to adjust your definition of friends.”
“Come on Red, it’s not that bad here.” She pauses her leg swinging and for a moment says nothing. Am I really having a conversation with this girl?
“You’re right, it’s not.” That doesn’t sound like a good thing.
“What am I missing here?”
“Are you white?”
“I am.”
“Rich?”
“Courtesy of my family.”
“Catholic?”
“Of course.”
“Then you belong here.”
“Not any more than you.”
“No?” Of course not. “Are you one of those white people who don’t see race?” I smile. I have minority friends…let’s see there’s…and there’s…
“I’ll admit that my world isn’t as colorful as I’d like it to be.”
“You want it to be colorful?” She sounds like she’s smiling. Is this a real smile or a fake one? Is this an ever so much smile or one of my smiles? Wait, she’s teasing me which means she has control of this conversation right now. I need to be in front of her so that she can see me smile and watch it reach my eyes.
“I’d like my life to be a reflection of the world I live in.”
“Poetic.”
“It’s true.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit…”
“Yep.”
“Why’s that?” Yes, I am really having a conversation with Red.
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”
“So I’m here because I like to live privately among others who look like me?”
“You’re here because you’re a member of the next generation of founders. The nation’s intellect was built on the minds of men like you; white, rich, educated. I bet you’ll leave here, go to an Ivy League, join Sigma Chi, go to law school and then slide onto The Hill courtesy of your father’s coattails. And from there you’ll look down and wave to your subjects.” She gives a Queen Elizabeth wave, flicking her wrists.
I say nothing. I am going to law school, my father is the Ambassador to Great Britain, and the men of my family are brothers of Sigma Chi frat. But please understand why I say nothing. I’m usually the one of my group to question the system, threaten the norm, push people’s buttons. My conservative circle calls me The Lib. I’m not used to being on the opposite end of propaganda talk.
“You’re quiet.” She says. Her voice is smiling at me, teasing me. She’s still in control.
“I’m thinking of a comeback.” She laughs and the sound of it, the rare sound of a genuine laugh from Badass Red, shocks me. Red usually doesn’t laugh; she has her head buried in a book when she’s not firing people for not having valid identification. Wait, that’s a good point. “You fired Tam for not having a passport.”
“Who the hell doesn’t have a valid passport these days?” What do you mean? Are you serious?
“Plenty of people.” I accidentally let an incredulous inflection seep out into my words. Damn, I just showed genuine feelings which means I just showed my card. If this were a poker game, I would have lost. I failed Rule Four: Be cool. She stops swinging her legs. I don’t have to say another word, she’s heard my point. She can look at the rest of us here at St. Bernadette’s and call us them but in reality she should be saying we. There are plenty of people in this nation, middle class people, broke people, down and out people, regular people, ordinary, everyday people who don’t have passports. A passport implies you’re traveling over the pond. How many average Americans out of a hundred have been to France and Italy and Great Britain? And by the age of eighteen? She fired Tam because Tam wasn’t exhibiting the mark of success which is the prompt ability to travel whenever the need or desire arises. But there’s no need to say all of this, that’s Rule Five: Think it, don’t say it. I wait for a response; she’s been quiet for too long now. Damn, I offended her. (Rule Three: Be nice.) “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“I don’t belong out there.” She whispers as she puts her hands on the pier’s ledge and begins to clench the side. Hmm…this is getting serious.
“Where do you belong?” I soften my voice barely above the sound of the crickets around us. She’s out here thinking about her life, thinking about where she belongs and she’s included me in her conversation to vent. Red wants to talk to someone. Red wants to talk to me.
“Here. I belong here.” And I could tell that for her, that wasn’t a good thing.
“So you’re the type to fight the inevitable?”
“And what do you think the inevitable is for me?” I pick up a patch of grass and begin throwing the blades one by one.
“Here’s how your life will go; you’ll fight yourself for years. I’m not sure how long but it’ll be a while. Finally you’ll surrender and eventually I’ll see you on The Hill…right beside me.” She turns her head a bit after I say that, as if she wants to look over her shoulder. Who is this white boy?
“Right beside you? I don’t even know who you are.” Her voice is smiling again.
“No worries.” I take off my jacket and stand up. “Remember you’ve still got a lot of fighting to do,” I walk to her and put the jacket around her shoulders, “so we still have time.” And then I leave. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. I’m in no rush Red, we’ve got time.
December
It’s a month after that convo on the pier and I’m coming back from Fern’s dorm (shut the fuck up), when I park my car and see her. St. Bernadette’s has a playground on campus for those of us with young siblings. They come when our parents can take off from running the country to check in on us. Are you studying at your Catholic boarding school? Yes, dad. Are you praying at your Catholic boarding school? Yes, dad. Are you getting plenty of ass at your Catholic boarding school? Yes, dad. Good boy. Red’s sitting on a swing, her feet on the ground, pushing her back on forth. I look around and see Nat, Jacob and a couple of other fellas from the basketball team jogging. They stop in front of me to catch up and within minutes, I’m alone and on my way to Red. Her hair is up in a high bun and her neck has a simple thin gold chain around it. I know it’s the chain she always wears with a small book pendant on it. A book-girl to the damn bone. I don’t know why but that’s sexy.
I actually grow excited to talk to Red as I make my way over. See, I’ve lived in a white world my entire life and the only black people in it were either serving us or fighting us. To know a black person, who neither feels subservient nor threatened, draws me to her. I’ve gotta walk over there. The last encounter we had, she seemed to not want to see my face. I take it that she has no idea that I’m her confidant since she walks right past me on campus as though I am a ghost, as though we didn’t share a conversation that touched deeper than casual greetings. But we shared, come on Red, look at me. I take it she never looked in the inside pocket of my jacket because if she had, she would have seen my campus ID in it. Forgot it was there. So, to keep up the charades and honestly, to talk to her again in the candid way she spoke to me before, I walk to the swing right next to her but sit in the opposite direction.
“Are you gonna make this a habit?” She asks.
“How do you know it’s me?”
“I can smell you.”
Shh...Mine (This. Is. Not. Over.) Page 1