The Cheer Leader (16 page)

“Well, I don't know,” I say. “I've been getting along just fine. I'm the May Queen, you know. In just five weeks, I'll be crowned the May Queen.”

“I know,” he says and I don't even get a chance to ask how he knows before he launches into a long speech about how he's changed, seen the light, the truth will set
you free, hallelujah, praise the Lord, and he's going to prove it to me, to Bobby, my parents, my friends; he knows it won't be easy, but he's going to try. Somewhere during that speech I see myself as the winner, the crusader who has saved a fellow man from the shady side, accomplished a mission all by dressing up and going to Parker's drugstore for a cherry Mountain Dew. Was this what I had been waiting for? Was this an answer? Who knows but I said yes, knowing that if I was wrong that I had mastered the art of pretending that I was the norm, the original, the correct.

It seems that everything happened so fast. I had forgotten that Pat Reeves was home and that we had a date that night. When he got there, just fifteen minutes before Red was scheduled to arrive, I couldn't think of anything to say but the truth, which as they say, hurts. Pat Reeves accused me of using him; he accused me of having no interest in him whatsoever. He said that he hoped that I would be very happy with Red, and when he left, he looked at me one good time, as if I might laugh and say it was a joke, tell him that I had changed my mind, and then he turned and left, leaving the front door standing wide open. I had to ignore all of that, pretend that that never happened, tell myself that I had done the right thing no matter what anybody else had to say, believe that Red was sincere, believe that he really did work every night except Friday and Saturday which he quickly adopted as the nights he would eat at my house and watch T.V. That was, he said, the way to win my parents' confidence. Maybe, he said, he could go running with
Bobby when Bobby came home; maybe, he said, he could take Andy out and teach him how to high jump or how to keep his minibike tuned up. He was trained very well and I had the greatest feeling of hope that everything was just fine. I had always heard, “You may shit on me once, but no one gets the chance to do it twice.” I gave Red that second chance, just like Pat Reeves had given me.

I feel very guilty about not seeing Red on a Friday night but I have to work on the May dance decorations with Tricia, Lisa and Cindy. “Do what you want,” Red says, “if it's that important to you, I guess I'll just have to understand.”

“I really need to,” I say and I have this awful feeling that I am going to cause him to go away again. “Maybe I can see you later.”

“No, I don't want you driving down to the lake at night. I'd worry about you.” His voice is filled with concern and this makes me feel much better. “Go and do what you have to do. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Red,” I say because he is so understanding these days.

Beatrice stops by the high school for just long enough to run in the tissue paper that she is supposed to bring. “Here, Jo,” she says and hands me the paper even though there are plenty of people closer to her. It always surprises me that Beatrice always, in some small way, helps out with all of the dances and school functions that she makes so much fun of. Sometimes, she acts like she
wants to be friends in an odd way or maybe she feels guilty and uncomfortable because I've seen her messed up so many times. She is probably afraid that I will talk about her.

“Thanks,” I tell her. “Aren't you going to stay and work?”

“No, I've got plans,” she says and puts her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and stretches. I hear a few people laugh but it doesn't faze Beatrice. “Big plans,” she says loud enough for everyone to hear. “I thought you'd be going to the party, too, Jo, or are you and Red on the outs again?” She stares and her eyes look funny, like they're crossing again; she has bags under her eyes like she's been crying.

“No, we're fine,” I say though I have to climb up a ladder and adjust the chicken wire planet that we are constructing. “I just needed to be here tonight.”

“That's a shame,” she says. “Scott and Wanda throw really good parties. I'm sure Red must have told you that they're using his place to have it.”

“Oh yes,” I say and then I watch Beatrice swing down the hall with a confidence that I have never seen in her. I suppose that Mark Fuller has made her that way. All of a sudden, I feel like I have been socked in the stomach, that it is all happening again. Cindy, Tricia and Lisa follow me into the bathroom because I am crying. I have been crying since I crawled down from the top of that ladder without putting one piece of tissue paper into the chicken wire, red paper for Mars. We are constructing
the universe; our theme for the dance is about space though I can't remember the exact words.

“What is the theme for our dance?” I ask so that they will forget I'm crying.

“Jo Spencer, look at me!” Lisa says and her voice has that strong but soothing maternal effect. It makes me cry more. “Red has you upset, doesn't he? That's been the trouble lately.”

“Is that true?” Cindy stands back as though I'm contagious and whispers.

“There weren't ever problems at home, were there?” Lisa is very persistent like a mother. “All those things that we've ever heard about Red are true, aren't they?”

“All what things?” I ask and what I really want to know are the exact words about the universe. What are those small words that will forever bind the class of 1975 when aliens dig up a big chicken wire planet?

“Jo, you know. Don't act like you don't!” Lisa swings me around and makes me look in the mirror. “Look at you, your eyes. They're always puffy from crying.” It is noticeable; I can't believe that I have not noticed this myself, that my friends have and didn't tell me.

“That's no way for the Queen to look,” Tricia says and tries to get a laugh.

“And dieting,” Lisa continues. “Look at you, a size seven. I wear elevens, do I look fat?” Lisa steps back and I look at her. No, she doesn't look fat at all. I shake my head. She is tall and can carry it. I am short and cannot. I can't carry weight. I look back at myself and it is obvious
that I cannot carry my weight. There is simply too much of me; there is way too much.

“Does Red do that to you, too?” Lisa continues. I have to think about that. Does Red do that to me, too? If it's one thing I can't stand, it's a girl who doesn't take care of her body, Red says. Don't you ever get that way, Jo. No, no, I will never get that way.

“I just like to watch my weight,” I say.

“Well, you can watch it without starving yourself,” Cindy says a little bit louder.

“Really, Jo,” Tricia says and puts her arm around my shoulder. “What have you got to be upset about?”

“Dump him!” Lisa says. “There are loads of guys that want to go out with you, Pat Reeves for one!” That is hard to believe. Pat Reeves doesn't care about me; he said so one time. They just want me to be without a boyfriend. They don't know all I know about Red; they don't know what Red can be like I know.

“You hate Red, don't you?” I turn around so that I don't have to look at myself. “You've always hated Red!”

“It's not that so much as we hate what he's doing to you!” Lisa is crying which is dumb. Grown up mother types don't cry, or do they? Did my mother cry when I told her that I was ugly or did I cry? What are those words about the universe? No, none of that happened and the truth is that I don't cry, ever, not really. And none of this is true. I can go right down to the lake and everything will be fine.

“I have to go to the lake,” I say. “Red is expecting me.”

“Jo, don't go,” Lisa pleads. She is begging and Cindy
is begging. Tricia doesn't say anything. “You'd have to be crazy to go down there alone,” Lisa says and grabs my arm.

“But, I told him that I'd go.” Yes, now I have myself together.

“I'll go with her,” Tricia says and hands the tissue paper that she has been holding to Cindy. “Let's go, Jo, before it gets too late.”

“Thanks,” I tell her and I face Cindy and Lisa whose mouths are wide open. “I'm okay, Y'all. We'll be careful and we'll be right back.”

“Call me,” Lisa says and then looks at Tricia. “Please don't stay down there long. I may have my nights on occasion but nothing like what goes on at the lake at night.”

“I hope everything's okay, Jo,” Cindy whispers and Tricia pulls my arm and I follow her, down the long silent halls of the high school, through the parking lot to her car. It is a silent night and we listen to the radio all the way to the lake. Tricia keeps saying that she is doing this only for me, that she doesn't think we should be doing it. I listen to her but it doesn't bother me because I know that Tricia will see the truth, that everything is fine and then, I'll have a witness.

The cabin looks dark except for the small candle burning in the front room and the gray silence of a T.V. with the volume turned down. I walk in because I have done that before. Scott and Wanda sit, their glazed eyes staring into the candle. Tricia's hands cling softly to my sweater. “I don't like this,” she whispers. “He's not here.”

“Well, hey,” Wanda says and looks up. “Come on in.”

“Where's Red?” I ask. “Isn't he here?”

“Somewhere,” Wanda says. “He's somewhere.”

“Nah, he left,” Scott says and I can tell he is lying. “He wasn't feeling well.”

“I thought there was a party,” I say. “Beatrice said that Y'all were having a party.”

“Beatrice?” Wanda asks and holds up a glass of burgundy wine. “You can't believe a word she says. Have some? We can make it a party.”

“No thanks.” I walk to the door leading to the other room.

“Don't, Jo,” Tricia says. “Let's go.” She hangs by the door where it's dark.

“Oh, I thought there was just one of you,” Wanda squeals. “It's like personalities splitting apart. That really gave me a rush.”

“Everything gives you a rush,” Scott says and twists her nipple.

“Jo, please!” Tricia's voice is almost shrill, almost like a warning signal and I want to turn around, to get in her car because I know what I am going to find. I know, deep down, I know. I just don't know who it's going to be and at the same time I am thinking, “It can't happen again. What Bobby told me were lies or did Bobby tell me anything? Did anybody tell me anything? Did it happen? Is this happening?”

I turn the doorknob slowly and gently push the door open. I try to ease any creak that the door might make.

“Hey, Mark's in there.” Scott jumps up and weaves like a top in slow motion to get his balance. I push the door open and for just a second all I see is the light that goes back and forth like a seesaw, a captured ocean wave that rolls under fluorescent blue light. That tacky light holds my attention, my breath, against the rustle of sheets, feet on the floor.

“I tried to stop her, Red.” Scott pushes past me and stands in front of Red. Now, my eyes are focused and I see him, sitting on the side of the bed, no shirt, his jeans pulled down below that hideous inny navel. He is alone.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to drive down here at night.” He acts as though I am out of place, as though I have no right, no cause. There is a minute second of relief but no, it's not good enough—there are sounds; there is a light, just a thin crack of light, coming from under the bathroom door. Red sees me looking.

“Somebody's sick,” Red says very calmly. “I was just waiting to make sure they're okay.” They are? They're?

“Oh God, I'm sick,” the muffled voice rings in my ears like some haunting nursery rhyme. “Somebody help.” I know that voice, now, I know that voice.

“You are sick,” I say to the closed door. “You're all sick.” I want to slap Red, to spit on him but I am afraid. How could I have loved this person that I hate so much. The fear comes over me like a wave, rocking, shaking like that blue captured wave.

“Ah, leave him alone,” Scott says. “The boy's had a
rough night, got a little messed up because he had looked forward to seeing you tonight. He's just trying to help out a sick friend.”

“Yeah,” Red says and flops back on the bed and covers his face with his hands. “Your May dance was more important than me. I can dig it but you can't expect me to sit home and watch T.V. every time that you have something better to do.” He is making it sound like I have always done this to him. No, I haven't done anything, nothing at all and I want to scream it but I can't get the words out. Nothing; then there are moans in the bathroom, a stammering, “Help me.”

“Boy, she's out of it,” Wanda says and flops down on the end of the bed. “Who invited her anyway?”

“Nobody,” Scott says. “She invited herself after Mark told her to fuck off; ugly little screwed up bitch.”

I hate them, hate them all; I hate Beatrice but not enough to ignore her, not enough not to spite them or maybe I do hate her. I go to the bathroom door.

“Jo, I'm leaving,” Tricia says and turns around.

“Wait for me. Please, wait.” I am crying and I can't control it. “Please, I'll be there in a minute.” I push open the bathroom door and I hear the front door slam behind Tricia and I can only hope that she will wait for me.

“Come here, Jo,” Red yells and jumps up off the bed. I slam the door and lock it. It is bright, a stark white bulb without a cover, a shower with no curtain, gold specks on dirty white, hairy drain.

“Jo, I'm sorry. Nothing happened.” The words are slurred and lost in the echo of the toilet.

“I don't know what to say.”

Beatrice gazes up and it occurs to me that there is no trace of intentness left in those eyes. Or if it is there, it is hidden by a film, the black of her pupils so large that they look like a deep deep blue, like a helpless blind dog. I want to slap her, to choke her but instead, I reach and pull her hair out of the commode, flush.