Solstice - Of The Heart (11 page)

“Mom usually gets me up.”

Mr. Roberts adjusted his tie before
jotting down a memo in my folder. “Okay. Bring a note from your
mother tomorrow.”

“Sure. I will.”

He scribbled a line on my note as to
the time I had left the office. Somehow I felt as though I were
being held prisoner on someone else’s time clock. As long as Aaron
was being held prisoner too and his schedule coincided with mine I
didn’t care.

Ms. Wroblewski handed me a clip board
to track the scoring of the hockey teams. To my surprise, the drama
queens played quite well, given the fact they were primping their
hair as much as they were swinging their sticks. It looked like
their scoring had as much to do with some of the opposing team’s
players stepping aside as it did to the drama queen’s skills at
hockey. Could it be some of the opposing team’s players were all
about scoring points off the court?

I have more of a creative bent than an
analytical mind, so math is not one of my strong points. It’s hard
enough to concentrate on numbers without clock watching and
thinking of what I was going to say to Aaron in Biology class. I
took the maroon beanie out of my back pack, pretended I was wiping
my nose with it, and placed it in my lap. Interjecting thoughts of
Aaron filled time and, when time was filled it sped up.

All good.

Lunch came and went. Cherrie, as she
said, didn’t show. Neither did the Delmons. I sat out on the cold
concrete wall and ate my P&J in silence. The clock ground to a
near stop.

English went well and fast. The drama
queens were in seventh heaven because we were studying
Shakespeare’s play, Romeo and Juliet, and this was being done in
conjunction with drama class where the play would be reenacted. I
imagined all three of the drama queens would kill for the role of
Juliet, depending, of course in part, which boy in school landed
the role of Romeo. I could only hope to be in the same room when
the drama queens battled it out. Would they pick straws? Or bare
finger nails?

Shakespeare is a hard read, but I got
the gist of his play Romeo and Juliet. What teenage girl doesn’t?
Two star crossed lovers whose deaths ultimately unite their feuding
families. Falling in love with your beau at the tender young age of
thirteen and getting married! I wasn’t sure about the married part,
but then I hadn’t met my beau yet, or had I? I looked at the maroon
wave-cloud beanie for an answer. It reminded me of the opposite:
Two different layers of air moving at different speeds and in
opposite directions causing friction. Not what I wanted to hear
right now. I tucked the beanie away in my back pack. The bell rang
and I hurried off to art class.

I love art. As I mentioned I have a
creative bent. I imagined it was one of the reasons—among others—I
was so attracted to Aaron. There was so much to his physical
appearance that the pen and the camera could capture. He didn’t
seem to have a bad looking angle. I imagined each creation derived
from his form would reveal another nuance, like peeling an onion,
layer by layer, and reveling in the magnificence of each
stratum.

We took turns in art class standing in
front of the artists and having them sketch us as we posed. Today
it was Lindsay’s turn to model. She is a beauty in her own right, a
tad bit on the skinny side, but, if she played her cards right, she
could be a runway model. She has long hair, is tall, petite facial
features, and a slim figure.

As I worked on drawing Lindsay, my
number 8B-2H pencil seemed to take on a mind of its own. I drew
what I thought to be an excellent rendering of her body, but no
matter how hard I tried to stay on course with her face I deviated
toward the masculine, drawing Aaron’s features instead.

When Joe Leach, our art teacher came
by to inspect my work, I held the pad close to my chest in hopes
that he would slip on by without looking.

Fat chance.

“Julissa, how are we
doing?”

I like Joe. He has us call him by his
first name. He’s a throw-back to the Clark Gable era, although I
could never see him as Gone with the Wind’s Rhett Butler and
saying, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” He still greases
his hair up and back the same way those guys did back then. At
times, if one looked hard enough, you could see a duck tail
protruding from under his collar. He’s easy going, a favorite among
students.

“Good, Joe.”

“Can I see your drawing?”

“It’s not done.”

“That’s okay. Just want to see your
progress.”

I reluctantly handed over my
pad.

Joe never gives up a hint of what he
is thinking with his face. He just speaks it out loud.

He held up my drawing for all the
class to see, including Lindsay.

“This is good,” he told
them.

“It doesn’t look like
Lindsay.”

The voice came from the far end of the
room. I knew it to be her boyfriend, Kevin Stauffer, voicing
displeasure.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joe said. “But it
shows imagination. It shows individuality, what creativity is all
about.” He handed me my pad. “Very good, Julissa.” He placed a hand
on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, something he always
did when he felt good about a student’s progress, which was most of
the time. “Keep up the good work.”

Good work to Joe meant doing. If all I
was capable of drawing was a stick man, which was the best some
students, who lacked a creative bone in their body, could do, it
was good work in Joe Leach’s eyes. It was next to impossible to
fail his class.

I added more shading under Aaron’s
eyes. I couldn’t find a way to capture the reflected light of his
pupils. I left them dark. In the end I tore out the page. I folded
it up and stuffed it in my backpack to be burned later. I started
over and quickly sketched a crude resemblance of Lindsay. I would
have to know Aaron better if I was going to capture his essence on
paper or, for that matter, in any other form.

It was nice of Mr. Omes, my biology
teacher, to introduce me to the seventh period class, but totally
unnecessary as far as I was concerned. I recognized Jason Chavez
and the drama queen trio right off. I was surprised to see Robert
Alomar, who had been in the first period Biology class with me. Was
he following me? Or worse yet, did he think I followed him by
changing classes? To my dismay Aaron Delmon was still nowhere to be
found.

I took a seat in a rear station where
there were two empty seats. Robert looked disappointed that I
hadn’t chosen the empty seat next to his. His face also told me he
was certain, come time for the dissection of the pig, (next on the
curriculum) Mr. Omes would pair us up.

Ten minutes into Mr. Omes’
instructions regarding the dissection of the baby pig, Aaron
entered the room. Bernard followed in his footsteps. Aaron stood in
the doorway, waiting, while Bernard apologized for the
interruption. Bernard approached Mr. Omes and, in whispers, spoke
to the teacher.

I tried not to be too obvious, but at
the same time I wanted Aaron to know I was there, that I had a seat
waiting for him. I reached and knocked over a beaker. Fortunately
it was made of Pyrex so it didn’t break, but the loud bang brought
more attention than I had anticipated. All of the class turned to
look.

So did Aaron.

I smiled an apology, set the beaker to
rights, and nodded to Aaron.

Aaron’s face remained expressionless.
He returned his gaze to Bernard. Bernard whispered something in
Aaron’s ear as he passed. Aaron, to my displeasure, walked up the
aisle and sat down next to another girl!

That hurt.

The girl looked harmless enough. She
wore a plain dress, thick eyeglasses, and, a year or two earlier,
clearly had a bout with acne resulting in scarring. She was the
classic example of a book worm, an overachiever in the academic
world. I placed a bet her and Cherrie could converse on a
stratospheric level.

I really didn’t hear what Mr. Omes
said next. My emotions and thoughts became a jumbled mess in my
head. Why would Aaron ignore me? What had I done so wrong he would
go out of his way to avoid me? Was I wrong and Cherrie right? Was
Aaron going to remain unsociable?

Even to me?

I remember watching Bernard whisper
something in Aaron’s ear as he left. At the same time I saw Bernard
whispering, I felt he had an eye on me. Had he warned Aaron off? I
couldn’t help but believe so. Bernard’s earlier hint I was
responsible for missing personnel property left me feeling
intimidated.

Deep in thought, I barely heard the
question Mr. Omes asked.

“Before we start the dissection of the
piglets, is there someone in the class who would like to partner up
with Miss Grant and help her catch up?”

Robert Alomar could not have gotten
onto his feet fast enough.

I cringed.

“Not you, Robert,” Mr. Omes said. “You
have some catching up of your own to do. How about you two, Aaron
and Abby?”

Mr. Omes directed his finger at Aaron
and the bookworm.

It had a certain ring about it: Aaron
and Abby. I saw hesitation on their part, the looking at each
other, and the class looking at Aaron and Abby.

“Aaron, you sit with Julissa. Abby,
why don’t you move on over and help Robert out.”

I saw disappointment fill Robert’s
eyes. I lowered mine in an attempt to hide the joy.

“Hi,” Aaron said as he sat.

“Hi yourself,” I said. “How did you
manage that?”

“Manage what?”

“Coming to class late and not having
to see Mr. Roberts.”

“I was helping Bernard move some
tables. Just took longer than we thought it would.”

“Bernard’s your brother?”

It was a question out of the blue so I
expected some surprise on Aaron’s face, but not as much as he
showed.

“Brother? No. He’s not my brother. We
call him brother because he looks after us.”

“Like brother monk? Like a
monk?”

“More like a foster
parent.”

“But he isn’t?”

“He’s morally responsible for
us.”

“But he’s not your blood
brother.”

“No.”

“So who is legally responsible for
you? I mean do you live with your parents?”

“Not anymore.”

“They’re dead?”

“Rather not talk about it.”

“So you live with your big brother.” I
put on a smile and laced the word brother with a heavy dose of
sarcasm.

Aaron chuckled.

It was the first time I had seen him
this at ease. It raised my confidence. I could see the turtle
poking its head out of its shell.

“He’s older. But he’s not my brother,
in blood anyway.” Aaron pointed to the pig. “You ready for
this?”

I looked at the dead pig in front of
me. I wanted to say something sarcastic like, “oh yeah. The thrill
of the day. Chopping up dead pigs.”

I behaved myself. This
time.

“Not really. Glad you’re here to help
me catch up.”

In the background, I heard Mr. Omes
lecturing on how pigs are mammals and that many aspects of their
structural and functional organization are identical with those of
other mammals, including humans and “thus,” he said, “the study of
the fetal pig is in a very real sense, a study of
humans.”

I looked and smiled at Aaron. “This
should prove to be interesting.”

“I got something for you,” Aaron said.
“He reached back into his back pack and brought out my orange WBL
beanie. “You left it in the store.”

Mr. Omes continued talking about how
dissect didn’t mean to cut up but to expose to view. We were
supposed to pick and tease apart the tissues with needle probes,
forceps, and blunt probes while paying attention to the spatial
relationships of the organs, glands, and other
structures.

I took the orange beanie. “Thanks,” I
said. “I would have hated to lose it.”

“You’re from Minnesota.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been there. Hear its cold
and snowy most of the time.”

“Some of the time.”

“I would also encourage you to engage
in collaborative discussion with your partner,” I heard Mr. Omes
say.

“Well, partner,” I said, “should we
collaborate?”

I slipped on a pair of lab gloves and
picked up a scalpel. I was trying to be brave, but I had never seen
anything being slaughtered before, much less butcher it myself. I
like my meat when it comes all wrapped up in those nice little
packages you get from the grocery store. I eyed the pig.

“Not sure where to begin.”

Aaron held up the proposed cut diagram
for the pig. He read the instructions.

“It says to start your incision at the
small tuft of hair on the upper portion of the throat and to cut to
the umbilicus.”

I looked at the pig and back at Aaron.
I’m sure he saw the color drain from my face. “Maybe I should read
and you should cut.”