Embracing You, Embracing Me (2 page)

“Well… I only ever tried it that once with
Justin Badger at the jazz festival out in the little field behind the school.
You know, behind those trees where all the stoners hang out. Anyway, I
remembered overhearing Sean Preston telling his buddies about how when he
kissed Beth Dobber, she just stuck her tongue in his cheek and sat there. He
said it was like kissing a statue so he stopped. So I figured that when I
finally got to kiss someone I was going to do my best to be, you know, into it.
I figured if I just didn’t over-think it my body would follow instinct and it
would come naturally.”

“So? Did it?”

Even though I had recounted the story
multiple times before, I did so again knowing that Amber was counting on me for
encouragement. She had been dating Kenney for two whole weeks and since he was
a junior, she knew she needed to give up a little kissy-kissy action. We both
felt out of place with our own glaring lack of experience and felt pressured to
catch up with all our friends before we started catching flack for it.

I pursed my lips then shrugged. “Pretty
much. It’s kind of slobbery and awkward at first but then your brain does kind
of shut off while your body takes over. It was okay, but, you know, it’s
probably better if you actually like the guy.” I pondered quietly over my own
statement.

Amber interrupted my thoughts, “Why
did
you kiss Justin Badger anyway?”

“Cause he wanted to. And he’s kinda cute.”
I caught her leery expression. “Look, sometimes you just do stuff to get it out
of the way. You know? After all, we are sophomores now, and most of our friends
have gone way beyond the kissing stage.” I glanced at Amber and smiled. “Plus I
figured that if I royally screwed up the first time, at least it wasn’t with
someone that I was totally gone over.” We giggled in unison.

AMBER:
And that’s why I love Roshell.

She doesn’t necessarily have to enjoy doing
something to do it. She often just jumps head first into a situation merely for
the sake of having the experience. It took me a while to realize that she
wasn’t crazy, she just has an uncanny ability to disguise her true emotions.
Oftentimes her actions are in direct opposition to whatever her internal emotional
state is.

Ok, here’s an example. If she is feeling
shy or nervous about something she will force herself to be assertive and
social. If she is scared of someone, she’ll cover up her fear by acting brash
and tough so they don’t notice that she’s intimidated.

That act doesn’t get by me though, I see
right through it. She is just like you and me. She has the typical
self-loathing and internal strife that all of us young girls possess. It’s just
that she refuses to succumb to it. It’s like she’s decided to not only overcome
her insecurities, but to banish them from her life altogether.

Her family is skint to put it mildly. But
she’s determined with her dancing, and she works so damn hard at it! Her
consistent drive has opened doors that you’d expect to be closed to someone
with her background. She works hard enough to earn scholarships that provide
lessons five days a week. She wants so badly to be a prima ballerina. After
years of training, her small physique has been molded into a compact and strong
vessel.

Again, I say that looks can be deceiving.
Although she is physically small, her personality is anything but. It is
immense, frenetic, and all over the place. She is determined to make something
of herself someday and I have no doubt that she will as long as she can keep her
energy focused rather than getting caught up in wild escapades.

The vitality she exudes can be intense,
drawing all kinds of attention. Her boisterous attitude attracts action like a
moth to a flame. Ha,ha, like that new Janet Jackson song. Anyway, when you hang
out with her you know that things could get interesting before you’re even able
to process what is happening. She sounds like an obnoxious pain in the butt and
she is, but under all of that, Roshell is a funny and amazing friend that I
know I can lean on.

We bounded up to the stadium entrance and
flashed our student IDs at the bored-looking doormen. Amber spotted Kenny and a
few of his upperclassmen buddies by the concession stand. Trying to maintain
our cool factor, we casually headed toward the group. As we drew closer, my
attention homed in on the smell of popcorn and hot dogs and my stomach growled
in response. The pep band fired up. The off-beat trumpets blared at an
unnecessarily loud volume and we gave up all pretense of maturity to belt out the
school’s fight song.

The song thudded to a finish. We glanced at
each other wondering if anyone had noticed our sporadic behavior. Apparently no
one cared, so we shrugged and moved on like nothing had happened.

We melted into Kenny’s little clique just
as the game began, Amber clung to Kenny’s arm.

AMBER:
I kept an eye on Roshell while we mingled with Kenny’s friends.

She was always odd at large social
functions. She would jump in and out of conversations at random while scanning
the surroundings—absorbing everything while focusing on nothing. Her body
seemed to tune in, humming to the energy and excitement going on around her.
Her fingers would be tapping her thighs, or twirling her hair. She looked like
standing still would give her pins and needles. You could grasp her attention
for small spurts and then she would block you out again and continue to ride
the high of being out of her cramped and stifling home routine.

I kept an arm around Kenny and an eye on my
weird little friend. Some mystery guy walked up to Kenny and punched his arm.

“Hey dude, Sup?” said the new guy. And so
the dude talk began.

I turned to watch Roshell’s sudden and
unexpected focus on the situation.

Something inside me just tuned in to the
moment, like a radio that’s slightly off-channel and then you find that perfect
spot on the dial where the music zaps through fluent and clear. My heart sped
up and my mind started taking in the details. Without even being aware, my
brain was already doing a copy and paste, hardwiring the moment to memory.

Mystery Guy was, in a nutshell, Greek god
beautiful. Thick, sun-kissed blonde hair with deeper tones streaked through it
and a slight wave. He had golden brown skin with a stubbly five o’clock shadow
that somehow accented his shockingly blue eyes.

Wow, facial hair,
I thought, sizing him up.
That’s not something I’m usually
into, but it sure worked on him.

Normally an unshaven face on high school
boys made them seem like they had flunked a few too many times and were on the
verge of old and creepy. In this case though, it slightly matured his otherwise
boyishly handsome face. He looked to be about five eleven, pretty average guy
height but tall compared to my five foot frame.

For once I was speechless. Well actually I
thought of a million things to say, but felt like I’d swallowed my tongue.

And just like that, Mystery Guy walked off
with half of the clique toward the parking lot to check out Jacob’s new ride. I
snapped out of the tunnel vision while the sounds and smells of life going on
around me filtered back into my brain. Straightening my posture, bewildered, I
took a deep breath and tried to gather myself together.

“Who in the hell was that?” Amber whispered
in my ear, looking perplexed.

“I don’t know, but I want you to find out.
You gotta grill Kenny. I need details.” I started twirling my hair around my
finger—a nervous habit of mine. “Oh my god, what if he’s joining our school? I
wonder what grade he’s in?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk with Kenny later
tonight, after I get this damn kiss over with.” Amber shifted the subject on a
dime: “Man, that was hella weird how you got all hyper-focused and didn’t even
say one word. Where were the twenty questions you usually hand out?
Who are
you, man? Where’re you from? How do you know Kenny?
”

“Whatever! I was just checking out the situation
is all.” I was a little too defensive.

Amber gave a smirk. “Yeah right. Your eyes
were popping out of your head and I’m pretty sure that you didn’t blink for
like ten minutes straight.”

My face flashed fury, but I paused before I
lashed out. I knew that (a) my friend was just messing with me, and (b) she was
completely right. I busted out laughing and Amber followed suit.

“You’re right, Am! I am such a total dork!
My eyes were practically crossed from staring so hard, huh? Jeez, I hope no one
but you noticed.” I glanced around and spotted my other best friend, Sabrina.
Time to give Am and Kenny some space. I quickly excused myself and ran toward Sabrina.

That night at Amber’s house, Amber sat down
and recounted every juicy detail of her first kiss, gushing over how incredibly
wonderful and sweet it was. As the energy of the night dwindled down, Amber
looked exhausted and drifted off as she rambled incoherently about kisses and
love.

I, however, lay quietly in the dark, my
body still buzzing from the excitement of the day, thinking of Mystery Guy and
if I might get a chance to see him again.

“Man, good thing it was a good hair day,” I
murmured into the dark room, smiling as I too drifted off thinking of possible
future kisses.

The chill of autumn came without warning
that year. One day the weather was toasty and pleasant with the sun’s rays
still warming your skin, the next day the air had a cold bite to it that you
felt in your bones.

Monday morning, I sauntered out to the bus
stop in jeans and a warm hoodie. Glancing down the road I spotted Sabrina
bopping along to her Walkman as she approached.

Sabrina lived on the other side of the
trailer park and although we caught the bus at the same stop it was almost a
year before we eventually became friends. Sabrina was a year older and only had
a few friends. Everyone else got the ‘talk to me and die’ stare from her. She
wasn’t outwardly mean; she just put out that ‘talk to the hand’ vibe.

Six other students met at that bus stop
every morning, but Tina was the only one Sabrina would talk to. And watching
Sabrina talk was entertainment in and of itself. Sometimes I caught myself
openly staring while Sabrina fast-talked, hand gestures punctuating every
detail of the conversation. The more excited she became, the more animated she
was. And the language that came flying out of her mouth was enough to put a
sailor to shame. I would listen, amazed, wondering what kind of crass
description of everyday life I would be witness to on any particular day.

When we first met, I was perplexed as to
why Sabrina had so few friends. She had great skin, high cheekbones and a body
that most models would kill for: about five feet five inches tall with a thin
willowy build. Her hair; a rich sienna brown, straight, shiny and long enough
to graze the top of her butt, and her long, thick eyelashes accented her big
brown eyes. Sabrina was a knockout!

So why didn’t her social life reflect the
way she looked? After a few weeks of the morning bus stop routine, I was pretty
sure that I had solved that little puzzle.

Normally chicks who look that good behave
the way they think they’re meant to. They are typically followers that don’t
want to break any of the social norms that go with all the petty high school
BS... social norms that don’t include describing how Aunt Flo arrived that
morning and how you’re pretty sure that you’re going to hemorrhage to death by
the end of the day. Was she inappropriate? Completely. Was she funny?
Absolutely!

Sabrina just didn’t seem to have that
filter in her brain that said ‘don’t say that out loud’ or the ability to judge
who not to say certain things to. She was quirky. She had a nervous energy that
she channeled into fidgeting and hand gestures, and she had an abrasive,
fuel-injected attitude.

Most people just didn’t know what to make
of her, so they kept their distance.

She in turn felt unapproachable and assumed
that she was either ugly, a freak or maybe a little of both. She honestly
couldn’t see her own beauty.

I thought she was actually pretty hilarious
and liked the fact that she wasn’t another pretty automaton mimicking her way
through life. However, I always kept my distance because I didn’t think Sabrina
wanted anyone to reach out and penetrate that no-nonsense shield.

Then one day, towards the end of my
freshman year, Sabrina was describing to Tina something about walking to the
corner store and sweat dripping down her butt crack, when Tina turned and asked
me about our math homework.

“Hey Roshell, did you finish yesterday’s
assignment?” Even though Tina and Sabrina were a year older they were in the
same remedial math class that I was.

I bit my bottom lip. “Umm, yeah, but I’m
not sure that I did the last four questions correctly.”

“Do you mind if we copy it? Neither one of
us finished it.” Tina watched expectantly while I dug into the black-hole of my
backpack and pulled out the wrinkled assignment.