If You Really Loved Me

by Anne Schraff

  Destini hoped it would never get to Ms. McDowell that she had signed the petition against Mr. Pippin. Destini wondered if teachers go to the faculty room at breaks and talk about the students, as students talk about their teachers. She supposed they did. “Oh, do you have that stupid kid in your class too? . . . Oh my, yes. I dread to see her come in!”

  When Destini began to take notes in class, her sore right wrist reminded her of Tyron’s grasp. She hadn’t realized he grabbed her that hard, but he was a football player and he no doubt had no idea what he had done. Tyron was used to being rough, and for a minute he forgot he was dealing with his girlfriend, not a runningback from the opposing team.

  After history, Alonee caught up to Destini. “He pressured you to sign that stupid petition, didn’t he?” Alonee asked.

  “No, I wanted to,” Destini lied. “I mean, Mr. Pippin is too old to teach, don’t you think? Teachers should be, uh . . . younger, so they understand the kids better. I mean, he came down really hard on those boys when they didn’t do anything so bad.”

  Alonee seemed to be looking right through Destini, into her brain, and she detected the lies. “Destini, people heard you telling Tyron you were afraid to sign the petition, and then he grabbed your arm and—” Alonee started to say.

  “No, he didn’t. Whoever told you that is lying,” Destini said passionately. “He didn’t touch me. I just changed my mind because I thought harder about it. I decided that I shouldn’t let being afraid stop me from doing the right thing.” Destini then tried to change the subject. “That was a good lecture in history today. All the teachers should be like Ms. McDowell. She’s really good.”

  “Destini,” Alonee persisted, “you have to promise me something. If any boy ever hurts you, or if you’re afraid of a guy . . . I mean if he hits you or anything . . . you’ll get away fast and ask for help. Okay? I know you care a lot for Tyron, but if anything bad happens, you’ll get help, right?”

  “Oh, Tyron would never hurt me,” Destini asserted. “I know there are guys like that out there, but Tyron is so gentle. He’s a really good person, Alonee. I’m not foolish enough to have anything to do with a boy who’d hurt me. I mean, that’s just crazy.” Destini knew she was talking too fast and protesting too much, but she was nervous.

  After school, Tyron saw Destini walking toward the bus stop. He called out, “Destini, wait a minute.”

  Destini turned and waited for him. When he reached her, Destini greeted him. “How’s it going, Tyron?”

  “I got that lousy detention,” Tyron replied, “but it doesn’t start for a few minutes. I just wanted to give you something. It’s no big deal but I just wanted you to have it.” He handed her an envelope. There was a paper inside, and on the paper was a poem. It looked like a page had been torn from a book. “I saw this today,” he told her. “It reminded me of you. I wanted you to have it, babe.”

  “Oh Tyron,” Destini sighed, giving him a hug. She put the poem in her binder to read later. She would have kissed Tyron right there, but a lot of kids were around. She didn’t want to put on a show for them.

  “That’s you in the poem, girl,” Tyron said. Then he turned and hurried toward detention. Destini felt so sorry for him.

  On the bus, Destini took the poem out of her binder and read it. It was titled “To a Fair Maiden of My Heart’s Desire.” Her heart racing, Destini read the poem,

  She is lovely as a rose, she is my dearest treasure,

  She is the one I chose, loved beyond all measure,

  I thank the fates that brought us together.

  The author of the poem was listed as anonymous.

  The poem came from a book that was maybe trying to teach poetry. But the sentiment in the poem touched Destini deeply. She read it over and over, amazed that this was how Tyron felt about her. She never thought he was the sort of a boy who would read a poem, much less apply one so sentimental to their friendship. She would take the poem home and put it in her diary. She would date the entry and tell in detail how Tyron had given it to her and what he said. Tenderly now, Destini put the page containing the precious poem back in her binder.

  Destini had been documenting her entire friendship with Tyron in her diary. From that first moment in English class when Tyron made eye contact with her, everything was lovingly written down. The egg rolls and even the horror movie were there. The diary was the evidence that she, Destini Fletcher, at last had a real boyfriend. Now she added the poem on the page torn from a book. This was surely the most tender evidence of their growing friendship.

  Alonee called that evening. “Destini, we’re taking the kids to a movie on Friday night. It’s that new animated movie about seagulls. It’s supposed to be awesome. Want to come? We’ll be home before eleven,” she said.

  Destini thought for a moment. “Will Amber be there?” she asked. Destini had bonded with Amber. She liked the little girl. She wanted their friendship to continue.

  “Yeah,” Alonee responded. “Amber’s one of the kids.”

  “Okay. I can go,” Destini agreed.

  “Pastor Bromley has a big van and he’ll pick you up, Destini. There’s room for all of us in the van. Thanks a lot. It’ll mean a lot to Amber that you’re coming. She asked if you’d be there. Now I can tell her you will be,” Alonee told her.

  Destini smiled to herself. Most everyone she knew came from a family with several kids. Destini wanted a brother or a sister—one at least—preferably a sister. She would be so jealous when she’d see little girls looking up to their big sisters or big sisters helping the younger ones. Amber was now sort of the little sister she never had. What made it extra special was that Amber was so much like Destini. She was a little rebel who refused to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t.

  “Mom, I’m going to the movies Friday night with that group from the church,” Destini said when her mother got home from work. “Pastor Bromley is driving us and we’ll be home before eleven. I’ll be able to spend time with that little girl I told you about—Amber.”

  “That’s the child got burned by that devil of a boyfriend her mother brought home, isn’t it?” Mom recalled. “I’m tellin’ you, girl, there must be a hot place in hell for men who abuse women and children. At least your father never done that. I can truthfully say, he never laid a violent hand on me or you. The man couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s no account and lazy, but there’s no meanness in him. That counts for something in my book.”

  “Amber is a neat kid, Mom,” Destini confessed. “We really clicked. I like her a lot.”

  “Bless your heart, child. I’m sure having a friend like you is gonna mean the world to that poor little girl,” Mom said with feeling. Destini knew Mom was really proud of her for what she was doing. Destini knew that she hadn’t been the best kid around and that she gave her mom a lot of grief. It felt good now to be doing something Mom liked because Destini did love her mother very much. Mom was the one who took care of Destini all these years with no help from Dad. If not for Mom, Destini figured she’d be stuck in some foster home like Amber with people who weren’t connected to her. Until she met Tyron, Destini thought nobody in the world cared if she lived or died except for Mom. Now there was Mom and Tyron.

  Later that night, Destini wondered if the petition against Mr. Pippin had gotten anywhere. She hoped somebody had just dumped it in the trash before Mr. Pippin had even seen it. She thought that was probably what happened. Principals didn’t care what kids thought of their teachers, and, anyway, Mr. Pippin’s job was secure. He’d been there so long he had tenure.

  At school the next day, Destini asked Jasmine about the petition. Jasmine said that Marko had taken it to the principal’s office and left it there.

  “How many kids ended up signing it?” Destini asked.

  “About ten from the English class,” Jasmine replied. “That means twenty were too chicken to sign even though they all know Mr. Pippin isn’t fit to teach. Can you beat that? Marko was trying to do something for all of us, and
most of those fools wouldn’t even back him up.”

  “Maybe a lot of the kids felt sorry for Mr. Pippin,” Destini suggested. “He is pretty old. It must be terrible to be old like that and trying to teach kids who don’t like you.”

  “If he was any good, he’d quit,” Jasmine insisted. “He must be a selfish old man to stay where he’s not wanted.”

  When it was time for English class, Destini wondered if Mr. Pippin would even show up. He looked so upset the last time she saw him that she thought maybe he had a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. But just before class started, there was Mr. Pippin with his old briefcase taking his place behind his desk. He looked more weary than usual. Then, a few seconds later, another man came into the room and sat in the last row. It was Mr. Hawthorne, the vice principal. He sat just behind Marko and Tyron. Mr. Hawthorne was about forty, good-looking, with wire-rimmed glasses. He carried a clipboard. Destini thought he had come to observe Mr. Pippin’s class and to see if he was as bad as some of the students said he was.

  Destini glanced back and noticed Marko and Tyron were smirking. They smelled victory in the air. Mr. Pippin was being evaluated. He was under the gun, and he would fail miserably because he was such a bad teacher. Then they would give him some paper-pushing job downtown, and a new English teacher would be hired.

  Marko looked triumphant. In a few minutes, he thought, Mr. Hawthorne would see what an incompetent and demented man old Pippin was. Marko had made it happen, and he swelled with pride.

  “Here, in today’s story, ‘A Red Letter Day,’ “Mr. Pippin began class, his voice cracking, then quickly recovering, “we have a mother and son. It should be a touching story of a lonely boy eager to spend time with his mother away from the boarding school where he lives. His mother should be equally happy to be spending some precious time with her boy, an opportunity to be with her beloved son. But is this what the story is really about?”

  Jaris raised his hand. “No, it’s about this woman who doesn’t know how to be a mother,” he said.

  Alonee joined in. “The mother loves her son as well as she can, but she doesn’t feel comfortable with him.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Pippin said, his voice now full and rich, “why is that?”

  Kevin Walker poked his hand in the air and spoke up. “The mother is kind of immature. She sees this other lady at the boarding school picking up her kids, and this other lady is really mothering. She’s happy and jovial and easy with her kids, but the other mom in the story feels strange with her kid.”

  Derrick Shaw raised his hand. Everyone turned to look at Derrick. Usually when he made a comment, it wasn’t very good. It was often stupid and off the mark. Now he said, “It says in the story that the mother felt guilty.”

  Everybody held their breath as Mr. Pippin asked gently, “Why do you think she felt guilty, Derrick?”

  “Uh, well, I kinda think, you know, her husband left her and she was looking for guys, and, uh . . . I guess she felt guilty that she needed to look for guys instead of taking care of her kid.”

  “Yes!” Mr. Pippin enthused. “The author touches on a very modern dilemma—divorced parents. How much time must they spend with their children? And do they have a right to social lives of their own? Can they spend time dating if it means being away from the children? Or must they devote their lives to being parents even though this means they might be lonely in their middle and later years? This story was written in 1948—so many years ago—and yet it speaks to us today. It proves that good literature is timeless . . . you see?”

  Destini was amazed. She never saw Mr. Pippin in such good form. She glanced back a couple times and saw Mr. Hawthorne jotting down comments on his clipboard. Mr. Hawthorne looked interested and pleased. Mr. Pippin had ceased being a beleaguered old man, hounded to bumbling confusion by his students. He was now a confident teacher leading a good class discussion.

  “As Derrick rightly pointed out,” Mr. Pippin went on, “this mother was torn between her child and her yearning for, as she put it, ‘those emotional adventures,’ the tenuous grasping after life.”

  Marko looked dumbfounded by the turn of events.

  Mr. Hawthorne left a few moments before class ended with a nod and a hearty, “Thank you, Mr. Pippin.”

  Standing outside the classroom, Marko said, “The old fake pulled it off. He was putting on an act all through class. He’s never like that . . . usually.”

  “Yeah,” Jaris pointed out. “Because you and your buddies are always playing fools and messing him up, but today, with Mr. Hawthorne watching, you didn’t dare. The poor man got a chance to really teach for a change—and he did a good job.”

  “Stuff it in your ear, Spain,” Marko snarled bitterly. Tyron stood loyally beside Marko. They were closer than brothers, Destini thought again. Loyalty was a virtue, wasn’t it? But what was Tyron being loyal to?

  Later that day, Destini had lunch with Tyron, just the two of them. Alonee and Sami had asked Destini to join them for lunch, but she said she had other plans.

  Destini and Tyron went to a little corner of the campus under the eucalyptus trees and sat on the grass. Mom had packed a ham and cheese sandwich for Destini, with a lot of pickle relish, just the way Destini liked it. It occurred to Destini, as it had so often, that her mother never skipped the little things like knowing what Destini liked for lunch.

  Destini thought about the story in English. Her mom was nothing like the mother in that story. Mom was a mother, all the time, every time.

  Chapter Six

  Tyron got a sandwich from the machine. Destini had tried them once. They were like dry cheese between cardboard slices.

  “How long have you and Marko been friends?” Destini asked Tyron.

  “Oh man, we go way back,” Tyron replied. “We always had each other’s backs. Marko is a great guy. His daddy is real generous too. He’s an operator, I’m telling you. He’s got a lot of irons in the fire. Marko shares with me. Uh, my folks aren’t doing so good. Never did. Like when we were little kids, I’d never have gotten to go to Disneyland or Six Flags—those places—except Marko’s father took him and me too.”

  “My family is sort of like that too,” Destini admitted. “I haven’t ever been to Six Flags, and the only time I went to Disneyland was on a school trip. And then my dad took me once to Knott’s Berry Farm. My dad doesn’t live with us. He won some money at the races that time and took me. I was so excited, but my father drank too much and Mom had to come get me.”

  “My father doesn’t drink,” Tyron responded. “But he’s a loser, you know. A big loser. He quit high school and he can’t do nothin’. He gets these nickel-and-dime jobs. Makes chump change. Mom works too, but she has crummy jobs. If it wasn’t for Marko I’d miss out on a lot of stuff. He even let me have his cell phone when the new ones came out and he got one of them. And he had this cool camera, and he gave it to me when his father got him the new one with all the latest stuff. It was great to have his old camera, I’m tellin’ you.”

  “I’m glad he helps you, Tyron,” Destini commented.

  “Yeah, and I pay him back by sticking with him—no matter what,” Tyron said excitedly. “Marko is really popular, Destini. He’s the most popular guy here at school. I’m proud to be his best friend. Some guys are jealous of him. They give him a hard time because he’s so popular and, you know, good-looking.”

  “You’re good-looking too,” Destini asserted. “I think you’re really handsome.”

  Tyron grinned. “Ahhh,” he patted his stomach. “I need to work off somma this bad boy belly, like Marko, and get lean and mean like him. I got this spare tire like my old man already. I don’t want to look like him. Man, he’s a mess, babe. He’s only forty-eight or something, and he sits there at the kitchen table with no shirt on and this big stomach. He looks like a beached whale. I got to get in shape so I don’t end up like him.”

  “Most men, when they get older, put on weight,” Destini said comfortingly. “My father hasn’t much, but
he’s kinda in poor health. He doesn’t eat good and he drinks.”

  “You should see Marko’s father,” Tyron said, his face shining with admiration. “What a classy dude. He’s as trim as a kid. That’s where Marko gets his looks. When Marko’s dad goes by with those gold chains he wears, a lot of ladies turn their heads.”

  “I wonder what’ll happen now in English class,” Destini said, changing the subject.

  “Old Pippin dodged the bullet,” Tyron responded. “He put on that show for Hawthorne and I think we’re stuck with the old buzzard. The one I really feel sorry for is Marko. Just because old Pippin hates him, he got him detention, and now Marko is missing some important track practice. That’s so unfair. That Coach Curry on the track team, he plays favorites anyway. He’s got it in for Marko. He likes that creepy Texan, Walker. So now Marko isn’t practicing and Curry’ll try to dump him from the team and it’s all Pippin’s fault. Pippin ruining a guy’s life like that just because he’s a spiteful old man.”

  Destini looked down at the grass as she finished her sandwich. She wondered if Tyron ever thought it was wrong for Marko to deliberately disrupt Mr. Pippin’s class with his antics. He did everything he could to throw the teacher off his stride. He scraped his chair along, coughed when he didn’t need to, asked stupid questions to ruin the discussions.

  “Tyron,” Destini asked cautiously, “why does Marko do stuff in class to, you know, cause trouble?”

  Tyron looked right at Destini. “You mean like goofing around a little?” he replied. “Ah, he’s so bored. We all are. We gotta do something to break the monotony. You know, like he did when he was pretending to swat that mosquito. You gotta admit that was funny. You were laughing, babe. Don’t deny it. If stuff like that didn’t happen once in a while, we’d all dry up of boredom and blow away.”