Becca (13 page)

“No.”

“Really? No?” She giggled.
“The reason being?”

“The same one you gave
me. I don’t know how to answer that.”

“
Touché.
Well this
was certainly a waste of time.”

“You mean—”

“Let’s talk about
something else.” She rubbed her leg and stared at him in the dark. He looked
out of the windshield. He seemed relaxed, not at all phased by her suggestive
words. She thought at that moment that she wanted him very badly. And that
thought made her uncomfortable.

“So how long have you and
Greg been going together?” he asked suddenly.

“Fourteen months I think
it is. But we’ve known each other a lot longer.”

“And you just now found
out he was queer?”

“Gay.”

“It took you fourteen
months to find out he was happy?”

“Josh, please.”

“Sorry.”

“I suspected. But—it
didn’t matter.”

“So why does it matter
now?”

“Gee you don’t listen.
Let me review it with you: we both want the same thing. We both want
boyfriends. Don’t you
laugh.
I want a real relationship. Don’t you?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You’re not
sure?
You want me to stop my search for you?”

“I don’t see why not. You
sure haven’t found anybody yet. It seems like a waste of time.”

She voiced a frustrated
grunt. “I’ve got to say that sometimes I think you’ve got cement up here
instead of bone.” She tapped his head lightly. She laughed and her hand ruffled
his thick curly hair. Her fingers lingered a moment to twirl his hair between
them. “Love your hair.”

“Really?”

“You seem surprised.”

“Yes. No one’s ever said
that—well, except for my mom.” He relished Becca’s touch. He was aware of her
gaze. Her perfume enveloped him. He was becoming aroused.

Becca cleared her throat.
The tension in the car was like a wall between them. Neither moved; neither
gave in to whatever they may have been feeling.

“Josh,” Becca said, “look
at me.”

She let her hand rest on
his head and then it slid to the back of his neck. The creamy softness of her
fingertips sent a chill along his spine.

The light came on as
Becca used her hand to turn his head toward her. She folded her hands demurely in
her lap now. “What do you think of me? Or I should say
do
you think of
me?”

Bert smiled. “I do think
about you.”

Becca’s eyes gleamed. Leaning
toward him, she said, “You are—”

She did not finish. Headlights
burst upon them, blinding them. The car coming down the track seemed to
hesitate before proceeding. It stopped where the other car had been.

“Oh, crap,” Becca said, as
she turned off the light and slipped on her shoes.

“What’s wrong?” Bert
asked.

“That’s my girlfriend,
Barb.” Becca started the car as the light came on in the other car and the
passenger door opened.

Bert recognized the girl
he had seen with Becca at the theater. She stood at the car door, watching
Becca’s car.

“Crap,” Becca said when
the girl started walking toward them.

“Becca?” Barb’s voice
floated to them. The driver of her car got out, lit a cigarette, and watched
them over the car’s roof. “Becca!” Barb bent over to look in the driver’s
window. “Who are you with? That’s not Greg.”

“Hi, Barb,” Becca said
flatly, like a child caught doing something wrong.

Barb peered into the car,
trying to see in the darkness who sat beside her friend. “You’re going to get
it,” Barb said, “once Greg finds out. Turn the light on. I want to see who it
is.”

“Does it matter?” Becca
said.

“Yeah, let me see who he
is.”

“Barb, we’re going to
leave.”

Barb jogged around to the
passenger side of the car and leaned into the window. “Oh my God.
Him!
Oh,
you are in such trouble.”

“Barb, cut it out.”

“What were you guys doing
here?”

“Talking, that’s all.”

“Sure you were. Oh,
Becca, Greg’s gonna
kill
you.”

“Only if he finds out.”

“What’s your name?” Barb
asked Bert.

He was about to answer
when Becca put the car in gear. “We’re leaving, Barb.”

“Wait a minute, I won’t
say anything. Chuck won’t either.”

“We’re going, Barb.”

“Becca, no, don’t let us
run you off.”

“Good
night
, Barb.”
Becca eased the car forward.

Barb stood back, staring
at her with her hands on her hips.

Becca gained the main
road before speaking. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I can’t imagine what’s
going to happen now.”

“What do you mean?”

“When my father finds
out.”

“Now you know why I don’t
date. Fathers—black, white, yellow, red it doesn’t matter—they don’t want their
daughters around me.”

“Stop it, Josh.”

“It’s true. You’re going
to be in trouble with your father because of me.”

“No, I won’t. I mean,
yes, I’ll be in trouble with my father—but not
just
because of you.” She
sighed. “I know some people can’t accept this—they couldn’t before. And I
didn’t care before and I don’t care now.”

“Before?”

She shook her head and waved her hands in
front of her. “Never mind. I’m not going to talk about that.”

VIII

They drove to Bert’s
house where the light in the living room shone. Bert knew his mother awaited
his return and a report of how his first date went.

“Your mother is waiting
up for you again,” Becca said.

“Yeah. Let’s not stop
right now.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t feel like
going through her third degree.”

“Oh, you get that too? My
father interrogates me all the time.”

“It’s not interrogation
so much as she’s just—well, she can be a pain in the ass some times.”

“All parents can be.”

“My mom worries about me.
She thinks I’m miserable because I don’t do anything and don’t have any friends
here.”

“You said you didn’t date.
But you didn’t tell me you don’t have friends. So let’s fix that. Let’s call
this a date and I’m definitely your friend now.”

“Gee, that was easy. Uh…we
can’t sit at this stop sign forever. Make a right.”

Becca did and at the next
stop sign she saw a large field that spread out in front of school at the upper
end of the next street. She parked against the curb opposite the field, where
houses lined the street; windows looked out at them.

Becca said, “Wow, a nice
big field to run around in. This must’ve been great to play on.”

“I never had something
like this as a kid.”

“You didn’t grow up
here?”

“Nope. I lived in East
Liberty.”

“Ah, a city boy. So why
did you move here?”

“I was getting into
trouble.”

“Ah, a
bad
city
boy.”

“Well, not horribly
bad—but my mom thought we should leave.”

“So, are you still bad?”

“No.”

“Then she made the right
decision.” She opened her door.

“Where’re you going?”
Bert asked.

“Let’s go sit on the
field. It looks so nice.”

On a porch a few houses
down from where they had parked, two people, illuminated by a porch light, sat
listening smoking cigarettes.

They walked nearly to the
center of the wide expanse of field. The smell of freshly cut grass floated in
the air. Becca started rubbing her leg. “Let’s sit.” She suddenly sat down on
the grass, kicked off her shoes, and crossed her legs at her ankles. “My leg
hurts, I can’t stand. Join me?” She patted the ground next to her.

Bert took a seat beside
her. The grass was cool. They were facing the houses that lined street opposite
the field. The porch light on the one house had gone out. Bert figured the
people were watching them.

“Aren’t you afraid of
grass stains?”  Bert asked.

“A gentleman would lay
his jacket down for me to sit on.”

“I’m not wearing one.”

“Your shirt then.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t
know you that well to sit around half-naked with you.”

“Ah, that’s okay anyway. I
can explain grass stains on my butt. It’s the stain on the
back
of my
dress I’d have to worry about.”

Bert laughed.

“You have a nice laugh,”
Becca said.

“Thank you. You should
hear me guffaw.”

They sat in silence,
enjoying the feel of the grass and the aroma of a late summer evening.

“This is very nice, Josh.
Thank you.” She leaned against him, and waited for his arm to encircle her, but
it didn’t. She sighed heavily. “I like you, Josh.”

“I like you too”

“Ahem,” she said.

“Ahem? Doesn’t that mean
something—like you’re trying to get my attention or something?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…well, you have it.”

She expressed herself
with another frustrated grunt as her fingers squeezed his chin.

“And that was for…?” he
asked.

“Apparently nothing.”

“I’ve never talked to
someone the way I talk to you,” Bert said after a short pause.

“Your mother says you
don’t talk at all.”

“No. I don’t. But you
seem to have the magic touch.”

“Well, it’s because maybe
I can’t joke with Greg. He’s got like a zero sense of humor. You on the other
hand are great.”

“It’s fun talking to
you.”

“Fun? Yeah.” Becca nodded.
“Fun.”

A few seconds of silence.

“Are you, Josh?” Becca
asked suddenly.

“Am I what?”

“Miserable.”

“No.”

“You’re something.”

“Something, but not
miserable.”

“What then?”

“I’m not happy I guess.”

“Not happy? I can’t
believe that. You’re always joking around.”

“With you.”

“So with other people you
don’t joke around?”

“I don’t hang around with
anybody.”

“So you’re unhappy
alone?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re
right.”

“Why are you unhappy?”

“Nothing’s changed here. Where
I lived I didn’t get along with most the kids in my neighborhood because their
parents thought I was some kind of freak.”

“Oh get out of here.”

“You think I’m
exaggerating? You’re a beautiful girl, Becca. My God, people look at you and
want to stare because you are so attractive. Imagine what it’s like to have
people stare at you because they don’t
like
the way you look.”

“How could they not like
how you look? You’re gorgeous.”

“Wow. Gorgeous—never been
called that before.”

“And, buckaroo, don’t let
your head get too big. I had to say something after you called me beautiful and
attractive.”

“So I’m not gorgeous?”

“Not even close.” She jabbed
his arm with her fist.

He grabbed his arm as if
in great pain and laughed. Then he sighed. “Tonight, people looked at us
wondered why were we together.”

“Who cares?”

“They you with a guy
who’s got some nigger in him and they were surprised and curious—maybe even
disgusted.”

“Disgusted? I don’t think
so. They were curious because they know Greg is my boyfriend. If I’m not with
him, I’m either with Barb or with Gail. And your father was black.”

“Yes.”

“Was your father a
nigger?”

“
What?”
Her words
stunned him.

“No,” Becca said, “he
wasn’t. You’re half black—not that other word.”

“You’re being kind. I’ve
heard the other word. That’s why I haven’t bothered with girls. Not only do
parents not want their daughters to date me, it was hard for me make friends
with other guys. It’s like I have some kind of disease or something.”

“I didn’t know it was
that bad.”

“Black girls thought I
was too white, white girls thought I was too black.”

“You were too dark for
some, to light for others. You stopped trying. You gave up. You figured being
part nigger—as you say—you were never going to find anybody. You didn’t care. Wow.
What a waste. You missed out on a lot. I can’t believe there’s nobody for you. But
even if there
is
somebody for you, you won’t find her, Josh. Not with
your attitude.