The Cheer Leader (7 page)

Even when we are beyond a change and can see it, there remain parts that are unaltered and maybe for just a second or maybe forever we will get that same feeling that we felt at that given point even though we know what is to come. Didn't Marcel Proust on one depressing winter day spoon a morsel of cake to his mouth and find a youthful pleasure even though that pleasure will move toward youthful pain and eventually back to that cold depressing day? Why do we often forget what we know of a past future? Why was I always so frightened by the flying monkeys in the
Wizard of Oz
even when I knew year after year that Dorothy would be just fine, that it was all a dream? Why, even after I discovered that they were West Point cadets, servants of the U.S. of A.'s military flying incognito, did those monkeys make me so damn nervous? I feared for the lives of Lassie, Roy Rogers, Sky King even though I knew full well that they would be back the next week. Why am I always so hopeful when Lana Turner returns (the mysterious Madame X) and John Forsythe's eyes light up in the courtroom; the young attorney (her son) is representing her in his first case and he sees her only as the social zero from skid row which
she has now become? Why am I so hopeful when I know she is going to die and her son will never know that she is his mother? Why do I cry every single time that happens and why do I always hope that Natalie Wood will return from her sanitorium in
Splendor in the Grass
and find that Warren Beatty is
not
married and that they will resume as though nothing had ever happened? Am I ignorant or is it IGNOREance? How can Guy de Maupassant rip my gut out every single time I read
The Necklace
and why do I expect to read it just once and the words will have changed and the pitiful victim will discover that the necklace is paste before she works her ass off for the rest of her life to replace it? Why is irony so ironic? Why do I so often want to reconstruct my life, pretending that parts had never happened, wanting to go back to a time that seemed better? Why, even now, do I feel a sentimental stirring when I recall the summer before my senior year even though I know what is to come? It is a home movie, a romance, a horror film, playing in my head for free over and over. It begins slowly, as slow as that lazy summer where it begins.

His name was Claude Williams but everyone called him Big Red, I suppose because he was both of those, and too, a name like Claude never could have done him justice. He was not handsome in that perfect chiseled feature way that Tricia found so attractive, nor did he have that
Then Came Bronson
ruggedness that Lisa was so enthralled with. He did not have that boyish All American
appeal that I admired so in Bobby, either. Red Williams was different and I was immediately attracted to his disheveled dark auburn hair, the thick irregular waves that stayed even when his hair was wet, his broad erect shoulders, the bleached hairs that covered his chest and long muscular legs, the large brown eyes that seemed oddly misplaced, too soft for his other features. I noticed him the very first day of summer vacation when Tricia, Lisa, Cindy and I went to Moon Lake to sun and swim, and I knew with that first glance that he was different from anyone that I had ever met.

The day itself was perfect, a blue cloudless day; there was a full turn-out of the college students who had returned to Blue Springs for the summer (another reason for our being there), and summer itself was a long lazy stretch in front of us, promising days just like that one, leading to our long awaited senior year.

“Let's get as close as we can to the college people,” Tricia whispered as soon as we got there. She had waited weeks to see Tom Fulton again, a guy from Bobby's class who was now a Phi Delt at Carolina, a perfect face person whom Tricia had, in a spontaneous intoxicated moment, kissed at a Christmas party. We had all heard the story numerous times and were perfectly willing to go along with her. “I see him, he's here,” she whispered.

“Let's just walk on over,” Lisa said all too loudly and pulled her shirt over her head to expose a tight black bikini that made her rounded hips and full thighs look even whiter. “You like my new suit?” She did a turn, her
shirt thrown over her shoulder. This brought a few whistles from the pier where the older people were set up but none of us had the nerve to look over and see who had whistled.

“God, make her stop,” Tricia hissed and looked at me as if I could control Lisa; no one could control Lisa.

“You wanted to be noticed.” Lisa laughed and waved her hand as a thank-you to whoever had whistled. “Look, Jo's brother is over there. We can say that we've come to talk to him.”

“He'd kill me,” I said which probably wasn't true, but I had to do something on Tricia's behalf, who by then had her head turned in the opposite direction and was walking towards a small empty pier close by. Cindy was right behind her and I waited uncomfortably while Lisa took her time rearranging the thin straps that supported her top heavy top. “Come on,” I said and also looked in the other direction, towards the shady end of the lake where Beatrice and another girl from our class whom I vaguely knew, were stretched out on the hood of a car listening to a blast of hard rock. It startled me to see Beatrice down there in her tight jeans and tee shirt because I still always expected her to be with us, though that had all changed. I was startled more by whom she was talking to, bright green beach britches, the only person at that end of the lake with any skin showing. I wanted him to turn around.

“I don't know why Tricia gets so upset,” Lisa said and waited for me to say something which I did not. “She
wanted Tom to see her, didn't she?” I just shrugged and we walked on. For all I knew it would be one of those unbearable days where Tricia and Lisa weren't speaking and Cindy and I were caught in the middle. Tricia was already oiled up and leaned back with her eyes closed, and as I sat on my towel and waited for one of them to speak, I looked back towards the shady end. He was still there, hands on his hips, lifting his feet up and down as if he were walking in place. In the other direction was the college crew. Bobby was there, already tan, drinking beer, listening to the Beach Boys, and to my dismay, talking to Nancy Carson.

“Hey Tricia, wait'll you see what I've got,” Lisa finally said and reached into her beach bag.

“Probably V.D.,” Tricia mumbled and opened one eye.

“Oh, be serious. Voilà!” Lisa pulled out two cans of beer and handed one to Tricia. “They're a little hot but it's better than nothing.”

“Thanks, where'd you get these?” Tricia sat up and opened her can. The silence was over.

“From home.”

“You're going to get caught again,” Cindy said and started coating herself with suntan lotion.

“Won't be the first time.” Lisa took a big swallow. “Besides, I only took three. You don't drink and we know that the chief cheerleader isn't going to drink.”

“That isn't why I don't,” I said. “Tricia's a cheerleader, too. I smoke and that's against the rules.”

“Aren't you the daring one?” Lisa asked and laughed.
She maintained that she had outgrown cheerleading, that she would rather be sitting in the stands with a date.

“Well, nobody ever even asks me if I want a beer,” Cindy said. “I'm a cheerleader and I want to drink.” She held out her hand and Lisa reached back into her bag. “You won't say anything will you, Jo?” Cindy sat staring at me, either waiting for me to answer or waiting to take that first swallow.

“Of course I wouldn't,” I said and lit a cigarette. Now, he was sitting in the car, his leg sticking out of the open door. “I'm tired of being treated like a goody-goody,” I said.

“Oh, I didn't mean it, Jo.” Lisa reached back into her bag. “You know I think it's great you got chief. Look! I brought this just for our entertainment.” She pulled out a
True Confessions
magazine and stretched out on her stomach. “It's hilarious.”

I had just settled down to listen to Lisa's reading, preferring that to her cheerleader jokes or when she gave real true confessions, when I saw him again. He was jogging along the shore, turning to yell and wave to those at the shady end, where there was still a blast of hard rock and faint traces of pot when the wind picked up. Then he ran towards Bobby's crew where he was greeted by several loud yells. It was so strange to see someone who seemed to fit in with the distinctly different groups, but obviously he did, and I was impressed by that. I suppose I was staring and did not even realize it until Lisa interrupted me.

“I didn't buy this for nothing,” she said and put her
hands on her hips. “I want total participation. The plot is difficult so pay attention.” We all, for some reason, found that hysterical and got ready for the story. I angled myself so that if he decided to make another run, I wouldn't miss it.

“This is called ‘Why I Can't Settle for Just One Man,'” she read and held up a picture for us to see, a woman in a leopard suit with about twenty hands reaching for her. “Jo, who are you looking for?”

“No one, just wanted to see what Bobby was doing.”

“A likely story.” Tricia sat on her towel and carefully positioned her long, already tan, legs, one knee up and the other leg stretched out model style. “She's waiting for Pat Reeves to get here.”

“Really, Jo?” Cindy rolled over. Already the freckles were popping out on her nose.

“Hell no!” I said, attempting forcefulness, so that they would not start with the Pat Reeves teasing again. They all found it hysterical that Pat Reeves and I had dated for over a year and had never made out, just quick kisses at the door after a date. Lisa enjoyed that subject more than cheerleading. “I told him that I didn't want to see him anymore.” I hadn't told him that, yet, but I was going to.

“What did he say?” Now, Cindy had her hands cupped over her face to shield the sun.

“He said that he was relieved that she finally knew that he was a queer.” Lisa shifted around and moved into the center of the group. “Now listen to this, ‘I am a love starved woman.'”

“Quiet,” Tricia hissed. “Don't read to everyone here.
I would die if anyone knew what we were doing!” She slung her head towards the older crew. “They might think we're serious.”

“It's very serious,” Lisa said and continued about this woman who got raped when she was working as a waitress at a truck stop. She did not tell her hayseed fiancé or the police because secretly, it was the most rewarding experience of her life. The scene was vivid with lots of panting and moaning and Lisa was reading more and more dramatically, hand to her chest then a wiggle of the hips.

“This is really Lisa's life story.” Tricia flopped back on her forearms and tilted her face directly into the sun.

“Don't knock it til you've tried it,” Lisa said.

“And who says I haven't?” Tricia just smiled and this brought Cindy's face from beneath her shirt that she had covered up with.

“So tell it then,” Lisa said. “Was it that jerk you met at the beach? Was it Tom Fulton in the flesh?”

“I better wait for you to get a little older, Lisa.” They bantered back and forth for awhile, bordering on their real true confessions, and then Lisa went back to her reading. The crux of the story was that this lily white totally innocent country bumpkin virgin thoroughly enjoyed the abuse that she received from the dark foreign trucker. I had just lifted my head to ask Lisa to please take a break, when I saw him again. He was walking that time, digging his toes into the sand, and then he turned and entered the water right near where we were. It was
then that I noticed the hairs on his chest and his legs, noticed that his eyes were brown, that he had a full bottom lip that made him look like he was sulking. There was a moment when he looked directly at me, or I thought he did and it made me look away. Then, in that split second, he was under the water and all I could spot was his bright green bathing suit. Lisa was still reading and I turned back over on my stomach so that I could watch him. He was a graceful swimmer, long steady strokes, his arms clearing the water, his head turning for a breath in perfect rhythm. He was swimming out to the center of the lake to the tower where people went to dive or to escape the crowded piers.

“‘Her breasts exploded, heaving mounds of flesh.'” Lisa thrust out her own and panted. By then, he was at the tower, shaking his head. He sat on the edge with his feet in the water. It looked like he was staring over at our pier and I stared back.

“Jo Spencer, how can you not laugh at ‘exploding breasts'?” Lisa yelled. “Have you ever in your life seen a boob explode?”

“How could she?” Tricia laughed and slapped me on the back. “She doesn't have any.”

“Well, the trucker's loins are throbbing,” Lisa said and held her hand to her mouth like a microphone. “Tell us, have you ever seen throbbing loins?”