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Life was so simple then, even for me. My mother had been safely tucked away in a sanitarium for years and even though the scar on my face was a constant reminder of her hatred toward me, I felt safe because I knew she wouldn’t be sneaking into my bedroom to finish killing me. For years after “the event,” I wondered why she hadn’t simply taken my life. It was clear that she was not prepared to take care of a child, and while I understood that she was forced to have sex with Uncle Donald, that didn’t give her just cause to disfigure me.
Most of us had snuck in to see Rambo: First Blood Part II over the weekend. It was the big picture for the weekend. Back then, movie theaters weren’t tripping so hard on kids seeing R-rated movies. The Breakfast Club had come out for Valentine’s Day Weekend that year and Cherie, Bianca, and I had gone to see it.
We pretty much had Cherie’s house to ourselves, as usual. Her father was indeed a workaholic. He had his own garage and worked on cars daily, even on the holidays. He only had two workers and neither one spoke good English, so he didn’t want to miss out on any possible money by leaving them in charge. They were beasts when it came to fixing cars, but giving estimates and explaining what was wrong to people was a challenge. Cherie told me that he was seeking a bilingual mechanic so he could take some time off.
Cherie’s mother was a trip. Best way for me to describe her. She was afraid to embrace her aging. She dressed young, acted young, and was completely irresponsible when it came to parenting. She rarely cooked, but she would go grocery shopping. She wanted to be in control of the finances. Cherie’s father would bring home the money, or put it in the bank, and her mother would write the checks and spend it. She was out shopping somewhere that day. She was always shopping and returning home with her Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z packed to the brim with bags. Half the stuff ended up staying in the bags and shoved into corners and closets throughout the house.
Michael emerged from the back door carrying a twelve-pack of Coca-Cola and a bag of ice. He had made a run to the corner store to replenish our supply.
“?’Bout damn time,” Herman said, getting the naps out his fade with a hair pick. “I thought I was going to have to come find you.”
“Man, you should have seen these honies at Quick Stop. They were phat as all get-out. They go to Mays.”
Herman smirked. “Don’t no high school babes want to roll with you, shorty.”
Michael was still short back then. Herman was taller than all the girls in school, but Michael hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. He would later shoot up within the next couple of years, but at that moment, he looked more like nine than twelve.
I got up off the lounge chair that I was sitting in, trying to stay in the shade, and decided to help out. “You want me to put ice in the cups?” I asked Michael.
“Yes, do your woman’s work,” he replied jokingly.
He ended up helping me while Bianca flirted with most of the boys there. This was well before Herman and Bianca hooked up in high school. Michael had confided in me that he liked Cherie, but she wasn’t feeling him at all. Not until he was tall and his dick had grown several inches.
“You still want to go to the pool next weekend?” I asked him. “The passes are almost sold out for the summer. I need two more dollars to get mine, but I can ask Grandma.”
“I’ve got you on the two dollars, Caprice.” Michael hit the bag of ice on the side of a picnic table to bust it up some more. “I’m doing that paper route, remember?”
“I know, but I hate to take your money.”
Michael put down the ice and then sat on the edge of the table. “It’s cool. All the rest of us have parents, or at least a mother in my case. Your grandma’s sick and all. Two dollars isn’t a big deal.”
Michael and I were actually kind of friends. Grandma started allowing me to have company sometimes, after Momma was put away. He used to come by and play Super Mario Brothers, Gauntlet, and Xanadu with me. My video game system was on its last leg—along with my television—but we still had fun. I didn’t like him, either, not as a boyfriend. Besides, I didn’t want to get my feelings hurt. Even though boys were nice to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around one of them actually believing I was pretty; not with that hideous scar.
“Thanks, Michael.”
* * *
Time slipped by while we had fun listening to music and eating hot dogs, hamburgers, and consuming sugary drinks. Before I realized it, it was dark and Grandma didn’t play that.
“Can someone walk me home? I’m afraid of the dark.”
Several kids were coupled up and slow dragging to “Smooth Operator” by Sade. Yeah, they were fast as all get-out. People think the newer generation is doing more than previous ones. Such is not the case. People were feeling all over each other, dry humping and some were even fucking in middle school in the eighties; probably the sixties and forties as well.
Michael was dancing with this loose hot tamale named Olive. He didn’t even hear me ask. Herman was also all up on some girl, and the only other boy who I ever really spoke to at the party was Jonovan. He had arrived late because he had a lacrosse game earlier that day. While other boys in the neighborhood were playing typical sports like football, baseball, and soccer, Jonovan was the most valuable player on his lacrosse team. Our school didn’t belong to a league, but his parents transported him to the better part of town to play. He was so good that the league paid all his fees. His father was of the belief that he should not have to pay to play organized sports. He was that good.
Jonovan was sitting down over by an oak tree on a makeshift bench that was actually a piece of a tree trunk that had been chopped down. People made out however they could back then. If a dead tree had to come down, parts of it were going to be utilized for one damn thing or another.
I walked over to him. “Hey, Jonovan.”
“Hey, Caprice. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Just wondering if you wouldn’t mind walking me home. My grandma’s going to sound the alarm and call the police if I don’t get back soon and I’m scared of the dark.”
“I’ve got my bike. You mind riding on the back of it?”
“How am I going to do that when you only have one seat?”
“I stand up and pedal. You’ve never ridden like that before?”
