Forever Blue (11 page)

Chapter
6:
Repercussions

    
The Grammys are the considered one of the most significant nights of a musician’s life. The nomination can lead an artist to the top of their game, and
remembered in music history as an honor that no artist forgets.

     Musicians and entertainers sauntered down the red carpet
on a Sunday evening in February of 1998. Television reporters shoved microphones at any willing celebrity, hoping to get a moment of their time. Paparazzi
tried snapping
pictures of every high-profile
figure walking into the venue as many celebrities walked on by, ignoring the annoying banter.

The swish of couture gowns and the click of stiletto heels meant it was coming down to show time.

     Rock-and-roll hunks and pop-star divas filled the plush velvet front seats
of the Dome Theater in Los Angeles, California.
Aiden Storm attempted to relax his nerves while his famous pop princess girlfriend, Whitney Milano, tried to ease his anxiousness. The
rambunctiousness of Aiden’s entourage sitting in the seats behind had him feeling just a tad bit uncomfortable. They whistled and booed obnoxiously at award nominees like a bunch of rowdy teenagers. Aiden peered over at his manager, record producer, and lawyer, all of whom watched the show intently.

    
A bright flash of light lit up the stage and the show began. R&B singer Koko Brown walked to the front in a gold flowing sequined dress. She read off a teleprompter, “This year we have been swept away into the pop music scene, but there can only be one pop queen. These are the nominees for female artist of the year…Christina Burkle - ‘Here I Am’, Whitney Milano  - ‘Heartbeat’, Sheryl Black - Sheryl Black, and Tanis Morrisey - ‘Razor Sharp Pill’.” Koko carefully tore open the envelope. “And the Grammy goes to…Christina Burkle!”

     
When
Whitney Milano shot a bitter glare at her rival, her sentiments
were
obvious. The competition had gotten fierce now that Christina Burkle went from movie actress to pop songstress.

    
Aiden squeezed Whitney’s hand reassuringly and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, baby. You know she has nothing on you.”

    
Pop veteran Tanis Morrisey came out to present the next award. 

    
“Male pop artists have dominated this year’s charts. With hits like, ‘Everybody Get on the Dance Floor,’ by Aiden Storm to ‘Cry, Cry, Cry,’ by Dustin Ackerland, they have sold millions of albums across the country, and left countless young female fans swooning in their wake. Your nominees for male artist of the year are…Dustin Ackerland - ‘Your Listening Pleasure’, Frank Hatton - ‘Fields of Hatton,” Mr. Sparks - ‘Giddy Up’, and Aiden Storm’s, ‘Must Be the Music.’  And the Grammy goes to….Aiden Storm.”

     
When
Aiden jumped up from his seat
with a cool smile,
Whitney proudly kissed him on the lips. At that moment, the camera aimed toward Dustin who rolled his eyes in response.

      Aiden took a deep breath and made his way to the stage where
Tanis embraced him and handed him the
Grammy.

     “Wow,” Aiden said into the microphone. “This is unreal. I really wasn’t prepared for this, but I want to thank my manager, who has been there for me every step of the way. Hue, I will always be so grateful to you. I also have to thank my record producer, Tom Michaels. And Whitney, thank you so much for your support. I love you, baby. Oh, and last but not least, I want to give a big shout-out to my fans. Without you, there would be no Aiden Storm. This one’s for you,” he said, hoisting the award in the air.

         
At the cue of the music, Aiden
headed backstage where several photographers greeted him by furiously snapping pictures in his face.

        
Television entertainment reporters crammed together in an effort to secure an interview with the Grammy winner.

    
“Aiden, how does it feel to be the youngest male performer in history to win a Grammy?” asked a television reporter.

     
“How are you and Whitney going to celebrate your big night?” asked another.

       
Aiden felt like he was in some sort of dream standing in the background and watching everything happening around him. He envisioned this moment since the time his father gave him a plastic microphone on his third birthday, now finally, it was
his
reality.

***

     
Our lives became
radically different
after my father died. It started with the dilemma of where
our income would come from, and if mom
was
capable of becoming the breadwinner.
She had no skills other than cooking and cleaning. For months, she searched for any type of job from petty to low paying. I even offered to help out by getting an after-school job, but she insisted I only focus on school. After months of job hunting, she finally got a position at our local grocery store as a checker.

    
The first year of my father’s death drained any bit of enthusiasm I had left for school. I neared graduation, and my grades fell dramatically. Admittedly, I was no longer interested in doing homework and made little effort to pay attention in my classes.
   
“What’s going on with you, Alexa? Lately you seem totally out of it,” Ruth whispered in class one afternoon. 

    
“Why do you always ask me that? I told you I’m perfectly fine.”

    
“Ms. Moore,” my math teacher said suddenly, “would you like to share your secret with the class?”

    
“Bite me.”

    
The classroom went silent.

    
The teacher got a citation out from inside her desk drawer
in a matter of seconds.
“Report to the principal’s office now, young lady.”

    
At that point, I could have cared less about what kind of trouble I was in.

***

    
I dumped myself on
a chair
in the small administrative office,
and waited for the student ahead of me to finish meeting with the principal.
Someone
had
left a pink folder
on the seat next to me,
with a magazine picture of Carter Storm stuffed into the clear sleeve. I found myself thinking about Carter and all the success he was having. My thoughts were interrupted when someone called my name.

    
“Alexa, come inside and take a seat please,” the principal said.

    
The girl before me quickly stepped outside his office and grabbed the pink folder as she made her exit.

    
I
warily
handed Principal Marsh my yellow citation and took a seat in front of his desk. He slipped on his glasses and thoroughly read over the slip. I studied Principal Marsh in bright afternoon sunlight. He was attractive for a man in his late forties. He had smooth, wrinkle-free skin and was in terrific shape. Of course, he
showed
his age in other ways. His hair was gray and thinning, and his personality was as dull as dishwater.

    
“Interesting. You told your teacher to, ‘Bite me’?”

    
As he spoke,
I gazed out the window behind him and watched a couple black crows swoop
across the sky in the afternoon breeze. The pungent scent of lilacs drifted through the window. I took a deep breath and wished
I was a bird.
I would have done anything to fly away from everyone and everything at that moment.

    
Principal Marsh walked to the filing cabinet and pulled out a thin manila folder.
He
sat back down at his desk
after a minute of standing,
and flipped through my paperwork. “I see your grades have slipped significantly over the last six months.”

     I smirked and said, “Oh really? I didn’t notice.”

     “Listen, Alexa.” He neatly folded his hands together.
“I know you’re going through a tough time, but you can’t let yourself go. You’re a senior at the point of failing. Don’t you want to graduate?”

     “I guess.”

     He sighed and said, “This attitude needs to change.
Do you want me to call your mother?”

     If Mom found out I was failing high school it would literally kill her. “No. She’s had enough to deal with, don’t you think?”

     “I’m going to give you one month to get your grades back up. If this unruly behavior doesn’t stop, I’ll have no choice but to call your mother. Then we’ll arrange a conference so we can find a solution for your behavior and attitude.”

***

     Mom took the back roads of Irvine
on the way to school one morning,
and dropped me off a mile away from campus. I could only assume
that
she wanted to avoid school traffic. I took my time walking to school from the drop-off point. As I waited for Mom’s car to disappear down the road, I formulated a plan of action. I slithered past high school grounds
at the precise moment,
and hiked uphill toward a winding road that led back to my house.
I would have the house to myself now that Mom
had a regular nine-to-five job.

    
Upon opening the front door, I realized
that
for the first time in my life I'd done something rebellious.
Then the
answering machine interrupted the
unnatural silence of the house the moment I walked in the door, sending me into a nervous stupor.

    
“Hello Mrs. Moore. This is Irvine High calling. We just wanted to inform you that Alexa missed first period today and has been marked absent. If you could call us back to confirm…”

    
I pressed the delete button.

    
After convincing myself the message wouldn’t come back to haunt me, I spent rest of the afternoon watching television and plastering posters of Carter on my bedroom wall. 

     Ruth showed up on my doorstep around four-thirty in the afternoon.

    
“Hey, where were you today?” she asked. “I didn’t see you at school.”

    
“Oh—yeah, I...I didn’t feel well this morning.” I gave her my best phony cough. “I decided to stay home.”

   
“Are you okay? Do you need me to get you anything?”

    
“Nah, I’m going back to sleep.”

    
“Oh, okay. Well, feel better. Hopefully I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

    
Mom returned home from work not long after Ruth stopped by,  looking exhausted.
“Hey, honey. How was school?”

     
“It was good,” I fibbed as I continued flipping through channels on the television. “Same old, same old.”

    
Mom opened a letter from the mail and examined the contents thoroughly. She momentarily stopped to take a glance at her wristwatch. A puzzled look came over her face.
   
“Aren’t you home a little early today.”

    
“Yeah, Ruth gave me a ride,” I lied.

    
“Honey, do you mind making your own dinner tonight? There is some leftover beef stew in the fridge. I’m not feeling so well.”

    
I heard her whimpering in her bedroom moments later. The sorrow was only contagious, and
I ended up with my face in a pillow
as I pondered the reason for my own mother’s pain. Both of us yearned for something we would never have again—the warm embrace of my father.

***

     There was
no point in going back to school the next day,
so
I repeated the same plan. I received the
same voicemail when I got home.

    
“Hi, Mrs. Moore. This is Irvine High calling. We just wanted to inform you that Alexa missed first period today
and has been marked absent. If—”

     
Delete.

    
Once again,
Ruth appeared on
my doorstep. “Hey, you weren’t at school again today.”

   
“Yeah, I know,”
I said,
faking a sniffle. “I’m still not feeling well.”

    
“Alexa, I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself in a long time. Is something else going on?”

    
What, was she some kind of psychologist now? “No. I just came down with the flu. Don’t worry about me. If I need you, I’ll call.”

***

    
I tried something new the next morning. I attended my first period class with the meanest, most dreadful teacher in the history of all teachers. It was said that Mrs. Harbor had a tendency to bring students to tears.

    
She rested her oversized rump on my desk and looked me straight in the eye. My knees quivered, and the musty smell of her perfume nearly suffocated my senses.

    
“Ms. Moore, where is the science homework I assigned before you were out absent?” she hissed.

    
I shot her an unemotional glare. “Oh, that? I forgot it at home. Sorry.”

    
“Oh yeah?” she asked. “We’ll see about that.” Mrs. Harbor bolted to her feet and snatched my backpack from under my desk. She then held it upside down and shook it until the contents spilled out all over the floor—pencils, pens, gum, notebook paper, you name it.
The students in the classroom silently watched in horror. She got so close to my face that I could see the silver fillings inside her mouth. “Don’t you ever come to my class without your homework again,” she spewed. “Got it?”

     Something became very clear to me at that moment: If I dared to spend another day in that wretched classroom with that wretched woman, I would have slowly but surely created my own demise. From that point on, I made the decision to never go back to school again.

Mommy Dearest

1992

    
“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if you were famous?” I asked Carter. We lied on the grass, cooling our overheated bodies after an intense game of basketball. By then, I
had
familiarized myself with hanging out in his backyard on school nights. I spent most of my free time with Carter
when I had no homework.
My parents didn’t seem to mind as long I was home by a decent time.

    
Carter stared up at the lucid dark sky and replied, “Sure. All the time.”