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The first moment I saw her standing in front of the class waiting for Mr. Johnson, I did not pay any attention. Just another white girl I thought to myself, but as the minutes ticked by and I continued looking at her because she made the time pass, I suddenly realized I am uncontrollably interested in her.
The way she stared out of the window nervously, the way she seemed to be swinging from one leg to the other, her sun-kissed hair, neatly pinned up, with a few wayward strands breaking free from their imprisonment. Her full flushed lips, the intelligence in her crystal blue eyes, and her relief when Mr. Johnson walked into the class, made me smile inexplicably.
I SIT IN THE GREAT assembly hall, a sea of navy surrounding me, and I smile politely at the girl sitting next to me. She smiles back, but it seems obligatory. She looks down at me pretentiously, and I sink back into my chair, thinking how tough all of this is going to be.
Today is my first day at The Christian Academy, and it is daunting. My nerves are nibbling away at my insides and I can feel their little nudges and pinches in the pit of my stomach. I was, eventually, after a lot of interviews, red tape, and paperwork, accepted on a full scholarship here after my dad decided to come to The Christian Academy and inquire about their scholarship program. Despite sounding conceited, I am academically gifted, so without studying hard I have the ability to do exceptionally well by only paying attention in class. I am incredibly grateful to be here because in my seventeen years, here on earth, to date, this is my only claim to fame—securing this scholarship.
My dad was over the moon happy and proud of himself for producing such a gifted offspring and secretly, in the privacy of our own home, he would exclaim how I would not have to go to school with so many black kids any more.
I am excited and looking forward to today because it presents new challenges, which in turn, would mean I can become anybody and anything I want to be. I can pursue a dream career, not something I have thought of often before now because I have not seen many opportunities ahead of me.
I was never short of acquaintances at my old school, Mt. Pleasant Public School, known for high-test scores state-wide. Everyone spoke to me, they were friendly to me, but no one ever told me the latest gossip, never inviting me to parties and I certainly was never best friends with anyone. I did once have a boyfriend for a very short space in time, nothing spectacular or amazing and that just petered out eventually, as we moved on and grew older.
When I appraise myself critically in the mirror, I see a regular face, nice enough hair, and long, dark eyelashes framing my deep blue eyes perfectly. I will never fit into a size zero, and sometimes, this depresses me, but what can you do about genetics. I am ‘blessed’ with a curvy body.
The dean in the front of the hall drone on and on and I have stopped listening long ago, so when everybody suddenly stands up, as one, I leap up as well. Mine is seemingly the last head popping up in the mass of blue.
The girl next to me gives me a look that would freeze the polar cap back into its original shape, as everybody starts singing loudly, belting out the national anthem.
I stand, watching the faces around me, in awe because never have I seen anything like this, the discipline, the pride, the pleasure of being a part of something greater than you are. I have always imagined people of higher standing, those at the top of the food chain, as being conceited, arrogant and full of their own self-importance.
Looking at them now–not including the snobbish girl standing next to me—it seems I might have judged them too soon. Most of the kids surrounding me, look as if they are just like me, trying to make our mark in life. Although, I am sure for most of them, it is easier than for most of us. I am sure their greatest concerns were the same as mine – getting into a great college, being accepted, to love and to be loved, have friends, go to parties, acne, appearance, and weight, to mention but a few of my most pressing concerns.
When the last note of the anthem fades away, everybody starts to turn silently to his or her nearest exit and we file out of the hall in neat lines. I catch myself still staring at everyone and everything flabbergasted, remembering to keep my lips tightly pressed together so I do not start looking like a fish on dry land.
Everything here is so organized, and everybody seems so disciplined, so different from the real world, the world I am from—my world.
On the day my parents and I came here for our tour, I received a timetable and a layout of the school grounds, which I had memorized, so now I follow the girl, who was not so long ago sitting next to me, out of the hall, walking behind her neatly.
Once I am out of the hall, I walk straight to my first class, which is just off the corridor, to the right of the assembly hall – luckily quite easy to find.
When I get there, I follow the other navy blazers into the class, and everyone sits down at his or her respective desk.
I am left standing in front of the class, waiting for the teacher to come and allocate a desk to me. I stare out the window, to avoid the twenty pairs of eyes I can feel watching me. I hear giggles and whispering, which I know is at my expense. As the seconds tick by, I feel myself inching deeper and deeper into the ground, swallowed slowly, but surely, into the pits of humiliation.
After what felt like infinity, I smile relieved, and am slightly overwhelmed when all the students stand up in a sign of respect when the teacher walks through the door.
He is young and, to be honest, not the type of teacher I would have expected to be teaching at this school. I imagined them all to be ancient, pre-historic and wise looking, but he surely is only, at the most, ten years older than I am. He smiles friendly while he motions with his hand to the other students to sit down. He looks at a piece of paper in his other hand, and then introduces me to the class, “This is Chrissie Taylor and she will be joining us from today.” The teacher looks up, grinning, and says, “Dare I say, Johnathan, severe competition for you.”
I follow his gaze toward a blonde-haired, suntanned boy in the fourth row from the front, and Johnathan smiles amused, while looking at me. “At last, someone to compete against.”
The other students look from Johnathan to me, and I can already see it in their eyes, they think I am a nerd, a geek, a drip, a bore – here we go again.
“Nothing like a little bit of competition to get you all to work harder,” the teacher continues.
I had heard before coming to The Christian Academy that all the students here excel academically and it would be demanding for me to keep up with them, so I thought it would be easier for me to fit in. Now I wonder, as I see the teacher turn back to me again, why he would point Johnathan out, specifically. They should all be competition for me.
He interrupts my thoughts. “I am Mr. Johnson and you can take the seat next to Anne. She is on the Senior Student Council and has been allocated the task of showing you around and making you feel welcome.”
I look away from Mr. Johnson and see a red-haired girl lift her hand up to her shoulder and wave her fingers back and forth. I walk toward her nervously and pray anxiously that she please not be a snob, but she smiles friendly, a smile which makes her green eyes glitter, and I feel the relief rush through me, from my shoulders straight to my toes.
I sit down next to her, and she moves her books, which were scattered over the entire desk aside, to give me space. Mr. Johnson starts to read his attendance list aloud, and one by one, as he goes down the list, the owner of the name calls out, “Present.”
I look around as he calls out each name to see who answers, trying to memorize names, with no success. When he calls out Johnathan’s name, I look at him. Johnathan smiles brilliantly as he glances back at me.
Mr. Johnson has an easy teaching style and I find myself totally immersed in what he is saying. Some of the things he is talking about, I have heard before, but he makes it seem so much more interesting and fascinating. When the bell goes, a soft chiming noise, I am sorry his class is over. I gather my books while Anne waits for me, smiling friendly, and together we walk to our next class.
Anne is very soft spoken, and I have to strain to hear when she speaks and, to be honest, if not for her, I would have gotten lost, in the myriad of passages and stairways, even after memorizing the floor plan of the entire college grounds.
Walking between classes take us a while though, because every now and again we stop to talk to someone. She introduces me each time, but after a while, many faces and names get all mingled up, and mostly I just stand next to her, waiting and trying not to listen to her conversations.
Secretively I find myself looking for Johnathan.
At lunch break, I join Anne’s group of friends, where they are all sitting on the grass in a circle under a great big oak tree. She does not introduce me, but they all introduce themselves to me, smiling friendly.
I notice Johnathan sitting next to an extremely skinny, blonde-haired girl.
Sitting down, cross-legged, in a vacant spot, I notice from the corner of my eye Johnathan getting up, stretching and then he walks toward me.
He unceremoniously squeezes himself in between Adam and me. “Come on, Adam, move up – you are not leaving me with a lot of space here,” he says.
Adam sighs but moves up without saying a word.
I see some of the kids look at each other in that knowing way, and I wonder amused if Johnathan is the ‘player’ of The Christian Academy. I ignore Johnathan and look at the others, interested, listening to their happy laughter and chatter, while pulling at bits of grass in front of me.
Johnathan suddenly leans over me and pulls a long piece of grass out of the ground in front of me, and then he puts it halfway into his mouth, chewing the end.
I look up at him sideways and smiling, I say, “That’s just gross, you know.”
“No, it’s not. The grass here is specially cultivated and is cleaner than any public toilet.”
I laugh softly. “Fine, whatever. I still think it’s gross, though.”
Stephen calls from the other side of the group, “Yeah, Johnathan, do you kiss with that mouth?”
Johnathan laughs boisterously. “I certainly do.”
Everyone bursts out laughing.
They do not really include me in their conversations, but I listen interested and think to myself that they are a nice group. I was expecting snobs, kids who thought the sun would set when they sat down, but I am pleasantly surprised.
It is only my first day here, but they have taken me into their fold, mostly thanks to providence pairing me with Anne.
The day continues eagerly and after the last bell for the day chimes through the halls, I walk out of the impressive gates, past the security guards and then start to walk the mile to the bus stop. The day I was accepted, my dad measured the distance between the school and the bus stop, so I know it is one point two miles exactly. My dad drops me off in the mornings, but because he and my mom both have full-time jobs, I must either wait until dusk when either one of them can collect me or catch the bus home.
I realize self-conscious that I am the only one walking along the pathway. All the other students, it seems, are being collected, and some students were driving their own cars.
Thankfully, nobody offers me a lift, although I can feel them all staring at me as they pass me in their big flashy cars, and I feel mortified. I convince myself I am bigger than this, for all they know I could have had a lift or my own car but preferred to keep it real.
While riding home on the bus, I thought how fortunate I am that all the kids at this school wore uniforms and they could not distinguish the fact I am not as rich as they are.
All of them, I am sure, only owning designer labels, while, although fashionable, my entire wardrobe did not have a single exclusive item. I have always had a proud façade, and I have a good posture, so if you had to put a rich girl next to me, both of us wearing our uniforms, you would be hard pressed to decide whom the poor one is.
I get off the bus at the entrance to my street and walk up the hill toward my home. We live in Mt. Pleasant, and I have always thought we have one of the nicer homes in our neighbourhood. My father keeps the garden in excellent shape, spending entire weekends in it—pruning, cutting, planting, and watering.
Our home has comfortable, worn furniture, and walking through the front door always makes me feel safe and protected, like letting everything go and just sigh a breath of relief at leaving the world out there.
It seemed from the traffic chaos which ensued once the last bell chimed musically through the halls at school, that most of the kids at my new school had stay-at-home moms. In my previous school, you would have had to look high and low to find a kid fortunate enough to have his or her mom at home when they got there.
I go up to my room and pack my books out onto my desk, and then go back downstairs to get something to drink. I spend the rest of the afternoon doing my homework and as the sky starts to darken, I go to the kitchen to start dinner. Cooking dinner is my chore during the week, so when my mom and dad get home from work, we can just sit down to eat.
My mom always gets home first and whirls into the house, usually calling, “Hi, Chrissie,” on her way up the stairs. The first thing she does, each day, as she gets home, is have a shower, to wash the day off her, as she always says.
My dad gets home a little while later and he always, always comes to the kitchen first. His stomach rules him and he will follow wherever it leads.
“Smells nice, Chrissie. What are you cooking for us today?”
I smile and say, “Chicken. Your favourite.”
He lifts the lids of the pots and sniffs the air appreciatively, while he asks, “So how was your first day in the land of the Jones’?”
“It was actually genuinely nice. A bit nerve wrecking in the morning, but I fit in right away. I suppose there are those who think they are more important than what they really are, but I did not meet any of them – and hopefully I wouldn’t have to.” I smile.
“Ah, they can’t help it. As long as you remember who you are, and you are indeed the most important person in the entire world.”
I smile, and then my mom walks in, in a haze of apricots. She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and my dad often says we could have been twins, but I do not see the resemblance. Her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in a mass of curls, her eyes are a radiant, sapphire blue, her cheeks always have a rosy glow and she has curves in all the right places.
We sit down to eat, and my mom and dad cannot stop asking me questions, but I am excited to share my day with them. I am the only child and my parents had me when they were still young, so although I know my boundaries, they are also my closest friends. It may seem distressing that someone my age would consider my parents to be my friends, but there you have it. I have never had anybody other than them to share my life with, because as I have said before, I have never had any close friends, and a girl needs to share her hopes and her dreams with someone. As a result, out of necessity, they have been the ones I have told everything to, they have played a pivotal role in my life thus far.
They give me space, at times, I feel too much, but I have never given them a reason to worry or fret and I aspire to make them proud of me. They love me without measure, and I would never do anything to disappoint them.
The day passed quickly, and I really enjoyed myself, more than I ever thought I would.
THE FIRST MONTH AT my new school pass without any drama, and after public school, it is all very mundane. It seems as if nothing exciting ever happens—no fights after school, no rude behaviour, any swearing, or cussing. Johnathan sits next to me most breaks, and as ridiculous as it sounds, this makes my heart jump wildly in my chest. Every night I lie in bed and contemplate starting a conversation with him but come daylight and lunch break when he is sitting next to me, I am unable to put my well-thought-out plan into action. Sometimes he will lean into me, his head close to mine, and then ask me softly, “How are you doing, Chrissie Taylor?”
“I am fine, thank you, Johnathan,” I would reply shyly, and then berate myself for the rest of the day for being so inhibited, and not being able to speak my mind when I am in his presence. I persuade myself he is very forward, and I am just not used to being on the receiving end of special attention from boys, and this is most probably the reason for my nervousness.
Foolishly, I find myself looking for him during the day, every day and secretly I do enjoy the interest he seems to have in me, but I also notice every other girl in the school is in love with him as well. I observe the way they near-collapse whenever he walks by and how he enjoys this, how he uses his charm and charisma to exploit this.
He is academically the best student in school, achieving top, top marks and all the Ivy League Colleges are head-hunting him vigorously—a situation he just takes in his stride. He has a joy for life, and I fear all that talent is going to go to waste because he is probably hoping to cruise along on the wealth of his parents.
No one has made the effort to get to know me better or asked me where I live or what my parents, or more so, my father does for a living. They all just assume, because I am white and can attend the same school as them that I too live in a world of abundance.
There is no need for me to follow Anne around anymore, but still she waits for me after each class and we walk together to our next class. I would not say we have become friends in this short space of time, but she can be pleasant at times and I find myself strangely enjoying her company–sometimes—because every now and again, she can be very snide towards me.
An excitement is hanging over the school. It is February, and inevitably V-Ball is only two weeks away. All the girls gather in the halls, in the cafeteria and in the bathrooms discussing their dresses and the one dress sounds more exaggerated than the next.
I start to feel anxious because although I am sure my mom and dad would be able to afford to buy me a new dress, it would most certainly not be an extravagant designer dress. My father would exclaim, ‘But it’s only a Valentine’s Ball’ - and I can already hear him in the back of my mind.
The first time they started talking about V-Ball, I was perplexed and asked Anne one morning, “What is V- Ball?”
At first, she looked at me confused as if she could not understand how I could not know, and then she explained, “V-Ball is our Valentine’s Ball.”
“Okay.” I smiled, feeling silly because in hindsight it was obvious.
She continued, “In May we have the Annual Charity Ball,” and then excitedly she added, “This year it is a masked ball, and then of course there is the Matric Farewell Dance at the end of the year.”
Many dresses to worry about.
Anne continued, “I suppose you won’t have a date for V-Ball, being new?”
I smiled as friendly as I could. “No, I’ll have to come on my own. And you?” I did not mention I was hoping above all hope that Johnathan would ask me.
“We always come as a group, even those in a relationship, because then those of us without dates don’t feel so awkward.”
This was a great relief. “That’s great. Do we all just meet at school, or do we arrive together?”
“We meet here. It is a tradition already in our year, so I would not worry about that if I were you.”
“Have you already bought your dress?” I asked carefully.
She gushed – literally. “Yes, my dad topped up my card last week, thankfully because I was seriously maxed out. I bought the most gorgeous green dress. And you?”
My throat constricted slightly. “Not yet. I will probably go this weekend.”
“You must go to this little shop just off Main Street. They have the most brilliant designer dresses. They are pricey, but worth it if you don’t want to be caught wearing the same as someone else.”
The bell chimed then – thankfully – and Anne started walking toward our next class.
Thankfully, all I had to worry about was what I would be wearing, and not stressing about being the only one walking into the hall without a date.
Once a week we have an assembly, and I no longer feel shipwrecked, floating in the middle of this navy-blue ocean, desperately fighting to survive.
After we sing the national anthem, I notice nobody is leaving, and there seems to be a different energy in the hall. Once everyone is sitting down again, and a hush falls over the hall, the curtains on the stage open. I stretch my neck and see the equipment from a band of some sort arranged across the stage.
Shockingly, I hear a few boys whistle, and look across the aisle to see who could be so rowdy. Yes, here boys and girls are seated separately, boys to the left and girls to the right.
Four boys walk onto the stage and everybody starts to clap excitedly. I berate myself for not listening and hearing the announcement because now I had no clue what is going on. I do well academically because I pay attention, but when there is no need to concentrate, I drift off into my own little world. Recently this would include my fanciful imaginings; similar to tales in faraway kingdoms with Johnathan being Prince Charming and me—I am obviously, the damsel in distress.
I look at Anne, sitting next to me, and I want to lean closer to her and ask her what is going on, but she is staring forward fixedly.
Three of the boys pick up the instruments placed on the stage, while one boy slides in behind a set of drums. They start playing a song, a song I have never heard before, but it is very catchy, and I cannot help liking it.
The lead singer is exceptionally attractive, even though I immediately notice his skin colour – black.
I notice Anne look at him in adoration and I wonder who he is. He is wearing a school uniform, so he is obviously a student here, but I have never seen him before. It could be one of those situations where something has been in front of your eyes all along, but you never notice or realize, until you come face to face with it.
I have never noticed the number of black students in school, although I am sure there were not many. They kept to themselves and they were not in my group of friends.
When the four-member band finishes their song, the lead singer waits patiently until the whistles and clapping stops.
He smiles, and it lights up the room. I cannot help it when I feel the corners of my mouth lift as well. He announces, “Remember to buy your V-Ball tickets; there are only a few left over.”
The hall groans, and then the band leaves the stage accompanied by loud cheering and clapping, while I think to myself disheartened, that now, besides having to convince my parents I needed a new dress, I would also have to persuade them to buy me a ticket to the V-Ball. Maybe I should just not go, but then again, there is such a build-up around the whole affair, and I could not help myself, I look forward to also go.
At lunch break, I ask Anne, “Who was that band playing in the hall this morning?”
“Oh, that’s Vincent. It’s his band, and they call it ÉLastique. That’s French for an elastic band, but I’m sure you know what it means.”
I grimace on the inside, but outwardly I smile and say, “They’re incredibly good. That song they sang has been stuck in my head since this morning.”
Anne smiles distracted. “They signed a record deal near the end of last year with a big producer and they spend all their free time in the Music Centre. I hear they will be releasing their first single in July this year.”
“It all sounds so exciting.” I heave a sigh.
Unexpectedly, she says, “Come,” and starts to stand up. I get up and follow her, blissfully aware of Johnathan who is staring at me.
She leads me down a long, badly lit corridor. An old, medieval-looking part of school I have not been in before. I start getting flashing images in my mind of witch coven initiations, candles, and big shiny knives. I start to feel apprehensive and am indecisive whether I should make up a lame excuse and run as fast as I can in the opposite direction.
Just as we turn a corner and I open my mouth to make an apology, that I need to be somewhere else, I see, feeling slightly mortified at my silliness, a big sign and read the words, Music Centre, above a large archway.
We walk through under the archway and then through a doorway, into the Music Centre.
There in front of me is the entire four-member band from this morning. They are huddled around a piano and the lead singer jokingly bumps the drummer, saying laughingly, “How can you not hear the rhythm in that piece, and might I add without drums?”
The drummer is about to retaliate when Anne clears her throat and they look up as one.
“Hi, boys.” She smiles coyly.
“Hi, Anne,” they say together as if in chorus, and start laughing.
“You were great this morning.” I see her looking only at the lead singer when she says this.
“Thank you,” he replies. “That’s going to be our first single.”
The drummer adds, “Not quite. We need a female vocal for the chorus, but basically that would be it.”
“Well, I’ll be the first one to buy a copy.” Anne giggles, to my astonishment.
The lead singer looks at me, smiling friendly. He holds my eyes with his for a moment, and for no reason, I struggle to breathe, a tightness suddenly crushing my chest.
Weirdly, I notice his eyes. They are bright green and it looks odd, yet captivating against his dark skin. I am unable to look away.
Anne does not bother to introduce us, and I cannot think of one intelligent thing to say. I berate myself and think irritated how seriously ridiculous I am being, just standing here, starstruck.
I watch Anne flirt shamelessly with him, but he is obviously not interested, and I start to feel a little sorry for her.
The school bell chimes, and we all walk out into the corridor together.
When the band members are a few paces further on, ahead of us, the lead singer looks back at me. He catches my eye and for a brief second, he holds my gaze with his. I feel everything around me turn foggy and for some peculiar reason I am only aware of him.
A momentary frown flashes across his brow, and then he turns back, and they walk away laughing and joking.
Once it is only Anne and I walking toward our next class, she sighs loudly and says, “What I would give to be with him. I swear I have had a crush on Vincent for a whole year already, but he just does not notice me.”
I agree with her, “He is very attractive.” I am shocked though. She is confessing something so personal to me, and I am confused how she could wish to be with him—he is black. Since I was old enough to understand, my dad has warned me to never, ever come home with a black boyfriend. My dad says he is not a racist, and although we can be friends with anybody of any race, creed, or colour, he puts his foot down at interracial relationships. After years of hearing this, I would never even look twice at a black boy, or even contemplate having more than a friendly relationship with him.
My dad often tells me, jokingly serious, he has nothing against white people when it comes to me dating.
Now, as I listen to Anne gushing over Vincent while we walk along the corridor, I convince myself I could never like him in a romantic way, yet I can feel an unmistakable ball in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I try to push aside, but it feels like it is digging its claws into my sides, persistent and painfully real.
My parents give me money to buy a ticket for V-Ball, borrowing from Paul to pay Peter, as they say. They want me to fit in at my new school, to make friends and to be accepted. I take the money gladly.
The weekend before V-Ball, my mom and I go shopping for my dress. We go to a shop my mom searched for on the internet. A designer shop, but not a designer shop in the normal sense of when I mention the name, everyone will gape. It is a shop where designers, who are unable to open their own shop, or only starting out, or even still design students, rent a rail in this huge warehouse type emporium.
We find a beautiful salmon pink dress which accentuates my small middle and then swoops out over my generous hips, with stiff netting.
I am excited, and I am now looking forward to V- Ball. I cannot wait, anticipation building up inside of me at the reaction Johnathan would have when he sees me in this beautiful dress.
I get dressed the evening of the V-Ball, and my mom helps me with my hair. I feel beautiful in my one-of-a-kind dress, at a fraction of the price, but the best thing about the dress is that it makes me look slim.
My dad drives me to school and when I get out of the car, my nerves bundling up at the bottom of my throat, I take a deep breath, swallow, and with my dad smiling encouragingly to me, I walk toward the hall.
I walk to my group of friends, and a few of the boys wolf whistle. They have no tact and considering these people are supposed to be the cream of the crop—I have honestly met people of less fortunate circumstances who had more manners.
Johnathan is with the painfully skinny girl, Tanya, and they dance together the whole time while I try to avoid looking at them. I have to admit this upsets me, because he always makes me feel special, invading my space, standing too close to me, talking to me as if he likes me, and I honestly thought he liked me. I know I like him.
I dance only a handful of times with the rest of my group, dancing all together, and I avoid Johnathan—not even looking in his direction.
The ÉLastique’s play a few songs. I convince myself the only reason I am so interested in Vincent is because he is almost famous. He has a beautiful voice, a lot of appeal, is extraordinarily handsome, and I can picture him being very well known, and this is probably what makes me so fascinated with him.
During the evening, I notice Vincent and his band members across the hall with a group of girls, laughing and seemingly having a great time. I also notice there is a beautiful black girl constantly by his side.
When Anne and I walk to the bathroom together, I can see she is upset about something. Before I can ask her, she blurts, “He has a new girlfriend every week, and I can’t understand why I am so attracted to him.”
I ask, “Who?” I presume, heartbreakingly, she is talking about Johnathan.
“Vincent. Who else would I be talking about?”
“Oh. Okay.” I always seem to have my foot in my mouth.
Drawing from my own limited experience, I say softly, consolingly, “Sometimes we just fall in love with someone and we then hope beyond reason that that person likes us back with the same measure of undying love.”
She laments, “I have never seen him with a white girl, not ever, not once, so I don’t know what makes me think he will ever notice me.”
I do not know what to say, so I just smile awkwardly. I decide then, annoyed, Anne and I could be genuinely great friends because we have so much in common – we are both unable to have relationships with boys—boys we want. I like Johnathan and she wants Vincent, desperately.
Tanya goes home long before the scheduled end of the ball, and then Johnathan comes to stand with us again. He comes to stand next to me, and then nudges me slightly, grinning.
I ignore him, pretending I do not notice him. I wonder irritated if he really thinks he is now going to replace Tanya with me because he has no one to spend the rest of the evening with.
I turn to walk away from him, to go and stand somewhere else in the group. He folds his hand around my arm softly.
I look up at him, frowning, and insist softly, “Leave me.”
He smiles that boyish smile of his. “Are you jealous, Chrissie Taylor?”
“Why on earth would I be jealous?” I laugh dryly, making sure to keep my voice low because I did not want everybody to hear us.
“I was dancing with Tanya all night—that’s why.”
“Please, don’t flatter yourself. You can spend your time with whomever you want to, I am not your girlfriend.” I pause. “And I never will be.” I look down at his hand still wrapped around my arm. “Let me go.”
“Come on, you don’t mean that.” He smiles alluring.
“Yes, I actually do,” I insist.
He moves and is standing in front of me, once again very close. He brings his head down and rests it on my forehead as if in exasperation.
Softly he says, “Tanya and I went out last year, and we already decided then we were going to come to V-Ball together.”
“Why are you trying to justify yourself? I already told you I don’t care—at all.”
He lets my arm go, and then he cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him.
Seriously, he says, “Yes, you do care because you would not be acting like this otherwise.”
I sigh exasperated. “What do you want from me, Johnathan? Must I entertain you now because Tanya has gone home? You have ignored me the whole evening and now you are all over me.”
“That’s not fair,” he retaliates defensively.
“Do you want to know what’s not fair? You’re not fair.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at?” He says seriously.
He honestly seems unaware of his actions, or he is acting dumb, and I give in. I know it would be better to move on because Johnathan spells trouble and heartbreak. I saw it that first day already, yet I started liking him – typical.
I include him in my conversations, forgiving him against my better judgement.
The last song of the evening is a slow song, and Johnathan drags me onto the dance floor. I want to protest, but I do not want to make a scene either.
He holds me close to him, and I know I should resist, but he is so tempting and maybe he is talking the truth about Tanya.
I enjoy the way he holds his arms around my waist, and the way his blue eyes connect with mine. I am sure deep down, although he does not know it yet, he realizes I am the girl for him.
I notice Vincent staring at us, but then again everyone is looking at us.
I WATCH HER WALK TO Anne’s desk, and she sits down. The sun glimmers on her hair and I feel a strange twinge in my heart, a feeling I have never experienced before.
I notice with a sudden thrust of jealousy the way she looks at Johnathan and I try to look away, but it is as if she has weaved a spell around me, and it is only by force I am able to look back at Mr. Johnson and concentrate on what he is teaching us.
The bell chimes, an irritating xylophone sound, and I pick my bag up from the floor.
By accident, I end up walking out of the classroom behind her and Anne. When she turns to reply to something Anne says, I notice with a plunge in my stomach, her elongated neck, the little wisps of hair and her perfectly shaped ear.
What is wrong with me?
It is with relief I notice Dennis walking toward me. He would be able to take my mind off this unwanted situation. I cannot believe I am so attracted to this girl – not only is she the complete opposite of me, but never have I ever had the slightest interest in a white girl before.
“Hey, Vincent,” Dennis greets me as he walks toward me.
“Hey.” I catch myself still frowning, and then I smile.
“Have you got any news yet from Mr. Jackson?”
We walk away in the opposite direction of Anne and Chrissie, and I reply, “Yeah, he phoned last night, and he wants to meet with us tomorrow afternoon.”
“Great.”
We walk in silence for a while and when we cross the quad, I cannot help looking back at Chrissie. I notice her standing next to Anne, while Anne is speaking to one of her many superficial friends.
All the girls walking past Dennis and I greet us friendly and usually I find this flattering, but today it just feels overbearing.
Dennis interrupts my thoughts, “Are we practising today?”
“What do you think? I think we should just have a break today and see what Mr. Jackson wants first.”
“I suppose you’re right; we should take this afternoon off. I need to start spending some time with Clara anyway,” Dennis says with a sigh.
I laugh. “Yeah before she leaves you. Again. I swear girls are so fickle, they want to be with the pop star, but then they don’t want to put up with waiting around.”
“She’s getting there. Are you going with to that new Blues Bar this weekend?”
“Might as well.”
“There’s usually a few single hotties hanging around.”
I laugh. When it comes to hot, single girls, I am always first in line.
I do not see Chrissie again until lunch break, and she is sitting under the tree with all of Anne’s friends—they are all laughing and joking– she fit in right from the start.
We do not sit under the tree. There is a common presumption this space is for the Senior Student Council, yet the two black students on the council do not sit here either. Most think it is because they would rather spend their breaks doing other things, but we all know, yet we prefer to ignore, the thin membrane of racial divide that exists.
I also notice Johnathan sitting next to Chrissie, plying his charms on her. I cannot understand what the girls see in him, with those washed out blue eyes and pasty white skin.
Every girl, black and white seems to swoon when he walks into a room, it is nothing less than infuriating. I realize this has never bothered me before, so why would it do so now?
I leave school as soon as the last bell chimes through the corridors and I see Chrissie walking along the pathway. It looks like she is on her way to the bus stop and I contemplate stopping and offering her a lift, but then I press the button on my car stereo, increasing the volume and then listening to the music loudly, drowning out all thoughts of her, I drive away from school as fast as traffic will allow me.
When I eventually get home, I park my car in the garage.
Maria is in the kitchen, and I greet her friendly, but I am not in the mood for chit-chat, so I walk past fast calling out a greeting in a rushed tone. I run up the stairs quickly and once I am in my room, I turn my stereo on as loud as possible. I lie down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
My mom died when I was young. She was involved in a car accident and the white teenager, who killed her, by jumping a red light, only got a few years in jail.
My father now works all day and all night—I hardly ever see him. He promised himself when he was young, he would work hard until he could afford anything his heart desires, and now he owned his own share-listed Construction Company.
Before my mom died, when I was only five years old, he used to be home more often, and I often think back to those days. We used to do things together, play ball, go to the park, the beach and have picnics. When my mom died, he went to work one day, and I do not think he ever really came home again.
He used to dislike white people before the accident, but now he simply loathed them.
I remember my first day in Grade One. He made a special effort to be at home that evening for dinner and I told him excitedly how June gave me one of her cupcakes. He inquired carefully if June was a white or a black girl. I replied innocently that she was white, and he then told me calmly and convincingly how I should and never could have a relationship with a white girl.
I was young then, and growing up I never doubted his advice because even though I liked June because her pink frosted cupcakes were the best I had ever tasted, I never liked her in that way, anyway.
Since Dennis, George, Simon and I started the band, and we started playing at venues, I have had many white girls falling over their feet trying to get my attention but never once did I feel the slightest attraction towards them.
I have never even looked twice in the direction of any white girl before, until now.
I get up from my bed, and then I switch on my gaming console. Playing a violent game, should get my attention diverted.
I play until Maria calls me to come and eat.
Maria has been with me since my mom died. She has cleaned our house, cooked, and looked after me. I wonder if I could ask her what she thought is wrong with me, but I decide not to because she might tell my father, and this would just create tension in an already volatile situation.
My father told me once, in passing, how proud he is of me with the success of our band, after Mr. Jackson helped us sign a deal with a record company. When he told me this, I felt a sense of relief and I wanted to continue making him proud of me. Maybe then, he would notice me more often because now we hardly talked. I would really hate to disappoint him.
George, Dennis, Simon, and I meet with Mr. Jackson. He tells us the release date for our first single will be in July. He also encourages us, convincingly, we should consider having a female singer included in the song because it is a ballad. He feels it might have a greater appeal if there is a female vocal included.
After much discussion, we agree and then decide we would hold auditions at school. The girl who gets the part can then also go on the tour which Mr. Jackson is trying to arrange for us during the summer break, and she could act as backup singer as well.
Every day I see Chrissie, in the corridors, in class. She is so ignorant of me, and I suppose this is a good thing because if she is anything else towards me, I might not be able to resist. I fight hard against my feelings, yet I find myself looking at her when no one else can see me.
A week before the V-Ball, Mr. Jackson arranges with the Dean for us to perform our début single in front of the school, after our weekly hall period.
Dennis, George, Simon, and I are nervous. Although we have performed at a few malls and bars, this would be our first time performing in front of our peers.
We can hear and feel the excitement in the hall, and instead of this making me feel more relaxed, I start feeling more nervous.
Seconds before we must go on stage, Dennis runs off to the bathrooms and when he gets back, he is sickly pale. Not one of us talk, we are too preoccupied with our own feelings and trying to stay calm.
We walk onto the stage and the applause is loud. We have already arranged our instruments on the stage while the hall proceedings were in progress.
We start playing and singing, and all else fades into the background. I think the students liked it because they cheer loudly, and the clapping is deafening. I remind everyone to buy their V-Ball tickets early.
I also think I am getting over Chrissie, the forceful rejection of my feelings for her, is starting to work.
At lunch break, we are in the Music Centre. We spend most of our breaks here, and usually we would have a few girls here with us while we fiddle with the music instruments, but today it is just the four of us.
I am in between girlfriends.
Simon and Dennis have had long-term relationships and their girlfriends are frustrated with the band spending so much time together, so they avoid being with us during school hours.
George has no girlfriend and I do not think he has ever had one.
We are standing around the piano, laughing and joking. Simon tells us he can play a tune on the piano and add rhythm without adding drums. George laughs and tells Simon to prove it. Obviously, drums cannot be replaced but we like to annoy George – he makes it so easy.
Suddenly, Chrissie walks through the door into the music centre, and I do a double take. I only notice Anne when she greets us loudly.
I look into Chrissie’s eyes and realize I am undoubtedly in love with her and am most certainly not getting over her.
She is standing in front of me, uncertain of herself and I have a million emotions and sensations rushing through my body at the same time, but I manage to remain indifferent.
Anne is talking to me, but I hardly hear her. I want to speak to Chrissie, but I have no idea what I should say.
Mercifully, the bell rings, and we walk out of the Music Centre, ahead of Chrissie.
I walk with my friends, but it feels as if something is chasing me, so I walk a little faster than they do. Just before we turn the corner, I look back and into her eyes. I must stop this foolishness.
That afternoon, while we are practising in the Music Centre, Sabrina walks into the room. Sabrina is Mr. Jackson’s daughter, and at times she can be pompous and arrogant. She seems to be more than interested in me, and she is beautiful.
I decide there and then she would be the perfect antidote to help me get over the pathetic feelings I seem to have for Chrissie. Impulsively, I ask Sabrina to go to the V-Ball with me, and she accepts.
The night of the V-Ball, I drive to Sabrina's home to collect her. Mr. Jackson is happy to see me and he seems to approve that I have shown an interest in his daughter.
Sabrina comes walking down the stairs and, to be honest, she does take my breath away. What I realize, though, in those brief moments, watching her, is that Sabrina is no comparison to Chrissie, and I would never be able to substitute her.
Sabrina talks without end and I smile politely every now and again to acknowledge I am still listening to her monologue. I am relieved when we drive through the security gates of the school, and I park the car in the student parking lot.
I walk around my car, taking a deep breath and then open the door for Sabrina. She steps out of the car elegantly, and then she hooks her arm into mine possessively, as we turn to the hall.
I notice Chrissie immediately across the lot. She is alone and I suppose it is her dad dropping her off. She seems to hesitate nervously and then she leans into the car and lightly touches her lips to her dad's cheek, smiling sweetly. She then walks toward the hall and I stare after her, my heart following her.
“Hey, Vincent,” Sabrina says softly next to me, following my gaze. I look at her, smiling, and she continues, “Are you nervous playing here tonight?”
“No. I think after the other day in the hall, I’ll never be nervous again.” I jest, “That was the worst nervous I have ever felt.”
“I’m sure you will be great,” she says as she hugs my arm closer to her side.
I decide to enjoy my evening with Sabrina, to forget about Chrissie – I am being ridiculous anyway.
I cannot help glancing in her direction every now and again, but she is unaware of my existence.
At the end of the evening, the last song for the night, I notice Johnathan haul Chrissie onto the dance floor.
She looks unwilling, yet when he pulls her closer into him, she goes willingly.
Johnathan holds her close to him, and although I know it should be none of my business, it is every bit my business.
A WEEK LATER, AT LUNCH break, Johnathan hands me an invitation to attend his birthday celebration. His fingers brush against mine, creating an explosive sensation in my nerve endings, and he looks at me in that particular way synonymous with him, when he hands me the envelope.
He is always, in my opinion, over-friendly and charming with every girl who will let him, and in the beginning it used to irk me, but then I realized he looks at me in a way he reserves for me only, and not the other girls.
He is so convincing; how could I not be absolutely, head-over-heels in love with him?
Looking at the gold leaf letters printed onto the black cardboard of the invitation he hands me; I recognize in my world this would be good enough for a wedding invitation.
I see the party venue is at an up-market restaurant and frankly, I could not see the point. I am only seventeen years old; I want to go to a party with flashing lights, blaring music which still has my ears ringing the next day, the only refreshments crisps, and cold drinks.
However, everyone in my group is excited, because we were all invited and what the heck, I might as well go, even though I think, personally, it is silly to have a sit down dinner for his eighteenth birthday party.
Besides, it is Johnathan, how can I not go?
On the night of his birthday party, my dad drives me there, and as we stop in front of the restaurant, I see Johnathan is still standing outside.
I am reluctant to admit this, but I feel humiliated getting out of my dad’s car. His car is as old as I am, and although well-taken care off, still aged and by far, not the latest model.
I wait at the curb until I see my dad’s taillights fade into the night and then taking a deep breath, I turn and walk to Johnathan, feeling self-conscious.
In this instance, I judge him too harshly because he does not even notice my dad’s car, make, or model.
“Here you are,” he says relieved. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”
I smile pleased and ask jokingly, “Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes, I am.”
I pretend his words does nothing to disrupt the equilibrium of my world. “Why? Are none of your usual girlfriends here tonight?” I say with a sarcastic laugh.
“She just arrived.”
My heart soars, and his words are the wind beneath its wings.
He puts his arm around my waist, and then we walk into the restaurant.
It turns out to be an enjoyable evening—we laugh and joke, the food is delicious. Johnathan sits close to me, and every now and again, I catch him looking at me.
When it is almost time for my dad to pick me up, Johnathan leans closer to me and smiles a flirtatious smile. “Are you not going to give me a birthday kiss?”
I laugh embarrassed and shrug my shoulders. “Well, now that you’re asking, I might as well.” I lean into him and let my lips fleetingly brush over his. I move away and he looks at me with a look of wonder.
“Is that it?” He asks.
“Yes.” I smile back at him shyly.
“But it tasted like more,” he whispers softly.
I gasp, embarrassed.
After my dad picks me up, and we are driving home, I think to myself delighted that Johnathan must like me, there is no way he did not.
At school though, he carries on as always. He smiles at me adoringly, making my heart jump in my throat.
He makes eye contact and it is as if I can see right through to the very core of him, but then he also does the same to every other girl.
A few days later, I overhear Tanya speaking to Susan. She is talking about Johnathan, saying how much she adores him and how the night before he sent her a text message, which hinted at him still liking her even after everything that happened during Christmas break.
I am so disappointed in myself, for always falling for Johnathan’s manoeuvres.
That afternoon, when I see him walking across the corridor with Tanya, I wish I have super blowing powers like Superman, because then with one ‘whoosh’, I can blow him off the face of the earth.
Watching him though, he has this habit of absent-mindedly running his fingers through his hair, which is endearing, and my foolish heart tilts off its axis.
It is almost mid-term break and I concentrate on the scheduled tests which have been booked over the last two weeks.
I am trying desperately not to think of Johnathan, and I honestly want to dislike him, but I persuade myself that smile is just for me. Maybe if he gets to know me better, I could somehow convince him he only wants me.
The day we have to write our Math paper, Johnathan walks to me, and teasingly he asks, “Are you ready for the test? You know I am looking forward to the competition.”
I answer defiantly, “Johnathan, your ego is so huge, if I beat you, you would be devastated, but I have never backed away from a challenge.”
“If you score more than me in this test, I will take you to the movies.”
I laugh bitter and reply sarcastically, “Ooh, so I had better try really hard then?”
“Come on, Chrissie, I am trying here.”
“Trying what Johnathan? Maybe you are trying to insult me because it sounds as if you want me to do better in the test than you, and then you will reward me with your attentions.” I hiss softly, “You irritate me!”
I turn around and walk away, angry. I am deep in thought, feeling hurt and wounded – chastising myself for liking a boy who is obviously an arrogant, awful person, who uses girls and thinks we will all fall for his charms. I am so annoyed, mainly with myself, and I am not looking where I am walking.
I knock into somebody brutally, and the books I am carrying in my arms scatter all over the passageway. I start apologizing profusely while bending down at the same time to pick up my scattered belongings, and then I look up and into his dark, green eyes. He is kneeling beside me, very close to me.
He smiles, dimples form in the sides of his cheeks, while he helps me to pick up my books, and I feel a hot flush push up into my neck.
When we have gathered all my books and I once again, start to apologize for not looking where I am walking, smiling up at him, he just looks at me. Suddenly his eyes tighten, the smile fades from his face and shoving my books at me, he walks away.
Insulted, I stare after him because I am still in mid- sentence when he just rudely walks off.
When I meet up with Anne, she hands me an invitation, sealed in an envelope, and when I start to open it, she puts her slender snow-white fingers over mine, stopping me. She says, “This is a very exclusive party and I have convinced my friend to invite you as well.”
“Thank you.” I smile friendly, biting the inside of my cheek. I wonder if she truly understands the concept of friends.
She lets me open the invitation and I read that the party is on the last day of school, and it is in The Charleston National Country Club, at Shaun’s home.
Shaun is not in our group, and I do not really know him, but Anne has attended The Christian Academy since the beginning of time, so she knows everybody.
Anne continues, “Shaun lives within a gated community, so I’ll meet you at the entrance gates the evening of the party and then we can go in together. There will then be no need for you to have the access codes.”
I smile, forced. “Okay, that sounds great.”
We talk a little bit longer, and then I excuse myself, walking away. I am no longer able to spend one more second in her company. I feel hurt and insulted because she feels I cannot be trusted with the access codes to the estate.
I know they do not know me. After all this time, none of the students at The Christian Academy even knows where I live, but it still hurts.
Every now and again, someone will say something, and it will bring back the reality of the vast difference between us. How much money they have and how little I have. I know it is not their intention because they are all unaware of this difference, yet it is still hurtful.
At lunch break, everybody is talking about the auditions for the backup singer for ÉLastique.
Anne tells me the band’s manager is insisting they have a female vocal for their first single to harmonize the lyrics, and apparently, he says it would give the song an edge. I do not know if that is how you get an edge to a song, but I am tempted to go for the auditions. Imagine having my voice in a song of a band’s first single release—it would be so exciting. I can sing, I can play a few chords on a guitar and I can play the piano. I have even written a few silly nostalgic songs.
During the week, I discover almost every girl appears to be going for the audition and I am starting to lose my nerve, but Anne and I decide we would both go, so this encourages me.
It is uncanny how I feel as if she is my friend and I can discuss things with her, but that she is not my friend either. Some days we laugh and joke, say silly things, talk about everything from the weather to Math, and then other days she is just simply rude to me. She must have some kind of disorder.
The morning of the auditions, when I arrive with my guitar, slung over my shoulder, and I feel all the curious eyes stare at me, I wish the earth could open up under my feet, and swallow me in an instant.
Not an outdrawn, slow, painful consumption – it must be quick.
After hauling my guitar around with me all day, that afternoon I eventually stand in the queue outside the hall, feeling ridiculous. I told my mom and dad about the auditions as well, so they are both extremely excited and as I said, I do not enjoy disappointing them, so I stay and wait for my turn.
Anne, who went in ahead of me, comes walking out and I smile at her nervously. “How was it?”
She says encouragingly, “Not bad at all. Go on. I am sure you will be great. I’ll wait here for you.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I walk through the backstage door, into the hall and I can hear my shoes echo through the room.
I am just about to turn and sprint out the door, when I hear Mr. Johnson call out to me, as I appear from behind the drapes, “Chrissie? I didn’t know you can sing.”
The girl sitting next to Vincent laughs loudly, obviously not concerned with my feelings. I have learned recently her name is Sabrina, she and Vincent have been a couple since the V-Ball. Rumour has it, this is his longest relationship ever. Her father is the band’s manager, which makes her think she has now attained transferable fame through Vincent. Not many people at school like her and from the few times I have seen her, I can understand why.
The remark by Mr. Johnson also stings me a bit, they must have heard at least a dozen girls by now who obviously could not hold a note, and therefore assume I would also be one of them. I feel the embarrassment rise from my toes, a warm nauseating feeling.
I cannot decide if I am going to be sick, but then Vincent smiles up at me, and for some unknown reason, it calms me.
Mr. Johnson says, “Good, Chrissie, what will you be singing?”
I have my guitar slung over my shoulder, and I am not going to do a cover version. Sometimes people have too much expectation to hit that note exactly right and not paying attention to the actual singing. So, I say, suddenly feeling silly for my stupid decision, “A song I wrote myself.”
“Very good, I think I have had enough of listening to the one song, in different versions, all morning.” Mr. Johnson smiles at me encouragingly.
Vincent is just looking up at me, not saying anything. I notice Sabrina moving closer to him, hooking her arm into his on the armrest.
He turns to her a little and then he smiles.
Mr. Johnson interrupts my thoughts, “Will you be singing today, Chrissie?”
I guffaw, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Singing my song faultlessly, lost in my own world, Mr. Johnson’s voice breaks through my deep reflection.
I stop halfway through a note and look at Mr. Johnson dazed, while he says, “Chrissie, that was great, but as you know we still have to listen to a few more girls. We will let you know tomorrow.”
Returning his gaze, I smile and turn around to walk away, but then I hesitate and turn back quickly, saying awkwardly, “Thank you for the opportunity.”
After dinner, my mom knocks and then puts her head in around my bedroom door.
Smiling kindly, she says, “I forgot to ask you about the audition.”
I am sitting crossed legged on my bed with a book on my lap. I look up at her, where she remains standing in the door. “It was great. We will know tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good luck. No homework today?”
“None.” This is not a lie, but usually on days without homework, I would do a bit of revision – not today.
“That’s nice. How is your Johnathan situation coming along?”
“Ugh. Same-O, same-O. No change at all”
She shrugs her shoulders a little. “He'll come around."
I roll my eyes at her.
She smiles. "Well, good night, anyway. Don’t stay up too late.”
She leaves on her journey further down the passage and I call after her, “Night, Mom.”
I get a fright when my cell phone suddenly vibrates, indicating I have a text message. I reach for it frustrated. It is from an unknown number, so I open the message begrudgingly – probably spam.
“Hi, I got your number from the audition list, I hope you don’t mind – Vincent”
We have never talked at school, except for one time briefly when I walked into him by accident, and he always has that frown spoiling his face when he looks at me.
I reply: “It’s okay”
Almost immediately, my phone vibrates again. “Thanks for coming to the audition today.”
“It was fun.”
“I am happy to announce you have it. You are now the backup singer for ÉLastique.”
I stare at the screen incredulous – I have it?
After a while, my phone vibrates again, and I open the new message. “Hello, you still talking to me?”
I reply: “I am – thank you so much. I am just so happy - I did not know what to say.”
“I was also happy when they chose you in the end and I could not wait to tell you, so pretend you do not know anything when your name is announced tomorrow in the hall.”
“Okay – thank you.”
“We start practice after the break, in the music centre. You know where that is?”
Of course, I know where it is. Did he not notice me, when Anne dragged me there the other day? Maybe he cannot remember meeting me. I feel surprisingly disappointed.
I can hardly blame him though because he has a girlfriend – Sabrina. She is tall, skinny, gracious, and oozing femininity.
I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite – I am amazingly, astoundingly plain, my bland brown hair is lacklustre, no matter what shampoo I use, and how many promises they make. I am more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts, and my worn, dirty converse.
My mom always tells me boys prefer girls with curves, rather than plank-skinny girls, and I wish someone would tell boys this bit of interesting information.
In my world, it does not work this way, because skinny girls usually get the boy every girl wants, while girls like me usually only remain their friend.
Take Johnathan for instance. I would bet my monthly allowance, if I was a few pounds lighter, I would be fighting him off with a stick at every opportunity he could get, to have his hands all over me.
I am so deep in thought I did not notice Vincent had sent another message: “See you then.”
I instantly send him a reply: ‘Can’t wait.’
I change into my pyjamas and then I get into bed, but I cannot fall asleep, I lay there for the longest time and I actually see the moment between midnight and daybreak when the birds wake up, when the sky is a midnight blue instead of pitch-black.
JOHNATHAN SAYS BYE to me, after school on the day of the start of the midterm break as well as the day of the party at Shaun’s house. He adds, with a flirtatious smile, “See you tonight, Chrissie Taylor.”
I smile at him, and as always, my traitorous heart, which just does not seem to get the messages my brain is sending it relating the important, ever-present Johnathan situation, jumps frenziedly.
I get dressed nervously, wearing jeans and a nice shirt, it is after all only a house party, and I do not want it to look as if I had gone to too much trouble.
At the entrance to the Golf Estate, my dad waits with me for Anne, and I stand outside the car so she can see me when she arrives.
I see her walking toward me from the direction of the gate. She seems excited, an emotion I have never noticed or realized she possessed. I smile friendly at her and then I lean into the car and kiss my dad on his cheek, goodbye.
“I don’t like this,” he whispers. “I don’t even know where this house is.”
“I’ll be fine dad, just be here at eleven. I’ll be waiting.”
He sighs and says, “Okay then.”
“I’ll be all right, don’t worry,” I convince him, but I can see he is not convinced. He greets Anne friendly and then he starts the car and drives off.
Anne and I walk to the entrance gates of the estate, and then to a golf cart.
“Do you also live here?” I ask her.
“Yes, about four houses from Shaun.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“I think, at least forty percent of the kids in our school live here,” she says pensively, and then adds, “You will be the only one at the party tonight, who does not live in this estate.”
“Oh. Why invite me then?” I ask as friendly as I possibly can.
“Chrissie, I don’t know if you haven’t noticed yet, but I don’t have any real friends. However, I feel a sort of kinship with you, and that is why I asked Shaun to invite you after I received my invitation.”
I have also felt before as if I enjoy her company—at times. She could be nicer, but then she just has one of those personalities.
She continues, “I feel as if I can tell you anything. For instance, I told you I have a crush on Vincent. My dad would kill me if I even looked twice at a black boy, so it is not something I would admit to anyone. I felt a connection with you, as if I can tell you anything. You understand what I am trying to say?”
“Yeah, I do.” I smile.
“I know sometimes I have been an awful person, and I hate to admit it, but sometimes I feel insanely jealous of you. You have a thing about you which attracts boys, and you are so ignorant you do not even notice the effect you have on them. I am sorry if I am mean at times, and I really hope we can be friends.”
I get into the golf cart, sitting next to her in the passenger seat, and as she starts the cart, I say, “Sometimes you are a bit over-bearing.” I laugh, so I do not seem too harsh. “But I already think of you as my friend.”
Anne laughs heartily. “You see, look how honest you are with me. How can we not be friends?”
I suddenly like her more than I ever have, and to be honest she has been my friend from day one. We are not a Siamese pair, but still we are friends in the unconventional way.
The Charleston National Country Club consists of 740 acres of property overlooking the marshland of Hamlin Sound, the Intra-Coastal Waterway, and the Isle of Palms. Most of the estate homes are located on the water in this gated section, so after what feels like an eternity, and many mansions, we turn into the driveway of an impressive looking house.
Shaun’s house overlooks the ocean. It is imposing and beautiful. I notice a boat launching area at the back.
“Here we go,” Anne says and stops the golf cart next to the others parked in a row in front of the house.
We walk on the pathway to the front door and Anne promptly opens the door and walks through. I follow herself-consciously. I have never been here before, so it feels awkward not being invited in.
We walk through to the back of the house. The house is huge, the ceilings are high and the rooms we walk past are sparsely furnished. It is most certainly not a cosy home, in my humble opinion.
Everybody is in an entertainment area at the back of the house, which is as big as the entire downstairs of my home. There is a television almost as big as one entire wall on the one side of the room, a pool table in the middle, a large bar the size of my kitchen, a jukebox and leading onto the patio through the French doors a brightly lit pool, and in the far corner beside the pool, a huge trampoline. I take all of this in, in a brief second. I did not want it to look as if I am not used to seeing houses like this, every day.
I notice Johnathan noticing me, and he walks toward me, smiling widely.
He leans closer to me and whispers, “I am glad you came.”
I am irked and thrilled all at the same time while I smile at him, and reply, “Thanks.”
I look away from him and at the other kids standing around, and I observe shocked they are all drinking alcohol. My dad will ground me for the rest of my life if there is even the slightest hint of alcohol on my breath.
Johnathan puts his arm around my waist, and I freeze. I have decided I am not going to let him string me along any longer. I am not going to be one of the many gossiped about girls in Johnathan’s entourage.
Adam, Chris, Stephen, and Anne start to play a game of pool while the rest of us are spectators, and although Johnathan removes his arm from my waist, he stays standing next to me.
After a while, he asks softly, “Do you want to go and sit by the pool?”
I look up at him. He has a clear, suntanned skin, his blonde hair falls casually over his brow, his eyes are the colour of the sea, teeth so white, they sparkle, and I do like him. I desperately wonder if I could ever convince him he likes me, only me, and then he runs his fingers through his hair. I say, unwisely, “Yes, let's.”
We sit down on the trampoline and he starts talking first, “So, where are you from, Chrissie Taylor?”
I look at him stunned, because this is the first time, since I arrived at The Christian Academy someone has asked me this question, and I feel frustrated with myself, for once again falling for Johnathan’s charms, so I mumble sarcastically, “I am from the other side of the railway track.”
“Come on.” He smiles. “Where did you go to school before you came here?”
“I went to public school in Mt. Pleasant.”
“I also used to go to a public school,” he says. “Imagine. We have more in common than I initially thought.”
I look over to the others still playing pool, and I notice Anne enjoying all the attention. Looking back at Johnathan, I laugh softly. “You are joking, right?”
“No, and there is nothing wrong with public school, my parents weren’t always wealthy. I only came here two years ago.”
“Just to be clear. We have nothing in common.” I look at him stubbornly.
He leans closer to me, and then softly, he says, “Yes we do. We both like each other.”
I just sigh and shake my head.
“What?” He laughs.
“One day, hopefully soon, your charms will stop working.”
The game of pool is finished, and the others come outside before he can reply.
We all sit around talking, some with their feet in the pool, some on chairs. We eat and drink – no alcohol for me.
Later we make turns jumping on the trampoline. After my turn, when I jump off excitedly, Johnathan catches me, and he hugs me close to him.
He leans down to me, and then he kisses me softly, briefly on my lips. He smiles sweetly at me and without meaning to, I notice from the corner of my eye, the clock hanging against the wall.
I realize with surprise it is a quarter to eleven. My dad is probably waiting for me already and I would be late if I did not leave soon, making my dad more worried than necessary.
I sigh softly, as I push myself away from him gently. “I have to go. My dad is picking me up at eleven.”
“Okay, let me take you back to the gate,” he offers.
I cannot see Anne anywhere, so I accept.
We drive down to the gate in a golf cart and I ask him seriously, bravely, “Why do you do this, string girls along?”
“I don’t actually. I am nice, I am friendly and sometimes girls just take it the wrong way.”
I frown when I look at him. “No, I don’t think girls take it the wrong way, I think it is your intention all along.”
“No,” he says softly, defensively.
I suddenly feel cynical. “Yes. For one you always look into a girl's eyes when you talk to her, you always touch them while you are talking, you always stand very close, you smile charmingly, you say all the right things, and this I am afraid does not come naturally. So, my friend, you are doing it purposefully.”
He laughs boisterously, looking at me amused. “I do that?”
I sigh frustrated and honestly, what is the point anyway. I cannot possibly hope to change him, but I can most certainly control my own feelings.
When we stop at the gate, he gets out of the golf cart as well.
I walk away to the gate without looking back or without saying anything, and then I hear him call my name, “Chrissie?” I sigh and turn around. I wanted to make a quick get- away, resolute in my decision to get over my feelings for him because they were insulting and hurtful.
He walks to me. “I know you won’t believe a word I say now, but I do like you, from that first day when you told me I was gross. I just didn’t want you to know you had such a massive impact on me.”
I frown, looking up at him. “So, you carry on flirting with other girls?”
“I don’t mean to, but I honestly like you very much.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“How do I convince you?” He asks exasperated.
“You can’t, and I have to go,” I say hurriedly.
I turn away from him, but he grasps me by my arm. I frown as I look up at him, and I am about to ask him to let me go, when he kisses me.
The fleeting kiss earlier did nothing to move my world, but now I feel my feet lift off from the ground. I feel myself float up into the air, and when he moves away from me, I have to catch my breath.
“I truthfully do like you very much,” he whispers close to my face.
Trying to look nonchalant, knowing when we get back to school, he will be his usual self again, I look toward the parking area and see my dad’s car. “I have to go. My dad is waiting for me.”
“Okay,” he says.
When I walk through the gate, I hear him call, “Good night, Chrissie Taylor.”
I smile, pleased, and then reprimand myself at the same time, while I walk away from him without looking back. I get to my dad’s car and after I open the passenger door, I allow myself to look back. He is still standing inside the gate, following me with his gaze. I wave goodbye and smile.
I sigh blissfully when I get into the car. Worried dad looks at me. “How was it?”
“It was very nice. I enjoyed myself.”
“I’m glad, Chrissie, that you are fitting in. You know there is a bigger purpose behind me wanting you to go to this school?”
“Yes, Dad. It is so I can have a brighter future, and don’t worry, I won’t disappoint you.”
He smiles and then starts the car and we drive off. It is a distance to my suburb, and when we get there, it is almost morning.
I am truthfully grateful he keeps driving me around, and I am standing by the stairs, on my way up to my room, when I turn to him, and say, “Thank you, for driving me around, I know...”
He dismisses me, saying, “Soon you will be grown up and then you will not need me anymore, so I would rather keep my little girl for a while longer.”
He gives me a bear hug and letting me go, I say, “Good night, Dad. You know, of course, you are the best.”
He laughs. “Stop your flattering and go to bed.”
I go to my room, put on my pyjamas, and then log onto my Facebook page. I see excitedly I have a friend request from Johnathan. I accept without hesitation and almost immediately, the pop-up indicates Johnathan is online, and then I see he has IM’d me.
Johnathan: Hi
Chrissie: Hya
Johnathan: Hme alredy
Chrissie: Jst gt ere, nd u?
Johnathan: afta u lft, d prty gt borin!! :(
Chrissie: I’m sori :)
Johnathan: missin me yet?
Chrissie: way 2 mch ;)
I laugh softly at myself.
Johnathan: I ment wat I said, I do lyk u
Chrissie: I lyk u 2...
Chrissie: Nyt.x
I log off from Facebook quickly because although this is a very impersonal conversation, and not face to face, it still says more than it should.
I get into bed and sigh ecstatically as I lie back. Memories fill my mind of our kiss. It is everything I hoped it would be. I like Johnathan very much, and I really hope he is genuine when he says he likes me.
I RECEIVE A FACEBOOK Event Invitation from Anne, and I accept.
The Saturday before school starts again, my dad drives me to the Country Estate. Anne sent me the access code, so when we arrive at the access gates, I enter it and then we drive in.
My dad looks around appreciatively and says, “Wow, impressive.”
I smile. “Even if our house is half the size of these, I would much rather live in our house. The house I was in the other day was so cold and impersonal.”
“Still,” he muses. “Very impressive.”
We stop in front of Anne’s house, and I look to confirm if the address she gave me, and this house corresponds to each other – imagine how embarrassing it would be to knock on the wrong door in this neighbourhood.
My dad waits for me while I walk to the front door, and then as I ring the bell.
Anne opens the door, laughing excitedly, saying, “Chrissie. Hi. Come in.”
I turn to wave at my dad. He waves and then he pulls away from the curb carefully.
We go up to Anne’s room, and walking through her house, it has a warmer feeling than that of Shaun’s, although it is still grand and daunting.
Anne babbles non-stop because she is so excited. Shaun will also be attending the picnic, together with the entire Christian Academy student body via a Facebook invitation, and according to the millions of messages I have received from her during the last week, and she is madly, deeply, truly in love.
She cannot stand still, and after almost a million outfit changes, I hear someone calling Anne from downstairs.
When we eventually get downstairs, Anne introduces me to her brother, Justin.
Justin looks at me appraisingly, and then he asks Anne if she is ready to leave.
We drive with Justin to the Francis Marion Nature Reserve. Anne is riding shotgun, and I sit at the back looking at the passing scenery. Anne has calmed down a little and I hear her softly lip sinking with Katy Perry on her brother’s stereo.
We finally stop at a picnic area nestled between the trees and I notice there are already hordes of people. Anne and I get out of Justin’s car and then we walk to the group of people we know, while Justin walks to his girlfriend.
I notice Shaun and Johnathan immediately. Anne smiles excited as we walk toward them, but then Shaun turns around and walks away from us, with Johnathan following him.
Anne’s face drops instantaneously, the glitter in her eyes now from tears rather than from joy.
Johnathan looks back at us apologetic, and I grimace while I return his gaze.
Anne starts to walk into the dense trees around us and I follow her. We do not speak, and I am not going to insist. She was so excited, and now this. I do not know what is going on, but I walk quietly next to her.
After walking for a while, Anne abruptly sits down on a slight incline and you can see the water from the lake through the trees. I sit down next to her, looking at the sun shimmering off the blue water. The light shafts of the sun are like laser explosions shot from the water and then they bounce off the tree trunks around us. Bright light glimmer around us, as if we are in a fantastical, mystical wood.
Suddenly Anne says softly, her voice quivering, “The night of Shaun’s party, he told me he loved me.” Tears run down her cheeks, and she continues, “I have not seen him since then because they have been away, but we have been texting.”
I turn to her, and frown briefly.
She sighs peeved. “I slept with him on the night of his party and now I am the biggest fool.”
I am just about to say something, not sure what when unexpectedly someone touches my arm. I jump as I turn around, and see Johnathan standing behind me. I see Shaun walk past us, to Anne and I hear him say sorry as he sits down next to Anne.
I reluctantly get up, but I am hesitant to walk away, leaving her there. I am not sure whether she will want me to stay or go.
Johnathan takes my hand and gently he tugs at me to go with him. I decide to leave, and we start walking away. Johnathan starts to talk first, “Shaun has liked Anne since forever, but he always thought she wasn’t interested seeing as they basically grew up together. So then, the night of his party, after a lot of persuasions, Anne admitted she liked him as well. One thing, lead to another and now Shaun isn’t sure he actually does like Anne anymore.”
I gasp insulted. “That’s disgusting – frankly, sometimes I just don’t know...”
He laughs embarrassed, interrupting me, “We aren’t all the same.”
I laugh harshly. “Actually, you and Shaun could have been spawned from the same evil egg.”
He looks insulted, and then he stops unexpectedly and draws me closer to him. He whispers down to me, “I love the way you never hesitate to insult me.”
I look up at him puzzled and I am about to retaliate when he leans down to me and he kisses me.
Although I know I insult him for good reason, and I should shove him away from me, I still lean into him, kissing him back.
Still holding me close, looking down at me, he walks backward until he is up against a tree. He leans against the tree, and then I willingly let him kiss me again.
I hear the birds singing in the distance, and I hear the gurgling of the water in the lake far away. My head feels fuzzy, my heart has wings and there is no air.
Later, Anne touches my shoulder lightly, saying, “We better go back. Justin said he did not want to stay long, and your dad will be picking you up at ten.”
Reluctantly, I move away from Johnathan. I smile shyly as he takes my hand, and then we walk back to the picnic area.
Justin is already looking for us and does not look impressed when he sees Anne walking with Shaun.
The car is silent on the way back to Anne’s home and once we get there, Anne and I go up to her room again.
As soon as she closes her bedroom door behind us, she jumps up and down gleefully. “Shaun asked me out. He said he loves me, and he wants me to be his girlfriend.”
I am excited for her.
We spend the rest of the evening listening to Anne’s vast music collection. We paint our nails and we talk about Shaun and Johnathan.
My dad picks me up at ten, and once I am in bed, I once again reminisce the day. I build wild dreams around Johnathan and me. I dream far-fetched, fanciful dreams.
School again.
I am excited to see Johnathan though, and I see him walking toward me as soon as my dad drops me off.
It turns out he is not walking toward me.
When he gets next to me, and I smile friendly, saying hello, he walks past me, toward Tanya, who arrives just after me.
My heart breaks at that very moment into a trillion tiny splinters. I feel such a darkness descend upon me as I tell myself repeatedly, I should have known this is going to happen.
I meet up with Anne under the oak tree, where she and Shaun are sitting next to each other. I do not want to impose, but I sit down next to her anyway.
During the day, I hear all the rumours regarding Johnathan and Tanya. There are different versions, but they all come down to the same devastating conclusion. When Anne and I left the picnic area, Johnathan and Tanya got back together. They have been on and off for the last two years. I should never have wasted my time with him.
When I do not see him, I convince myself I do not like him in the slightest, but when I see him all that desperate need and love I feel for him comes rushing back. The way he looks at me makes my foolish heart still convince me he does like me.
I have arranged with my dad to collect me from school because I am not sure until what time I will be practising with the band. I am also happy I do not have to walk the long embarrassing mile. I have had enough embarrassment for one day.
When I walk into the Music Centre, the whole band is already there.
Vincent walks to me, smiling welcoming. I stand next to him, and he looks down at me. The way he looks into my eyes makes my knees buckle, and the seriousness of his expression makes my hands tremble. It makes me feel weird, so I look away abruptly and walk to the drummer, pretending this is all along my intention.
Vincent calls out behind me, introducing him, “That’s George, our drummer.” George is white, with dark brown hair. His arms are muscular, and he has that swaggering confidence every drummer has. He does a drum roll and I smile at him.
I turn around and look back at Vincent while he continues the introductions, so I follow his gaze. “Over here we have Dennis, our bass guitarist.” Dennis is also white, his hair dark and slightly curling over his ears. Not the usual hairstyle for The Christian Academy, but I suppose the band gets special treatment – not fair really.
“And then this is Simon, our lead guitarist,” Vincent concludes his introductions. Simon is black and unusually tall and lanky. He smiles at me brilliantly and nods his head in acknowledgement when I say, “Hi.”
Smiling, Vincent adds, as I turn back to him, “You know me, lead singer – everybody already knows who you are.”
I smile self-consciously.
Vincent looks at me for a moment too long and then as if he is mortified, he looks away and offers me a soda from a cooler-bag on the floor—I accept.
He hands me a music sheet with the soda and asks, “Can you read music?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Good, but maybe you should first listen, and follow on the music sheet. You can fall in from the second chorus.”
Nervously, I follow his instruction and am, honestly shocked when at the end of the song they all praise me, saying I am first-rate.
We practice until five o’clock and then Simon, George, and Dennis leave.
I am about to follow them when Vincent calls me back. He hands me a music sheet and his arm brushes against mine lightly. A quick frown flashes between his eyes, and I pretend I do not notice.
He asks, “Would you mind practising this, for tomorrow?”
“Okay.” I smile up at him friendly.
“Do you want me to go through it with you?”
“Please.” I hesitate. “If you’re not in a hurry.”
He smiles. “No. I’m not in a hurry.”
Vincent sits down behind the piano and then starts to play the music from the music sheet, singing along softly.
I stand next to the piano and as soon as I am able to follow the rhythm of the song, I join in with him.
When the last notes fade away, he looks up at me. “That was exceptionally good. I knew you were the right choice.”
“Thanks,” I reply bashful.
He tells me to sit next to him on the bench in front of the piano, and then he says, “I have just thought of something, maybe we can try it again. What if over here, you sing a little higher, instead of just harmonizing with me.”
“Okay, I can try that.”
He starts playing the music, and I start to get up, but he stops playing and holding onto my arm softly, he says, “No. It’s easier when you sit.”
“Okay.”
I have a lump in my throat. Every now and again, he stops and makes another suggestion, and all I can say is, "Okay," each time. He must think I am incapable of forming full sentences, but sitting here next to him, I foolishly am. I lose track of time and when my phone starts ringing, I recognize my dad’s number. I stand up quickly, suddenly feeling like I did when I was six years old and I was caught doing something naughty. My dad will know what I am up to and he will be incredibly angry with me. “I have to go, my dad is here to pick me up,” I say quickly.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” he says, and he continues playing the piano, ignoring me.
I feel a little rejected. I did not know what I thought I expected. Did I think he is going to stand up and walk me to the door, suddenly grab me around the waist and kiss me passionately?
I push these thoughts out of my head. Just thinking them makes it feel wrong.
UNTIL NOT SO LONG AGO, the Mississippi delta region was still the centre of the worst excesses of racism in America, and it was a place of many undocumented lynching. In 1955, in the hamlet called Money, a fourteen-year-old Emmett Till, on summer holidays from Chicago, was beaten, shot and had his tongue torn out for allegedly wolf-whistling or saying ‘bye, baby’ to a white shopkeeper. His body was dumped in a river with barbed wire and a metal part of a cotton gin tied around his neck.
Although the racial violence and fears of the 1950s are a dim memory for most white people today, beneath the surface, racial division remains. Just down the road, Greenwood has a black mayor and a black police chief, but back when, white people rarely crossed to the black side of town.
In Charleston, where I live, white folk fought tooth and nail against the reforms of the civil rights era. Here they have proved more resistant to change. Despite the rulings of the US Supreme Court dating back to 1954, white residents saw it as an outrage that black students and white students would have to sit side by side in class. Only since 1970 – after a sixteen-year extension against integration on the grounds of economic hardship – have white and black students shared the corridors, classrooms and playing fields of the town.
Many white residents just packed up and left and today, the town is predominantly black, and integration has not come easily to the white families who stayed behind.
Recently racial tensions were boiling over in the Louisiana town of Jena when black students were told they could not sit in the shade of a tree where white children gathered during the school break.
After an assault, the authorities cracked down on black pupils, who received shockingly long jail sentences and before long, the Jena Six had become a national cause.
Racial tensions are like an itch no one dares scratch.
We start with auditions, and the queue outside the hall is exceedingly long.
Not long after we start, I develop a headache, so I close my eyes for a second after Anne walks off the stage, and I hear the next girl walking across the stage.
Sighing softly, I open my eyes and then I hear Mr. Johnson next to me exclaim Chrissie’s name.
I smile up at her. She looks so nervous, and she looks at me. It is as if she really sees me. She looks at me, and not the usual through me. My heart stops beating briefly.
I feel Sabrina move closer to me and then she puts her arms through mine on the armrest. Yanking myself back to reality, I turn to Sabrina and I smile at her reassuringly.
Chrissie starts to sing, and her heart is in the song. I can feel her every emotion as the words fall easily on my ear. Her voice sweeps me away and when Mr. Johnson thanks her, his words are suddenly too loud in the hushed atmosphere, and I get a fright.
She walks off the stage and when she hesitates to say thank you for the opportunity, I laugh softly because she is so unbelievably cute. Sabrina looks at me reproachfully.
I whisper to Sabrina, taking my eyes off Chrissie, even though it is the last thing I want to do, “She’s funny, what do you want me to do?” For some reason, this placates Sabrina, and she sits back into her chair.
After dinner – Maria insists on having dinner at the same time every day because she says routine is good – I sit next to the pool in my back garden.
The full moon has just risen above the horizon and is reflecting in long stripes on the surface of the water.
My phone is in my hand.
I am indecisive and I do not know if I should text her or not. I have gone through a great deal of trouble to get her number. I went through the audition lists inconspicuously when Sabrina was preoccupied with her phone. It was a unanimous decision when we chose Chrissie to sing as the backup singer for ÉLastique.
I start texting, and then I re-read the text a few times. She might get the wrong impression if I text her, and I do not want her to get the wrong impression. I heave a sigh as I contemplate holding her in my arms, or even kiss her full lips fleetingly.
I press the sent button.
Unbelievably, she replies, and my heart jumps violently. She might as well be in the room with me so nervous I am—my palms feel sweaty.
I cannot wait to start rehearsing with her, but then I also remind myself it would surely be foolish to have these hopes and crazy dreams of a girl I can never be with. It can never go anywhere.
Sabrina and I spend the entire break together.
At one point, I convince myself I am over my ridiculous attraction for Chrissie.
How foolish I am, because on the first day back at school when I see her walking to me along the corridor and then past me, without giving me a second glance, I know I am only deceiving myself. Every glaring emotion I have for her is still there. It is racing through my body with my every heartbeat.
I hear all the rumours about Chrissie and Johnathan. He hooked up with her during the break and then the day school started up again, he went back to Tanya. I see the hurt in her eyes, although she is smiling happily and laughing loudly. I can see her eyes fill with pain every time she looks at Tanya and Johnathan.
Sabrina is constantly with me, and so I try to reinforce our relationship by showing her more affection than what I feel.
That afternoon, though, when Chrissie walks into the Music Centre, I know I am forever hopelessly lost to her. I introduce her to Simon, George and Dennis and we practice the song due for release in July.
Simon, George, and Dennis always leave at five o’clock and depending whether I have plans with Sabrina, I usually stay later.
Chrissie is about to leave, but I do not want her to go, so I ask her if she would practice a piece of music—irrelevant music. When I hear her sing the song, I feel inspired and I ask her to sit next to me on the bench in front of the piano.
She sits down and her arm brushes against mine. Surely, she must notice how I feel about her.
Later, when her ringtone echoes through the room, I smile because it is one of those silly tunes. She looks down at her phone, and a look of instant guilt glow across her features. She gets up abruptly and then she leaves saying her dad is here to collect her.
I want to follow her—to be courageous and tell her how I feel, but that would just be brainless because then everything would be out in the open where now I still have a chance to just let it go away, to pretend it does not exist.
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, I leave early because the band does not practice on Fridays. I am walking toward the gate, deep in thought, when I hear Johnathan’s voice call out to me. I look up and see him in his charcoal-black BMW, gesturing to me to come closer.
I shake my head, no, and carry on walking.
From the corner of my eye, I see him pull his car onto the curb and then he comes loping to me.
He weaves between the build-up of cars while they are stopping and going, stopping, and going, trying to get out of the school grounds.
He laughs when he is eventually standing in front of me, and I look up at him. He is smiling happily, and I wish I could wipe his smile off his face. I am just starting to get over him, and now, here he is again pretending as if nothing is amiss.
“Can I give you a lift home?” He asks.
“No, it's okay.” I smile politely. I would hate it if he knew how badly he had affected me. How he had hurt me.
“Come on. I want to talk to you,” he asks, giving me that look I am sure he knows buckles my knees every time he uses it on me.
I decide impulsively—I might as well.
He might get the wrong impression if I kept saying no, and he would think what he did to me, after we went to the Francis Marion National Park, bothered me. I most certainly would not want him to know.
I smile up at him, hoping he cannot see the hurt in my eyes. “Okay, but I live in the opposite direction of your estate.”
He smiles, delighted. “That’s okay. I don’t have much else to do.”
I start to walk with him and ask, “Why are you not spending today with Tanya?”
“She's going away for the weekend with her parents.” I suddenly feel a familiar gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach and reply sarcastically, without meaning to, “So, once again, I'm your stand-in for Tanya.”
He looks hurt. “No, that’s not how it is. I want to talk to you.”
We reach his car, and I get into the passenger seat while he gets in. He starts the car and then with great difficulty, he manages to manoeuvre himself into the line of traffic waiting to get out of school.
I direct him in the direction of my house. We are listening to a sixties CD, and before I know it, without me even realizing, we are both belting out the lyrics. Laughing together and I think to myself briefly, how we could be so perfect together.
When we get to my house, I invite him in only because he walks me to the door and basically walks into my house as soon as I open the door. I did not really want him to come in, he might think my humble abode is tattered.
I walk straight through to the kitchen with Johnathan following me. I pour cold drinks and then I hand him his glass.
He follows me again to the lounge and then we sit down. I make sure I am sitting on a single chair, so he cannot move himself in next to me.
He says, “I am so sorry about that day we went to the National Park.”
I can only look at him and say nothing, because what is there to say besides the fact, he truly hurt me.
He continues, “Well, anyway, you and Anne left and then Tanya showered me with her attention. Although I honestly like you very much, Tanya seems to have a hold on me. It is indescribable, because in the last two years we have been together, she always runs off with someone else, and then when she breaks up with them she comes back to me, and I always somehow fall for her.”
I smile at him sympathetically, feeling sorry for him. Maybe the way he is acting towards girls is his defence mechanism against Tanya.
He continues nervously, “As I said before, I honestly do like you very much, but through all the fun and games, someone will always get hurt, and I don’t want it to be you. Usually it is straightforward to hook up with another girl and then when Tanya gets back to her sense, it is easy for me to leave them, but since the picnic in the National Park, you have been haunting me.” He smiles bashfully. “I think you might be my cure against Tanya.”
I laugh, insulted. “Aah, so happy to come to your assistance.”
“I know how it sounds, but I'm serious.”
“Okay, Johnathan – I’ll stay here waiting just for you, until the next time Tanya lets you go again.” I cannot hide the sarcasm from either my voice or my expression.
“No, you don’t understand...”
I fake laugh. “Johnathan, I am joking. We can be friends. When Tanya hurts you again, I promise I’ll be here, and we can talk.”
He looks away, embarrassed. “I don’t want you to think I am being mushy – sitting here complaining about my love life.”
“We don’t live in the fifties anymore where men have to hide their feelings and pretend they don’t cry. Honestly, I much prefer today, where we can all talk together about the same things and share our emotions. Imagine if men were still running around hitting women over the head with clubs and dragging them by their hair into caves, and...”
He looks at me again, in that way which makes my insides turn to pulp. The butterflies are causing cramps in their violent flight of love within the confines of my stomach.
“I am really sorry,” he says.
I take a deep breath. “It's really okay, Johnathan,” I insist.
It is not okay, but I have no choice really. I can only be his friend, and hope when I am thinking about him, he is also sometimes thinking of me.
We talk a while longer, and then he says he better leave before his parents get home. I walk him to the door and then I wait for him to drive away.
Amazingly, for some peculiar reason, I do not feel as devastated as I did the day after the picnic. Everybody saw us together and then the next day he was in a relationship with Tanya, his status on Facebook even changed overnight from ‘Single’ to ‘In a Relationship’. It was devastatingly mortifying.
I sleep over at Anne’s house, the night of The Annual Charity Ball, so my dad does not have to drive around in the middle of the night, playing my own private taxi service, although he insists he does not mind.
Anne and I get dressed excitedly. The dress code is masked fancy dress.
I decide to dress up as Juliet from the movie with Leonardo DiCaprio. I am wearing a plain white cotton dress, and I have my wings on. I straighten my hair and let it hang over my shoulders and I will be wearing a small black mask. Anne is dressing up like Cinderella, hoops, and all.
Justin drives us to the Ball, and we walk into the foyer at school coyly, behind our masks.
We meet up with our group of friends, and I notice Johnathan straight away. He is dressed as Zorro while his skinny, anorexic girlfriend is dressed as Cat woman.
Despite my broken heart, I join in all the fun.
I am dancing with Shaun and Anne, and we are laughing whole-heartedly at something Adam said when someone touches me lightly on my shoulder.
I turn around, smiling, and there, standing in front of me is someone who took the whole mask-idea overboard.
A gold coloured mask covers his entire face. A cape covers his head and sweeps down to the floor. I notice the person in front of me is wearing all black, even the gloves on his hands are black. If I did not know better, I would have thought he was trying to be the Phantom of the Opera. He bows in front of me, and I assume this is a request for a dance.
He takes me into his arms and pulls me firmly to his chest. His arms feel strong around me, and as I lay my hand on his shoulder, I feel his muscles rippling under my hand.
We dance slowly to the beat of the music, and I am too self-conscious to talk. When the music ends, I move away from him reluctantly, and once again, he bows.
He turns around and walks away.
I look for him the rest of the evening, but I cannot see him anywhere.
I practise with the band, every day after school. I am enjoying myself thoroughly and every day I try to figure out who my mystery phantom could have been. Looking at possible suspects, but then ruling them out, because they did not have the necessary height or the body physique, I remembered feeling under my hand when I placed it on his shoulder.
Every afternoon after Dennis, George, and Simon leave, I stay behind to wait for my dad and every day I shamelessly fall in love with Vincent a little more. Horrified with myself, I have inexcusably, at some unknown point fallen in love with him, and it could lead nowhere good.
My dad will have a heart attack, for sure, and be so disappointed. I am sure he will kick me out of the house. He would disinherit me, and they would never speak to me for as long as I lived. I would be alone, an orphan.
Sometimes he looks at me in a way that makes me think he likes me, other times he treats me almost with contempt, and this hurts. I know he does not love me, and the times when he looks at me with contempt are probably those times when he can sense I like him more than I should.
When it is just him and me, though, it feels to me as if we are the only two people in the world, there is no racial difference. I can only see his soul, and I feel as if he can then only see the essence of me, not the colour of my skin.
I assure myself daily that what I feel for Vincent could surely not be love, it is just a crush and I could almost say adoration, the star-struck syndrome we girls so often fall into helplessly. I feel confused and baffled, unsure of my absurd emotions.
When Simon, Dennis, and George leaves in the afternoons, without a doubt the time of the day I look forward to the most, Vincent and I laugh and joke. Sometimes we do not even practice during this last hour of the day before my dad arrives to take me home. We just sit on the carpet, facing each other, talking about school, about music, about how I am planning not to follow my dreams of becoming a singer, because I do not want to disappoint my parents.
Every now and then, I will catch him looking at me, but when he notices me looking at him, the usual frown will crease his beautiful forehead, and then he will look away. Once I was laughing so loudly, I grabbed onto his arm without thinking and held onto him. I could feel his muscles stiffen under my touch and I pulled my hand away hastily, apologizing profusely.
My heart aches almost permanently, and I only look forward to the moments I spend with him. I am puzzled by him, I am puzzled by how every so often I get the definite feeling he likes me in return and, then how at other times, he seems to be repelled by the sight of me. He is constantly on my mind.
One late afternoon, Vincent shows me a sheet of music for a song he wrote. Mischievously he jokes, “The words are a secret.” Then seriously, he adds, “I am still working on the lyrics.” He starts to play the tune on the piano for me, and the melody is haunting, a melody which makes me feel sad for no reason. It reminds me of the opening score for the movie Free Willy when I sobbed and bawled before the movie even started.
That night I sit at my window, my lights off, the stars in the sky competing with the bright lights of the city.
I try to see past the lights of the city, past the few stars whose light is strong and persistent enough to glitter brightly in the sky, and I wish something greater than me would show me a sign.
People pretend they are race tolerant, that we are all brothers and sisters, but just below the surface there churns a malignant hatred, which would explode to the surface with just the smallest provocation.
I do not care what anybody says, but white people instinctively dislike black people and just so black people intuitively despise white people.
It has been like this since the beginnings of time, and even when we are born innocent, we grow up with the subtle hatred glimmering through the surface of the dark cesspool and by the time we are old enough to know, we involuntarily, subconsciously hate as well.
Show me a hundred people who will tell me now, at this moment when I need confirmation, white or black, when they see a mixed-race couple, their very first thought is not one of repulsion.
I feel confused and a little lost. I know, because my dad has told me repeatedly, how against the laws of nature it is to fall in love with a black boy, so I could never hope to one day be with Vincent.
I could never allow myself to fall in love with Vincent, although he could be the one whom I am supposed to be in love with. What if I ignored this feeling for him and never found it again with anybody else?
My brain is yelling at me to stop this now before it is too late. My heart is trying to convince me that maybe there is a chance.
I feel though that if I listened to my mind, I would have an incredible feeling of loss even before I have even achieved anything. If I did start considering there is ever a possibility Vincent and I can be together, it would mean I would have to go against everything my father ever told me.
I fall asleep in the chair by the window, and when I wake up my legs and neck are stiff.
I get up and stretch painfully. Taking a deep breath, I go to the bathroom to have a shower.
I meet my mom in the passage on my way back to my room, and she smiles at me cheerily, my heart sinks.
She stops and frowns, she knows me so well. “What is wrong Chrissie?”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I say.
“Are you unhappy at school?” She asks concerned.
“No, I am very happy.”
“You have made friends, haven’t you?”
“Yes, loads.” I smile.
“You seem different,” she says as she looks at me closely.
“I have to get ready for school. I am fine, really.”
She smiles, still looking worried, but thankfully not persisting.
THE WEEKEND OF THE Masked Ball, Sabrina goes to New York with her dad, Mr. Jackson.
I decide impulsively to go to the Ball, although I promised Sabrina I would stay at home and pine for her. She is definitely getting too serious.
I dress up from head to toe, making sure every inch of me is covered. I have only one intention and that is to dance with Chrissie, just the one time. I need to dance with her, feel her body close to mine, and then I can move on, I convince myself.
After I park in the student parking lot, I sigh deeply while I pull the full face, gold coloured mask over my face.
I get out of the car and walk to the hall.
Looking through the slits in the mask, I notice her immediately. Juliet pales to the comparison of Chrissie.
I walk straight to her, through the crowd and then I touch her lightly on her shoulder with my gloved hand.
She turns around and after hesitating briefly, she smiles up to me. I bow down a little.
I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, but her smile widens, and then she moves into my arms. I hold her tightly to me while she puts her hand on my shoulder.
She looks up at me frowning faintly, smiling quizzically, and then everything around me disappears. My world becomes just Chrissie and me dancing to the heartbeat of the music.
When the song ends too soon, I move away from her unwillingly, bow again, and then I abruptly turn around and walk away.
I leave the dance and walk to my car.
Part of me wishes she would come after me. I might have intrigued her, but she does not follow me.
Every afternoon I look forward to spending time with her. I share my hopes and dreams with her, something I have not done with anybody else. We can talk about anything and everything. We usually sit on the carpet after Simon, George, and Dennis leaves. She normally sits cross-legged in front of me—I notice the curve of her legs, and I want to trace my fingers along her skin—and she smiles and laughs happily.
Although my dad has stamped it irreversibly on my mind that I am never to fall in love with someone outside of my race, especially a white girl, I cannot help it. I fall more and more in love with her each passing day.
Every evening, I sit in my bedroom and I am busy writing a song. It started out as a letter to her, but then it turned into a song. I want it to be perfect, as perfect as she is. In addition, I want it to say everything I am unable to say to her in mere words.
IT IS EARLY JULY AND a Sunday morning. We are recording the single today.
When I wake up and get dressed, I am nervous beyond believe. I feel overwhelmed, but I also feel like a famous person, because this morning we are going to be collected from our homes in a limousine.
When the car arrives at my front door, my mom calls me, and then there are at least two minutes of silly jumping and shouting actions performed by my mom, my dad and me, behind the closed doors of my home.
Walking out the door, I am composed and getting into the car, I take the only vacant seat next to Vincent. Sitting so close to him somehow calms my nerves, which is really a contradiction, because usually he has my heart racing.
He looks at me and smiles, his fascinating green eyes are looking into mine and I know I must be imagining things, but it seems as if his eyes are trying to say something to me, but I am not well versed in eye-speak.
He looks away from me abruptly and then starts to talk to George, ignoring me until we stop in front of the tall imposing building. Only then does he acknowledge me again, motioning with his hand for me to get out of the car first.
Most days I scold myself continuously, he obviously cannot stand the sight of me and yet I continue to adore him.
I stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the rest of them to get out of the limousine. I am, despite everything only the sideshow and not the main attraction. I am technically not even a member of the band.
Once we are in the recording booth, we sing the song repeatedly. Not always because of me, but a few times, I do miss a note. I feel awkward and humiliated.
At last, after what feels like hours, the people sitting behind the thick glass pane are happy. I sigh with relief as we walk out of the booth and then we all sit down in the chairs scattered around the room before they play the track back to us.
I am amazed at how good it sounds and unbelievably proud of myself, because I sound like a professional singer as if I have a few golden records behind my name. After we have listened to the band’s first single, and everybody claps enthusiastically, Sabrina’s dad, Mr. Jackson, starts to discuss the rest of the album and a tour he wants us to go on during the next few weeks during our Summer break, so we can promote the album before its release date.
At first, I thought it would obviously not include me, but then Mr. Jackson turns to me. “Chrissie, I need to discuss something with you.”
I look at him and think to myself – here it comes, they do not need me anymore.
He surprises me, by asking, while the four boys stare at me expectantly, “After careful consideration, we have decided to invite you to join the band.”
I stare up at him where he stands leaning against the wall. I notice his belly protruding over the belt of his trousers. I see the way his collar folds up the way they used to wear it back in the eighties, his head is shaved clean and shining in the fluorescent light of the studio. I am trying to determine if he is joking with me, and I wonder if I could say I would have to discuss it with my parents first. I do not know if my parents will allow me to join a band, they have this big dream for me, of being an influential business executive.
Everyone in the room is waiting for me to say something, and then Mr. Jackson says heatedly, “This is a great opportunity and any girl would jump at the prospect of being in a band of this calibre.”
I interrupt him, smiling embarrassed, “I am only in shock here – of course, I want to be in the band. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. I just thought with all the mistakes this morning, you would be asking me to leave as quickly as possible.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Vincent, smiling amused, and I suddenly feel shy and inhibited, so I stop talking.
Vincent stands up and suggests to Mr. Jackson, “Maybe you should discuss it with Chrissie’s parents as well before you proceed any further.” Vincent walks into the recording booth.
I frown as he turns at the door and calls for me to join him. I stand up unsure and walk into the booth. He motions to me to sit on the stool in front of the piano and then he places a sheet of music in front of me. I recognize it from the music I have been practising over the last few weeks, without lyrics.
He speaks through the microphone in the booth and announces, “I have written this song, and I am hoping it will be included on the album.” The other band members start to get up, but he stops them. “Sorry guys, this one is just me and Chrissie.”
They settle back into their chairs, looking uncertain. Mr. Jackson looks as if he knows about this development, and this is probably the reason for the offer. I suppose I should not let this go to my head because they are probably only going to be using me for as long as they need me. I wonder if I should get an agent or a manager.
Vincent looks at me expectantly, and so I look down at the piano keys in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and then I start playing the poignant tune. A couple of notes later, Vincent starts to sing—his voice is soft and beautiful—he holds my gaze for the first few lines, and I feel my breath getting caught in my throat.
Where do I start when I have so much to say?
about this great divide that is in our way.
I couldn’t bear to live without your smile,
as another day just passes by.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
You’ve got to listen when I speak.
You’ve got to hear it in my voice.
You’ve got to look into my eyes,
see there is something burning strong.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
Could we make it?
Could we see this through?
It would mean so much to me,
to be there for you.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
All my life, I’ll wait for you.
My mind will always drift to you.
You’ll always be in my dreams.
Our memories will carry me through.
Until we can figure this out,
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
will never let go.
The song is finished, without me realizing it. I played the whole song perfectly without thinking, without knowing.
Vincent hastily turns away from the microphone and walks out of the booth.
Tears burn behind my eyes, as I feel the rapidly thumping of my heart and instinctively I know that the song is about me.
He walks through the studio without stopping and I feel six pairs of eyes boring into me, as the door slams shut behind Vincent.
Everybody is silent—everybody is staring at me.
I want to go after Vincent, but I know if I did, everybody will be wondering if there is something going on between us. Especially Sabrina’s dad, who would not be happy, because his precious baby girl is dating Vincent, so I stay where I am.
An angry Mr. Jackson sends the rest of us home and tells me he will discuss everything with me when he meets with my parents before we go on tour.
When we get downstairs, and I get into the limousine expectantly, Vincent is not there.
I feel incredibly sad. The words of the song are burned into my heart, into my memory. Does this mean he likes me the same way I like him? Am I only imagining the song is about me – maybe there is something dividing him and Sabrina? Could it be he does feel the same way as I do? That he experiences the same disillusioned hopelessness which has become my every waking moment.
When I get home, I say hello to my parents and then I go straight up to my bedroom and fall on my bed. I feel desperately sad.
I stare up at the ceiling and I force every thought out of my head. I lay there, staring at the white paint until my phone vibrates.
I lift my arm, reaching for my phone and then I bring it up to my face, while opening the message.
“I need to see you. Vincent.”
I struggle for breath. What am I supposed to do? My parents would never let me go out with him. I decide, rashly, I could see him tomorrow after my parents had gone to work.
I reply, “Tomorrow, 9. I’ll meet you at the mall.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Later, I am in bed already when I get another text message. I grab my phone anxiously, but it is only Anne. “How was the recording?”
“It was fun, took forever though, but I think it was worth it.”
“I look forward to hearing it.”
“They offered me a permanent place in the band, but I doubt my parents will allow it.”
“That is exciting news!”
“Sabrina’s dad is coming to speak to my parents tomorrow, so I would not get too excited too soon.”
“I hate that Sabrina.”
I smile – don’t we all?
I reply though, “Yeah, she is so snobbish, not suitable for Vincent at all.”
“I know.”
We talk until my phone credit runs out, and then I fall asleep fitfully.
In my dream, my dad is screaming and yelling at me, people are looking at me with disappointment, and always I feel Vincent just outside my line of vision.
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up early and get dressed, taking special care with my hair – forcing it to be exactly right. I wear something fashionable yet slimming.
I say goodbye to my mom and dad, and I feel guilty when I tell them I will be going to the mall to watch a movie.
They smile and tell me to enjoy myself.
It feels awkward not discussing my feelings with my mom as I always do. She even knows how I felt about Johnathan and how hurtful that experience turned out to be.
I walk down my street to the bus stop on the corner. I wait for the bus that would take me to the mall, and I do not have to wait long because the bus passes through our suburb quite frequently.
At the mall, the bus empties out and I am the last one to descend the stairs.
I notice Vincent immediately where is standing at the bus stop, waiting for me. I walk to him and when I reach him, I ask, “How did you know I would be coming with the bus?”
“I assumed you would because you always get the bus going home, when your dad doesn’t collect you after band practice.”
“Obviously,” I reply, feeling silly for asking such an inane question.
He just smiles, and then turns to the entrance to the mall. I follow him, and when we walk through the big sliding doors into the mall, he turns to me, “Did you have breakfast, yet?”
“No, but I’m not hungry.”
“Let’s go and sit down somewhere anyway.”
We walk into the first fast-food restaurant and he steers me to a table in the back. I feel eyes boring into me, the condescending eyes of everybody in the restaurant staring at us inconspicuously. I feel mortified, yet defiant. I sit down across from him and then smile at him, when he asks, “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll have a soda, thanks,” I reply.
He walks to the counter and then returns with two sodas. He sits down and then puts his straw into the plastic covering. He takes a deep sip and then exhales loudly.
He starts talking, hesitantly, “So, yesterday.”
I look at him, waiting in anticipation for him to tell me. I have a painful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
He continues, warily, “I don’t know how to say this, but I am unbelievably attracted to you. It scares me to feel this way. I have never felt this way about anybody, and then the fact you are white, makes it worse.”
He stops abruptly, and then apologetically, he says, “I did not mean it to sound racist.”
Unable to stop myself, I smile, “I understand exactly what you mean, you don’t have to apologize. Besides, I thought it was only me. I thought there must be something wrong with me.”
He smiles, relieved, and reaches for my hand across the table, but then he stops and looking at the other patrons sitting at their respective tables around us, he leaves his hand lying in the middle of the table.
I reach with my leg under the table, and then lean my knee against his. He smiles brightly, and my heart stops beating for a few seconds.
He asks, “Would you like to watch a movie with me?”
“That sounds nice. What kind of movies do you like to watch?”
“Obviously, being a guy, my first reaction would be I absolutely hate romantic comedies, but sometimes, they are enjoyable. However, if you tell anybody I said that, I will deny it vigorously.”
I laugh aloud, and he smiles with me.
We finish our sodas and then we walk across the mall and go up the escalator to the cinema complex. We end up buying tickets for an action movie, after we eliminate movies we have already seen. We walk into the dark room and then when we find our seats, we sit down. Immediately he reaches for me, and I let my hand rest in his big, warm hand.
For some bizarre reason, I feel tears behind my eyelids. I am here with him, but I wish this were another time, another life. Although I know this could never work, I do not want to let go.
After the movie, he offers to take me home and I follow him to his car. I have to do a double take when he stops next to a Mercedes two-door sedan, and he opens the door for me. I slide into the seat and the leather surrounds me, softly, caressingly.
He gets into the car, and I smile, saying, “Very nice car.”
“Thanks, my dad gave it to me.”
Obviously, how would a school kid be able to afford a car like this, and secondly, ashamedly, I wonder how a black person could afford a car like this. I wonder if his dad is a drug-dealer or a gangster.
While he starts the car, he asks, “Where do you live?”
“I’ll direct you as we go.”
We drive to my home, and when we get there, and because it is still early, I invite him in.
He declines but smiles pleasantly when I get out of the car, and he says, “I’ll phone you. We should meet up again tomorrow.”
“That would be nice.”
I feel awkward now that we are in front of my house, and our earlier comfort with each other is gone. It makes me feel sad.
I get out of the car and walk to my house, without looking at him again. I only turn to wave to him, just before I close the door behind me. I stand against the door for a moment and then I go to the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I need something with which I can swallow the lump in my throat down.
There is a knock at the door, and I walk to it, frowning. I open the door, and there is Vincent, standing on my doorstep. I step aside frowning somewhat, letting him in, while he says, “Sorry, I am really trying hard not to be here, but I can’t.”
I close the door behind him while he looks at me.
There is a strange look in his eyes. “In my mind, I can hear all the reasons why we should not be together, but it should be me making you happy. I should be the one holding your hand in public and I should be the one kissing your lips, holding you close when we dance.”
Without being able to stop, I move into him and I wrap my arms around his neck. I lift myself higher and I kiss him. I kiss him with everything in me, proving to myself that this is all right.
Is love not supposed to be the most important thing in anyone’s life? Would people really deny us this? In my heart, I know they, unfortunately, would.
My world is not Vincent’s world, and just so, Vincent’s world is not my world, but for this moment, I am his, only his.
That evening I open the door for Mr. Jackson, and I invite him in. He follows me to the lounge, and as we enter the room, my mom stands up straight away. I immediately register the shock of seeing a big black man walking behind me, evident on her face. I hope Mr. Jackson did not see it.
My dad stands up from his chair while my mom walks to the television and she switches it off.
I turn back to Mr. Jackson and then I say, “Dad, meet Mr. Jackson. He is the manager of the band I auditioned with.”
I turn back to my dad. “Mr. Jackson, this is my dad, Peter Taylor.”
As Mr. Jackson walks further into the lounge, my dad takes his hand and they shake.
My mom says, “Please. Sit down Mr. Jackson. Can I get you something to drink? Would you like coffee or tea?”
Mr. Jackson replies, “Coffee would be nice. Thank you.”
My mom looks at me. “Chrissie, would you join me?”
I follow my mom to the kitchen.
When the kitchen doors swing closed behind us, my mom turns to me. Softly she reprimands me, “You could have warned us, you know?”
“I was not sure what day he would be coming.”
I did know, but my morning with Vincent has had my mind bursting, and I seriously did not remember Mr. Jackson would be coming to see my parents tonight. How can I remember something so mundane when I have so many much bigger issues on my mind all the time?
My mom silently organizes a tray, and then I carry it back to the lounge.
I notice my dad sitting in his chair uncomfortably. He is not used to seeing black people within the sanctuary of his home.
I gather from their conversation; Mr. Jackson has already breached the subject of asking my dad’s permission for me to join the band on a permanent basis. As I put the tray on the coffee table, Mr. Jackson is saying, “I need your permission, because Chrissie is still under-aged and she would need you, as her guardian to sign consent on any financial documents.”
My dad replies, “No. I do not think it would be wise for Chrissie to join a band, especially as she would not be playing a pivotal role. It seems very insecure, and it would distract her from her studying.” My dad looks at me with sympathy. “I am sorry Chrissie, but I have to look out for you, and this does not seem a viable choice for your future.”
I feel tears burn behind my eyes, but I square my shoulders and ask him, “It would only be temporary. Maybe I am supposed to rather be artistic?”
“No, Chrissie.”
My mom joins us, and she agrees with my dad, “One day you will thank us for this. I know that now; at this particular time, you want to do this with all your heart, but your dad and I have been your age before. You might think we are being uninformed or that we are unconsidered to your needs and wants, but we know what we are talking about from experience. We have first-hand knowledge of fanciful dreams which get away from you. It is best, as your dad said for you concentrate on school and then go to college to study for a real job.”
Mr. Jackson starts to stand up from his chair, and I can see he is starting to lose his temper. Something I have first-hand experience in from the day at the recording studio and after Vincent performed The Great Divide for the first time.
He turns first to my mom and then my dad, smiling pleasantly. “I am going to have to enforce the application Chrissie signed when she auditioned for this position.”
My dad interrupts him, “You said you need my consent because Chrissie is still a minor?”
“Not for one song and this small tour, there is not really any monetary value to it, and percentages do not have to be negotiated on her behalf. Chrissie will receive a fixed amount, as agreed upon in the application form.”
Mr. Jackson reaches for his bag. He pulls a stapled wad of paper out and then he hands my dad a blank form, “I will make sure I forward the signed copy to you.”
My dad takes the form and then he briefly scans the small print on the back, above the space for a signature. Without looking up, he asks, “You said something about a tour?”
“Yes. We scheduled it to take place during the summer holidays. You need not be concerned. We have security and we have booked a separate room for Chrissie at each venue.”
“Where are these venues?” My mom asks nervously.
“They are all within this county. We are only attempting to maximize exposure close to home, for now.”
I see my mom and dad look at each other broodingly.
Mr. Jackson also notices the look, and he continues, “I am afraid, I am going to have to insist Chrissie goes on this tour.”
My dad looks at me reproachfully. “I suppose it would be like summer camp.”
Mr. Jackson smiles. “Yes. Exactly like summer camp.”
“Okay,” my dad agrees reluctantly. “I suppose there is nothing to be done. The decision has already been made.”
“I am glad we agree,” Mr. Jackson says as he rises fully from the chair.
Softly I let my breath out. I did not realize I am holding it. “I will have to go now. Thank you for the coffee Mrs. Taylor.”
My mom smiles kindly. “A pleasure, Mr. Jackson.”
My dad stands up from his chair, and then he and Mr. Jackson walk out to the front door together.
Not long after, my dad comes back into the lounge and I am amazed to see him smiling.
He ruffles my hair when he walks past me. “So, they were so impressed with you, they wanted to keep you permanently?”
I smile. “I suppose.”
“You are an incredibly talented girl, and you will still go far. I hope you are not upset with your Mom and me?”
“No. I suppose it is okay.”
My dad walks through to the kitchen and I hear him calling from the kitchen to my mom, “Where did you hide those chocolate biscuits?”
My mom sighs and she follows him into the kitchen.
THE MEMORY OF THE KISS Chrissie and I shared at her home, after meeting at the mall, still makes my mind reel. The way her body moulded into mine. My hands around her waist, and I can still feel her soft lips moving against mine.
Although I know I should not, I arrange with Chrissie that George will collect her the following evening.
I choose George specifically because he does not have a girlfriend who might become suspicious, and because he is white. I go down to a secluded area on the beach and I carry the many brown paper bags filled with candles, from my car, making a few trips up and down the beach. I place the candles painstakingly in the shape of a heart around a blanket.
I sit down on the blanket and light the candles slowly, smiling relieved, thankful it is a windless night. I never thought of it before now.
When I see Chrissie and George walking toward me, I feel my heart elevate, and my lungs constrict, so I walk closer to her warily. I would not want her to think I am being overly romantic, but she smiles pleased and surprised.
George says goodbye and then I take her into my arms. I lift her higher until her face is level with mine and then I brush my lips softly over hers. She moans softly, which in turn makes me hold her even tighter to me.
Later we lie down on the blanket, the candles surrounding us, enveloping us in a warm glow of orange. We look up at the stars, past the stars and I wish there and then we could have been somewhere else.
When I am with her, we do not talk much, because what is there really to say besides enjoy the brief, stolen moments we are able to share with each other. We could not talk about our future together because we did not have one. I will always love her until I am old and grey, but I do not think I am brave enough to give up everything to be with her.
I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER the night at the beach—it was so romantic. There was no moon, and the candles were our only light. We hardly spoke and we lay quietly next to each other on the blanket looking up at the stars, with him holding my hand in his softly, caressingly.
Later, he dropped me off on the corner to my street, and I walked up the hill toward my house.
The next morning my dad asks me curiously, what time I got home because he did not hear any cars. I avoid telling him the truth by changing the subject. I feel guilty I have to lie to them, and I have to meet Vincent without them knowing. If I tell them, they would be furious and they would prevent me from ever seeing him again, so I keep lying and pretending, just so I can have this time with him.
After my parents leave for work, I look out my bedroom window, and I see him standing outside his car, waiting for me.
I am slightly shocked to see him there. Although I know the suburb we live in is predominantly black, and none of my neighbours would think twice seeing a black boy standing outside his car.
It is also not as if they would tell my parents because we are not close to being friendly with any of our neighbours. If my parents had enough money to move us out into one of the outer suburbs, we would have moved long ago.
Feeling excited I run down the stairs and then I lock the front door behind me. Devoid of all inhibitions, I run into his arms, and he lifts me off the ground. His strong arms around my waist, he brushes his lips over mine, and then he lets me go gently.
He walks with me to the other side of the car and waits for me to get in before he closes the door softly. We drive into Charleston and we avoid mid-town where both our parents work.
We go to a coffee shop and it is still hours before lunch, so I know there would be no possibility of running into anyone we knew. Both Vincent’s dad and my mom worked in the city centre. We sit in the back of the café across from each other. Our heads closely together and we talk softly.
“I wonder where we will be ten years from now,” he wonders.
“Oh, you’ll be a household name, with a million girls running after you.”
He laughs exuberantly. “And you will work somewhere in a high-rise building. You will be wearing a fancy suit with your hair up in a bun, with a few wisps hanging loosely around your ears.”
“Yes, I’ll be stylishly fashionable,” I agree, and I look up. It is with shock I recognize my mom standing in the front of the café at the counter. I wonder, briefly, what she is doing here, in this coffee shop, on this particular day. Her office block is not even within walking distance of this café.
I stare at the back of her head and I know I should look away because any moment now she is going to feel eyes boring into the back of her skull and she is going to turn around and see me sitting here with Vincent.
I feel a cold hand crush my heart and I stop breathing. Vincent sees the look on my face. He turns slightly in his chair and his gaze follows my stare. He looks back at me, and I recognize my own fear in his eyes.
When eventually my mom walks out of the café with two paper cups of coffee, I cannot help sighing with relief.
Vincent and I wait a few minutes and then we leave the café, too preoccupied with our own mixed feelings to enjoy the day any further.
We get into Vincent’s car hurriedly and then Vincent shuffles through his CD collection. He picks out a CD, and then he lets it slide into the player. He cranks up the volume, and I can feel the bass reverberating through my body. I feel the tension which dropped onto me minutes ago shake loose.
We drive aimlessly through the streets for hours and by the time we reach my house, I have forgotten, once again, why I cannot see Vincent. I have remembered why I love him. I love him because I know he feels the same as me. I love him because our souls recognized each other. I love him because my heart will not be able to take it if we said goodbye forever.
He drops me off with enough time for me to cook dinner and without me having to worry if either one of my parents will be there to see us.
I AM UNABLE TO SLEEP. I listen to the waves lap against the shore and I think of Chrissie. She preoccupies my mind.
There is a full moon tonight and recklessly I decide to drive to her house.
Once I get to her house, I sit looking up at her home for the longest time, just staring up at her room window. The window I saw her standing at the other morning.
Impulsively, I get out of my car, closing the door softly and then I walk to her house. Amused, I hope some watchful neighbour is not awake and mistakes me for a burglar.
I pick up a few small stones and then I throw them up against her window. They bounce off her window softly, and I am about to give up when I see her curtains move aside.
I see her face and she looks down at me questioningly and then disbelieving. She motions with her hand that I must wait and then the curtains fall into place.
Moments later, she comes walking toward me from her back garden and she says softly, “The front door squeaks a bit when you open it.”
I smile widely and take her in my arms, breathing deeply into her hair. When I am with her, I feel as if I belong.
She leads me to her back garden and then I follow her to a hammock strung between two trees.
A canopy of the trees hangs over the hammock and it is slightly to the back of the garden, so if her parents happened to come out, I could disappear easily.
I get onto the hammock first and then she slides in next to me. I cradle her in my arms, and I say softly what I have felt in my heart, from that very first moment I saw her, “I love you.”
She sighs softly next to me, and I feel her breath wash over me, as she says, “I love you too – so very much.”
She hugs me closer to her and later I can feel a wetness against my chest.
I lift my hand and gently I brush it over her cheeks, wiping her tears away, trying to ignore the fact I am the cause of her sadness.
THE NIGHT HE CAME TO my house and threw pebbles against my window, I woke up with a start. I looked out the window to see him standing there on the lawn, looking up at me, expectantly.
I quickly put on a tracksuit and then I walked down the passage toward the stairs very quietly. I stopped in front of my parent’s door and listened for a while. My dad was still snoring rhythmically, and my mom breathed in harmony with him.
When I got outside and the cool night air caressed my skin, I felt safe when he held me in his arms.
He told me he loved me, and my heart grew wings. Yet, I felt such deep sadness that I could not help it when tears started gliding down my cheeks.
He wiped the tears from my cheek, softly, tenderly, and then he asked, “Would you be my girl?”
I knew it was silly, never to be, but I said, “Yes,” anyway.
We go to a backstreet tattoo parlour where they do not ask me for my parent’s consent or for my age. We decide together, to get matching tattoos. We choose a small red heart, the only difference is the small inconspicuous V permanently inked into the centre of mine, and the C permanently inked onto his. We get them tattooed onto our chests, in the near proximity of our real beating hearts, and low enough so my parents would never see it. The pain is excruciating, but once it is over, it is worth the effort and now I have something which binds us together forever. Something we will share no matter what happens in the future.
We go to the beach, we go bowling, we do everything people in a normal relationship will do. We walk close, we laugh and talk but never do we show any affection towards each other in public and never do we go where we know our parents, or their friends might be.
One morning he texts me, before I even get out of bed, and tells me to bring my swimming costume with me. I pack my bag and hide it under my bed until my parents leave.
After he collects me from my home, we drive to the Country Estate, the same one Anne lives in, and I ask him curiously, “Where are we going?”
“I thought we could go swimming at my house today.”
I frown. “You live in the Country Estate?”
“Yeah. Are you shocked a black person could live there?”
I gasp insulted. “No.”
We arrive at his house, and it is inspiring and extensive. I wondered a while back if his dad might be involved in illegal activities, and seeing his house now, re-affirms my suspicions.
I follow him into the cool interior, and then he shows me to the bathroom so I can get changed into my swimwear. When I come out of the bathroom, he is waiting for me and I follow him to the swimming pool.
He dives in spontaneously from the side and I walk to the stairs and get in slowly. The cool water swirls around my body, giving me goose bumps. I dive in under the water and come up smiling.
He glides through the water closer to me making tiny waves on the surface of the water, and then pulls me closer to him.
As I lift my hand to slide them around his shoulders, I smile. “You are the one—the one who was dressed as the phantom at the masked ball?”
He grins. “Did I have you wondering?”
“You did. I was looking for you for days and yet you were right there with me every day. I can’t believe I could not put two and two together.”
He pulls me into him, tightly to his chest, and I sigh blissfully as I lean closer into him. I kiss him with an abandonment which shocks me.
Breathlessly he draws away from me, and smiling, he says, still holding me close to him, “My friends say I am a fool for loving you.”
“You told your friends?” I ask shocked.
“Only the ones I trust.”
I look at him, questioningly. “Like whom?”
From within the house, I hear his name being called and he moves away from me hurriedly, exclaiming under his breath, “My god, it’s my dad.”
I turn around as his eyes look up at the balcony doors and my, “Hello,” is choked off in my throat when I notice his dad glaring down at me. His dad looks at Vincent reproachfully before he turns around and walks back into the house without acknowledging me.
Vincent says immediately, “Come. I’ll take you home.”
I get out of the pool, feeling uncomfortable and quickly dry myself off.
He walks with me to the bathroom so I can change into my dry clothes and then while I am in the bathroom, I can hear their hushed, raised voices echo through the house.
I am almost too scared to walk out of the bathroom and when I eventually do, Vincent is waiting for me, looking forlorn.
We walk to the front door silently, and when we get to his car, he opens the door for me. We do not speak while we drive to my home.
When he stops in front of my house, he looks at me despondently and all he says before I get out the car is, “I am so sorry, but I’ll see you next week on the bus when we go on the tour.”
I nod in agreement and then I go inside. I go to my room and I phone Anne. She answers the phone excitedly, and I want to discuss Vincent with her, but I feel I cannot. My heart is in pieces and talking about it will not fix it.
That night I lay on my bed, thinking about Vincent. I think about the song he sang, the song he wrote for me, the music of it still resonates in my head.
Even though it seems so very wrong, deep down in the core of me—I love him. Always will.
It is better this way.
I DRIVE HOME, AFTER dropping Chrissie off at her house and the anxiety is building up layer by layer in the pit of my stomach as I get closer to home.
At home, I park my car in the extensive garage and then walking into the front door, Maria is waiting for me.
She says concerned, “Your dad is in his study. He said as soon as you get home, I have to send you up to see him.”
I sigh deeply but smile at her and she smiles at me encouragingly.
Walking up the stairs to his study, I wonder why he came home early today, of all days.
In his study, I notice him staring intently at the photograph of my mother, which he keeps on his desk.
It hits me like a demolition ball in the stomach – it is my mom’s birthday today.
He looks up at me, and I see sadness reflected in his eyes. He motions for me to sit and I lower myself onto the chair closest to me.
He starts softly. “Why, Vincent?”
I reply, defiant, he loved my mother, so I know he understands the concept of love, “I love her.”
He reels backwards, as if I had slapped him. “How many times have I explained to you, this is something which could never happen?”
“I know, but I didn’t ask for it. It just happened.”
He shakes his head in denial. “It just happened?”
“Yes. Love just happened. I am sorry, but when I am with her, I don’t notice her skin colour.”
He says as if he did not hear me speak at all, “This will stop today.”
“Why?” I ask boldly.
He looks at me pensively, and then he says, calculatingly slowly, “It stops, or you leave.”
I catch my breath. I could not leave. Where would I go? Deep down in my soul, I did not even know if Chrissie and I would survive the world out there on our own. I love her so deeply, and she seems to be everything I am and more. We can spend hours together without talking, but I have always known we do not have a future together.
I decide impulsively, Chrissie and I will run away. We could have the future we deserve together, so I say, “Fine!” Quickly I stand up and rush from the room.
I walk straight to my bedroom and slam the door shut behind me. Turning up the stereo as loud as it can go, I let the music drench through me.
I contemplate phoning Chrissie, to suggest to her my idea of running away, but I do not have the courage.
Sinking down onto the floor in the corner of my room, I flick through the photos I have on my phone of Chrissie.
I cannot seem to find any direction in which I am supposed to go from here because I know without Chrissie all I am ever going to be is imperfect.
Hours later, I realise I have no choice and I would have to carry on without Chrissie. I would just have to let her go because it will always be us against the world, against them all.
I phone Sabrina and I arrange to meet her. She is shocked to hear my voice and I apologize for neglecting her.
IT IS EARLY. BEFORE the first light of day touches the sky. My dad drives me to the bus depot, and when I walk with my bags to the bus, I manage to avoid Vincent.
I notice Sabrina is once again by his side and I wonder if she is going with us.
I get on the bus, after saying goodbye to my dad who stays by the car, waiting for the bus to leave. I take a seat almost in the front of the bus, and Simon, George, and Dennis greet me friendly as they walk past me to get to the back.
I lean my head against the high backrest, and I immediately notice when Vincent gets on the bus, but he does not even look in my direction. Sabrina is waving up at him, blowing him kisses and he smiles down at her. A smile, I wish is aimed in my direction and I feel jealousy winding its spindly arms around my heart.
I suddenly realise my dad can probably see me staring at Vincent. He could probably see the pain printed on my face, and I hastily look out the window at him. He is leaning against his car not far from the bus, but his eyes are squinting against the sun which has risen above the horizon.
Sabrina stays standing outside the bus, looking forlornly up at Vincent.
The bus starts with a bang and everything starts to vibrate and shudder. It pulls away slowly from the parked cars, and I wave at my dad as he waves back.
I see Sabrina mouth the words, “I love you,” to Vincent, but my reactions are too slow to see if he replied those same three words to her. Three words when said separately, mean so little, but strung together could change a world.
I stare out of the window sadly, looking up into the sky above, watching the early birds swirl through the sky, and the first rays of the sun reflecting off the morning clouds.
“Good morning,” he suddenly says next to me, and I feel my heart jump into my throat.
“Morning.” I smile back tentatively, looking up at him.
“Can I sit down next to you?”
“Of course,” I say as I start to move my things aside, pushing them into the storage areas around me.
He sits down, and I make sure to move away from him as far as I possibly can. I do not think I will be able to handle him touching me, even if it is brief and unintended.
We are both silent, neither one obviously wanting to be the first to say something.
I have a million things I want to say, but I do not know the first word to any one of them. After that day at his house when his father arrived home early, we have not spoken at all.
I feel Vincent lean closer to me, and then he says softly, “I miss you.”
I look at him, shocked, and softly I ask, incredulous, “What?”
He smiles, dimples edged into the sides of his mouth. “I miss the times we spend together, and I seem to be stuck in those moments.”
“I miss it too.” I smile unhappily.
He takes my hand which is resting on my leg, into his and holding it, he kisses my fingertips lightly. He closes his eyes; he looks distraught.
I catch my breath as his lips touch my skin, and I look at him surprised. He lets my hand go immediately and then he says while pushing his hands under his legs, “I am sorry; I shouldn’t be...”
“No, it’s okay. It was just so sudden, it startled me,” I insist.
He looks into my eyes, and he captivates me.
Seriously, he says, “I am sorry about that day at my house, I behaved unforgivably.”
“You don’t have to explain; you should know by now I understand. Why do you think you have never met my parents?”
“I had to go out with Sabrina this week so I could convince him that catching you in the pool at our house was a once off thing. I am really sorry.”
I continue looking at him, not wanting to say anything, not realizing I am not even breathing.
“Trust me, I am reminded every day I am black and you are white, and usually out there in the world, it would not be a problem, but you see my father would never allow me to date a white girl.”
“Neither would my dad allow me date a black boy,” I say softly.
“But,” he continues, as if I did not say anything, “I have completely fallen in love with you and you would think I have more sense. My life is perfect, I have a bright future, my father is amazingly proud of me, I have a pretty girlfriend, but then you came along. You, with a smile that could light up any dark day, and you surprised me by capturing my heart so fast and without any mercy. You were ruthless.” He sighs seriously and then he looks past me out the window at the passing scenery.
I look at the profile of his face.
After a while, he turns to me again, and there is a melancholy in his eyes.
I say softly, “I know it will make no difference, and I know my parents would never approve, but at night I spin dream castles around us, but come daybreak, I know it could never be. This is not a fairy tale.” An obstinate tear runs down my cheek. “It is not fair really, I have this great, absorbing, inexplicable love for you, a love against all odds and I do not know what to do about it.”
I shudder and Vincent puts his arm around my shoulders tenderly. We sit like this for a while, and then he leans into me and pecks me on the cheek.
I look up at him sadly.
He smiles. “You remember your first day at school?”
“How can I not remember that day?”
A smile plays across his lips as he softly says, “I remember seeing you the very first time when you were standing in the front of the class, waiting for Mr. Johnson. I lost my heart irretrievably to you in those short minutes. Although admittedly my very first thought when I looked at you, was your skin colour, I suddenly saw past all of that, and I saw you. Then you seemed to be everywhere I looked. You were so oblivious of me, and this made me feel secure in my feelings for you, because I thought, no one would ever discover I love you, but then fate brought us together. That day you came for the audition, your voice held me captive, and when Mr. Jackson insisted it would be you and nobody else, I felt so conflicted. I knew I would not be able to spend so much time with you and not fall in love with you completely.”
He looks at me warily, and I smile sadly. “Are you saying you liked me from my first day. I must admit I did notice you that day you performed in the hall, and I did think you were handsome, but I have been thoroughly brainwashed. I only fell in love with you when we spend each afternoon together and it became so bad, I could not even contemplate not seeing you every day.”
He leans into me and lightly kisses me on my forehead, holding me close to him.
We are silent for a while, and then he says, changing the subject, sadness in his eyes, “I have good news. Mr. Jackson has convinced everyone concerned to add The Great Divide onto our album. They are going to add it as a bonus track. The song I wrote for you, our song, will be listened to by anyone who wants to.”
“That’s nice.” I smile with him, and I cannot see past his handsome features, which are so close to mine. He is so unbelievably attractive.
“It is also going to be our next single.” He stops, suddenly remembering something. He stands up without warning.
He turns to the back of the bus, where everybody else is sitting and says loudly, “I have an announcement to make, everybody.”
Everybody on the bus stops with what they are doing and then Vincent says excitedly, “Our first single, which as you know was released two weeks ago, and I am sure you are all both sick and excited each time you hear it on every radio station. Well, I just heard this morning, that...” He stops for effect and then he yells, at the top of his voice, “It is number one!”
Not one single person on the bus remains seated, everyone is jumping around excitedly, and hugging each other congratulatory. Vincent then turns to me and hugs me tightly to him.
I feel embarrassed. I do not want to broadcast my feelings for him. I just go in for the quick hug, but he lingers and then brushes his lips over mine softly. I am waiting to hear and feel the whole bus gasp, but no one blinks an eyelid.
I sit down quickly, dumbfounded, and astonished. He smiles down at me happy, but still I see the dull glimmer of pain in his eyes. He walks to the back of the bus to Dennis, George and Simon and they talk loudly, happy, and ecstatic.
I put my earphones in my ears because I need to practice, for tonight. As I listen to the songs, I stare out the window at the passing landscape.
Later Vincent sits down next to me again, and I feel him staring at me, but when I turn my head to him, he is staring out the window past me.
I continue to stare at him, and then he starts smiling. “Caught me,” he guffaws.
I laugh with him and then I lean my head on his shoulder, as he puts his arm around my shoulders.
He hugs me close to him and pulling one earphone out of my ear, he whispers, “We’ll be okay.”
When we stop at our first destination, I could never have imagined the pandemonium and the phenomenon ÉLastique is. Girls are crowded around the bus, most of them are yelling Vincent’s name repeatedly. The noise is deafening, and then a few adults whisk Vincent away from me to his adoring fans.
I feel nervous for him because there are hundreds of girls and boys pushing against the flimsy barricade. What would happen if the security guards cannot keep them back, and all these supporters trample Vincent, in the frenzy and passion of wanting only to get close to him, to touch him?
The rest of us walk in unhindered, and I wonder if this will affect the band later, if Vincent continues to get all the attention, while the other three do not. I, of course, do not have to worry, because backup singers are easily replaceable and I have only this short contract with the band as set up and enforced by Mr. Jackson, especially now after my parents did not jump at his offer to make me famous.
I am not entitled to any royalties, or any profits. I get a monthly salary, which I cannot complain about because at my age it is a good income.
That night while I sit in the back room, my nerves are threatening to explode from my chest while the band members are full of energy, bouncing up and down and off the walls with excitement.
The stage manager comes to call us, and as we enter the stage, they announce each band member’s name with a flourish. Not mine, of course. I just sneak up when everybody is already on stage.
When they announce Vincent, it feels as if the roof of the building lifts, as hundreds of voices scream as one. George does a drum roll and then we start singing.
We end the hour with the band’s first number one single, and it is an amazing feeling when all these people, only a fraction of the entire population, know every word and sing the chorus with us, word for word. I have heard musicians say this moment is extraordinary, but it is one of those situations where I had to experience it myself, to really feel the full brunt of the emotions sweeping through me.
We run off the stage after the last notes of the song fade away, and for fifteen minutes, we still hear them chanting, “We want more. We want more.”
Vincent pulls me by the arm, and I pull back uncertainly, frowning up at him.
He says close to my ear because the noise is deafening, “Come, it is our turn. We are going to perform The Great Divide now.”
I look up at him, unsure, but he nudges me back onto the stage.
We go out, and I walk straight to the piano and sit down. Vincent is so captivating and charming, and I can see why they call his name, why there are posters everywhere with his name in glitter or in magic marker.
The lighting is dim and low, the stage has a blue radiance, with only Vincent illuminated, where he stands centre stage. I look at him and my heart throbs excruciatingly in my chest, it feels as if it wants to tear out of the protective pocket where it is nestled.
I look away from him and start playing the first notes of the unforgettable melody, and then Vincent joins in and sings the lyrics of The Great Divide.
When the song is finished, he yells into the crowd, “I love you,” and the roar is ear splitting.
The band is unbelievably cheerful, and everyone is bursting with energy, so we all decide to go out because we are all too excited to fall asleep.
I am ready and waiting for Vincent when he knocks at my hotel door, and when I open the door for him, he smiles at me—a smile which makes my heart agonizingly skip a few beats.
At the nightclub, we dance almost the whole night, and later when the music starts to slow down, he holds me close to him, breathing deeply in my hair, taking my breath with him. With his arms wrapped around me tightly, my head resting against his chest, I feel as if this is where I would like to be forever.
At the end of the night—early morning hours—he walks me to my hotel room and when we get to the door, he smiles at me and then abruptly pulls me closer to him.
Without any resistance from me, he places his hand affectionately on my cheek, and I reach up to him and I kiss him as if this is our last kiss. I kiss him with an enthusiasm beyond my years.
After what feels like the shortest moment in time, but ecstatically long, he slowly moves away from me. He leaves me gasping as he walks away and then turning around, walking backwards, a smile playing across his lips, he says, “I bet you didn’t know this, but you are breaking my heart.”
I smile back at him, sadly, and then slowly I turn and walk into my room.
Clutching onto the blankets covering me once I get into bed, I cry. I wonder how my life would be without him because he would take everything with him.
A KNOCK AT MY DOOR wakes me. I stumble befuddled to the door, my hair standing on end, the crinkles from my pillow embedded into my cheek, and I open the door slightly, peeping through between the door and the doorway.
I groan. Vincent is standing in front of me, showered and dressed. I bring my hand up to my hair and try to smooth it down.
He starts laughing loudly and pushes past me into the room.
“I am glad you find me amusing,” I say insulted. “Please, if you could only see you now, you would also think it's funny.”
I walk to the bathroom, but he follows me, pulling me back into the room. “No, leave it. I like it.”
“No, you don’t,” I insist.
“Let’s order room service first and then you can go and have a shower,” he suggests.
“No, let me go shower while you order room service.”
“You must hurry though because the bus is leaving in an hour.”
I am tired, and I am not looking forward to getting on the bus to the next town, but I walk to the bathroom again, and then I lock the door behind me. I get into the shower, and I quickly wash my hair and soap my body. When I get out of the shower, I feel refreshed and much better. I feel more awake.
Chastising myself, I notice I forgot to bring clothes in with me, so I put my pyjamas back on again—boxers and a T-shirt. I go back into the room where Vincent is waiting for me, to get fresh clothes.
He has ordered breakfast, and when I open the bathroom door, I smell the bacon and eggs, realizing how hungry I am.
“I forgot to take some clothes with me,” I say apologetically.
“Come here.” He motions with his hand, tapping it on the bed next to him, for me to come closer. “Let’s eat first.”
I am more than willing to oblige. I sit with him, cross-legged on the bed, and we eat.
When I am full, I sigh contended and fall backwards onto the bed.
Vincent takes this as an invitation. Leaning across me, he kisses me.
I tentatively let my arms creep around his shoulders, and pull him closer, down into me.
He leans on his elbow, moves his other arm in under my shoulders, and lifts me closer to him.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and then I let my hand drift down his back, over his muscular upper body. I feel his lips move against mine, soft and engaging.
I desperately want to spend forever with him.
He slowly moves away from me, smiling, he clears his throat and whispers softly near my ear, “Time to go.”
I quickly squirm off the bed, suddenly feeling immensely inhibited, and I get a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and some underwear from my suitcase. I lock myself in the bathroom again, to get dressed.
When I am dressed and, in the room, again, Vincent is sitting on the bed and he smiles amused while I quickly throw the stuff I took out of my suitcase, back into it.
When I am ready to leave, Vincent helps me to carry the bag out to the bus. Not too long after, we are on our way again.
Vincent sits next to me.
A while into the journey, I lay down with my head on his lap and I put my legs up against the windows of the bus.
I look up at him. “What does Dennis, George and Simon say about us?”
“I bared my soul to them even before we came on the tour.” He laughs embarrassed. “And we agreed this will be our tour secret until you and I can sort out something between us. They had their suspicions after the day we performed The Great Divide for the first time.”
“Okay.” I smile up at him.
He leans down to me, and he pushes his lips against mine while I lift my head up to him. I part my lips slightly and I hear him groan softly.
Too soon, he lifts his head and then he drapes his arm over my waist. Leaning back, he looks out the window preoccupied. I feel a sadness surrounding us.
We arrive at the next venue, and it is as if someone had pressed the repeat button. I feel a little more relaxed though, and after the performance and the encore, everyone wants to go out again.
We are all on an incredible high, feeding off the energy and vivacity of hundreds of people in the last hour.
Vincent looks at me – doing eye-speak again—and then he says, “No. I'm tired. I'd rather stay in.”
Dennis, George, and Simon take this as their cue, and they walk off, saying bye. They are laughing and joking amongst themselves – something about going to wherever all the fans hang out.
Vincent walks with me up to my room, and then invites himself in.
He falls onto my bed and laying down on his back, he says softly, “I am so very, very tired.”
“Only after two nights, how are you going to do this for the rest of your life then?”
“Hopefully, for the rest of my life, thoughts about you won’t keep me awake at night.”
“That’s mean,” I joke.
I sit down next to him on the bed.
He leans up and then with his hands around my waist, he pulls me down until I am laying down next to him.
He takes my hand into his and I notice he also enjoys my favourite pastime – staring up at the ceiling.
I lay there for the longest time, and I can hear his deep, peaceful intakes of breath and his soft exhales. I hold tightly onto his hand, making sure when I fall asleep, I do not let go.
I wake up the next morning feeling well rested. I get up and go to the bathroom to shower, and while I am in the shower, I think back to last night. I assume Vincent woke up somewhere during the night and left.
I am dressed and ready to go, when there is a knock at my door, and I open it excited.
It is only breakfast.
Someone had ordered me room service, so I sit down and eat it by myself.
I am almost finished eating when there is another knock at the door, and I think to myself it must be him now, but once again, I am disappointed because it is only Dennis. I greet him friendly and then he tells me he is here to help me with my bags.
I have questions, like where is Vincent, but I do not ask them.
We walk down to the bus, chatting friendly and when I get on the bus, I see Vincent sitting in the back of the bus talking to Simon.
He looks up and immediately his eyes focus on mine.
I look down and then sit down in my usual seat.
Tears burn my eyes, as I put my earphones on, and I close my eyes.
The next few nights and days feel like years; they drag by extremely slowly.
There is a moment when I contemplate phoning my dad to fetch me, but that will just be juvenile, it is about time I grow up and face life as it is.
I WAKE UP, AND FOR a second, I do not know where I am. I hear soft breathing next to me and turning my face to the sound, I look into the face of Chrissie. Her face is soft and peaceful. She is sleeping curled into a ball. Her lips are slightly parted, and I want to reach for her and kiss her tenderly. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, so I lift my hand to move it away from her face, and then I feel a deep sense of shock as I notice my dark skin against her pale skin. It is unbelievable how this little gesture, so insignificant, suddenly opened my eyes to the reality. Everything my father had ever told me flooded back to me. Things I cannot even remember him ever saying now come back to me.
I know it is not fair, but Chrissie and I did not make the rules, we only fell in love despite them. I pull my hand back abruptly, away from her face before touching her. I cannot do this to her, and I know I cannot allow this to happen. I stand up as fast as I can without waking her and then I softly leave her room.
The longer we do this, the more devastating and painful it is going to be when we must go back to reality.
The rest of the week, I go out with Simon, Dennis, and George at each different venue. I ignore Chrissie, and it takes all my willpower—every grain.
We perform our song—my song to her—after each concert, and my busted heart aches painfully until I go out and I am with a different girl every night. White or black, makes no difference, just someone who would for, that short space in time, take my mind off Chrissie.
It never works though, because by the time I go back to the hotel I go to her room and sit outside her door. I sit there for hours, unable to leave. I always contemplate knocking, to tell her I am sorry, to apologize, but I never do. I am sure Romeo and Juliet, although they had an accidental suicide at the end of it all, never felt about each other the same way we do. At least they died in the end, and they did not lose each other. They did not have to go through a whole lifetime feeling the hurt and loss, the pain and defeat. To always think back and to always miss a part of me that made me whole. In another life, we could have been together, but because I am black and Chrissie is white, tragedy is also our destiny. I only want to be with her, and although I know I should fight my love for Chrissie with everything in me, I am too foolish to stop. I know what I feel for her is real, and just because this spiteful world says we cannot be, and although I have the right to differ, I have no choice but to let her go.
After our last night, our last performance, I see the pain in her eyes – the pain she hides so easily from the rest of the world by laughing and smiling.
I decide I would never be able to move on if I did not explain myself to her. I needed to speak to her one last time, so I walk to her room instead of going out with Simon, Dennis, and George.
I stand outside her door, leaning against the wall, drawing courage from wherever and whenever.
I AM EXHAUSTED. WE have been doing this for two weeks now and all I feel like doing is falling onto the bed, to sleep forever.
I am so glad this tour is over, and I can go home. Running onto the stage every night, pretending to be happy, smiling, when in fact I am miserable, is exhausting. It is strenuous playing The Great Divide on the piano every night and feel as if chunks of my heart are being ripped out, piece-by-piece, as a wild animal would rip at a carcass.
I am so glad this will not be my permanent lifestyle, it always looks like so much fun but, to be honest, it is not. It is nice singing the songs, to write the songs, to hear them on the radio, but the touring part of being a musician is emotionally and physically draining.
Downstairs the fans have gathered and is calling Vincent’s name continuously – it is starting to grate on my nerves.
There is a knock at my door and I walk toward it agitated, it is most certainly not Vincent, because for the last week and a half they have gone ‘fan-spotting’ every night, whatever that means, and to be honest I do not even want to know.
I open the door and struggle for breath when I see Vincent standing there, my heart reeling wildly in my chest. “Yes?” I say hurriedly, agitated.
He pushes past me into the room, and I turn around to look at him.
I am gnashing my teeth, and I am so annoyed. I feel frustrated because I have once again allowed him to push past me into my room – basically, back into my life. I am hoping he is unable to see the hurt in my eyes, as he sits down on the chair.
There is only one chair in the room, so I stay standing. He looks at me from across the room. “I am so sorry.” He glances at something behind me, when he says, “That night when we fell asleep on your bed...” He stops talking and then takes a deep breath before he continues, “I woke up, and I lay next to you, looking at you, and then seeing your pale skin against mine when I brushed a lock of hair away from your face made me realize you are becoming too big a part of my life. My life is incomplete without you and I am scared to experience it when it is complete because then I will know what I am missing when we must go back to reality. I spent the last week and a half, pretending what I feel for you is not real, but all I am doing is lying to myself, because I love you so much it could possibly destroy me.”
He looks at me expectantly, but I say nothing. If I say anything now, I will start crying, and there is no way I am going to cry, after the way he treated me during the last week and a half.
He sits back into the chair, and he lets his head lean back. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and then he continues, “You see, my Dad really hates white people. A white woman accused his grandfather of stealing two apples from her, a long time ago. My dad says his father was innocent and even if he was not, he was hungry and the apples were just hanging in the tree, going rotten. White men caught my grandfather and then they strung him up by his neck and hung him from a tree after tying his hands behind his back, in front of my grandmother and my father.” He pauses briefly, and then he asks, his voice pensive, “Did you know in those days they actually had designated hanging trees?”
I shake my head—no
“And then, of course,” he continues. “My grandmother was humiliated when my dad was a young boy. They had to sit in the back of buses, there were white only areas. My dad used to hear his young friends wish they were white, so they could also live in fancy houses and drive fancy cars. They had no rights, and white people were just downright mean and horrible to black people. My dad promised himself he would work himself out of oppression, and even though he is successful and truly wealthy now, most white people still treat him like something they would scrape off the bottoms of their shoes.”
He stops talking for a while, looking at me, deep in thought, contemplating, and then he says, “My great- grandmother was raped by a white man, and so now, every so often the white shines through, and that is why I am more of a dark, caramel brown.” He laughs a bitter sound and then motions with his hand up at his face. “With green eyes.”
I am too shocked to say anything, and he continues, smiling cruelly, “My dad has told me since I was a little boy that just as God created the cheetah and the lion, so he created the white man and the black man – and you will never see a cheetah dance around and frolic with a lion, now would you? Telling me a black man can never and must never marry a white girl and produce offspring because surely then your soul will go to hell.”
He takes a deep breath, looking at my face. “I forgot all about his stories, because I was never interested in any white girl, before you. I cannot tell whether it was because of his warnings or if I just never was. Then I saw you, and it was as if no story and warning about my soul going to hell if I loved you mattered. How can it even be possible if God created us equally? Honestly, Chrissie, I love you, although it goes against everything I believe. I feel with you as if I can conquer anything, with you I feel as if I was always lost, waiting to be found until you found me.”
I stare at him, and his eyes are sad, hopeful. I say, barely audible, “My dad used to tell me, as far back as I can remember that if I ever brought home a black boyfriend, he would shoot him.” I consider for a moment, and then I say, “And, I do not have a reason like you why my dad does not like black people – he just doesn’t.” I can feel the waves of despair crashing over me, twirling me around repeatedly. I need air, but there is none. I cannot breathe, and my world is spinning. I could never be who he is, and likewise he could never be who I am.
Although we love each other, it will never be enough. From the beginning of time, although white people and black people have always had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, the same feelings, a heart that beats to the same rhythm, we are different, segregated, never to be together. Maybe in a million years, our children’s children will see each other as equal, but for now, there is no hope for Vincent and me.
I drop my head into my hands, and I cry. I feel him coming closer to me, and then he is pulling me into the circle of his arms, holding me to him tightly.
He lifts my head with his fingers lightly under my chin and looking into his eyes; I know I will always love him. He leans down to me and he kisses me, softly, tenderly.
He lets me go and then walking toward the door, I suddenly fear he might be leaving. Walk out of the door again, and I want to call out to tell him not to go, but to stay with me. He stops at the door and then he switches off the bedroom light. Slowly he walks back to me and he pulls me gently with him until we reach the bed. He lies down onto the bed, pulling me with him, and I lie down next to him, moving closer to him into his arms.
The yellow amber light of the outside is shining through the window and I can see it reflected in his eyes.
His eyes seem so sad and I want to take it all away, but I know I never could. He leans closer into me and he kisses me softly on my cheek, moving his lips to my eyes. I see him clenching his jaw and when I look up at him, I see tears in his eyes. His eyes are gleaming brightly, yet he does not allow the tears to run down his cheeks. He whispers softly, “I love you, Chrissie.”
I move even closer into him, while his warm hand moves in under my shirt. “I love you.”
ON THE BUS, I TURN in my seat to face him.
I pull my legs up and under me, and I am sitting sideways on the chair, my head leaning against the backrest.
His legs are stretched out, in front of him and his head is turned to face me.
He continues softly, I have to strain to hear, it is almost as if he is making a wish, “Late at night, I know for certain I will see you again. One day in the future, we will be together.”
He turns his head toward the front again while I continue staring at his profile. I am trying to carve him into my memory, every wrinkle, every line, and every characteristic. My throat feels tight and sore from holding back my tears.
I stare out of the window, past his profile, staring at nothing, yet everything seems so bright. I can see the brightness of the blue sky, the way the sun reflects off the green leaves, every leaf is different, yet growing together on the big branches of the tree. I see the sun glitter off the shiny speckles on the surface of the road, and I feel the wind from the air conditioner against my skin. It is as if my every feeling and emotion is glaringly raw, finely tuned.
“I will never forget you,” he says suddenly.
“Then don’t let me go,” I beg softly. “We could survive this, couldn’t we?” I ask, hopeful.
He smiles down at me and hugs me tightly to him. “In a different life I would make you stay.”
“Make me stay now.”
“Do you think we could convince our parents that love is the greatest of all? That it does not matter what colour our skin is. Could we convince them love is more important than this?”
“Yes, I think if we persevered, we could,” I say this with a hope and the innocence only someone as young as I could have.
He smiles brilliantly. “Maybe you are right. Maybe we can show them we are together, no matter what they say.”
“I think we should do that. Next week we should go on a date, and this time you will pick me up at home. I will invite you in, and then we take it from there. What do you think?”
“A very bold and brave thing to do, but maybe with determination, we can show them the genuineness of us.” I settle into him and I feel his expectation of a life together, as he puts his arm across my shoulder and holds me tightly to his side.
Too soon, we get back to the bus depot. I arranged with my dad that I would get a lift home, but I did not mention it would be Vincent dropping me off. My dad would have a million reasons of why a hormonal black boy should not drop me off this late at night.
We move all the equipment from the bus into a panel van which Dennis and Simon are going to take home with them.
We load my and Vincent’s bags into his car, and then he opens the door for me to get in.
We drive in silence and when we stop in front of my home, I notice all the lights inside the house are off, so I presume my parents have gone to sleep already.
He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer to his chest, and then he kisses me. I want it to never end. I feel my hormones racing through my body, and I kiss him with every feeling in me, every desperate hope I have, every grain of sadness. His lips move in sync with mine.
A little while later, I pull away slowly to catch my breath, and we laugh together sadly.
I glance up at my house just in time to see the curtain in my parents’ room fall back into place, and fear drapes its dark cloak around me. Despondently I say, “I better go, my parents are still awake.”
“Okay,” he says, smiling sadly.
“I’ll speak to you later and always remember, my heart will belong to you until the end of time and I love you immensely, forever,” I say, as I open the door to get out of the car.
He leans into me, and tenderly he puts his hand on my arm. “I love you, Chrissie. Never again will I use those three words again without being painfully reminded of you.”
I take a deep, deep, deep breath and then I get out of his car. I walk toward my house and then I stand on my porch and smile optimistically as I lift my hand to wave goodbye. He looks at me hopelessly, that familiar frown flashing across his handsome face, and then he drives away.
I turn to my front door nervously. I breathe out slowly, the wind pushing out over my lips and opening the door, I instantly see my dad waiting for me just inside the door. I close my eyes briefly, drawing courage.
His neck and his cheeks are a vivid burgundy colour. I know he is livid, and I am scared. Not scared of him, but scared of what he saw, scared of his disappointment in me.
“Chrissie!” He says softly and his voice breaks.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, looking at the floor, trying to placate him, hoping against my better judgement he did not see me kissing Vincent.
“What is going on between you and this Vincent?”
“Nothing. Daddy, we are just together in the band.”
“I saw the way he was looking at you on the bus the day you left.”
I want to smile, because someone else can see the way Vincent looks at me, it is not just my imagination, but I do not. “Daddy, there is nothing going on between us, and I don’t know what you are talking about. Can I go to bed now?”
“Nothing?” He hisses through his lips, “You say nothing! Chrissie, but I saw you kissing him?”
I struggle for a lungful of air.
“Yes!” He continues, “I saw you, you were kissing a black boy, and how many times have I told you it is not supposed to be this way.” He breathes in deeply. “How many times have I told you... I do not want to see you with him again! Did you hear me?”
I feel rebellion pushing up from the pit of my stomach. I want to lash out at him. I want to tell him how stupid he is, how ignorant that he can even see a difference between Vincent and me. I want to ask him if he could not see we are not that different from each other, but I do not. I look at the floor and I say nothing.
He hesitates. “You must obviously really like him, to be able to kiss him and I feel sorry for you because you know of course you will never really be happy. You will always live with the disapproval of all those people who also share your life. Surely, you cannot live in the illusion it will only be the two of you forever because at some point you are going to have to invite other people into your lives. What about your children should you – God forbid – have any?”
Still I say nothing.
“Come on, Chrissie. This is the real world here, not fantasy, not movies – this is how it is.”
I shake my head in agreement. I feel a tear running down my cheek, but I do not lift my hand to wipe it away because then he will know I am crying.
“Go to bed,” he says suddenly. “Just the sight of you repulses me at this moment. We put you in this school and we saw a bright future for you. You are so clever, and now you want to throw everything away by having a fling with a black boy. Go away, before I do something to you, I will regret.”
I turn around and I walk up the stairs to my room.
I close my bedroom door behind me softly and then I sit down on the floor, my back leaning against the door.
I do not have any strength in my legs, not enough to carry me to my bed. I used it all up just walking up the stairs. I push my head in between my pulled-up knees and I cry softly.
Much later, my phone vibrates, and the message is from Vincent: Forever.
I smile and hug the phone tightly to my chest as I fall asleep there where I am sitting. I feel incalculably heart broken.
Through many sleepless nights and many silent tears, I know I will never forget the way he used to smile when he saw me walking to him and the way he said my name. The way he always held me so tenderly as if I could break, even the way my heart sped up painfully when he was near, the way he used to send shock waves through my body every time we touched.
The way I feel the emotion I have for him in the pit of my stomach, like a million tiny fireflies, making me feel excited, yet, nervous all at the same time.
How he sauntered to me, his sexy smile only for me. His green, brooding eyes would look for me when he walked into a room and then focusing on me, only me. I will miss Vincent; I will miss our late afternoons together.
I remember in the beginning how I never noticed him, probably because my mind blocked him out as just another black boy, but how when I did notice him—I could never un-notice him again. How after that day, no matter where I looked his eyes were the eyes, my eyes would meet, a smile automatically spreading across my face, my heart instantaneously feeling a gravitational pull towards him.
I send Vincent a text message: “I am sorry I cannot see you anymore. Even if we decide to stand up now and face everyone, in the distant future, we might end up hating each other for what we caused to each other and our parents – the guilt and the blame would eat slowly at our relationship. To be honest, although I love you, as I don’t think I will ever love another, in the deepest, darkest corners of my heart I doubt our relationship will work at this particular moment in time.”
He replied: “Maybe in a different future when everyone around us lets go of the past, maybe then we could be together. I do not think we are old enough to survive the storm. The hurricane and aftermath of this will drive us apart, but my love for you will always be my weakness.”
Weeks later, I receive a copy of the début CD in the post and smile sadly when I read the little note inside. He did not sign his name; all it says is: ‘I wonder where you are now, and it feels like I haven’t seen you for so long. I miss you so. I give my heart only to you, but sadly, that's all I can give.’
I listen to our song, The Great Divide, repeatedly until I can hear it in my dreams as I sleep.
I will always remember how my feelings for him were so apprehensive in the beginning, innocent and full of hope, but how different they are now, how different it is now, how painful and shockingly aware of the prideful, meanness of the entire human race I am.
The sun will keep setting and it will always rise again. My heart will continue beating the same rhythm, even after I heard it breaking. I will be okay, never the same, but okay.
Sometime in the future, I might sit and wonder whatever happened to him, on those days when he haunts me, when memories flood back. Maybe in the distant future, in another life, we will pass each other and smile politely, even stop and say hello, but then walk on, this love ancient history. We might think back and for a moment, with a heart-breaking smile remember this innocent love, but then we will return to the way life has become, this moment just fading into the past, a memory.
IT IS THE DAY BEFORE I must go back to school again, after the summer break. My mom and dad have gone to work. My dad is talking to me again. Only after I told my mom that kissing Vincent was just a childish experiment, and not something I was planning to ever, do again. Telling her this, breaks my heart even further but it is something I must do.
She obviously spoke to my dad, but he is still not the way he used to be towards me. I do not know if it will ever be the same again, but I am getting used to it.
I sit around the house and I do not feel like doing anything. It feels as if I have lost my joy, my motivation, my strength.
There is a knock at my front door, and when I open the door, there he is – Johnathan.
He is like a beacon in a wild stormy ocean, and when I look into his gleaming blue eyes, I break down. The tears start running down my face.
Johnathan looks at me bewildered, as he steps closer to me hesitantly.
I rush forward and I fall into his arms.
He catches me and wraps his arms around me.
We stand there on my porch while I cry and Johnathan unsure of what is happening.
When my sobbing stops, he lifts my chin, so I am looking up into his eyes.
“Hey, you,” he says softly.
“Hey.” I sigh.
He smiles. “I missed you too.”
I cannot help smiling. “Don’t get any ideas, you came here at the wrong time, right place.”
I move away from him and invite him into the house. He sits down on a chair in the lounge, while I go to the kitchen to get us each a glass of juice.
I come back into the lounge and I hand him his glass before I sit in the chair opposite from him. I pull my legs in under me.
He asks, “So what have you been up to, Chrissie Taylor?”
“Not much. I went on that tour with the band.”
“Oh, yes. How was it?”
“Tiring I am sorry to say. I do not know how artists do it because every night it is the same songs, and every night it is a different bed.”
He laughs, and then he pulls his hand through his blonde hair.
“You are very suntanned. Where did you go for the holidays?” I ask him.
“We spend most of the time on the French Riviera, and then we toured some vineyards. It was very educational.”
I smile. “Yes, I am sure. Especially all that wine tasting.”
He laughs boisterously. “There is a fine line between tasting and swallowing.”
He makes me feel better, and I realize ultimately love is, to grow together. To get to that point where no one can destroy your relationship. It would be to grow closer, no one being able to tell you apart. This would be the difference between being safe and being insecure, between lost and found. Together Johnathan and I would make a picture perfect portrait.
He comes to sit next to me, and then he flips through the photos on his phone. I lean my head closer to his and he does the same until his head is resting next to mine. I do not move. I probably should, but I do not want to. Johnathan might be my way out.
When it is time for him to go home later that afternoon, he pulls me close to him. Leaning down he kisses me softly on my lips. I close my eyes with all the expectation and optimism for a hopeful future. I kiss him with the promise in my heart that I will be all okay.
When he pulls away gently, he smiles down at me. “Wow,” he whispers.
I smile bashfully. “Yeah, wow.”
“You were never on Facebook, I never thought I would miss anybody a much as I missed you.”
I want to start apologizing, to make up a lame excuse, but he leans down and fleetingly he kisses me again, stopping my words.
“Chrissie Taylor, I have never said this before, but I think I seriously like you.”
“What about Tanya?”
“Hush, no silly talk.” He smiles dismissively.
I smile up at him and think to myself – whatever. I lace my arms around his neck and lifting myself onto my toes, I hug him closely to me.
When we walk to his car, and he opens his door, he leans in and picks up a CD holder. He folds himself out of the car again. Smiling brilliantly, holding a CD by ÉLastique in his hand, he laughs thrilled. “I bought this in Europe. Can you even believe it?”
“What? How is that possible?” I exclaim flabbergasted.
“I know, but besides the wonders of technology, your voice is being listened to worldwide.” Johnathan continues, “And what a beautiful voice it is.”
“You are such a flatterer.” I laugh, a little too loud.
“I better go before I am in trouble with my parents. I was supposed to just quickly go to the shops, but I could not wait to see you again, so I came all the way over here.”
“So sweet of you,” I joke with him.
“Exactly, but now I am going to have an hour-long lecture tonight about the benefits of being helpful and working as a team member within the family unit.”
“Best you get on your way then.” I grin.
He gets into his car, and then blowing me a kiss, he drives off.
When I went to bed that night, I thought I would have a peaceful sleep at last. Still when I eventually fall asleep, I dream restlessly of Vincent on the side-lines of my life, of my dad screaming at me, of people pointing at me and laughing.
School feels like a different world.
I notice immediately Tanya with Stephen, and according to the rumours, while Johnathan was in Europe with his family during the summer holidays, Tanya realized she loved Stephen and was not interested in Johnathan any longer.
This is possibly the reason why he came running to me. During lunch, while we are sitting under the tree, and Johnathan is sitting closely next to me, I lean into him. “I see Tanya did it to you again.”
“Yeah, but this time it does not matter.”
I frown briefly. “Why doesn’t it matter anymore?”
“Because, I am at last over her and she does not influence my feelings anymore.”
“And what made you realize this revolutionary thought?” I tease.
“In the beginning, while I was away on holiday, all I could think about and wonder about was whether Tanya was cheating on me or not. Then, as the weeks passed, I started missing you, and I stopped phoning and texting Tanya.”
“I am glad because she was really treating you badly.”
“I only have you to thank.”
“Why me?”
“I already told you – I seriously like you.”
“Yes, but you meant as a friend.”
“Did I?” He nudges me with his shoulder, and I look at him sideways. He is smiling widely.
“I am not falling for you again.” I laugh whole- heartedly.
I notice the disappointment on the faces of many girls when it seems Johnathan does not flirt with everyone anymore – many broken hearts surround me, including my own.
I see Vincent in the halls and in class. We never speak, but when we walk past each other, he nods a greeting in my direction while I smile in acknowledgement.
I see him with Sabrina, and it breaks my heart.
My world implodes, but I convince myself I will be all right. He will always be a part of me—he was a part of me even before we met. I have these pictures in my head of how we could have been, and I mostly live in these moments. I cannot show everybody how I feel, so I pretend to the whole world I am fine, but deep down, where no one can hear me, I cry silently. No one will ever understand, but I will always wait here just for him. I might move on, but my heart will always be stuck here, waiting for him to hold me again. I would never be able to give my heart to someone else because it will always be waiting just for Vincent.
I have spent many nights wondering if it is only because it is a forbidden love that made me so attracted to Vincent, that made me feel he is the one, but I don’t think it is.
AFTER THE FAREWELL dance Simon, George, Dennis, and I will be leaving Charleston. Mr. Jackson is taking us to New York, to see if he can expand our exposure state-wide.
Sabrina is with me constantly, and although she is the longest ‘relationship’ I have ever had, I am not sure how I feel about her. She helps me though, with the aching, dull feeling which has become my constant companion, but never will she know what I am carrying around in my heart.
I hardly sleep at night because my mind is full of a thousand thoughts of Chrissie. I look in the mirror each morning, and I wonder if the world sees the same reflection of the person I used to be, when Chrissie was a part of my life, even for the shortest point in time. I see a reflection of my soul, and I know, without a doubt I will never be the same person again.
Chrissie and I live separate lives and although I know I will never let her go, I cannot watch my live crashing to my feet by having a relationship with her.
I wish I could get answers for the questions burning inside of me like fire. I wish I knew the reasons of why things happen the way they do. Maybe then I could forget and move on. I wish life could be the same as it is in stories, where there is always a happy ending. I want to yell up into the sky, ask the world, “Why?”
It feels as if I keep fighting in vain against the unbelief and the hurt inside me. Why is it her parents cannot see me, and likewise why my father cannot see her? Maybe one-day I will know the answers to all my questions, but now, I am in pain – this is my darkest hour. The story of my life is simple; it started when Chrissie walked into my life, and it ended when she left.
I RECEIVE A TEXT MESSAGE from Johnathan: “Would you go to the farewell dance with me?”
I smile and reply: “Yes. Whatever happened to chivalry?”
Johnathan: Chival... – what?
Chrissie: Never mind.
Johnathan: What you doin?
Chrissie: Reading.
Johnathan: Obviously, I am sending you messages.
Chrissie: Duh – no, I am reading an actual book.
Johnathan: Why? Do we have a project due?
Chrissie: No, I am reading for fun!
Johnathan: What have you done with Chrissie?
Chrissie: Shows you how well you know me.
Johnathan: I know you well enough.
Chrissie: Obviously not.
Johnathan: Obviously yes.
Chrissie: You are wasting my phone credit.
Johnathan: Sorry. Enjoy your book. See you 2morrow.
Chrissie: Bye :)
Anne is going with Shaun to the dance. Vincent evidently will be going with Sabrina. Tanya is going with Stephen.
I have some money, which I have saved from my allowance over the summer break and I also have the money I received from Mr. Jackson. My mom and I go out to buy my dress. We go back to the Designer Emporium, and I find the most gorgeous sapphire dress, it brings out the highlights in my hair perfectly, the colour compliments my skin and my eyes, and of course, most importantly, it disguises my ample hips perfectly.
The night of the dance when Johnathan comes to collect me, I invite him in for the traditional photo session and I smile when I notice his tie and cravat matching the colour of my dress.
My dad and Johnathan sit in the lounge while my mom and I stand in the kitchen and my mom says, “Johnathan is very cute.”
“Yes, Mom. He is. Do not embarrass me.”
She turns away from me and switches on the kettle. “I am glad you got over your rebellious streak with Vincent.”
“Mom, please. Not again. I already told you it is over, and it never meant anything.”
“I know. I am just saying I am glad.”
I smile, without wanting to smile and I go back to the lounge. Johnathan stands up when I enter the room, and I ask him, “Are you ready to go?”
He smiles affirmatively, and then my parents walk us to the door.
My dad acts a little more normal towards me with each passing day, but we are still not the same as we used to be in the days pre-Vincent.
We walk out to the car and Johnathan opens my door for me, and then when he gets in on the driver side, he starts his BMW. The CD player loads automatically, and The Great Divide starts playing. I struggle to breathe, shocked.
“Please, Johnathan. I am sorry, but I could never listen to this CD again. I am so sick of these songs; imagine hearing them and singing them a million times over.”
“Sorry.” He smiles apologetically.
He presses a button, and the CD player switches to another CD. I sit back into my chair and breathe out; I feel the air rush over my lips.
We arrive at the venue, and once again, Johnathan opens the door for me.
The theme for the dance is a corny ‘Under the Sea’ production. Fishing nets are hanging from the roof.
Mermaids hang precariously from the roof or they are sitting against the walls on polystyrene shells. Neptune sits on the stage on a throne, his sceptre leaning drunkenly in his hand. Inevitably, there is mainly fish on the menu. Johnathan and I are sitting with our group of friends, and I am having a pleasant evening.
I laugh loudly at one point at a joke Adam tells us, and at that precise moment, my eyes glance across the room to where I know I will find Vincent. Vincent is already staring at me. I stop laughing abruptly and I close my eyes for a moment, feeling that awful pulling feeling at my heart, and when I open my eyes again, he is gone.
Johnathan and I dance and when we slow dance, he holds me close to him, his arms closely around me. I look up at him, and he returns my gaze, smiling his alluring smile.
They unavoidably play The Great Divide, and I think amused, if only they knew what the song is really about, they would not imagine it to be this great romantic ballad, quite the opposite. It is an incredibly sad song of hatred and contempt between people of different race, creed, and colour.
Johnathan and I go out to get some fresh air while the song is playing. He does not realize why I do not like the song, and I pray he never does.
After the dreaded song is finished, a song which will forever cause my stomach to spasm painfully, we go back inside again.
The night is almost over, and I see Vincent walk out through the main door with Sabrina, hanging onto his arm. I know when he walks out of the door, there is a possibility I will never see him again.
He looks across his shoulder and immediately his eyes focus on me. He smiles despondently, and then he turns back to Sabrina and acknowledges something she said.
I turn to Johnathan, who is in a conversation with Adam, and I whisper urgently, “I will be back now.”
He turns to me slightly, and he smiles, kissing me lightly on my cheek, making me feel guilty.
I get up from the table and I follow Vincent hastily, walking fast and then running once I am out the door and into the night.
It had started raining and the raindrops are lashing down from the heavens above. I am drenched within seconds, but I do not notice. I only know my heart is going to burst with pain, the throbbing is unbearable.
“Vincent,” I yell after him, my fear hollow in my voice, and at this juncture in my life, I do not care who hears me, I do not care who sees.
At the sound of my voice, he turns around and he sees me immediately. He moves away from Sabrina and then starts to walk toward me, his feet dragging across the black-top.
He stops when he reaches me, his face level with mine, where I stand on the stairs. Standing in front of me, he whispers softly, “What if my love for you never goes away?”
I see my pain reflected in his beautiful eyes. He takes my face between his hands and brushes his lips over mine softly, briefly. I wish I could stop him, but how could I. I have at this crucial moment in my life no words to explain how much I need him; how much I love him.
Smiling miserably, he starts walking backward, holding my gaze with his.
The rain mingles with my tears as they run down my cheeks unchecked, and I wonder what I will do if his shadow remains with me forever, always in my peripheral vision.
––––––––
Read the alternative happy ending
Lynette Ferreira - When We Love
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