I sit at the front of the stage with my notebook in my lap and the printed script in front of me. Brody and Tabitha are running through the opening scene where Hector and Imelda meet at the Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead. It’s a nod to the movie Coco, where my inspiration emerged, but I also chose it because I knew how beautiful the stage could look lit up with fake candlelight as the backdrop to the start of an epic love story.
The stage crew is working on the creation of the large canvas that will eventually be painted and have lights strung through it and it’s already more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
“It needs something.”
I glance over at Willa’s words to find her studying the stage intently, playing with her lip piercing. She continues, “I’m not getting the historical or the Mexico vibe.”
My stomach drops at her words, which were said kindly but don’t make me panic any less. She nudges me with her elbow. “Hey, it’s a great story and it’s going to be amazing. I’m sure the costumes and props will bring it all together.”
I sigh. “No, you’re right. It feels contemporary and American because that’s what I know.”
“What made you decide to write a historical play anyway?”
Bite the corner of my lip and wonder the same thing but don’t say it out loud. I can only shrug. Honestly it wasn’t intentional. I never dreamed it’d be so difficult to translate the culture and time of Mexico in the early 1900s. Apparently a lot was going on in Mexico, the whole world actually, that I failed to consider.
“What we need to do is research.” She claps her hands together. “Ooooh, let’s plan a trip to Cabo. We can get a tan and ask around about history and whatever.”
I smile at her wide-eyed excitement. Willa writes the most beautiful and insightful words, primarily poetry and short stories, but she talks like a nineties valley girl which makes me laugh. I adore her.
She’s also probably the closest thing I have to a college friend. We’re in all the same classes and are both part of a critique group that meets once a week to share our writing and bounce ideas off one another. Her enthusiasm and creativity make her a great critique and brainstorming partner, but I wonder how she’s able to put her thoughts on paper so poetically when she ends sentences with things like “and whatever.”
“I think I’m gonna have to solve this problem from Valley, but that’s not a bad idea. Maybe we can chat with the Spanish department and see if they have some recommendations. In the meantime, I need to work on the ending. I can’t figure out the last scene where Imelda receives the last letter from Hector a month after his death.”
I bring the end of my pen to my mouth as I try to visualize it. I want it to be perfect.
When rehearsal is over, Tabitha bounds down from the stage.
“Hey, Katrina, you still in for tonight?” Her gaze flits over to Willa. “Hi, I’m Tabitha.”
“Sorry. Tabitha this is Willa, she’s a screenwriting major too.”
“Well, you both should come out tonight. I just need to swing by my place and change.”
Willa stands. “I’m out. I’ve gotta work tonight.”
“Katrina?”
“Oh, I…”
Willa nudges me. “Go. You have to go.”
She’s right, but I’m suddenly more nervous than I anticipated. “Okay, yeah, I’m in.”
Willa’s excitement is far greater than mine as we pack up and follow Tabitha out of the theater. She knows how seldom I go out and I’m sure Monday I’ll be under intense scrutiny to get every detail.
“Have fun. Get drunk, kiss boys or girls… just kiss someone.” She purses her dark purple lips and kisses the air.
“I really don’t think that’s going to happen.” I huff a nervous laugh, but the excitement of the unknown makes butterflies dance in my stomach.
“See you later.” Willa waves. “Nice to meet you, Tabitha.”
Tabitha returns the wave and then turns to me. “Why don’t you follow me to my place and we can pre-game and then catch a ride with Brody to the party. He takes longer to get ready than anyone I know so we should have plenty of time for a drink or two.”
This slightly embarrassing dirt on Brody somehow puts me at ease and a drink before walking into my first college party sounds great.
Tabitha’s apartment is just a few blocks from campus. It’s smaller than the place I rent for me and Christian, but I’m still jealous as I take in her cute décor – white couch, light pink throw pillows. The thought of a white couch anywhere near my son makes me cringe. And the toys and kid stuff that always seems to make its way to the living room no matter how many times I tell him to put it in his room doesn’t make for a very chic space.
“What do you want to drink? I’ve got wine, tequila, vodka, rum, a bunch of mixers.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine. I just need to make a phone call real quick.”
“You’re not bailing on me already, are you?”
I shake my head. “I have to call and check in on my son.”
“Get out, you have a kid?”
“Yep,” I say, and she doesn’t look surprised or weirded out, anything really. Just accepting. “A son, Christian. He’s three.”
“Well, call him, do what you need to do. I’m going to pour us two very strong glasses of rum and diet.”
She pours the drinks as I settle on to her couch. Dropping my glass down on the side table, she carries hers toward an open door I assume leads to her bedroom. “I’m gonna change. Holler when you’re done. I want to hear your story, Katrina Phillips.”
I take a small sip of the rum and diet. I can’t remember if I’ve had rum before, but I’m pleased to discover I don’t hate it. Pressing send, I take a larger gulp hoping it’ll ease my nerves. Nadine answers on the second ring. “Hi, Katrina. Christian was just asking about you. Well, you know before he darted off to the next thing that caught his attention.”
“He was?” I smile into the phone. “How’s he been?”
“Busy. Just like his father always was. I always used to tell Victor I hoped someday he’d have a kid as busy as him. ‘Course I assumed he’d be around to raise him.”
She goes quiet which is more alarming than her rant.
“Victor isn’t there? I thought he was coming down tonight.”
She sighs, and I breathe through my nose and let it out slowly trying to erase the irritation I feel. “He had a slight change of plans, but he’ll be here tomorrow. Christian’s out back with Bill filling the bird feeders. You want me to call him in to talk?”
“No, that’s alright. Can you just tell him goodnight and I love him and that I’ll call him first thing tomorrow morning?”
“You don’t want him to call before bed?”
“Well actually I’m just getting ready to go out with a friend so I’m not sure…” I know it’s not the same, but suddenly I feel like Christian has had two parents flake on him tonight. “Actually, yes, have him call me.”
“How about I have him call first thing in the morning instead? He really should be getting to bed.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Enjoy your night, Katrina,” she says, and I think it’s pity I hear in her voice.
We say our goodbyes and I toss my phone into my purse as if it’s some symbol of the responsibilities of my real life.
Tabitha is in her room holding up two dresses when I walk in. “What do you think?” She moves the one in her right hand in front of her. “Little black dress?”
It’s a simple dress – short, low cut. It’s more barely-there-dress that just so happens to be black, but with Tabitha’s long legs and tiny waist, I have no doubt she could pull it off.
“Or the pink?” The way she practically squeals with excitement I can tell which she prefers. And when she holds it up to her face, it compliments her pale skin tone and auburn hair. She’s like a hotter coed version of Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink.
“That one,” I say and then steal a glance down at my outfit. I’d opted for an off the shoulder top, leggings, and boots. I look good but next to Tabitha I’m better prepared to teach preschoolers than go to a college party. “I suddenly feel really underdressed.”
She holds the black dress out to me. “It’s all yours. I mean, you already look hot. You always do. I’ve seen you a few times around campus and in the café, you’re always so put together.”
In this case, I think put together means doesn’t show enough skin.
Tabitha was right about Brody and we’ve already finished our second drink and I’ve told her more about my life than anyone but Willa before he texts that he’s on his way. She makes one more attempt to get me in the skimpy dress. “Last chance.”
“I don’t think so.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You might as well make tonight count. If it’s going to take another three years to get you out for a night…”
“It’s only been a year,” I say as I laugh. “Willa took me to a local poetry reading and mixer.”
“Oooh so wild,” Tabitha mocks, but her tone is playful.
“Alright, fine. I will wear the dress but promise you won’t leave my side. I have a feeling I’m going to feel very exposed.”
She grins victoriously. “I promise not to leave your side, but that’s only because if I stand next to you, there’s a slight chance guys might notice me after they’re through checking you out.”
When Brody finally arrives, we giggle our way to the curb and pile into his beat-up station wagon. It’s a good thing Brody is such a popular guy because this car would not score him any points with the ladies. Not that mine, covered in crumbs that I can never seem to vacuum up and complete with car seat, would pass as cool.
“Katrina, wow.” Brody’s eyebrows shoot up as he sees me. “You look… wow.”
“Not too naked?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
“Is that a trick question?” His smile is reassuring. “You look great.”
“Where are we going anyway?” I ask from the back seat while Tabitha and Brody fight over the radio.
“Jock central.” Tabitha claps her hands and turns back to me. “Baseball guys are having a party tonight and their parties always attract the other teams on campus.”
“Their record is shit, but they’re good guys and they’re cool with everyone, so their parties are always awesome. You been?”
I shake my head and take deep breaths hoping that’ll calm my rapidly beating heart.
I see people walking toward the party before I see the house itself. It sits just up the street and across the road from the baseball field which makes sense although I hadn’t given it much thought before.
Brody parks along a side street and kills the engine. Confused butterflies that flutter with excitement and then nose dive with intermittent anxiety rid me of any remaining false calm from the alcohol. I follow along silently as we walk up to the baseball house in a steady stream of people. I’m doing it. Only took three years but I’m finally attending a real college party. The thought of beer in a plastic cup never sounded more appealing.
No one seems to look at me funny, so I take that as my fitting in. But where they’re all moving with purpose and ease like they’ve done it a million times, I’m hesitant and watch Brody and Tabitha closely to mimic their movements.
We walk through a living room and into a small kitchen that has liquor bottles lined up on a counter with cups and mixers. I spot the silver barrel and do a little mental happy dance at seeing my first keg in action. I watch a group of guys huddled around laughing and taking turns pouring beer from the metal drum.
I accept the cup Brody pushes in my direction as he says, “Pick your poison.”
Tabitha eyes the bottles carefully before pointing at the rum. “I’m not mixing my alcohol tonight.”
Brody hands her the bottle. “I’m gonna take a lap, see who’s here before I commit to a drink for the night.”
He walks off as Tabitha pours rum and diet into her cup. “What about you Katrina?” She stops. “You go by anything else? Kat? Trina?”
I lift a shoulder and let it fall as I shake my head. When I was younger, friends tried to call me different things, but nothing ever stuck.
“Nicknames?”
The only one that comes to mind is…
“Kitty.” His voice, that voice, it’s husky yet smooth and when he says my nickname, the ridiculous nickname that makes my body tingle, it feels like a brand.