Sometimes I'm funny. In my head...
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Stars and Sporks
I had a dream last night about Mama. There wasn't nothing scary about it, 'cause ever since the day she got shot by that shit-faced Brady, she'd pop in now and again. Sometimes it'd be to see how I was doing; other times, it'd be to tell me to quit slacking and wash the dishes.
But last night was different. It was more of a memory from years ago than a new dream, really. We'd just moved to our own house and didn't have a dryer yet. Mama had given me a bunch of clothespins she borrowed from Miss Sue, and I was outside hanging quilts on the clothesline.
The wind was a'blowin' and I was standing on my tiptoes trying to pinch the last corner. The quilt was ugly as hell, but Mama said she was keeping it 'cause her mama made it when she was little. I reckon that was back in the 1800's–was't no other excuse for all them threads to be hanging out like they were.
I had grasped the line with my fingers to pull it down lower when Mama came running out of the house.
"Dammit, Bella! What I tell you about dragging on that thing? You break it and that's your ass, you understand me child?" She stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring at me.
"Sorry, Mama. I couldn't reach it."
Mama sighed and walked over in her house shoes, getting 'em all muddy from the previous night's rain.
"When you tug on it, it'll pop and then we ain't gonna have nothing to hang our clothes on. If you couldn't reach it, why didn't you grab a chair?" She said it like I didn't have any common sense.
But she and I both knew she would have swiped me real good if I would have brought her furniture out there.
So, I didn't say nothin' at all. She stretched above me, hanging the final corner of the ugly quilt.
"You know I'm short, Mama. Next time, why don't we switch? I'll do the washin' and you do the hanging?"
"'Cause, sug, then I'd be teaching you to take the easy way out. If you don't do the hard stuff, you won't ever learn."
I didn't mean to be sassy by talking out of the side of my mouth, but I don't get what she's saying. "How's me hanging clothes on a line I can't even reach gonna teach me anything?"
I winced, 'cause I knew the backhand across my cheek was coming. I'd felt the stinging burn one too many times.
Instead, Mama kneeled down, grabbing my wrists firmly.
"This ain't about the clothes, Bella. It ain't even about the line. It's about you strivin' for something you know is gonna be difficult. When you do that–when you reach for something higher than yourself–then you know that you can touch anything."
I glanced in awe at the darkening sky with just a few twinkles of lights shining through in the early summer.
"Even the stars, Mama?"
"Even the stars, sug."
Mama swatted me on my behind and pointed to the back porch.
"Now get in that house and start supper. Mr. Clearwater's coming over and I need you to shuck some corn."
I ran off with my dress with dirty spots flying behind me.
"Turn on the oven, too!" She called after me. "I'm baking a pie!"
I let the door slam behind me as I pulled corn that Miss Sue gave us out of a wicker basket.
Harry 'Dirty' Clearwater was nice enough, I reckoned. He smelled just like my Pop-Pop did, and I wondered if he drank the same kind of whiskey.
I was running low on my stash.
While I peeled an ear of corn, I wondered what Mama meant by reaching for the stars. If I wasn't tall enough to reach a clothesline, how was I supposed to reach all the way up there?
I shrugged and dropped the vegetable into a large pot.
I thought Mama was wrong.
Maybe I wasn't supposed to reach them at all.
Maybe if I prayed real hard, eventually, someday, God would send 'em down to me.
.
.
.
"And this here is your schedule, so make sure you follow the map. This campus is huge and I don't want you getting lost."
A stack of papers is thrust into my hands.
"Don't forget to type notes. Anything the professor says, just type it up. Don't write it. Nobody writes anymore. Just click on the little blue symbol with the 'W' on it, just like I showed you."
My new messenger bag is zipped firmly after several checks to make sure my laptop is in there securely.
"And sit up front, okay? All the slackers sit in the back, cracking jokes and checking their Facebook accounts. Otherwise you won't learn anything."
I huff. "Is that it, father?"
Cadillac laughs, kissing me on the cheek. "I'm just excited for you, baby bird. My Dimples, a college student. Makes me proud."
I blush and adjust the strap on bag as Cadillac drops me off at the first class.
"I'll be back to pick you up at 3, so make sure you meet me at the front of Hager Hall."
I nod, glancing inside of the classroom nervously. It's jammed full of eager college freshman ready to start the day.
"You think I'm ready for this?"
Cadillac looks so handsome in his work attire, a light blue collared shirt and black slacks. Girls stare as they walk by, and I feel honored just to be standing near him.
"I know you're ready. You can do this." Cadillac checks his gold watch and winces. "I'm sorry, baby, I gotta go. We've got a new shipment of parts coming in and Charlie will have my ass if I'm not there by 8:30."
"Okay." I smile, but butterflies are having a party in my belly, swirling and flapping around. Cadillac kisses me on the cheek and walks several feet before I call out to him.
"Cadillac?"
He spins around on his heels, his expensive shoes gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Yeah?"
I tap apprehensively on my bag and tilt my head to the side. "Uh … what's a Facebook?"
Cadillac laughs and shakes his head.
"I love you, baby bird."
I frown, upset that he didn't answer my question, but he smirks and strolls away.
"Yeah, love you too."
Even after I've found my seat–first row, second to the right–I swear I can still hear his laughter echoing through the halls.
.
.
.
My last class of the afternoon sounds extremely boring, and I know I'm going to fail.
It's been 10 minutes.
I sluggishly listen to the professor drone on while I attempt to stay awake. I didn't eat lunch, and when I tried to purchase coffee at the café on campus the guy didn't understand my order. I asked for a small coffee which led to an argument between tall versus grande. So, after I finally got bombarded into ordering a venti (that's code for "cup the size of your arm"), the guy tried to explain the difference between a house coffee, a brewed coffee, and a café misto.
Somehow I ended up with a vanilla bean frappuccino, bounced off the walls for four hours, and tried to make an appointment with Dr. Aro.
He said it was all right to be addicted to Starbucks and that millions of Americans are fighting that battle.
Now I've crashed, and the weird professor with wide bug eyes keeps talking.
I try to stay awake by furiously typing on my laptop. I'm so engrossed I don't notice a large figure squeezing in the tiny seat beside me.
A person knocks me slightly to the left. When I turn to give the dickwad a piece of my mind, a huge grin spreads across my face.
"McCarty!" I hiss, trying to whisper.
Emmett sets a backpack on the floor and turns to me. "Freshman!"
"Dammit, I'm not-"
I am. I'm actually a freshman.
Fuck.
He smiles widely and gives me a half hug. "What are you doing here?"
I can't keep from smiling after seeing a familiar face. "Oh, you know–being a college student and all."
I flip my hair teasingly as he chuckles. "Good to see you! Heard you left town."
I shrug nonchalantly, as if the last few years haven't broken me to pieces–as if I haven't repaired myself whole.
"I'm back."
"That's awesome!" He pulls out a notebook and pink pen with feathers while I raise an eyebrow. "Don't ask. I'm a pen thief. They've got wanted pictures of me all over the message boards."
I pretend to zip my lips. "I won't say a word. What are you doing in here? Isn't this Philosophy 101?"
Emmett grimaces. "Don't remind me. This ain't high school. They let you slack off all you want until it's your final year, and then they remind you of all the hard classes you tried to skip."
"So lazy," I tease quietly.
"And proud of it," he whispers back.
The professor gives us the stink eye, so we quiet down for a few minutes until he pulls up a video on the aspects of metaphysics.
Whatever that is.
"Have you heard from anybody? You know, the old crew?"
Emmett tries to go down the list. "Um, let's see. Rose and Emily went to the University of Florida together. Tyler is a wrestling referee. He gets to yell and chant for a living, so I guess he likes it. Jessica is some sort of famous designer, last I heard. And Jasper ... he's in prison."
"What? Why?" I ask in shock.
"Caught with a trunk full of weed. Said he had enough to light up the whole state of Washington in a haze."
"Wow."
"Yep. Oh, and do you remember Heidi Saunders?"
Unfortunately.
"It was the most freak accident. Somehow she was driving down 81 and got killed by a truck full of silverware. Can you believe it? They said she got stabbed all over her body with sporks and suffered horribly. Rumor is, she bled from her eyeballs."
"Tragic," I reply sarcastically.
He snickers. "I bet."
"Do you know whatever happened to Alice Brandon?" I ask slyly
"That was your friend, right? The one that dated Hale?" I nod, but he shakes his head. "No idea. Sorry."
We sit in silence for several minutes before I realize McCarty never even mentioned Cadillac. There's no way that he knows we're still together.
"Aren't you going to tell me about Edward Cullen?"
McCarty's body tenses and suddenly, he's scribbling furiously like he's taking notes.
It's just his name over and over again.
"Emmett!" I hiss.
McCarty holds up his hands defensively. "Dammit woman! The pressure is too much!" He puts two hands in the air as if he's saying a prayer. "Forgive me, Cad, for I am weak."
"Emmett!"
"Okay, okay–Cadillac told me what classes you were in. So, I've been following you around. I'm just checking on you, I swear! He promised me a car; I couldn't turn that down!"
I frown and twist his nipple as he silently screams in pain. "Do you even go here?"
"No! I serve fries, freshman! I work at McDonalds and I'm a fry fryer!"
I kick him one good time. "Where'd you get the pen, asswipe?"
"I'm a thief. That part was true. I ripped off the backpack from some short girl in the hall."
I look at him angrily. "What do you have to say for yourself, McCarty?"
"Nothing. But … um … can you ask Cad if the car is new or not? I can't afford a gas guzzler."
Emmett weeps in agony as I pinch the flesh on his meaty arm.
.
.
.
Pumpkin spice splashes against the wall. "You had Emmett follow me?"
"Do you know how embarrassed I was?" Banana crème whizzes past his ear.
"You promised him a car?" I bellow as chocolate mint surprise lands on his expensive shirt.
"Did you think I'd get drunk on my first day of college?"
I held up my favorite, strawberry lemon torte. I hate to sacrifice the deliciousness of torte-anything, but it has to be done.
I toss the sweet pie in his direction and it lands right on his face.
It's as if he didn't even try to move.
"Baby, listen … it's not even like that!" Cadillac wipes the slimy dessert from his face as he holds his hands up defensively.
With no more cakes to throw, I put my hands on my hips. "Do tell. What was it like then?"
"I … I just wanted to make sure you were all right. In case you were overwhelmed or got lost or something, I swear!"
Cadillac winces and peeks one eye open to make sure I'm not going to throw anything else.
His beautiful, immaculate kitchen is destroyed, but I don't feel the slightest bit remorseful.
"You can't do that, Cadillac! I gotta try on my own! How am I supposed to make it if you shadow me everywhere?"
"I'm sorry. Charlie and I-"
Oh, this is just getting worse. "Daddy too?"
"Fuck!" he mumbles under his breath. "You didn't hear that from me. Listen, I was just watching out for you. You can understand that, can't you?"
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
But it still isn't right.
"How am I supposed to fly if you keep holding down my wings?" I ask him. "College is supposed to be my new start. You've helped me every bit of the way, and I appreciate that–I truly do. But I gotta try for myself."
His shoulders slump as he walks toward me in defeat. "I know. I'm sorry, Dimples. I won't do it again. I promise."
"Good." He wraps his icing covered arms around me as I laugh. "Hell, Cadillac. You did that on purpose didn't you?"
He glances down at me and smirks. "A little."
I wipe a handful of creamy icing in his hair and spread it around his bronze colored locks. "I guess that was on purpose too. A little."
"You better run, Dimples."
I squeal, laughing and giggling as he chases me around the house, spreading gooey filling everywhere.
When he finally catches me, he smothers me in kisses.
It feels good, this carefree happiness.
I squirm as he tickles me. When our cackling subsides, we sit on the bathroom floor, wrapped in one another's arms.
"Cadillac?"
"Hmm?" He's barely listening as he reaches under my shirt.
"McCarty said Heidi Saunders got sporked to death by a silverware truck. Did you go to her funeral?"
Cadillac bursts into laughter. I don't get what's so funny about death, but when he finally answers me, I'm not expecting it at all.
"She ain't dead, baby bird; she's one of the top lawyers in the state of Washington."
I grimace, contemplating on how many sporks I can stab Emmett with.
Perhaps Mama was wrong and right.
I can't touch all the stars.
But as Cadillac kisses the spot below my neck, I figure it's all right just to reach one.