Chapter Two
Brock
When she turned around and caught me watching her, I had to wonder if she thought maybe I was a pervert. I really wasn’t looking at her butt, although I did glance at it earlier and she had a really nice one. But there was so much more to this girl, and most of it I just couldn’t put my finger on.
I had strongly objected when Jake and Megan had broached the subject of setting me up with Megan’s friend Molly. I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now. I’ve been there and done that at least ten too many times in my life. I’m not sure if it’s me, or the kind of girls I attract, but long lasting love had yet to find me the way it seems to have found Jake and Megan. The girls I’ve met here at school so far have seemed…shallow…empty somehow, until tonight.
Molly and I didn’t have much conversation, but from what we did have I was able to deduce that she’s smart and funny and she just seemed so genuine. She wasn’t trying to impress me at all…which was obvious a few times by the things that she said; also she’s gorgeous. I got the feeling that she doesn’t know it. It makes me wonder why there weren’t guys following her around in high school telling her so. She wasn’t plastic pretty like some of the other girls I’ve dated, but I like that. She’s got plenty of nice curves to look at, unlike the stick figures of the other girls, and I like the way her brown hair frames her face. She’s got this sexy little sprinkle of freckles across her tiny little nose…and those eyes. Sometimes today when she looked at me, I felt like she could see inside. I hope that’s not the case. There’s a lot of stuff in there that needs cleaning out before I have any company.
I fell asleep that night thinking about her…and I woke up the next morning thinking more of the same. I may have even dreamt something about her in between. Was I going to give Jake the satisfaction of knowing that though? I think not.
“Hey dude!” he said as he came out into the kitchen to pour himself a gigantic bowl of sugar disguised as cereal. He even bought the ones with the colored marshmallows in it. Disgraceful.
“Hey,” I said as I mixed various fruits with juice in the blender. I was adding a tablespoon of Echinacea as he said, “How do you drink that stuff? It even smells bad.” This from a guy who eats his breakfast out of a box with fake vampire on the front.
“I have cancer, I can’t taste anything.”
“Oh dude…Man…I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
I smiled then, and he knew I was yanking his chain. Jake’s the only one here at school who knows my history. I was diagnosed with a brain tumor at the age of fourteen. Since then, I’ve had multiple surgeries, chemo, radiation…blah, blah, blah! But now I was taking a new course of drugs that were still in the experimental stages. I only have to take them five days a month and they seem to be keeping the tumor from growing…so far. I have problems with them on the fourth or fifth day of taking them every month, but I try to time them so that happens on a weekend, and then I just camped out in my room with a bucket. Jake’s cool and doesn’t invite anyone over during that time…even Megan. He tells her that I’m working on my music and can’t be disturbed.
“That was low man,” Jake said when it hit him that I was kidding. It was…kind of.
“You insulted my breakfast first,” I told him.
“True story,” he said. The best part about Jake is that he never lets anything bother him for more than a few seconds at a time. He was honestly the easiest-going person I had ever met. He parked his butt on the couch and turned on the TV. “So what did you think of Molly?”
I was grinning inwardly as I said, “Who?”
I casually poured my “bad smelling” drink into a glass as Jake said, “Megan’s friend? The one from last night? Do you seriously not remember her name?”
“I have memory problems from the cancer too,” I told him. “You’re so insensitive sometimes.” I was grinning this time so he just ignored me. Then I said, “Oh, the brunette. Yeah, she’s hot.”
“She’s a good-looking girl,” Jake said. “Hot” wasn’t a word that he’d use in reference to any other woman than Megan, and I knew it. I was still tugging at his chain. “But, did you like her? I mean, come on man. Megan and I know that you attract the good-looking ones like flies. But you never really like them. Megan said you also needed one with a brain. What did you think of Molly?”
I gulped down the juice, sat the glass on the counter, wiped my mouth and picked up the keys to my bike before I said, “She was alright.”
“Just alright?” Jake said, sounding disappointed. I knew that Megan’s disappointment was what he was worried about. For some reason it was important to Megan that Molly and I like each other.
I shrugged, grabbed my book bag off the counter and said, “Don’t give away my football ticket okay?”
Jake grinned as I went out the door. He knew how I felt about football. I’m sure he took that as a good sign.
Our apartment building was only six blocks from the university. I could walk, and sometimes I did, but sometimes I rode Suzie just because I missed her. I found her waiting for me in our spot, chrome gleaming in the sun. Suzie used to belong to my pop. She had been his since she rolled off the Harley Davidson assembly line in 1964. She was an XL Sportster with an overhead-valve engine and cast iron heads. Her body was red and white with lots of shiny chrome. She could be a lot of work to keep clean and shiny, but I loved her, and what woman wasn’t work?
My dad had loved her too. He gave her to me on my eighteenth birthday. It’s funny, because of all the things my dad has done for me in my life, that was the day I realized exactly how much he loved me. I put my book bag in her leather saddle bag and straddled her. It was silly, but since it was only in my head I tried not to be too embarrassed about it. As I put on my helmet and Suzie roared to life, I was hoping that Molly would see me driving into the lot at school. Something about riding Suzie made me feel really sexy.
I made it to school in less than five minutes. Molly was nowhere around as I backed Suzie into her space, but unfortunately for me, Tammy was. I tried not to look in her direction as I got my books out of the saddle bag. She was just climbing out of her red mustang, and I didn’t think she saw me. I rarely ever get that lucky though, and I hadn’t today.
“Brock! Wait up, I’ll walk with you.”
I stopped, going against what every fiber in my body wanted me to do, which was run. I wished sometimes that when I was growing up, my parents hadn’t taught me to be so polite. No good ever came of it. It left me walking across campus with my own stalker. When I have kids someday, I’ll keep this in mind. She was breathless when she caught up, which was good because for a full two minutes she couldn’t partake of the incessant babble that was her usual norm. My bliss was shattered when the oxygen returned to her lungs.
“So how have you been, Brock? I saw your concert yesterday…you were amazing! Who was that girl you were with last evening? Were you holding her hand? Is she your girlfriend?” I’m not kidding. Just like that with nary a breath in between.
“She’s just a friend,” I told her…strangely wishing I could say otherwise. “And thanks, about the concert.”
“You’re welcome. I loved it. You are such a good singer. I can feel your words when you sing. I’m glad you don’t have a girlfriend,” she said. “I’m still holding out hope for us.” What the heck was I supposed to say to that? Instead of answering her I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at it.
“Damn, Tammy. I’m late for my English class. I have to run.” I didn’t give her the opportunity to object, I just jogged off in the other direction.
The rest of the week passed slowly. I went to my classes and wrote some music and played a few video games with Jake, but time just seemed to be standing still. I didn’t run into Molly, not even once. I often enjoyed the fact that the University Campus was like a little city in itself, but not this week. I wanted it to be small enough that I didn’t just know she was there, but that I actually ran into her. This doesn’t sound like me, not even to myself. I’m starting to believe that there really is that one person out there that you are just waiting for your entire life, and maybe I’ve found her. Jeez, I’m ridiculous, I’ve seen her once. I was sitting in class, my Romanticism in Music class, and having these thoughts. I know, it’s probably more about the professor playing a remix of the themes to almost every romantic movie ever made than it is that I’ve really fallen for this girl, but I really want to see her again and explore it.
I realized as I was leaving class that I had hardly heard anything that was said. I really didn’t like most of my classes. I just wanted to play my music, but my dad really wanted me to go to college, and I like my dad…so here I am. At least he wasn’t picky about what I chose to major in. That’s the coolest thing about my dad. He has told me since I was about twelve that life was too short to put on a suit and tie that you hated, and go into an office building you despised, and spend all day working with people who you felt sorry for because they are all as miserable as you. The fact that my father went against the norm and chose a career that most people furrowed their brows about when I told them speaks volumes.
My dad is a hair designer. Don’t call him a stylist or a barber, that’ll just tick him off. He went to school for four years to learn how to “design” hair. He works with models and actors and actresses and the fact that he makes good money wasn’t the best part. The best part was that he was happy, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought about that. He just always had this amazing outlook and enthusiasm for life.
I only remember twice in our lives when my dad was truly unhappy. When I was six, my mom decided she wanted a divorce. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would not want to live with my dad. There was a lot a six-year-old didn’t understand about the world and relationships though. To this day, I don’t know what came between them. She and I went to live with her mom, but every time I went to visit him, Dad just looked so sad. One day I asked him, “Are you sad because Mom’s not here?” He ruffled my hair and said, “A little bit, but I’m sadder because you’re not here.” We didn’t live far from him, so on the days when he wasn’t at work I would walk to his house after school and visit him. That seemed to make him less sad. I had tried more than once to tell my mom that I wanted to live with him, but I didn’t want to make her sad either. I don’t think parents really realize what they’re doing to a kid when they get a divorce. I knew it wasn’t my fault, or about me, but I still always felt like it was my job somehow to make sure everyone was happy.
When I was eight, my mom got remarried. To this day, I don’t know where she met this guy. She rarely left the house. She used her computer a lot though, so maybe it was an online thing? I asked her once and she had changed the subject. Anyway, she said she had finally met her soulmate, but he lived in London. London, as in London, England. Okay, I’m sure she met him online but again, what do I know about grown-up relationships? What I knew then, was that London was really far away…from my dad.
I did something that I had stopped doing at the age of three then; I had a fit. I kicked and screamed and bawled my head off. I said terrible things to my mother that I knew would make her feel bad, but I was eight and I didn’t want to leave my Dad. Ultimately, I got my way. Mom still got married and moved to London, but I got to stay with my dad. I also got to spend a lot of vacations and summers in London which was cool, until I got sick.
That was the second thing that made my dad really sad. It was also when the true character of my parents came shining through. My dad called my mom, who left her husband, her job, and her new kid to come be at my side. My dad took a sabbatical from work and he literally never left me. I had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and the initial report by the surgeons and oncologists was that they could take it out. Once they got in there though, they found that it had wound its way around my brainstem. They put in a shunt to drain the fluid that was building up and causing me headaches, and they closed me up. Then the real fun started with five rounds of chemo and thirty radiation treatments. My mom had to go back home. I understood…kind of. She had a five-year-old kid, my little brother, and she had a job…I guess at the time I resented her a little because of it, but I’m totally over it now…mostly.
I was out of it most of the time during my chemo sessions. I would wake up and eat; they had me on steroids and man was I hungry. I didn’t like to open my eyes because the light hurt them. I always knew dad was there though…I could hear the football games on TV. My dad loves football.
I wanted to tell him to turn it off. I had just made the high school team before I got sick. In my mind, I was going to play freshman football and I was going to date the head cheerleader, and then…before I became a famous rock star, I was going to play some college ball. The thing in my head had caused all of that to come to a screeching halt in one fell swoop, and hearing the game every time I woke up made me want to scream. It made Dad happy though, something he hadn’t been again since I’d gotten diagnosed, so I didn’t tell him.
That explains my aversion to football though, and why the only reason I am going to this game tomorrow night is in hopes of seeing Molly.