“She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!”
Corey continued, but I had stopped listening. I was watching Laura as she scanned the pages of her copy of Macbeth, reading ahead to see if she would have to speak again. Her eyes darted left and right quickly and her bright red lips were slightly parted as she folded every other page over the spine in her hunt for Seyton’s name. Oh God, I thought to myself as I watched her study the pages and quickly lick those full and parted lips.
Satisfied she would not have to read again, she closed the book and laid it on the desk in front of her. Laura stretched her entire body out into a yawn then, clasping her hands together and pulling them far behind her, arching her back out and thrusting her chest forward. As she threw her head back, her curly blonde hair just reached the nape of her neck where her collar touched her lightly tanned skin.
The shirt she was wearing was red and white, our school colors, and she wore it often on those Fridays that our basketball or football teams had a game. The lapel was checkered black and white, but it had turned pink where the collar met the fabric, the red bleeding into the white from repeated washes.
I had become quite used to seeing that shirt in the three years I had shared classes with her. Her last name being Harm, I had been seated behind her that year in English, in US history as a sophomore, and during my freshman year in English again as well as geometry. But the most I had ever spoken to her in all that time was when I noticed she had a spider in her hair during a geometry test and I had to get it out for her.
During the first half of my junior year I had also been seated behind her in trigonometry as well, but I wasn’t in that class anymore. I had been forced to drop the class only days before the end of the first semester that year because I was flunking. Luckily I got out in time and my grade point average remained intact. If you had asked me, I would have told you that I flunked the class because of Laura, the sight of her daily so enrapturing me that I couldn’t pay attention to the lectures. Like on Topsy-Turvy Day this past Halloween when she came dressed as a flasher, only wearing a trenchcoat, and she had her legs crossed, sticking out into the aisle... The thought trailed off into a wave of euphoria in my brain.
In reality my flunking trig happened due to a variety of factors. Our teacher had sprained his back midway through the first quarter, and we got stuck with a substitute for two weeks. Even when our normal teacher was there, he went off on tangents more than he ever taught us about them, lecturing to us about the state of society rather than sines and cosines. He often left it up to us to learn the material from doing the homework, which I had trouble understanding.
Plus I never really did my homework all that much either.
Plus your uncle is dying, said a voice within me.
My thoughts instantly went into action to contradict such ideas, but they were cut short when I noticed the silence in the room. Oh crap, is it my turn to read? I heard someone clearing his throat then and looking up in the direction of the noise I saw my English teacher Mr. Fish staring down at me from his dais at the front of the room. I instantly blushed and turned back to my copy of Macbeth. Where the hell are we? I thought to myself as I searched the pages frantically for my lines.
I heard a whisper behind me guide me to our place. “Gracious my lord...”
There it is! “Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw, but know not how to do’t,” I spat out quickly to hide my embarrassment.
The scene continued with me reading my part as the messenger, slouched down in my desk with my head completely buried in the book in front of me. Once my lines were read, I poked my reddened cheeks out from my hiding place to glance out at Laura. She didn’t see me staring at her, I tried to convince myself. Everybody else did, but she didn’t so everything’s OK.
Wait a minute! What do I have to be embarrassed about? I thought to myself as I sat up straight. Mr. Fish doesn’t seem to care much; he didn’t yell at me or anything. Besides, I’m just a damn messenger. I’m not reading an important part like Mr. Arrogance there, Corey. I looked over at him to see him emoting and flailing his arms as he read his part. Jeez, it’s not like this is a real performance or anything. Chill.
“Ring the alarum bell!” Corey shouted loudly, then quieted some to finish his lines. As if on cue, the bell rang to signify the end of class.
“Great timing,” Mr. Fish said to us, chuckling to himself as we collected our books and belongings and prepared to leave class. Waiting for him to dismiss us, the entire class gazed up at him in the front of the room. “I had hoped to finish the play today, but we got slowed down a bit.” He looked in my direction, causing me to swallow and lower my head a little, but then he quickly looked away and continued speaking. “We’ll finish up in the first part of class Monday, then discuss the play and review for the test Tuesday, OK? Have a good weekend.”
We rose up from our desks as one and filed out of class. We shuffled into the hall slowly like we were waiting in line for a ride at Disney World, and as I waited to leave, holding my blue Wal-Mart bag tightly in my hands, I stared up at the ceiling decorated with posters of comic book heroes with vocabulary words taped next to them. Hulk, Nick Fury, Avengers... These things are probably worth a fortune.
I felt someone nudging me from behind. “Watch the road, space cadet,” said the person. “You think just because it’s your birthday you can zone out in class all day?”
I looked over my shoulder as I moved forward into the hall. My friend Amy K. stood behind me, and I said to her, “Thanks for the save there.”
“No problem, birthday boy,” she replied.
The girl in front of me turned to us then and asked, “So where are we going for lunch?”
“I don’t care, Denise. Wherever,” I said. “There’s very little gas in it, but we can take my car.”
“My car, he says,” said Amy K., stepping around me now that we were in the hall to walk beside Denise. “Listen to him, rubbing it in our faces.”
“I’m going to miss LHU though,” Denise said.
“My mom’ll still have the white car,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same. If I see that license plate when I’m driving through town, I’m still going to think it’s you.”
I followed the two of them to their lockers to meet our friend Amy T., who was standing there at hers waiting for us. She saw my bag and instantly smiled. “Can I have one?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Ooh, me too,” Amy K. squealed.
I smacked her hand lightly as it went for the bag. “You got one at the beginning of English.”
“But look at how much you have left! You’re never going to get rid of it all.”
I sighed and gave in, holding the bag out for her. “Go ahead.”
Amy T. pulled some candy out of the bag and began to unwrap it. “So where are we going?”
“We haven’t decided,” Amy K. said, digging through my bag as we started to head to the parking lot.
“I think Steve should pick since it is his birthday,” Amy T. said.
“OK,” I replied slowly while I thought to myself. “How about Pizza Man?”
“Oh, not there,” said Denise. “It makes me pesci.” She seemed to already feel sick merely at the prospect, hunching herself over, drooping her shoulders and holding her stomach as we continued walking.
“You always feel pesci, no matter where we go,” said Amy K.
“Pizza Man is fine, Steve,” Amy T. said decidedly.
Denise pouted a little at her defeat and continued to hold her stomach with one hand until we reached my car. As we got in, Amy K. attempted to defuse the situation by asking her a question. “So I’m confused,” she said as she climbed into the backseat on the passenger side. “Are we reviewing for the test on Tuesday, or is the test itself Tuesday?”
Denise answered her and their conversation continued while I started up the car and drove us toward the restaurant. Suddenly I realized something and spoke to Amy T., sitting there beside me in the front seat staring out the window. “Oh my gosh, you’re not supposed to eat at the competition, are you?”
“It’s no big deal,” she replied. “I’m sure my dad won’t mind since it’s your birthday and all.” She scrunched her nose at me and laughed. “Just as long as it’s not Pizza Hut.” I stuck my tongue out at her jokingly and she returned the gesture before returning to staring back out the window.
Amy T.’s parents owned a different pizza place in town called Rossini’s, which she had worked at for the past two years, even before she was sixteen. It had first been called Simple Simon’s, but her parents didn’t want to pay the franchise fee anymore so they had recently changed the name. My family went there every Sunday after church and that was how I had met her. She had transferred into our school at the beginning of the year, having already met Denise and Amy K. during cross-country matches with her old school, and the four of us had quickly become constant lunchtime companions.
I had been desperately in love with each of them at one time or another. Amy T. was the most recent; I had asked her out one day at her restaurant at the urging of two of my friends, but she had shot me down. Then she turned right around and began to date one of them. Amy K. I had had a thing for my freshman year of high school when we first met in English class; Denise I had asked out the summer prior to that, when we were taking an acting class together at our local cultural society. Both times I received the same answer: “Let’s just be friends.” I had taken it to heart in both cases.
Sarah McLachlan was playing on the radio as I drove, singing “Oh God, the man I love is leaving. Won’t you take him when he comes to your door?” I had recently discovered this singer while watching 120 Minutes on MTV and had introduced her to the others. They instantly fell in love with her music and rushed out to buy copies of her tape. I had to go to Carbondale to get it, but they were able to just go downtown to JD’s, I thought to myself. Hardly fair.
“Steve?”
I turned towards Amy T. She had a solemn look on her face and I answered seriously, “Yeah?”
“How are you doing?”
I knew what she meant by the concerned look on her face, her eyes drooping down in the corners as if she were ready to cry. Amy T. was the only person who knew the truth about my uncle. I hadn’t been allowed to tell anyone what was going on, but I just couldn’t keep it all to myself. So I had told her a few weeks ago when my mother left to visit him, told her he was dying, told her why.
I swallowed hard and glanced into the rearview mirror into the back seat to see if Denise and Amy K. were listening before I replied. “Fine, I guess.”
“And your mom?”
“Not as good. She seemed really shaky this morning.”
“How much longer did she say he had?”
“A week, maybe.”
Her eyes drooped even lower. “Oh, Steve.”
“It’s OK really. It’s been a long time coming.” Doesn’t make it any easier though, said that all-too-honest voice within me.
“I’m sorry,” Amy T. replied.
I choked back my feelings and smiled. “Fuhgeddaboudit! Gedoudda here!” I said to her merrily in an Italian voice I knew would make her laugh.
“I don’t need your money!” she replied with a smile in the same voice, extending our inside joke. But her eyes were still hanging low.
We were driving down a one-way street, almost to Pizza Man, which was on the left side of the road. I signaled to change lanes and was starting to slide over when I heard a horn honk. I stepped on the brake hard and pulled the steering wheel back to the right to avoid the car I hadn’t seen in the left lane. Amy K. tried to defuse the situation once we were out of danger and moving again. “Just got the new car and already trying to wreck it. Don’t you want to reach your eighteenth birthday?”
“Sure I do,” I said, going along with her joke reluctantly. “Lotto, cigars, and the back room at Video Time—why would I want to miss that?”
Amy K. made a comment dripping in innuendo then about how soft the cushions in the back seat were, and we all laughed. Tension still hung in the air, but it and Sarah McLachlan’s sad vocals were cut short when I pulled the car into the restaurant parking lot and turned it off. We all piled out and went into the restaurant to have lunch.
