Читать книгу River of Love - Aimée Medina Carr - Страница 23

Jack calls me every night around 10:30 p.m. or after the prefect of Hedley Hall goes to sleep. He slips quietly into the pay phone booth at the end of the hallway in the dorm. I keep the family phone with the extra, long cord in my bedroom. We visit for hours, some nights until 1:00 a.m. during the lively conversations, in his quiet and measured way, he downright charms me.

We discuss everything including Watergate, Vietnam, favorite music, and authors. I crave the confident sound of his voice and swell with contentment during the long hours courting on the telephone. I strive to be the best version of myself.

He speaks in a singsong cadence with short pauses, numbering points sucking in air, ta-ta-ta tapping the tongue on the roof of the mouth while calculating the next comment. “Hmmm” could be judgmental but mostly used as a stalling tactic. His crystal voice and golden laughter is pure joy. Calls begin formal and stiff until he relaxes and wades into the warm, conversational flow that opens him up.

We have similar views on most subjects, which was unusual considering our different backgrounds. Jack has a temper. During a disagreement, I said offhandedly, “The juice isn’t worth the squeeze.” He demanded to know what I meant. When I tried to explain, he got even more agitated. The eye-opening dust-ups point to his calculating and cold nature. He sees the world through a sharp analytical prism. Computer analytics is the perfect career choice as an adult. It’s difficult for him to grasp complicated emotions, to feel deeply, and Love completely.

I always manage to smooth the ruffled feathers. His eloquent intelligence is his most attractive quality. I fall in Love with his mind. Women fall in Love with what they hear, and men fall in Love with what they see.

His father is an executive for a shipping company, and the family lived all over the world. They’re living in New Zealand, the reason why Jack is at the college preparatory high school. He’s a natural learner; a straight A student who made Honor Roll every semester. School is easy for him—even stoned.

We see each other on the sly—sneaking around town. My parents aren’t aware that we’re dating. They’re strict, cradle to grave Catholics; girls, don’t date until age eighteen. My curfew is 11:00 p.m. until I graduate from high school. I am the jewel of the family; they have big hopes for me. I’m to be the first to graduate from college, have a career, the first of my generation to lead a creative life and break out of the poverty cycle.

I’m Daddy’s little princess: la consentida, no one’s going to be good enough for me. I need excellent grades to get into college, distractions must be kept to a minimum.

Jack calls on a Friday night after I return from cheering at a football game.

“Wanna meet tomorrow?” He asks, first thing.

“Of course, where?” That’s the big issue now. The River’s so popular, going there involves partying with half of his class. “How about the softball field behind the high school? Let’s meet at 1:00 p.m. That’ll give you a chance to return for dinner.” He agrees.

The following day, I ride my bike and lock it to the softball field fence. We meet at the baseball diamond on a pleasant, winter day. The bright, incandescent sky is warm when the clouds clear but cool when blocked by the sun. The field is empty except for us. We climb the metal bleachers, tunk, tunk, tunk. We eagerly hold hands. I pull out of my backpack a small, lap blanket, and lay it over our legs to keep warm.

I’m awed by how funny Jack is, his dry sense of humor catches me off guard. One hour into our visit, we see a car approaching the dirt road entrance. It’s not just any car—a cherry red and white 1957, Ford Galaxy 500, one of kind. My tough, butch older sister Rae is about to bust our clandestine meeting.

We’re trapped; there’s no other way out. I stiffen and warn Jack. “This is my sister Rae, she’s got a terrible temper and will be super pissed I’m here with you, don’t argue with her. Please, don’t hurt her.”

Jack understands the gravity of the situation, “Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be grounded for life, but she’ll be more pissed that you’re white. He leans over and tenderly kisses my cheek. I bite my lip, fear leaks out of me. I jiggle my leg, against the metal bleachers, it vibrates and makes a tinny, rattling sound.

Rae’s beautiful, red and white car comes to a violent, abrupt stop—dust, dirt and small rocks spray in all directions. She’s short, about 4’11, but built like a brick shithouse. Rae’s the ultra-protective—“I’m the boss of you” older big sister by six years. We Love each other, we just aren’t friends. She’s the oldest of four kids, entitling her to feel responsible for me. Her angry, swirling Tasmanian Devil energy, hurls invisible punches. The squinted dagger-eyes look like she’s caught a stranger molesting me. She explodes out of the car, leaving the door open.

“What the HELL are you doing here? Who the fuck are you?” She screams at Jack. He stands up nervously, then sits back down. Rae charges up the bleachers and throws a right cross blow hitting him on the cheek. He stands up with a jerk, steadies himself, hands me the lap blanket, and looks helplessly at me for direction.

“Leave him alone. Jack get outta here now!” I scream and shield him with my body. He stumbles down the loud, metal clanking bleachers.

Her head looks like Mount Vesuvius about to blow. To her, I’d always be the tiny, defenseless, four-year-old girl standing in front of our projects house in a Princess coat in the black and white photo taken of me years ago.

“Rae, it’s not what you think. He’s just a friend, we were just talking.” I slowly, make it down the bleachers, fighting off tears.

“Get in the car!” She yells, her black, bulldog eyes bulge with anger. The knife crease between her eyebrows deep. She stands rigid with clenched fists.

“I can’t leave my bike!” I cry.

“Unlock it, and I’ll throw it in the trunk.” She growls.

I tremble while fumbling with the cheap padlock. My stomach churns, and heart races. I roll it to the car. She grabs it with one hand and shoves it in the trunk slamming the hood so hard on the bike tires, it bounces back up and almost hits her.

I jump in the backseat and slump down. Rae slides into the driver seat, puts the key in the ignition and pauses for a few seconds. Her breathing heavy, body surging with adrenaline. She turns around to face me. “What the hell are you doing with that white boy? Who is he? Do Mom and Dad know you’re seeing him? Where are you supposed to be right now?” She feels so righteous catching me red-handed. Mom and Dad’s little darling. A-1 favorite daughter, Miss Goody Two-shoes, cheerleader-prissy-face. The pretty one that everyone compares her to.

I’m sobbing hard now; she’s going to wail on me—this eggs her on; the little sister’s guilt unmasked. Rae jumps up onto her knees in the front seat, reaches over the backseat pummeling my face and head. I put up my hands to protect my face. “I Love him!” I shout in bold defiance.

“You can’t Love a gabacho, pinche white boy!” Rae swings one, last hard blow. I put my hands down, “Yes, I can, Love is color blind.”

Rae slumps behind the steering wheel and peels out. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed at you. You’ve lied and sneaked around with that creep, for how long?” Her stabbing glare bounces off the rearview mirror. “If I hadn’t had softball practice today, you’d still be deceiving your family and yourself,” she barks.

I hang my tear-streaked face out the window and search for Jack. I choke back convulsing sobs. I pooh-pooh Rae’s accusations and explain that he was just a boy I ran into, an innocent chat that Rae misconstrued. To appease her, they ground me for a month, but while she’s out of town at a volleyball tournament, they let me off the hook.