The Art of Losing Yourself (26 page)

C
ARMEN

“Welcome to your first parent-teacher conferences!” Natalie extended her arm toward the entrance of Bay Breeze High School as though giving me a grand tour. She wore a hooded sweatshirt with the name of Samantha’s dance studio on the front. “Are you brimming with excitement?”

“I had a dream last night that all of Gracie’s teachers yelled at me.”

Natalie snorted.

“I’m serious. Every single one of her teachers told me she brought a goat to class and then they proceeded to scream at me for allowing her to do such a thing.” And when I walked into the bathroom to cry, I found Ben and Gracie’s trig teacher making out in one of the stalls.

“I still can’t believe she put an actual goat inside Miss Henson’s car.”

“Me either.”

“It’s kind of funny if you think about it.”

“Natalie.”

“Come on. A goat in her car?” Laughter bubbled from her mouth. She cupped her hand over the sound to trap the rest inside.

My lips twitched.

“Brandon said Miss Henson was screeching like a banshee in the parking lot and the goat was just standing there in her backseat, chewing on a seat belt.”

Natalie and I looked at each other for a second or two, then burst into laughter. I collected myself first—and quickly. I couldn’t be seen in hysterics about such a serious offense. I had to be the responsible adult. Especially now. “Ben and I are back on the waiting list.”

“What!”

“The social worker from our agency called today. According to Dr. Rafferty, we are mentally sane. At least enough to be parents.”

“Of course you are.” Natalie wrapped me in a hug. “You only need ten percent sanity for something like parenthood. You and Ben are at least at twenty.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, hugging her back. “So what should I expect?”

“With parenthood?”

“No, with the conferences.”

“Eh. It’s all pretty informal.” She hooked her arm around mine, and the two of us headed inside. “You go to whichever classrooms you want. Wait in line, if there is a line. Sit, listen to what they say, ask your questions, and be on your merry way. At least that’s how it went in junior high. I’m assuming it’s the same here.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“If I get bored, I plan on pulling my husband into a janitorial closet so I can have my way with him.”

“Natalie.”

“What? Football season needs to be over already. He’s barely home. We women have needs too, you know.” She gave me a nudge and a wink, as if we were co-conspirators in the needs department.

She had no idea.

“How was Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“Interesting.”

“Yeah?”

Inside the locker bay, parents milled about in small pockets. Several noticed Natalie and me and made passing comments about the big game this Friday. We smiled and nodded and portrayed the appropriate level of enthusiasm while making a quick exit into the main hallway. “Want to join me for CrossFit tomorrow and tell me all about it?”

I waffled. I did more huffing and puffing than actual talking at CrossFit.

“Come on. It’s been a couple weeks. Humor your best friend.”

“Fine.”

She beamed. “All right, I’m off to Spanish class. Samantha got a C on her last test. First C of the girl’s life. You would have thought she broke both legs the way she was going on about it.” She gave my arm an encouraging squeeze. “Good luck.”

Once she was gone, I gazed toward Gracie’s trig class with a heavy dose of morbid curiosity. But what did I expect to find? Ben’s classroom was downstairs. Miss Henson’s classroom was upstairs. There was no reason I would catch them together tonight. Still…I wouldn’t mind seeing if she was as
pretty in person as she was in the picture on her Facebook profile. I inched in the direction of Gracie’s trig class, but practicality stopped me.

No, I didn’t come here to check out Miss Henson.

I came to speak with all of Gracie’s teachers.

The normal, sane thing to do would be to start in order. I went in search of Gracie’s first-period class with Mrs. Reyas like the good guardian I was determined to be. If only parent-teacher conferences weren’t so discouraging. It was all a slightly different version of the same.
Gracie does well on tests, but she doesn’t apply herself in class
. Her third-period English teacher seemed pretty offended by the whole thing. By the time I reached fourth period, I did a lot of nodding and “uh-huh”-ing, but very little listening. And I was too preoccupied with visions of a gorgeous blonde hitting on my husband. By the time I was finally on my way to fifth-period trigonometry, my stomach had tied into knots. Gracie’s accusations aside, there was the whole goat thing to apologize for.

But then I saw something that had my rehearsed apology evaporating altogether. Ben, taking a drink from a water fountain right outside Gracie’s trig class. He wasn’t alone. In plain and public view, the woman I recognized from Facebook slid her hand up his arm and whispered something into his ear. I stopped in the middle of the hallway.

Mine
.

The possessive pronoun blared through me like the blast of a trumpet long silent. Images of that woman and Ben cavorting in darkened hallways, her hands on his hips, his lips on her skin, her body pressed up against a wall, turned the trumpet blast into a siren’s wail.

As Miss Henson returned to her classroom, I closed the gap between me and my husband. “I need to speak with you.”

Ben stopped.

Parents wandered past us, up and down the hallway. A few made eye contact with Ben and me and said hello. Ben returned the greeting. I was pretty sure my greeting looked more like a grimace than a smile. “Somewhere private,” I added.

“Uh, we can go to my classroom.”

I kept my lips pressed together as we walked. Gracie’s accusation had planted the seed. Miss Henson’s touch had it germinating, and now my overactive imagination watered the thing into a budding plant. By the time we reached
his classroom, my lips were mashed so tightly together, I felt like the tin man in need of his oil can.

Ben closed the door halfway. “What’s up?”

“You tell me.”

His eyebrows drew together.

“Is there something going on between you and Gracie’s math teacher?”

“Me and Gracie’s math teacher?” His expression went from confused to more confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Gracie told me that Miss Henson was in here over lunch.”

“Okaaay.” He drew out the word nice and long, obviously waiting for more.

“Gracie said she was coming on to you.”

He ran his hands down his face. It wasn’t so much an “I’ve been caught red-handed” gesture as it was an “are you kidding me” gesture. “Jill Henson likes to update me on how my players are doing in her class. Gracie came in during one of her weekly reports.”

I stared at him. “Weekly reports?”

“Yes.”

“Would you really tell me if it was something more?”

His countenance darkened. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“I just saw her hands all over you.” The intensity of my possessiveness had me wobbling off kilter. And somehow, relieved. Like my jealousy was proof that I still cared about Ben. “A woman doesn’t touch a man like that unless she has feelings. And why were you up there in the first place, getting a drink from the fountain outside of her classroom?”

“I was in the teacher’s lounge eating dinner. I have to pass her room to get down here. And I was thirsty.” He shook his head. “I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation.”

“Why not?”

“
Why not?
Come on, Carmen, do you honestly think I’m that kind of a man?”

Deep down, no. I didn’t. Ben wasn’t a cheater. I knew that. But it wasn’t something I could admit. Not when the trumpet had awoken a monster inside of me. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Sometimes it feels like we’re strangers.”

“Well, I haven’t changed.”

Meaning I had. Meaning this distance in our marriage was
my
fault.

“If you really don’t know anymore, then let me spell it out for you.” He stepped closer, his blue eyes blazing. Ben took my wrist and placed my palm against his chest. Warmth rippled beneath his hardened muscles and for one blip of a second, I knew what Natalie meant about needs. “I’m not interested in Jill Henson. The only woman I’m interested in is the one I married seven years ago.”

His passion burned too hot to hold. Instead of leaning into it, I stepped away from it and watched as the fire in Ben’s eyes fizzled into a hurt I couldn’t soothe. Because I was hurt too. Hurt that he’d put the weight of our problems on my shoulders. Hurt that Gracie’s trig teacher could so easily flirt with my husband when I didn’t know how to anymore. So we stood there, he and I, lost in our own worlds of pain and perceived mistreatment, each waiting for the other person to apologize first, until there was a knock on his half-open door.

“Am I interrupting?” a woman asked, poking her head inside.

Ben turned to the woman with his hurt properly masked, inviting her all the way in with a wave. “No, not at all. Come on in.”

She looked between us. “This is my daughter’s all-time favorite class. She made me promise to meet Mr. Hart.”

“That’s nice to hear. What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Hannah Pierce.”

Ben smiled a smile that made women like Miss Henson melt. Apparently, he had already compartmentalized our argument into a box marked
Later
. Or maybe
Never
. If only I could compartmentalize this so easily.

G
RACIE

The second I stepped through the front door of The Cross, I pulled my sleeves over my hands and shot Elias an alarmed look, but he didn’t seem to notice what I noticed, that I was a lone marshmallow in a sea of hot chocolate. Teenagers milled about the lobby area—talking, laughing, flirting. One girl looked Vietnamese, there was a boy who might be Mexican, and not a single slice of white bread.

I gave Elias a nudge. “Everybody’s staring at me.”

“Nah, they’re staring at me.”

Although it was the same line he fed me on my first day of school, this time I didn’t think he was right. My pasty skin might as well have been a blinding white spotlight. Nerves pinged around inside my belly like a hyperactive game of pinball. But before I could tell Elias that I’d been afflicted with a sudden and debilitating headache, somebody wrapped me in a hug. “You came!”

I neither nodded nor hugged back. I was too stunned by the exuberant welcome.

When my assailant unhanded me, I almost didn’t recognize Chanelle. She no longer had the short kinky curls she sported at the theater. Her hair hung in cute, wavy layers past her shoulders. She hugged Elias next. The sight of his arms wrapped around her small waist set off a really silly spark of jealousy. “I can’t believe you got her to come.”

“It was a minor miracle.” Elias winked at me when he said it.

“I didn’t know miracles were categorized,” I said.

Chanelle wore black-and-purple skater shoes, skinny jeans, and a lime-green knitted top. If I tried wearing that color, I’d look like a ghost with the flu. Chanelle, however, pulled it off with dazzling success. And her hair wasn’t the only thing that was different.

“Did you get a…?”

She covered the small rhinestone in her left nostril with her fingers, a self-conscious
maneuver. I couldn’t imagine what she had to be self-conscious about. “My dad almost killed me.”

“I think it looks good,” Elias said.

Another spark of jealousy crackled, but I smothered it. It was a dumb emotion. Besides, Elias was right. It did look good. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“It looks natural on you.”

“I knew I liked you.” She elbowed Elias. “Did I mention how much I like her?”

“You might have once or twice. Hey, is Malik here yet?”

Chanelle rose up on her tiptoes to search the crowd, then cupped her hand to the side of her mouth like a megaphone. “Yo, Malik!”

How a shout so loud could come out of a person so small, I wasn’t sure. It had me shrinking into Elias’s side. I waited for the entire room to stop and stare. Most didn’t even bat an eye. The shout did the trick, though, because a second later, a boy parted through the crowd, wearing oversized glasses with thick, black frames, a pencil behind his ear, and red suspenders. He walked toward us with his hands cupped over his heart, a grin tucked into the corner of his mouth, and unmistakable swagger in his step. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being so boisterously harkened?”

Chanelle rolled her eyes. “Malik likes to talk fancy.”

“I prefer vernacular of the poetic variety.”

Elias laughed, and the two boys skinned palms before pulling each other in for a manly back thump. “I want to introduce you to my friend, Gracie Fisher.”

“Gracie Fisher.” Malik didn’t just shake my hand, he sandwiched it between his palms and bowed his head. “It is my immense pleasure.”

I managed a single-syllable “Hi.” Was this kid for real?

“Eli has enlightened me of your interest in the academic bowl team.”

I threw Elias a “thanks a lot” look. “
Potential
interest.”

“Well, you should make that interest kinetic. We are competitively genial folk.” The smile tucked in the corner of his mouth spread across his lips, like he knew he was being facetious. “For real, it’s fun times. You should join us, or at least check things out. We’re in need of an intelligent female.”

“How do you know I’m intelligent?”

“A comrade of Elias can be nothing but intelligent.”

I quickly discovered that Malik was for real. Everything he said was accompanied with an amused smile, like he was fully aware of his absurdity but could be no other way. According to Chanelle, he performed spoken-word poetry at some coffee shop in downtown Pensacola every Thursday night.

“We should go sometime,” Elias said. “He’s brilliant.”

“My friend is generous with his hyperbole, but I’m grateful for the encouragement.” Malik clasped his hands over his chest again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, the lavatory beckons.” He pointed at me as he backed toward the door. “Join us on Monday. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy yourself, Gracie Fisher.”

When the door closed behind him and I turned back toward Elias and Chanelle, they wore matching grins. “Welcome to the experience that is Malik,” she said.

“Never a dull moment.” Elias shifted his weight to look past me. “Hey, it’s Pastor Zeke.”

And without warning, Elias grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a man with a bald head and a body so large he could be a linebacker for the Miami Dolphins. He was slowly making his way through the crowd, stopping occasionally to chat. We reached him just as he was finishing up a conversation with the Vietnamese girl and two of her friends.

When he saw me, he clapped his hands together. “This must be Gracie Fisher.”

I gave Elias another sideways look. “You know me?”

“Eli may have mentioned you a time or two.” The deep rumble of Pastor Zeke’s voice reminded me of Mufasa from
The Lion King
. “I hope these two are making you feel at home.” He clasped his large hand over Elias’s shoulder. “You ready for Friday?”

“Bags are packed. Team leaves tomorrow morning.”

“The missus and I will be there, front and center. We’re proud of you, son.” He let go of Elias and turned his attention to me. “Worship begins in two minutes. I’ll see you from the pulpit.”

“I’m sure I’ll be easy to find.”

With his rumble of a chuckle, he moved on into the sanctuary.

Chanelle linked her arm around my elbow. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“This ain’t your mama’s youth group.”

I had no idea what she meant until the music began.

Our breaths escaped in frozen puffs that disappeared into the night as The Cross’s parking lot slowly emptied and Elias walked me to my car. After the singing ended and Pastor Zeke finished his message and students broke out into small groups with various leaders, Elias and I stayed in the lobby to chat with Malik and Chanelle and a few others. Well, Elias did the chatting. Me? I hadn’t said much since I stepped into the sanctuary.

“So…?” Elias asked, our arms swinging side by side.

“So?”

He took a few steps ahead of me, turned around, and started walking backward. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Back at the church Mom and I went to in New Hope, we sang songs out of giant, dusty hymnals. I yawned through the sermons while people around me either checked their watches or battled with small kids in stiff pews. I didn’t know what Sundays were like at The Cross, but Wednesday nights at least were far from anything I experienced at New Hope.

There had been clapping and dancing and, strangest of all, students who lifted their hands in the air. Both hands, straight up, their faces glowing with joy. And yet later I discovered that those same kids with hands lifted high had problems and baggage just like me. Absentee fathers. Broken relationships. Foreclosed homes. Death and abuse and loss and battles nobody saw. Yet when they sang, it was like none of those things mattered. They lost themselves in the music.

During the message, there were “amens” and “hallelujahs” and I couldn’t find a single person playing a game or texting on a phone. After Pastor Zeke finished preaching on the stage, I joined Elias in a smaller group, where there were uncomfortably raw confessions and sincere encouragement, all wrapped up in the kind of prayer that made my arm hair stand on end.

The whole thing was a lot to process.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Um…”

Elias reached my car first. He sat on the hood and propped his feet on the front bumper while stars sprinkled the sky overhead. “Um good, or um bad?”

I stopped in front of him. “Um, I like Chanelle?”

He smiled. “She’s easy to like.”

It was the truth. Despite the sparks of jealousy, despite our having very little in common, Chanelle set me at ease almost as much as Elias. She’d included me in the group without putting me on the spot and when she asked for my cell number at the end, she seemed one hundred percent sincere about wanting it. I wanted to ask Elias what the two of them were, exactly, but I had no idea how to do so without sounding ridiculous.

“Would you come again?”

I crossed my arms to ward off the chill.
Would I come again?
In truth, despite the warm welcome, I had felt awkward throughout the majority of the night. I stuck out in more ways than one. My skin color, it turned out, was the least conspicuous. “Pastor Zeke’s message was interesting.”

“It was a good one.”

“Jesus and that Peter guy walking on water? Pretty cool stuff.”

He peered at me through the night, a ghost of a smile haunting his lips. “I’d love to hear your opinion on the man of the hour.”

“I kept hearing his voice echoing from the clouds. ‘
Simba, remember who you are
.’ ”

“What?”

“
The Lion King
? That scene where Simba sees his dad in the clouds after Rafiki made him look at his reflection in the water.”

Elias set his elbows on his knees. He looked completely lost but also entertained.

“And you accused
me
of not knowing my Disney trivia.” I shook my head. “Pastor Zeke could be a voice double for James Earl Jones.”

“I wasn’t talking about Pastor Zeke. I was talking about Jesus.”

“You want to know my opinion on Jesus?”

“Humor me.”

“Here is something humorous. Over Thanksgiving, I met this guy named Jimmy, who was convinced Jesus spoke to him in the clouds.”

Elias chuckled. “You are fixated on these clouds.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Jimmy.”

“For real, though,” he said.