Back to Me

by Earl Sewell

  “You’re right, Keysha. I don’t know if he’ll ever own up to his part in all of this. I think it’s time for me to realize that it’s over between us.”

  “I know it’s not going to be easy.” Keysha came and sat beside me. “I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I looked at her hair. “Let me help you put the braid back.”

  “Is it noticeable?” Keysha asked, touching the back of her head where Viviana had yanked out her hair.

  “Yeah, it’s noticeable,” I said, taking a closer look.

  “Damn,” Keysha griped.

  “I can fix it,” I assured her. I rose to my feet and pulled her up. “Come on. Let me do this and get out of your house before your parents come home. Do you have any more of the hair that was used?”

  “Yes. It’s in my bedroom. But before we get started, let’s take care of your face with a cold compress so that at least some of the swelling can go down. There are ice packs downstairs in the freezer,” Keysha said as she opened the cupboard and pulled down a fresh towel.

  “You’re such a good friend.” I gave her a hug and held on to her.

  “The best in the world,” she answered as she returned the hug.

  Thirteen

  VIVIANA

  I’d be the first to admit that sometimes I get very depressed. If my father were still around, he’d cheer me up. He was the type of dad who would always make me smile, laugh and feel good about myself. I was his little angel and he was my protector. My dad was also a very smart man. He told me that when he was a student, he was the smartest kid at his school and all his teachers adored him. When he was a fifth grader, he scored very high on the state standardized test. He was only a few points away from a perfect grade. The principal at his school congratulated him by making an announcement of his achievement. A letter was even sent to his home, saying that my father was a gifted student. Although his parents loved the good news, my father said he hated it because it marked the start of bullying by boys in sixth and seventh grade who enjoyed beating up boys like him who were smart.

  I asked my father how he’d become so smart, and he said, “I don’t know, Viviana. I was just the kind of kid who absorbed everything. If someone showed me how to do something once, I could remember. My brain was like a computer. Once the information was plugged in, it stayed there.” I remembered telling him that I wanted my brain to be like a computer. When he told me this, I was a fourth grader. I remembered thinking that I wanted to score well on the standardized test just as he had. I wanted to make him proud of me and to be smart like him.

  Anna, Aunt Raven and Maya had gone out to run errands. They were going to Bed Bath & Beyond and to Target to do some shopping. Aunt Raven had invited me to come along, but I had refused to go. The last person I wanted to be near was Maya. After our fight, we’d both agreed to stay out of each other’s way. We had a truce—if I didn’t bother her, then she wouldn’t bother me. I was fine with this arrangement for now, but my gut feeling told me the truce wouldn’t last for very long. I just knew that someway, somehow, Maya would do something to irritate me and we’d be feuding again.

  Since Maya and Anna were out of the house, I passed the time by goofing around with Anna’s iPad. It was actually her dad’s old iPad, because he’d gotten an updated one. Anna was the only one in the house who had wanted the old one, so Uncle Herman gave it to her. Anna told me I could use it anytime. Out of all the cool apps I could’ve downloaded, I chose to download educational stuff. I downloaded an app on the Aztec Empire and one for Scrabble. Just to excite the geek in me, I downloaded a spelling app.

  Forty-five minutes passed, and I was totally into my Scrabble game. The last thing I expected to get was a phone call from Misalo. When I saw his name flash across the caller ID, I immediately answered the phone.

  “Hello?” I said and then held my breath. I didn’t know what to say or what was going to happen next.

  “Viviana?” he asked, just to make sure he was actually speaking to me.

  “Yes,” I answered and said no more.

  “Are you busy right now?” he asked.

  “No,” I said as I placed the iPad on the bed next to me.

  “Would you like to go out and get something to eat with me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. I feared that if I said too much, he’d change his mind.

  “Can you be ready in about a half hour?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I said and held my breath once more.

  “Why don’t you walk down to the corner of the street that you live on? I’m driving and can pick you up from there,” he said.

  “You don’t want to pick me up at the house?” I asked, thinking that he did not want Maya to see us together. I knew she’d probably be back by the time Misalo would be driving up to get me. I, on the other hand, wanted her to know that he was picking me up.

  “It’s not that. Maya’s dad doesn’t like me too much, and I don’t want to cause any trouble with him,” he stated.

  “Oh, okay. I understand,” I said.

  “I knew you would. I’ll see you shortly,” Misalo said and hung up the phone.

  I began scrambling for something decent to wear. I searched through all my clothes, and nothing I owned was even remotely appealing. I wanted to look fabulous for Misalo. I wanted him to see a beautiful girl that he could adore and cherish. I knew Anna wouldn’t mind if I raided her closet, so I did. I found one decent outfit, but it wasn’t my size. Anna was much taller and slimmer than I was. Just as I was about to give up on the idea of looking marvelous for Misalo, a wicked thought came to mind. I said to myself, Maya will never know if I raid her closet. She already has a ton of outfits and probably won’t miss one.

  With that in mind, I gave myself permission to enter Maya’s space and rifle through her closet for something decent. Maya and I didn’t have the same taste in clothing, but I was so willing to overlook that. To my delight, I located a black T-shirt with two bands of brown and blue on the front. The top still had the price tag on it, which meant that Maya hadn’t even worn it yet. I told myself that she’d probably forgotten that she even had it. I went into another closet of hers and began searching for some jeans to wear. Maya and I both wore the same size jeans. As I searched deep into her closet, I found four pairs of jeans, all of which still had tags on them.

  “This is just ridiculous,” I mumbled to myself. I found it downright appalling that Maya had more clothes than she could possibly wear. I snatched all four pairs of jeans and headed toward the room I shared with Anna. I tried on all of them and settled on the pair that didn’t make my butt look too big or too small. I then searched through the makeup Anna had on her dresser so I could mask any unsightly scratches that were visible from the fight I’d had with Keysha and Maya. I’d noticed earlier that Maya had done a pretty good job of hiding her bruises before she went out with her mother and Anna. I took what I needed from Anna’s dresser, grabbed the top and headed toward the bathroom to freshen up.

  Once I was dressed and my hair was fixed decently, I went back into Anna’s room and found some perfume called Wonderstruck, by Taylor Swift. I liked the scent, so I squirted a little on my neck. I took another quick look at myself in the mirror. “Well, I don’t look perfect, but it will have to do,” I said to my reflection.

  I told Uncle Herman, who was in the basement, trying to unclog the sink down there, that I was making a quick run to the store for some personal items. I hated to lie to him, but I didn’t want to chance him asking for more details than necessary. Lucky for me, Uncle Herman’s attention was focused on breaking up the clog in the drain and not on me. Once I was out of the house, I walked as fast as I could without actually running to the rendezvous point with Misalo. I arrived just as he pulled up. I got in the car, got situated and sat nervously as he whisked me away.

>   Misalo quickly glanced over at me and said, “You look very nice.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling butterflies dancing in my tummy.

  “What do you want to eat?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Whatever you want,” I said, wanting to be as easygoing as possible. I didn’t want him to think for one second that I was one of those difficult-to-deal-with girls.

  “Why don’t we go to Chili’s?” suggested Misalo.

  “I’d like that,” I replied as I looked at him. I tried hard not to stare at him, but I couldn’t help it. He really was a very cute guy. “So, what made you want to call me?” I asked. I needed and wanted to know what he was thinking.

  Misalo shrugged his shoulders and remained silent for a brief moment before saying what was on his mind. “I have decided to let Maya go. In my mind, she’s clearly seeing another guy.”

  Feeling wicked, I said, “I’ve been telling you that for how long now?”

  “I have a thick skull.” Misalo glanced over at me and smiled.

  I smiled back at him, feeling as if I’d won the prize of the century.

  We arrived at Chili’s. Misalo parked the car and we walked in. When we walked in the door, my ears immediately picked up on an old Phil Collins song called “In the Air Tonight.” We’d walked in on the part where the drum solo kicked in. Misalo heard it as well, and he began moving his hands as if he were actually playing the drum solo.

  “I love this song,” he said as the hostess greeted us.

  “How many in your party?” she asked.

  “Two,” Misalo answered.

  The hostess took two menus from a nearby countertop and directed us to follow her. She tried to seat us at a table, but I asked if we could sit in a nearby booth instead.

  “Sure,” she answered and placed the menus on the table I’d pointed out to her.

  Once the hostess left, I decided it was time to make my move and be very bold. I wanted Misalo to know that I wanted to belong to him. Instead of sitting opposite him in the booth, I sat directly beside him. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said as I turned my head and looked into his eyes.

  Smiling sweetly, Misalo answered, “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “Good.” I relaxed.

  Misalo picked up a menu and began looking at it. Instead of picking up my own to glance at, I snuggled closer to him. Being very forward, I lifted his right arm and rested my head on his shoulder so we could read the menu together.

  “What are you going to have?” I asked.

  “I love their nachos.” Misalo pointed it out on the menu. “What about you? What are you going to have?”

  “The chicken fajitas look pretty good.” I pointed to the picture on the menu.

  “Yeah, I’ve had those before. They’re pretty good,” Misalo proclaimed.

  “You can have some of mine if you’d like,” I said, feeling the electricity of romance flowing through me. Having Misalo’s arm draped over me felt wonderful.

  “You smell very pretty,” he said, complimenting me.

  A smile spread across my face as wide as the horizon. “Thank you, boo,” I whispered, snuggling even closer to him.

  “How are you healing up?” he asked.

  I wanted to snap at him and say, “Oh, now you want to show some concern for me after the fact.” Instead of causing him to get defensive, I twisted things a little and said, “I hope I’ve finally proven myself to you once and for all.”

  “Yes, you have. I’ve never seen a girl who fights as well as you. Where did you learn how to throw down like that?” he asked.

  “My dad,” I said.

  Misalo chuckled. “Man, your father must’ve been one heck of a guy. It sounds like he taught you a lot of survival skills.”

  “Yeah, he was the type of man who wanted me to be able to defend myself. At one point in his life, he was an amateur boxer,” I explained.

  “Really?” Misalo seemed excited about what I’d just shared.

  “Yeah, he was tough. He got into boxing because he wanted to learn how to protect himself from bullies at school.” I continued to tell the story my father had shared with me.

  “Is that right?” Misalo seemed genuinely interested in what I was telling him about my dad. I loved the fact that he listened. I decided to reposition my body and sit upright.

  “Yes. My father told me the older kids were always picking on him because he was smart. Then one day, while walking home from school, a group of older boys chased him down an alley. When they caught him, they backed him up against a chain-link fence and used his body for their punching bag. Once they were done with him, he was pretty banged up. He told me that he had to force himself to stop crying about being jumped. He sucked up his pain, gathered his things and started heading home.

  “He told me that on his way back, he walked past a fire station. One of the firefighters who was pulling down the American flag from the flagpole noticed my dad’s injuries and asked him what happened. My dad talked to the guy, who was nice enough to get a first-aid kit and patch him up. After hearing the explanation my dad gave, the firefighter suggested that he go to a nearby boxing gym. My dad followed the advice and began taking boxing lessons. He was only about eleven at the time, but he told me that boxing quickly became something he fell in love with.”

  “Did he ever go pro?” Misalo asked.

  “No, but by the time he was seventeen years old, he had an impressive record and was given the opportunity to fight the number-one Golden Gloves contender for the Chicago area. My dad went the distance with the guy, but he lost the fight according to the decision of the judges.”

  “Well, did he get a rematch?” Misalo asked excitedly.

  “I don’t know. My dad never told me what happened after that or why he stopped boxing. Since he never said any more about it, I didn’t, either,” I explained. At that moment, I wished he were there so that I could ask him about it.

  “So, like, what kind of boxing stuff did your dad teach you?” Misalo asked as he repositioned himself and leaned his back against the windowsill.

  “General stuff, like how to throw my hands, how to move and how to avoid a punch,” I revealed.

  “What about combinations? Did he teach you how to put together some good combination shots?” Misalo balled up his hands and punched the air.

  “Yes,” I said, giggling at how silly he looked.

  “Give me an example of one,” he said, insisting that I show him.

  “No. I’m not going to stand up in the middle of this restaurant and give you boxing lessons.” I laughed out loud.

  “Just show me something really quick while you’re sitting here,” he pleaded with me. I paused for a moment as I thought about a lesson my father had given me about combination punches.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting up straighter. “The jab is the most important punch in boxing. It will help you in your defense and your offense.”

  “Like this?” Misalo simulated a jab, but his punch was wild and uncoordinated.

  “No. If you punch an opponent like that, you’re just asking to get knocked on your butt,” I said.

  Laughing as if he were mocking me, Misalo said, “What was wrong with my punch?”

  “Well, first of all, you’re sitting down, and throwing a jab has a lot to do with your stance, as well as hand movement.” I figured I could show him better than I could tell him, so I said, “Pay attention. You want to be loose when you throw a punch. You don’t want your shoulders and back to be tight. If you’re tight, you’re burning needless energy. You have to hold your arms up so that your forearms are near your chest. You want snapping power with your jab. So, when you extend your arm, you’ll want to rotate your fist so that you thumb corkscrews toward the ground. When you do this, your shoulder will automa
tically rotate into your chin, protecting it from a counterpunch.” I demonstrated it slowly so he could see what I was talking about.

  “Oh, how cool.” I could tell that Misalo was absorbing everything I was teaching him. “I want to learn everything that you know about boxing,” Misalo said, clearly impressed.

  “I only know general stuff. I’m no expert,” I said, laughing.

  “That’s okay. You still know more than I do. I think it’s so cool that you know how to box. You remind me of that movie that was out not too long ago about the girl who wanted to be a prizefighter.”

  “I’m no prizefighter,” I said, unsure of how to take his comment.

  “I know that. You’re more like a gangster girl. You’d have my back if we were ever out anywhere and had to throw down.” Misalo smiled at me.

  I didn’t know how to take his comment. I didn’t know if I should be happy that he thought I was a gangster girl or offended.

  Misalo noticed the confused expression on my face and clarified what he meant. “If I ever got into trouble, Maya would either cry like a baby or run like a coward. You, on the other hand, would knock someone out,” Misalo proudly said.

  “So, do you like girls like that?” I asked, wanting to be certain I was the type of chick he liked.

  “Yes. A Latina like you is a rare find,” he proudly said.

  “Does this mean I’m better than Maya?” I asked.

  Scratching the side of his neck, Misalo said, “You’re certainly completely different from Maya.” I interpreted his response to mean I was much better than Maya could ever hope to be, and that made me glow.

  “Would you give me private lessons?” Misalo asked.

  In my mind I said to myself, I’ll give you anything you want. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him exactly what I was thinking.

  “Sure,” I answered, thinking about how romantic it was going to be spending time with him.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I want to know how to box?” Misalo seemed disappointed that I hadn’t inquired.