Sorta Like a Rock Star (24 page)

Joan of Old doesn’t squeeze my hand at all.

I can still hear her breathing.

“I’m starting to think that you are right about life, Joan. Maybe it’s all meaningless? I mean—I still dig JC and all. I still pray, and I still believe in certain people. But that guy who killed my mom—he’s not human, and he scares me, because he
is
human, and yet he did what he did, which will never make sense, no matter how long I think about it. It’s so random. So vile. It makes me get why you are so mean and cranky. I bet you weren’t like that before your husband died, right?”

Suddenly, Joan of Old squeezes my hand and scares the hell out of me.

“Why are you telling me these things?” Joan asks.

“Were you awake that whole time?”

“Yes.”

“You rotten old lady! Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I’m gathering information for our last battle—when I will finally make you cry.”

“You can’t be that evil,” I say.

Joan of Old smiles up at me from her pillow, and her wrinkly pink eyelids bore through my forehead.

I shiver.

“Why’d you really come in here, Amber?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Are you going to die?”

“We all die eventually,” Joan of Old says. “That’s just about the only thing God got right.”

“Okay,” I say, “I think I’m going to leave now.”

“When do we battle next? My doctors say I could die any day now.”

“Sorry, I’m retired,” I say.

“You have to give me one last shot at the title.”

Suddenly, Joan of Old just seems too absurd for me to handle, so I walk out of the room.

“Amber? Amber?
Amber?
” Joan of Old says as I walk down the hall with Old Man Linder.

“What did the old broad say to you?” he asks me, dragging his oxygen bottle behind him.

“She faked like she was sleeping so I would tell her personal things that she could use against me the next time we battle.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

“Because I’m retired?”

“Because she’s going to die any day now. And ding dong the wicked witch will be dead.”

“You know what’s the weirdest thing about that?”

“What?” Old Man Linder asks.

“I’ll miss her.”

“I miss everyone from my past, Amber. I really do. It’s the curse of old age.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence, and just before we reenter the common room, I say, “Will you and Old Man Thompson sing one of your songs at The Bobby Big Boy Variety Show?”

“No one wants to hear two old men sing forgotten songs, Amber. Especially one who needs bottled oxygen to breathe. Singing’s a young person’s game. Who would want to hear me sing?”

“I would.”

Old Man Linder smiles at me all grandfatherly, but his eyes get misty and sad.

When he doesn’t say anything, I give Old Man Linder a kiss on the cheek, and then—in the common room—I make the rounds with BBB, allowing everyone to check out his scar while they give him a pet on the head.

And then B Thrice and I are walking through the depressing hallways with the dusty plants.

“How’d it go in there today?” DWL says.

“Okay. Even though he said he didn’t want to do it, I’m hoping Old Man Linder will change his mind and he’ll sing at The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show. That would be pretty cool.”

“Who asked him to sing?”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you ask
me
to sing?”

“Do you sing?”

“You kiddin’ me? I’m a pro. I got me a band and everything. They’re called The Hard-Working Brothers. We do weddings mostly, but we play clubs too.”

“What type of music?”

“Mostly R & B. I’m known for my Aretha Franklin impersonation—but I do The Supremes, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, all the big names.”

I cross myself, and then say, “DWL. You’re a diva?”

“Girl—I bring the roof down whenever I sing. I just work this job for the health insurance.”

Suddenly, I understand that Father Chee’s prayers are being answered—that JC has sent me and the KDFCs a diva. Word.

“Are you for real?” I ask.

DWL laughs and hands me her card. It reads:

Sister Lucy and The Hard-Working Brothers

There is a phone number underneath.

I explain my relationship with The Korean Divas for Christ, our asking JC to send us a true diva front woman, and then, like a frickin’ maniac, I pedal Donna’s bike all the way to Father Chee’s church, telling everyone I pass that I hope they’re having a great day, and when I get there, I bang on the door until FC opens.

“Amber, what brings you here today on a—”

“I found us a true diva!” I say, and then hand him DWL’s card.

Father Chee reads the card and then smiles knowingly. “So Jesus has sent us a diva.”

“Hell yeah,” I say.

“I will take care of everything,” Father Chee says, and then jogs me and BBB in-a-basket back to my neighborhood, only I don’t go home after FC turns around—BBB and I go to Private Jackson’s house.

After so much time with people—I’m tired.

I’m not used to people.

I’ve been alone in a room for two months.

This is all baptism by fire.

I want to go somewhere I can just be—where I can chill and process the miracle of finding a true diva for The KDFCs.

I stash Donna’s bike around the back of PJ’s house and knock on PJ’s door with BBB in my arms.

“Come in, please,” PJ says while scratching Bobby Big Boy’s head. “I’ll put on tea.”

I put B Thrice on the floor inside of the door, and even though he had surgery not so long ago, he tears ass toward the bedroom. I’m a little worried about those stitches, but then I just sit down on the couch figuring Bobby Big Boy knows his own limitations.

A few minutes later, Private Jackson hands me a steaming cup of tea.

We sip in silence for a time.

I put my cup down on the coffee table, stand, pull an origami swan from my pocket, and hand it to PJ.

“It’s beautiful,” PJ says. “It’s perfect.”

“Open it up,” I say.

“No, I want to let it be—just as it—”

“I’ll fold you up another one. There’s a haiku inside.”

PJ nods and then unfolds my origami swan.

He reads my latest haiku for like—an hour, nodding and rubbing his chin.

“Do you like it?” I finally ask.

He looks up at me and says, “It is perfect. Will you do a reading for me?”

“You serious?” I ask.

“I would very much like to hear you read this haiku.”

I take the piece of paper from him, and read.

“We cry together—on the couch for different—reasons, but it helps.”

“I will hang it on the wall now,” PJ says, taking the paper from me.

“But it’s not about a dog.”

PJ smiles, tapes my haiku to the blank spot on the final living room wall, and then says, “I like you, Amber Appleton, just as much as I like dogs. And I like dogs better than people.”

“And I like you, Private Jackson, just as much as I like dogs.”

“We are very lucky then,” he says, and we both sit there smiling and sipping green tea for a half hour.

BBB and Ms. Jenny come out of the bedroom all glassy-eyed and wobbly, but BBB seems to be smiling, so I laugh and say, “You can’t keep a good dog down, eh, BBB?”

I pick B3 up in my arms, kiss the furry spot between his ears, and then tell PJ I gotta go.

“I will wash the teacups,” he says.

Outside, I put BBB in Donna’s bike basket, and he’s asleep before I pedal one block.

CHAPTER 56

For the next two weeks I work on my prom dress, which I am going to wear when I emcee The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show, so—in an effort to finish in time—I start going to the Life Skills room before and after school.

Franks and The Five hold auditions for the variety show.

Door Woman Lucy and the Hard-Working Brothers meet with Father Chee and The KDFCs.

Kids I don’t even know sell tickets door-to-door.

Mrs. Baxter collects money.

Mr. Valerie sells advertisements and puts together the program.

And I take BBB to see Ms. Jenny every single day.

I drink tea with Private Jackson—and I fill that blank spot on the last wall of his living room.

Everything is moving toward something—but I’m sorta in a daze.

Sometimes I think I see my mother.

Whenever I see a school bus—my heart leaps.

When I see a bleach-blonde in a crowd.

When I close my eyes at night.

When Donna kisses me, sometimes I pretend, and I get to feeling really badly about my wishing Donna was my mom—back when Mom was actually alive.

I wonder if Mom’s death was God answering that wish.

I wonder.

I feel guilty a lot.

I sweat through the nights.

I shiver through the days.

The only thing I really like doing—believe it or not—is drinking green tea with Private Jackson. Sipping in complete silence, surrounded by my haikus.

CHAPTER 57

On the day of The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show—before school—I finish my prom dress. It is a silver sleeveless with an empire waist and a scoop neck that shows off what little cleavage I got. When I try it on, my Life Skills teacher, Mrs. Tyler, says, “It’s the best prom dress ever made in this classroom. A-plus.”

I smile at her and begin to look forward to wearing it later.

All day, students smile at me dramatically and say, “See you tonight, Amber,” way too much.

I mean, I’m all about a good variety show, but it seems like people are really going nuts for The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show.

Too nuts.

I skip lunch, and go right to The Franks Lair.

When I enter, thirty students stop speaking and turn to face me.

Total frickin’ silence.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“We’re finalizing tonight’s plan,” Franks says.

“Cool,” I say.

From Das Boot, Chad says, “If you come in right now, it’s going to ruin the surprises.”

“Surprises—plural?” I ask.

“Come on, Amber,” Jared says. “Just trust us.”

“Am I still emceeing?” I ask.

“All’s you have to do is show up at the auditorium at six forty-five,” Ty says.

“What time does the show start?”

“Eight,” Franks says. “See you then.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling quite weird and a little embarrassed by how little I have had to do with the preparation.

I chill outside for a bit, and then finish up my school day.

Ty drives Ricky and me to Donna’s, and after I take BBB out—I actually take a nap. I’m always tired lately. Naps are becoming my favorite. Word.

I wake up to Donna yelling, “We have to get you to the auditorium in less than an hour!”

So I get up and shower.

Makeup is applied.

Hair is blown dry.

Silver prom dress is put on my pre-woman body.

Red pumps are put on my nasty feet.

Prayer is said to JC—with much conviction and hope. “Please help everyone to be who they need to be tonight! Amen!”

Ricky is wearing a tuxedo.

“You look dapper, Ricky!”

“Amber Appleton is wearing a silver dress!”

“Are you ready for this?” Donna asks, and I nod once.

Amber Appleton, Bobby Big Boy, and Ricky Roberts are driven to the CPHS auditorium in Donna’s Mercedes with the heated seats on.

When we arrive, there is this huge line to get into the auditorium. There are no seat numbers, so if you want a good seat, you have to line up early.

We have to walk past this line to get to the stage.

When the crowd sees me, they actually start cheering—as if I were a rock star.

No bull.

There are hundreds of people lined up—all looking at me with these really sympathetic eyes.

We pass a section of Korean people—maybe forty of them.

We pass a group of women who look a lot like Door Woman Lucy.

And we pass a lot of Childress citizens.

Halfway up the line, some reject starts chanting, “Amber! Amber! Amber!”

All of the morons in line start doing the chant, and I start to blush.

When I notice that Donna is also chanting, I elbow her and say, “Stop.”

She laughs at me and keeps on chanting—like a complete dork.

When we get to the front of the line, Ricky heads into the auditorium, and I start to cry.

The first person in line is Private Jackson.

He’s in a yellow button-down shirt, like always.

He has his ticket in his hand—as if he’s some excited kid waiting to get into a ball game.

He’s smiling at me all proud of himself.

I know this is the first time he’s been out in public—besides walking Ms. Jenny and getting groceries—probably since he came home from ’Nam.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

BBB licks PJ’s hand.

PJ pets BBB’s head, and says, “I wanted a front row seat, so I came early.”

“How did you even know about this?” I ask, because I never told him about The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show.

“A boy with a beard, he came to my house and told me that you would appreciate it if I came tonight. So I came. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”