Forever Blue (10 page)

     
Our family is quite small
as you might have gathered.
I have no aunts, no uncles, and definitely no grandparents. When my parents abandoned their hometown, they left
everything and everyone behind, and that was the price they
had to pay
to be together.

***

    
I expected the usual warm welcome home greeting
after school the next day.
I
instead
came home to an empty house. Our regular routine was to leave a note when someone would be home late, but Mom hadn’t left as much as a scribble. I figured she was out shopping and forgot about the time.

    
While she was away, I entertained myself in front of the television by watching some MTV.
When nine o’clock rolled around,
I still hadn’t heard from either one of my parents. I couldn’t ever recall a time when they let me sit at home alone for hours. Something was definitely up.

    
A heavy knock on the front door jolted me from drowsiness.

    
“Alexa…”

    
A
short and round
matronly woman stood on my porch and stared at me as though she was unsure of herself. Her dark shoulder-length hair appeared curly and wet, and
I took notice of her faded Mickey Mouse shirt and tight white-washed shorts that amplified the cellulite on her legs. 

    
“Do you remember me?” she asked, hesitantly. “I’m Rose Cooper. Your mother used to bring you on play dates with my daughter Sarah years ago.”

    
At the mention of the name, I snapped to recollection.
Rose Cooper was the first friend Mom
had
made when she moved to California. I was about five- years-old when I was introduced to Rose’s daughter, Sarah. She was
two years older than me, and
had strawberry-blonde ringlets and skin as white as milk. She and I had several get-togethers in the play yard at the Burger Klatch. Mom and Rose would gossip and enjoy some girl talk while Sarah and I tackled the monkey bars and chased each other down the slide. These play dates happened a couple times a week for about a year.

    
Out of the blue one evening, Rose came to our house visibly distraught. I watched the scene from the kitchen as
Rose
cried hysterically and
explained to Mom that Sarah was missing. Before Sarah disappeared, she’d been riding her bike through the neighborhood. Naturally, Rose became distressed when Sarah wasn’t home by sundown. She combed the streets for several hours, but Sarah was nowhere to be found. Of course, I was too young to understand
the severity of this situation, but
I overheard conversations and recognized such words as,
kidnapper
. My parents
had
always warned me against talking to strangers. I was privy to the fact that one of these evil strangers took Sarah against her will.

    
The details that ensued after Sarah’s disappearance were quite gruesome. A day later, someone reported a child’s naked body dumped in a ravine just off the 91 freeway in Riverside County. No one
wanted to believe it was Sarah, but when the police found her pink princess bike in a ditch close to where the body was discovered, it became every parent’s worst nightmare. What was even more unspeakable, the kidnapper turned out to be Rose’s ex-husband’s twenty-five-year-old nephew.

    
Mom rarely saw Rose
after the tragedy, and over time, I forgot about her and
Sarah altogether until the moment she
knocked on my door.

    
“Yes, I remember you,” I said softly. At the memory, a chill ran up my spine.

    
Rose smiled and a glimmer of tears glazed her eyes. She placed an unsteady finger under my chin and said, “Wow. You’ve grown up so much.”

     
When she touched me I flinched, as if her daughter’s misfortune might somehow be contagious. “My parents aren’t home.”

    
“I know. Your mother called me.”

    
Clearly, I was confused. “My mom called you? Why?”

    
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is in the emergency room. She sent me to come get you.”

***

    
I don’t think I ever saw Mom in such a distraught state as I did that evening. I arrived in the ICU and found her sitting by Dad’s room with a grief-stricken look upon her face. She stared at the wall with her designer black mascara running down her cheeks. She saw me coming down the hall, but I didn’t detect a hint of recognition.

    
Rose gave us some space
shortly after we arrived,
and went to go get herself a cup of coffee. All Rose
had
told me on the way to the hospital was that my father was sick.

    
“Alexa—” Mom held back tears. “I need to tell you something, okay?”

    
“Mom, what happened?” I asked as my heart pounded
against my ribs.

    
She took a deep breath. “Your father... he... he had a heart attack at work,” she stuttered between sobs.

    
“But he’s alive?” A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down. “Right?”

    
“Yes,” she answered, pulling me in close and holding me tighter than she had in her life. “He’s alive.” I could feel her trembling.

    
“Can I see him?”

    
She gazed at me as though contemplating my request. “Okay, but you need to prepare yourself. This isn’t a memory I want you to have of your father.”

    
We walked
hand in hand
into Dad’s hospital room. Unfortunately, even the strongest person on Earth could never have prepared themselves for the inevitable that was about to come into my vision. Dad had a bunch of machines and tubes hooked up to his body, a ventilator attached to his mouth, and his face had turned the color of clay.

    
“He’s sleeping,” Mom affirmed, like that was going to make me feel better about the situation.

    
“Can you give me a moment alone with Dad?”

    
“Of course, honey. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

    
After she left, all I could do was stare at Dad in astonishment. I looked around at the monitors and machines. Guilty worries flooded my mind: Did I do this? Did I set to the fuse to a bomb when I gave him the cigarette last night? In a state of remorse, I traced my finger along his clammy cheek. How could my father look so vulnerable? This was my hero, the one who taught me everything about life and basketball. This was the man who was there for me in my time of need, the one who
had
helped me through my grief after Carter moved away. Things like this just didn’t happen to me—to us. Dads were supposed to be indestructible.
Dad’s eyelashes fluttered like tiny butterfly wings
when I started crying softly to myself. At this discovery, my heart stopped, and
I stood frozen as I watched his eyes open just a slit.
This was the father I knew, this was the
man who never stopped fighting no matter how dire the situation.
He
lethargically
lifted his arm and wiggled his fingers like he was gesturing for something. I realized he was beckoning for my hand. I entwined my fingers with his, wanting that cold hand to be stuck to me like glue for the rest of my life. He gave my hand one good squeeze and pressed his fingers into me as though trying to make me understand that I didn’t have to be afraid.

    
I whispered into his ear, “I love you, Dad.”  I clutched onto him until one of the nurses shooed me out of the room.

    
Dad went into cardiac arrest
around two in the morning.
I will never forget the nurses running into Dad’s room, Mom in hysterics and me waiting
in the hallway in sheer terror, for as long as I live. My Dad, my hero, a man I thought to be indestructible, was pronounced dead
twenty-five minutes later.
The doctors assured us the cliché “We tried everything to save him, but his heart was just too weak.” I felt like my soul had been doused in gasoline and someone had lit a match. My heart just smoldered
away into nothingness. From that night forward, my life would take a drastic turn, whether I was prepared for it or not.

***

    
With no immediate family still living, Dad’s funeral consisted of mainly co-workers from the dealership. At the reception, I sat in a corner of the room by myself. I glanced at my reflection in the living window, feeling ugly in my baggy black dress. Tearstains had run down my cheeks and smeared my eye makeup.

     
“Here, I brought you some food.” Ruth handed me a plate with half a sandwich and potato salad.  In spite of how dreary that day was, she
had
managed to make herself look gorgeous in a black velour knee-length dress. A river of creamy pearls surrounded her delicate neck like a choker.

     
“I’m not hungry, but thank you.” I continued to look out the window in despair.

“Come on. You have to eat.”

    
I knew she was trying to be helpful, but I just wanted to be alone. “Ruth, please. I don’t want it.”

    
“At least try the pasta salad. It’s really good.”

    
I would have done anything to get her to leave me alone
at that point.
“Fine.”

    
“Okay, I’ll go get you some.” She scooted off and disappeared amid the crowd.

    
After everyone left the reception, all the pain and heartache rushed back to me at the sound of Mom’s
muffled cries in her bedroom.
The sound of her crying was like nails running down a chalkboard. With my heart thudding, I went back to my bedroom and locked
the door. I lied
down on my bed and looked up at the posters of Carter that I had taped to the ceiling. As silly as it sounded, I sometimes talked to his pictures.
Sometimes it was as if the blue-eyed boy himself
was sitting
right there in the room with me, and
it comforted me in more ways than I could count.

That’s
What Friends are For



1992

    
Yes, Carter was the only friend I had in eighth grade, but I felt confident with just him by my side.
The outside world could do no harm
when I was with him at school.
Surprisingly, that school year went along smoothly. Then one afternoon the inevitable happened: The school bully, Tim Morris, decided to choose me as his next victim.

      Students were scattered throughout the horseshoe atrium during lunch while they socialized with their cliques on the cement steps. Carter was meeting me in this area after he got done with gym class. The longer I waited,
the more impatient I became. I felt a light touch on
my back and I thought it was Carter, but
I turned around only to find an unopened ketchup packet at my feet.
When I looked up,
there
stood Tim Morris
with his unmistakable fiery red hair, pale
skin, and dark brown freckles.
I'd known him since grade school, and the big brute was extremely obnoxious as he was overweight. He was one of those kids who picked on others to make up for his own low self-esteem.

     
Something hit my back again
moments later.
This time it was an unopened mustard packet.

     “What the hell?” I yelled back at Tim. “Cut it out.”

      Tim and his entourage
laughed hysterically. I had had
just about enough of his childish antics,
and
I got up to walk away. I’d only gone two steps when something wet struck me dead center on my forehead—a French fry drenched in ketchup.

    
“Score!” Tim said victoriously as he gave his friend a high-five.

    
A glob of ketchup slid down my cheek and landed on
new my red blouse. I could have sworn everyone in the vicinity
was pointing and laughing
at me.

    
“Hey, jerk off, you got a problem?” Carter
said with his arms crossed.

     
“Oh, I’m soooo scared,” Tim
said tauntingly. “Look, guys—toilet paper boy thinks he’s tough.”

     
Everyone in school knew about Carter’s latest endeavor. He
had
recently appeared in a toilet paper commercial, and the students wouldn’t let him live it down. I believed it was because kids were extremely jealous of Carter’s rising fame.

     
Carter disregarded Tim’s heckling and snapped, “You do that to my friend again, and I will make you really sorry.”

    
“Oh yeah? Try me, toilet paper boy.”

     
“Carter, let’s go. Forget him. He’s not worth it,” I said,
feeling my throat constrict as I
held back tears.

    
“Toilet paper boy, toilet paper boy,” Tim mocked, “likes to wipe his ass on national TV.”

     
I’m pretty sure Carter weighed the consequences of punching Tim Morris’s lights out. Carter looped his arm in mine
after a brief moment of hesitation,
and
finally
dragged me away. This time, Tim threw a ketchup packet at the back of Carter’s head. Thankfully, it wasn’t opened, and
Carter had the moral fortitude to ignore it. Once we got away, we ended up on the lower field under a tree.

    
“Don’t let that jerk get to you,” Carter tried to reassure me.

    
I swallowed down tears and said, “I’m so sick of this school and everyone in it.”

     
Carter retrieved a napkin out of his brown lunch bag and wiped the remnants of ketchup off my blouse. “He’s a complete idiot, and no one likes him anyway except those stupid cronies of his.”

    
At first I was humiliated, but now I was just fuming. “I can’t take this abuse anymore. When does it end?”

    
“I’ve got your back, Alexa.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close. “If anyone messes with you again, I’ll kick their butt.”

    
Maybe it was a good thing, but I could never imagine Carter harming anyone. This boy didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. Quite simply, it was not in his nature to be mean spirited. Nevertheless,
the sentiment was endearing. To have a friend who cared for me in such a way was something I had yet to get used too. I had to admit that I’d never met anyone my age
that
impressed me more each day.