Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with "The Famous Jett Jackson."
-----------------------------------
The person standing in the doorway in front of her stared back. The fact that she couldn't
identify him was both relieving and embarrassing, because he obviously recognized her. A smirk
on his lips and a glint in his eye, he said, "Well hi there, Kayla. The last I remember of you is
the day we had a rumble in the park."
Rumble? She'd never fought anyone in her life, definitely not a man his size. Or did he say
tumble? She sheepishly blinked at the thought and dismissed it, again considering his physique.
He was big enough to play professional football.
And it clicked. "Tank!" She couldn't utter another word because he hurried over and picked her
up, hugging her in a circle. It was unexpected to say the least and she squealed in surprise. The
bully in him had somehow turned into a jolly man over the years. When he let her down, she
gasped for air and gestured toward him. "Look at you! I know I beat you into a pulp that day but
now I just can't imagine it!"
He chuckled. He had easily grown well over six feet and was so broad that it looked like he wore
shoulder pads beneath his suit. "Oh come on. If you had really beaten me up, would I have
finished high school with that stupid nickname? Tank...I tell ya, I haven't heard that since senior
year."
Kayla couldn't see anyone calling him anything else. "What IS your real name?" She stepped
ahead as he pointed toward the door.
He answered matter-of-factly. "Theodore."
She laughed and let him guide her inside, taking his offered arm.
"I don't even remember why you pushed me that day. At the park. Weren't you with Jackson?"
He looked at her curiously.
The music playing inside the gym burst through her ears. She pretended not to hear the question
and ignored the pang she felt within her as he led her to the refreshment table.
******
Soft jazz floated out of the speakers. He bobbed his head to the slow rhythm, his eyes fixed on
the road exposed by the front headlights. Outside it was a dark evening but he still remembered
what the few lampposts on Wilsted's streets allowed him to see. There were the numerous
picket fences...the sidewalk that led to school...the wooden benches...all the small, insignificant
things that he thought he'd forget but just couldn't. This was Wilsted, his hometown. He'd
always be a part of it. Stardom or no stardom.
The song ended and a line of commercials started to play. He extended a finger and clicked off
the radio. Back when he was a kid, he would have easily switched to the closest rap station.
Would've wanted to hear the newest sounds to mimic on his own turntables. ((What did I ever
do with those things?)) He found himself turning the car onto the high school parking lot.
He parked and turned off the engine. So this was it. Ten years after high school. His palms began
to sweat unexpectedly and they slid off the wheel. ((Why you so nervous? You've got a lot to
show for yourself.)) He knew it...must-see-TV viewers knew it...heck, even independent film
directors/writers knew it. Jett Jackson was an incredibly well-rounded, accomplished individual.
Still, there was something about going back to see all the people you used to see day in, day out
in high school.
((You know you gotta do it. Good thing you have that one person that can make you feel better
about having to go.))
He looked over to the passenger's side where that special person had fallen asleep. It had been a
long trip back but thank goodness he had someone to go with. Feeling the confidence in him
growing, Jett reached across to the other seat.
-----------------------------------
The person standing in the doorway in front of her stared back. The fact that she couldn't
identify him was both relieving and embarrassing, because he obviously recognized her. A smirk
on his lips and a glint in his eye, he said, "Well hi there, Kayla. The last I remember of you is
the day we had a rumble in the park."
Rumble? She'd never fought anyone in her life, definitely not a man his size. Or did he say
tumble? She sheepishly blinked at the thought and dismissed it, again considering his physique.
He was big enough to play professional football.
And it clicked. "Tank!" She couldn't utter another word because he hurried over and picked her
up, hugging her in a circle. It was unexpected to say the least and she squealed in surprise. The
bully in him had somehow turned into a jolly man over the years. When he let her down, she
gasped for air and gestured toward him. "Look at you! I know I beat you into a pulp that day but
now I just can't imagine it!"
He chuckled. He had easily grown well over six feet and was so broad that it looked like he wore
shoulder pads beneath his suit. "Oh come on. If you had really beaten me up, would I have
finished high school with that stupid nickname? Tank...I tell ya, I haven't heard that since senior
year."
Kayla couldn't see anyone calling him anything else. "What IS your real name?" She stepped
ahead as he pointed toward the door.
He answered matter-of-factly. "Theodore."
She laughed and let him guide her inside, taking his offered arm.
"I don't even remember why you pushed me that day. At the park. Weren't you with Jackson?"
He looked at her curiously.
The music playing inside the gym burst through her ears. She pretended not to hear the question
and ignored the pang she felt within her as he led her to the refreshment table.
******
Soft jazz floated out of the speakers. He bobbed his head to the slow rhythm, his eyes fixed on
the road exposed by the front headlights. Outside it was a dark evening but he still remembered
what the few lampposts on Wilsted's streets allowed him to see. There were the numerous
picket fences...the sidewalk that led to school...the wooden benches...all the small, insignificant
things that he thought he'd forget but just couldn't. This was Wilsted, his hometown. He'd
always be a part of it. Stardom or no stardom.
The song ended and a line of commercials started to play. He extended a finger and clicked off
the radio. Back when he was a kid, he would have easily switched to the closest rap station.
Would've wanted to hear the newest sounds to mimic on his own turntables. ((What did I ever
do with those things?)) He found himself turning the car onto the high school parking lot.
He parked and turned off the engine. So this was it. Ten years after high school. His palms began
to sweat unexpectedly and they slid off the wheel. ((Why you so nervous? You've got a lot to
show for yourself.)) He knew it...must-see-TV viewers knew it...heck, even independent film
directors/writers knew it. Jett Jackson was an incredibly well-rounded, accomplished individual.
Still, there was something about going back to see all the people you used to see day in, day out
in high school.
((You know you gotta do it. Good thing you have that one person that can make you feel better
about having to go.))
He looked over to the passenger's side where that special person had fallen asleep. It had been a
long trip back but thank goodness he had someone to go with. Feeling the confidence in him
growing, Jett reached across to the other seat.