Chapter Seven
 

Her jacket felt miserable against her skin. It had itched all day, her inclination to rip it off edged out only by her resolve to keep all eyes on her. They loved the jacket, the fringe that swung off the elbows just like Sloane’s on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. That’s what she couldn’t remotely figure out about the children she was constantly surrounded by: how they could be so easily swayed.

“It’s a gift,” her own mother told her once. They had been in their old pea-green Mercedes wagon, windows rolled down and the wind in their hair. Her mother had Stevie Nicks blasting on the radio, and they sang “Rhiannon” until their throats ached. How terrible the anomaly, Denise thought then and thought now, sitting next to a woman who was free only within the confines of her car. The windows were rolled back up and the radio turned off before they even hit their street.

“It’s a gift,” she remembered her mother’s voice again. “It’s a gift when you get a little time for yourself.” And there, parked in the driveway, she scanned the front of their house for signs of something Denise couldn’t see. Her mother’s blonde hair was so hard from crop dusting it with Aqua Net. She reapplied the lipstick and smudged the remnants off her white teeth. Old pictures always told another story. Lucy McGovern had once been mousy-haired and somewhat dowdy. But at least there was a smile Denise always longed to see.

“Can’t you have time for yourself all the time?” Denise asked. She didn’t feel greedy asking it. Her mother had enough restraint for them both. 

“Oh—oh,” her mother laughed, but still, it wasn’t like the smile in her old photos. It looked more like suffering and sounded a lot like “no.”

Something inside Denise had always balked at that moment. It was a memory she freshly restored every so often and kept displayed on the mantle in her mind. She loved Lucy McGovern, more than she thought was logically allowed. But Denise had lived a small lifetime becoming something much different.

Her back against the brick wall of Central High School, she breathed in air and pretended it was a drag off a cigarette. She’d been trying to quit. It was a nasty habit, but that wasn’t the reason. Nobody cared that she smoked. In fact, the whole lot of goons who stole her air seemed to like that she did. But Denise had no control over the way it made her feel and that scared her.

The front double doors opened. Her heart quickened, but it was just one of the frazzled freshman teachers who seemed to be visibly contemplating leaving and never coming back. She didn’t like this feeling either and tried to wave away the idea that maybe there was something deeply sick inside her for how Jamal always made her feel. Or maybe it’s the fact that you can’t have him. The thought ran wayward, and she chased it, suffocated it before she could agree with it.

“Well, here I am,” Jamal said, appearing without warning. Something kicked in, and Denise did her best impression of the girl she never stopped playing.

“Took you long enough. Let’s walk,” she said, taking the lead. They walked the concrete paths from the front of the building to the sidewalk off South Park Street. Everyone had gone home, so it was just them and the open-eyed windows of the houses across the street. Denise looked at one accusing her from behind its awning.

“I need to get home.” Jamal tugged his black backpack. She caught his profile and tried not to choke on her breath.

“Look, I know it’s been forever. I know I hurt you.”

“Well, good news about time healing all wounds. You’re forgiven, Denise McGovern. I absolve you,” Jamal said, making the sign of the cross over her. The sun beamed behind him, and it was hard to tell where Jamal began, and his shadow ended. She thought about her sins and how not even Jamal could help her now.

“I don’t need to be forgiven. I need you to use your head. You know me, Jamal. You were my best friend. I can’t watch you waste your life.”

“You know nothing about my life, Denise. You’re too busy piling up bodies and climbing the mound. You have no idea who I am anymore.” Jamal turned slightly, and his face was no longer in shadow. She wanted to turn away from him. She didn’t want him to see her eyes.

“I know you’re wasting it on that girl. I know tramps like her, Jamal. I’m sorry, but she’ll find a way to keep you here. You want that? You want to work at the Timex factory like your dad? Anette would never want this for you.” She was taking a chance mentioning his mother. But it felt like fair game considering Anette had mothered her more than Lucy ever had. It was hard raising a child while raising an addiction. Denise sometimes wondered if she changed her name to “Valium,” if Lucy would pay attention to her more.

“My mother is dead, Denise. What she wants isn’t even on the table. But what I want is. And what I want is to be happy with my girlfriend and raise our kid and have a job that pays and maybe just a small glimpse of what normal feels like. Not everyone’s like you. Not everyone has to have the best of everything and bonus points if you can make someone miserable in the process. I just want to be happy, Denise, and happiness has nothing to do with how you’ve imagined my life for me.”

“Kid?” Denise asked. She stubbed her toe against it and couldn't shake off the sting. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jamal bit at his lower lip. He messed up, and he knew it. Think, Denise.

“Okay, no. You’re right. I don’t know you anymore, and I’m sorry. But you were my best friend, Jamal, and I don’t want to see you choose something that can ruin who you’re meant to be. You’re so talented. You should be going to college with me, not rotting away here. Think about what your future could be. And I know you think you have to step up and solve somebody else’s problem, but how do you know the kid’s even yours? You can’t trust trailer trash, J,” she said, resorting to his nickname. There was an instant where his eyes focused on the future she couldn’t see. It felt like watching a fish swim to the hook. But just as quickly, it changed course.

“What I might want or at least what I always thought I wanted isn’t necessarily what’s best for everyone, Denise. I know, mind blowing concept.” He turned and left her there to stare at the back of him growing smaller down the sidewalk. She felt everything, including her jacket that was eating her skin. She ripped it off. She stomped on it. She made a hopeless sound like a kitten desperately trying to find its mother’s teat. Her breath eluded her as she bent over, hands on knees and ignored the prying glass eyes of the houses lining the street across from her.

She found her car in the student parking lot, throwing her dirty jacket, backpack, and purse in the back seat. Pregnant. Denise laughed, and then it came to her like an overwhelming need to vomit because none of it made sense. Jamal was gay.

She popped in the tape of Stevie Nicks she had recorded off the radio, and Denise screamed “Rhiannon” at the top of her lungs, but nobody was there to listen.