Chapter 8: Chapter Eight
Friday, October 22nd
“Hey, Tim, what do you know about Gabrielle Gibson?” I ask, as cool as the glass of iced water that Tim sets in front of me at First Wok during the non-dinner rush. I’m cutting down on caffeine so I can maybe sleep rather than staying up all night surfing for clues about Caitlin.
“Who?” Mr. Owl replies, which is about the answer I’d expect from him. The divide between ball bouncers and test takers at Fenton is Grand Canyon size.
“Never mind.” I shrug it off, but really it’s ‘always mind’ because I notice I can’t stop thinking about Gabby. As I look for more pictures of Caitlin and a way to contact her, I find myself lingering on photos of tall black girls rather than busty blondes. I find myself at school looking for Gabby—we don’t have any classes together—and she’s easy to spot. Within her peer group—all athletes, most of them black—it’s easy to tell from how they gather around that she’s the alpha female. Unlike me, who gets attention with my smart mouth, she’s got a physical presence.
“You going to the football game?” Tim asks. I know he cares nothing about football, but he cares about me, so he asks. He’s got the friend thing down to a science.
“Only way I can get published!” I shout in mock excitement. Tim doesn’t laugh because maybe he hears the angry undercurrent in my sarcastic tone. I think about the perfect prose of Josh’s ‘Searching for a Heart’ story compared to anything I’ve ever written and realize I should feel lucky that Mr. Jakes allows my vapid verbiage even in the crappy school paper.
Tim heads toward the front to greet some customers. I open my notebook, click my pen but nothing comes to mind—no image, no metaphor, nothing but a blank page mocking me.
I turn away from the white page and see the black glasses and long black hair. Longer legs and tiny breasts, neither pair she’d let my face get between. Thien. With her family. I consider putting the glass of water against my face to cool the burning blush of shame streaking across it. Thanks to Thien, I wear two scarlet letters, except the AA stands for aggressive asshole.
Thien, two little brothers and her parents walk toward me. Even if they weren’t standing and I wasn’t sitting, I’d bet they’d still be looking down at me, not that I don’t deserve it.
“Carson,” Thien says. These are the first words she’s said to me since ‘Take me home, now’ after my post-prom fiasco. I hope she’s not said anything about what happened to anyone, in particular her parents. They thought I was nice. They thought I was a gentleman. Wrong. Wrong. If her dad doesn’t punch me, then I’ll know my secret’s safe, and I’m still sorry.
“Hey.” I don’t say her name, even if I used to utter her name when fantasizing about her in the shower. She says nothing in words, but readjusts the black-framed glasses on her pinched-in-disgust face, as if reminding me of my dirty deed. I wait until she passes by until I breathe again.
I try to write but everything comes out wrong. I can’t get the images in my mind to come out on the page. I think all the best writing ends up trapped in my elbow. If I could just crack it open, maybe I’d produce something as good as Josh. If is the heaviest word in the dictionary.
Who am I kidding? While I’ve been here in Fenton writing about sports in barely literate English and taking college prep but not AP classes, Josh’s been off at some private school where everybody probably speaks French, goes to the Riviera for vacation and writes flawless fiction to start each day. He’s highbrow. I’m not even lowbrow. Compared to Josh, I’m unibrow.
My eyes dart back and forth between the blank page and the blank slate I wish I had with Thien. Life doesn’t have a ‘clear history’ like Chrome, nor can you go through life incognito. Just like in the virtual world, you leave a trail everywhere you go, but if so, why can’t I find Caitlin’s virtual vapor? How can a person disappear for years or stay hidden even while naked?
“Hey, Carson, can I ask you something?” Tim sits down at the table. Even though he’s not working hard—there are only four other tables besides Thien’s family’s—he’s sweating.
I think of a smart-ass response since that’s my brand, but seeing Thien deflates the humor balloon that keeps me afloat. I nod, close the notebook and cup my ear with my right hand.
“You going to Charlotte’s Halloween party?” Tim asks.
Charlotte. Before Thien, before anyone else, there was Charlotte. “I don’t think so.” Wanting her and getting nowhere all those years hurt. Knowing she’s with Josh kills me dead. “Doubt it.”
“Carson, let’s go.” The favor balance is way out of proportion between us. I owe him.
“I hate Halloween.” I wonder if Tim remembers why. No look of sorrow or sympathy washes over his face. We weren’t friends then, so maybe I never told him. Kept him innocent about parts of my life just like I’ve yet to tell him about Caitlin. Tim does so much for me, so this is the least I can do for him—separate my dirty life from his clean one.
“I take almost all AP classes, so you know how few girls other than Charlotte I see on a given day?” Tim asks. “She plays tennis, so I bet those girls from her team will be there along with people in your newspaper class and your writing club. What else do you have to do?”
“Thanks for that!” I yell way too loud. He laughs, so that’s something. “But if Charlotte is there, that means Josh is there. I’ll wear shades so I’m not blinded by his brilliance.”
Tim starts to talk, but spinning spokes click in my head. Charlotte. Tennis. Gabby. Tim must notice that the perma-frown I’d worn since Thien walked in the door surrenders to a smile.
“So, you’re in, Carson?”
Images of Thien, Charlotte and Gabby spill like a page of porn thumbnails across my mind. In? Yes, I want to be in something, someone, somehow, someway. “I’ll even drive.”
Another customer walks in, causing Tim to exit the table, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which give way to fantasy. Connecting the two is the hardest task on earth. The women on my computer screen and girls in my daily grind are light years away from my reality. Maybe that can be Tim’s first project at MIT, to build a machine to bridge the great divide of despair.