The Test Page 2

  Vida stepped in a little closer, trying hard not to lead, and she was wearing the most amazing perfume. Like cinnamon. I got lightheaded. She leaned down, we danced cheek to cheek and my knees got weak. I was getting drunk on her fragrance, and her proximity, and the lights, and the music, and we hadn’t even exchanged two words. I had to say something quickly before the song ended or this might be our last dance.

  And then, like a thundering admonition from the gods, I realized, oh Lord, I was becoming aroused. I was standing at attention. A gift of puberty. Something a boy my age had absolutely no control over. An event that occurred at the most inopportune moments.

  Like just before you were called on in French class and Madame Stein wanted you to stand at your desk and prattle off the KLM dialogue of the week. Or walking down the hallway being forced to carry your books slung low. Or even worse and potentially, crushingly embarrassing, now…on the dance floor, dancing my first dance with the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

  If I was discovered, oh God, I could never show my face again. But if Vida knew, she was gracious enough not to let on. I danced stiff-legged, at a distance, and thankfully, it passed, and as the echoed guitar solo wound down, I took the plunge.

  “Can we do it again?”

  “I’d like that,” she replied.

  The band erupted into an upbeat rendition of Love Potion Number Nine. I started dancing the Lindy. I’d seen it on television and had practiced in front of a large mirror that hung in our basement. I was ready to pull out my whole arsenal, if necessary.

  “You’ve got some moves,” Vida said gliding on the floor like a free spirit. Like a Goddess. “I practice with my sister,” she added. “You?”

  “It comes naturally,” I said reaching for cool, failing, and missing a beat. It took me a second to get back in the groove.

  “American Bandstand,” she said sharing a secret. “Teddy and Marlene are my favorites.”

  So we were both fans. Dick Clark hosted the TV show in Philadelphia and had a group of regulars, local teenagers, who danced to the 45s he spun and were the envy of a nationwide viewing audience.

  “I like Donna and Mike,” I finally admitted garnering a giggle from my partner.

  “I thought I was going to have to spend the night dancing with my sister or the twins,” Vida said with an amused expression. “This is more fun.”

  “I told my mother I was smarter than I looked, and lucky too.”

  Vida laughed. It was a light, melodic, self-possessed laugh that stole my breath. And then she said, “We both got lucky.”

  Incredible. This young woman was comfortable in her perfect brown skin. I, on the other hand, hadn’t been comfortable a day in my life.

  But she thought I was funny. I’d take funny. I’d rather have James Bond cool, but who was I kidding? I’d try for another laugh as soon as I could think of something brilliant.

  The song ended, and the dance floor crowd thinned. We agreed to dance again after the break, and I started for my side of the hall, realized my mistake and, ever polite, spun on my heel and escorted Vida back to her side of the room. The twins, Toby and Lisa, said hello and smiled that mischievous smile of theirs. I introduced myself to Vida’s sister, Angela, and then walked back toward my friends. Her sister’s smile was controlled, but she didn’t look too stressed out.

  I had to push through a jostling crowd to get close to Gene and Fryzel and, when I was about ten feet away, a white searing pain knifed into my side. My legs threatened to buckle. I’d been kidney-punched. I gasped for breath, spun around to face my adversary and was confronted by a sea of thick necks and hunched backs.

  “Who the hell did that? Who’s the chicken shit?” I shouted. Nothing. “You fucking pussies!”

  It could have been anyone in their group. I moved quickly to the safety of my friends, rubbing my back with one hand and wiping my stinging watering eyes with the other. I glanced across the room, but Vida seemed to be in a heated discussion with her sister.

  Gene wanted to beat the shit out of someone. He had that look. His cheerleader had snuck a bottle into the dance and he was feeling no pain. Fryzel thought we should leave well enough alone and get out of Dodge. We weren’t the only ones who’d been drinking that night, and the room was taking on a more ominous tone. I was fighting to catch my breath and work through the pain, but my shit-eating grin took the night.

  I wasn’t going to give up the chance for a last dance. Vida and I hadn’t exchanged phone numbers or anything. I was sure the twins had filled her in on my bona fides, but I couldn’t chance it. Gene was happy to stay, and majority ruled. I crossed back to Vida.

  “We don’t have to dance,” she said shyly.

  “Huh?”

  “I saw what happened, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I had no idea she’d been watching.

  “Try and stop me.”

  Back on the dance floor. Little Anthony and The Imperials singing Tears On My Pillow, the best slow dance ever, and the new soundtrack of my movie. I had the starring role and Vida was my leading lady. Bond. James Bond.

  “Why did you come back?” she asked.

  The question totally threw me. I didn’t want to lie now, it didn’t feel right. I just wasn’t used to the truth.

  “Uh, to dance.” Brilliant, Jack.

  “The twins think you’re cute,” Vida said and smiled, studying my face.

  “Huh.” I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t up to asking what she thought. Instead I told her, “I saw you in the commons, before third period, a few times.”

  That elicited a laugh that wasn’t at my expense and didn’t make me defensive.

  “I know, my first day of school, everyone else was staring, but you smiled at me.”

  And then, miracle of miracles, she offered, “I wasn’t going to come tonight. Until the twins told me you’d be here.”

  I almost levitated off the dance floor. Before I could respond, Vida’s sister cut in.

  “We’re going to Nathan’s,” she said. “Want to join us?”

  “No!” we both said at the same time.

  Angela rolled her eyes, amused.

  Vida stood firm, eyebrows raised.

  Angela glanced around the dance floor. Satisfied all was cool she instructed, “Make sure Vida gets home safe, Jack. All the way home.”

  I agreed, too quickly and too many times, and then the twins winked, waved and were gone. We were alone again. Slow dancing. Full-blown bliss.

  Little Anthony was singing about pain in his heart, when Fryzel rushed over in a panic.

  “Jack, you’ve got to leave…now. No shit. I heard some crazy talk. Go! Now!”

  I read the fear in Vida’s eyes; she nodded her head yes. I took her lead and we were on the move across the dance floor, hearts thumping. We grabbed our coats and were out the door and walking briskly down Grand Avenue before the song ended.

  •

  I kept one eye out behind us, until I was sure we were all clear and, when we had safely covered enough ground, we slowed our pace.

  “That was so not cool,” I shouted angrily, masking my fear as the beating of my heart slowly returned to normal.

  “Welcome to my world,” Vida said without any anger.

  I wasn’t sure I understood, and she read my confusion.

  “It wasn’t like this for my family in Queens. If you had gone to a dance in my neighborhood, you would have been one of the only white faces in the crowd.”

  “How would that have worked out?”

  “Couldn’t have been much worse.”

  I had to laugh. How could you argue with that?

  “And my junior high was in Jamaica Estates,” she went on. “The neighborhood was white, but there were kids from all different backgrounds. It wasn’t like here.”

  “Huh. It has to be hard for you, I mean, living here in Baldwin.”

  “It gets lonely sometimes. I miss my friends. It’s hard to ignore the stares.”

  “
How do you deal with it? I’d go crazy mad.”

  She gave that some thought before answering.

  “I try and look at each new experience as an opportunity. And people can change,” she said naively.

  “Maybe.” I wasn’t convinced.

  We drifted into silence and strolled past the bowling alley and the library before we spoke again but, once we started, it was adrenalin fueled and rapid fire.

  We had both grown up with the same number of boys and girls in our families. Three sisters and one brother. What were the odds? We both grew up with a lot of yelling, craziness, and drama. We both felt that suburban life was filled with hypocrites and liars. Had I finally met my match?

  Vida was going to college, like her mother and father, and her grandmothers before her. She was fierce and determined, and I didn’t doubt her for a second.

  I was just trying to get through high school.

  Passing Carvel we agreed that it was too cold for ice cream, but chocolate-dipped pistachio was our favorite flavor. Could life get any better?

  A ’59 blue Chevy Impala with white scoops rumbled past and someone may have shouted something out the window, but we were too wrapped up in each other’s words and stories to care.

  Vida’s family lived near Brookside, so we made a right onto Stanton Avenue. The lights of Grand Avenue faded behind, and the dark fall night enveloped us.

  The wind was biting cold now, and the pools of streetlight seemed to dance as we walked through them and over the uneven concrete sidewalk. It caused us to bump into each other more than once, and we laughed shyly, but the contact was electric and left us feeling giddy. I wanted to reach out and grab hold of Vida’s hand, but I thought that might be pushing my luck so I slid my hands inside my navy-blue pea coat and tried my best to look nonchalant.

  We continued on past middle-class suburban homes, some faced in brick, others in white clapboards. Some had enclosed front porches and most were locked up tight for the night, lights out. We could hear the sound of a few barking dogs, distant car horns and laughter. Youthful revelers returning home from the dance.

  In the same instant that I saw the blue Impala parked up the street, I heard a tree branch snap behind me.

  “Run!” I shouted, and then felt a blinding flash of pain as something hard smashed into the back of my head. Vida’s screams amidst strange vicious laughter seemed to echo as my feet slipped from under me on the black ice, and I lurched forward falling toward the sidewalk. It seemed to take an eternity.

  I heard Gene Molloy’s angry voice over the derisive laughter and struggled to free my hands that were hopelessly caught in my pockets. I tried to roll into the fall but slammed head first onto the frozen concrete.

  •

  I woke up on my parents’ couch with Doctor LaBarbara staring down with his signature all-knowing, compassionate smile and my parents and sisters standing vigil. It took me a moment to realize where I was and then to remember what had happened.

  “There are better ways to stop a fall than with your noggin,” the good doctor joked.

  I tried to sit up, felt lightheaded and fell back onto a bedroom pillow that had been propped up on the living room couch.

  “Where’s Vida?” I cried.

  “Oh, I never got her name. Your friend’s fine,” my mother said, forcing a smile to cover her genuine concern. “Gene was there and got into a fight with one of the other boys, and Greg knocked on the Friedman’s door and called the police. Thank God they were home, that’s all I’ve got to say. They walked your friend—Vida, was that her name?—to her house, and she’s safe and sound. You gave us a real scare, honey.”

  My father stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back, clearly worried.

  My sisters all had tears in their eyes and for a moment I really felt the love.

  Doctor LaBarbara was an old-school general practitioner. He had empathetic brown eyes, a thick mat of black hair on his head, and surprisingly thick hair on his arms, the back of his hands, and fingers. Thankfully, he still made house calls. He was the attending physician the day I was born, showed up at the house when I was down with the flu, and was there on this night to administer ten stitches to the back of my head and apply a large butterfly bandage to my forehead. I was going to look cool at school.

  The doorbell rang and my youngest sister, Debbie, ran to let in Gene Malloy, who was red faced and wild eyed. Pumped from the attack.

  “Hey Jack, you’re still among the living.”

  His tone was light, but he looked relieved to see me sitting up.

  “That tub of lard, Clancy, bashed you with a full bottle of beer.”

  Gene turned to my dad referring to me. “He does have a thick skull, right Mr. Morgan?”

  My father nodded in agreement, smiling self-consciously, knowing he’d just been quoted and feeling guilty his prescient warning to me earlier in the evening had more than come to pass.

  Gene was on a roll. “I thought he killed you. He was going to kick you while you were down, but I didn’t give him the chance. How many fingers do I have up?” Gene extended three fingers, changed to four and then back to three.

  “Funny,” I said grinning while Gene addressed the room.

  “Hi, Mrs. Morgan. Diane, Debbie, Bobbie. Doctor LaBarbara.”

  Greetings done, he regaled me with the details. Clancy was the football player who had stomped on my foot earlier in the evening. Obviously, no mistake. He and a few of his Neanderthal friends had followed us from the dance and set up the ambush. Fryzel rallied the neighbors while Gene occupied stupid. His friends were too chicken to continue the attack while their leader was getting his ass kicked. Cowards all.

  He told me Vida was hysterical but stayed by my side until my parents and the police arrived. What a girl. Vida gave a statement and then Gene and Fryzel walked her the rest of the way home.

  “Her parents didn’t look all that happy to see us,” Gene said incredulously. “They almost slammed the door in our faces after I told them what had happened and that there were police involved. I heard her father yelling some as we left.”

  “They were probably just scared,” I offered.

  “Yeah, well, maybe that was it.” Gene was not buying my argument. “Greg had to run home. He said his father would kick his ass if he was any later. Oh, sorry, Mrs. Morgan.”

  My mother smiled, letting Gene off the hook. I wasn’t that lucky. “What were you doing walking alone with that girl?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

  “We’re friends. I was just walking her home.” I let the that girl comment pass.

  “Oh?” my father mustered, sounding mildly confused. “I wasn’t aware you knew the family.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know everything about me,” I spat out defensively. Like I said, the entire town of Baldwin was aware of that family.

  The doctor knew where the conversation was heading and had the good sense to change the subject. “You should lay low for a few days and give that head of yours a chance to heal. You don’t mind missing a few days of school, do you, Jack?” His smile was a tonic and always worked its magic. The entire room relaxed.

  “Well, if you insist,” I said with a weak grin, knowing I’d milk my injuries for all they were worth.

  Debbie wanted to know if my head hurt bad, and I nodded yes. Diane, my middle sister, stared puppy-eyed at Gene while handing me an ice pack for my forehead that had more than met its match with the sidewalk. Bobbie, the oldest, was looking at me with the strangest mixture of pride and love I had ever experienced.

  Doctor LaBarbara packed his black leather medical bag, then my parents walked him to his car.

  Bobbie lured Debbie and a reluctant Diane into the kitchen to give us some space.

  Gene leaned in close smelling of beer and vodka. His eyes now narrowed in anger. “That prick Clancy’ll be eating his dinner through a straw till summer.” Then he winked, and handed me a folded piece of paper with Vida’s name, phone number, and address
written in light blue ink and beautiful script. “You better watch your back, Jack. There are some pretty pissed-off people out there, if you know what I mean.”

  “Thanks, Gene,” I said, and it was heartfelt. “But to all those people out there…Fuck ’em,” I added a little too loud, and we howled. He showed me the top of a beer bottle he had hidden in his overcoat pocket.

  “Clancy’s?” I asked.

  He grinned a yes. We’d share the spoils of war after my parents went upstairs to bed. It seemed righteous.

  •

  I called Vida first thing in the morning. Her mother answered on the third ring. After I said who I was, she calmly yet coldly told me it was probably “best for all involved” if I didn’t have any more contact with her daughter, then quietly hung up the phone before I could protest.

  I banged the heavy receiver into the cradle of the black wall phone just as my father walked into the kitchen. He snapped a finger toward our grey-flecked Formica kitchen table.

  “How’s the head?” he asked giving me the once over. His tone was very serious, which always made me uneasy.

  “Hurts.”

  “Yeah. Makes sense,” he said almost wistfully.

  I wasn’t sure he was still talking about my head.

  “What were you thinking?” he finally asked, tight.

  “What?”

  “You scared the hell out of your mother and me,” his volume rising.

  “Sorry,” I answered, dripping sarcasm, waiting for the hammer to drop. “Stuff happens.”

  My father sucked an angry breath through clenched teeth. “Stuff happens? What? You got rocks in your head, Jack? You’re playing with fire here.”

  “But she’s beautiful.”

  “So’s your mother! Sometimes that’s not enough!”

  “What?”

  “What!” he shouted over me, unraveling. “You’ve got your whole life in front of you. You don’t need the distraction. Buckle down, Jack. Get into a good college and there’ll be plenty of beautiful girls.”