CHAPTER ELEVEN
Reggie’s Saturday morning trailed into Saturday afternoon when he finally woke up. He didn’t sleep well, dreaming about fighting with Kevin. More like nightmares, Reggie thought as he stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t get the dreams out of his head. There was Kevin chasing him in the mountains, catching him and biting him in the neck. He saw himself lying there bleeding to death in the dirt. This sucks, Reggie thought as he dragged his body out of bed, leaving the stupid nightmares under the covers.
By the time he made it into the kitchen, his mom was about to head off to work. “Good Morning, Reg.”
Looking into the refrigerator he mumbled, “What’s good about it?”
After a pause, his mom said, “I know you’re angry at dad, but can we—”
“I honestly don’t want to talk about it,” he said before drinking right out of the orange juice container. He wiped his lips. “Can we just forget about it?”
She gave her son a long look. “I’ll try and talk to him Reg.” She then patted him on the back. “See you tonight, okay. Maybe we can watch a movie together or play a game.” “Maybe,” he grunted.
After a peanut butter, jelly, and baloney sandwich, Reggie clicked on the TV and saw that stupid commercial for the ‘cat brushing tower’ with the ORDER NOW! 800 number flashing. He reached into his wallet and pulled out the Lady Gaga ticket with Jennifer’s number. He took a deep breath, dropped the remote, picked up his cell, and pecked out her number.
“Jennifer?”
“Who is this? Reggie, is that you?” Jennifer’s voice said. She sounded groggy, or maybe sad.
Calling her was a bad idea, he thought. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, it’s me, but were you sleeping? If you’re sleeping we can talk later or—”
“No,” she said. “I’m just bummed out; my parents are at it again.”
“Shit. Are you okay?”
“I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay.” There was a pause before Jennifer asked, “What you up to this afternoon?”
“Nothing, really. Just hanging out in my room.”
“I was going to do some painting, but you wanna hang out?”
He nearly fell over and took a couple seconds to compose himself. He couldn’t believe she wanted to hang out with him. “Sure. I mean, yeah. Where can we meet?”
They worked out the details to meet at a state park off the Ventura Freeway. The bus stop wasn’t far from the park, and Reggie got there first and wandered around. The park was small and had some historic civil war regiment barracks that weren’t open. The only other people there were a couple of moms and nannies wandering around pushing baby strollers. He found a bench away from the street so Jennifer’s dad didn’t think she was meeting someone.
Soon the silver Tesla pulled up. Jennifer got out carrying a wooden case and wearing a dark blue t-shirt and torn, acid-washed jeans. Looking around the park as though she was scouting a landscape, they spotted each other. Walking fast, they met with broad smiles, found a shady spot under a sweet gum tree and sat shoulder to shoulder.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Reggie said. “What’s up with your parents? I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s stupid maybe, but they don’t like my style or my attitude, I guess, and they definitely don’t like my grades.”
Yeah, I get that, Reggie thought as he noticed the two colors in her grey-blue eyes; it was like the blue was penetrating and determined; the grey acting soft and sad.
“Seriously? I always thought… You’re not a good student?”
“Huh!” Jennifer chuckled, “The only class I do well in is art, where I can create and express myself.”
“I know what you mean,” Reggie mumbled. Then he looked her up and down and shook his head. “But what don’t your parents get about your style? I think your style is awesome. I like the way you look.” As soon as he said that last part, he looked away in embarrassment.
“Well, that’s nice to hear. Thank you. I think you look cute, too.” They took turns blushing before she continued: “I guess they think I’m some sort of a blonde goth girl who loves drugs, sex, and punk rock or whatever. They hate my hair and how I dress.”
“I really like your hair. They’re crazy. It’s amazing the way you get it to stand up like that.” Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “Can I touch it?”
Jennifer laughed and then ducked the top of her head toward him. “Go for it. Be my guest.”
He gently ran his palm over the flat top of the spikes. “Cool.” “Thanks,” she said, looking up at him with her mixed eyes.
“Want to see my tattoo?”
“You have a tattoo?” he asked.
“Yeah. I got it without my parent’s permission. They were pissed.”
A second later he watched her lift up her blouse and push down her jeans to the top of her pelvic bone, revealing what looked like a Monarch butterfly; wings spread on her smooth white skin.
“That’s… awesome,” he whispered, trying to remain cool. “Um, so does it mean something, or do you just like butterflies?”
“You know how they change. From caterpillar to butterfly. That’s how I feel about myself.”
“Have you changed a lot?” Reggie asked. “I didn’t know you before.”
“I’ve changed a lot, yeah,” she said. “My parents always wanted me to be a little princess, and I was like that for a long time. But when I got older I said ‘screw all that’ stuff and became an artist. I’m an artist now. That’s me being a butterfly.”
“Cool. You seem so sure of yourself. I’m jealous.”
She smiled at him. “It started a long time ago, so maybe I seem surer now. I drew a lot in middle school to escape and started reading art history books instead of Harry Potter or watching TV. Then I got into yoga and meditation, which really changed me.”
Reggie kept silent and gave her a puzzled look. Art history books? Yoga and meditation? Who was this amazing girl, and what
was she doing hanging out with someone like me?
“I know it sounds flaky,” she said, “but for me, meditating provided a way to release my anxieties and open up a pathway to my art.”
“I don’t think it sounds flaky. I wanna know more.”
“Well, meditating gives me space from all that crap about celebrity and material goods.”
“Yeah, that’s LA alright,” Reggie said. “But how do you meditate? I mean, do you just like close your eyes and sit still?”
“Um. Well,” Jennifer began, “it comes down to finding a quiet place and time to let go of all the distractions that make you crazy, like your parents, and get totally still in your mind and get into yourself.”
“Seriously? You are a new age punker.”
Jennifer laughed and without warning, gave him a quick punch in the arm and then flattened her back against a tree with her eyes closed. “No, I am serious about meditating. It works for me. Tell you what; I’ll let you borrow my meditation guidebook. I’ll bring it to school.”
“Sure.” Reggie said, still feeling her soft punch in his arm. “So, um, what kind of art do you do?”
She opened her eyes and reached for her wooden case. She started to leaf through several sketches and watercolors. “Want to see some?” Instead, Reggie’s eyes focused on her ripped jeans. A large hole half way up her thigh revealed her creamy white skin with delicate light blue veins.
She broke his fix and said, “They aren’t finished, but I think you’ll like this one.” She pulled out a colorful watercolor and held it facing her chest, pushing it in toward her heart. “It’s sort of an abstract-impressionist piece I did right here in this park.” She handed it to Reggie, “It’s one of my all-time favorites.” As Reggie gazed at the painting, the jumble of abstract shapes and colors framing an area of light drew him into the canvas. “When I painted it,” she said, “I felt I was becoming one with the world.”
“Wow!” Reggie let out. His fingers touched the dappled green and ochre edges of the paper. It stimulated his senses—how they were so alive like when he was in the woods. Then it reminded him of a page in that picture book his mom used to read to him as a kid—the young brave on horseback in the meadow of wildflowers. He always related to that Indian boy. He wished he had a way of capturing that feeling, creating something of beauty out of his own talent.
Jennifer watched his intense focus and admired his long, almost feminine eyelashes.
“You like it?” Jennifer asked, breaking his spell.
“Um. Yeah. I wish I could paint pictures like this. Makes me feel like I’m wandering in the woods.”
“Exactly! You do get it,” Jennifer shouted as she slapped him a high five. “That’s one of the first watercolors I ever did after I started meditating.” Then, she took a deep breath: “You can have it.”
“For real?” Reggie said as he started handing it back to her.
“For real. Take it.”
“Wow. Thanks a lot. I love it. I’ll hang it in my room tonight.”
Jennifer reached for her phone in her back pocket. As she did, Reggie looked at her small, nicely shaped breasts jutting upward. Jennifer looked at her screen and said it was her dad asking when to pick her up. She texted him: another hour.
For the rest of the time they talked about school, classes and people they knew. Reggie was too afraid to ask her if she’d ever dated anybody. Jennifer mentioned something about Monday and immediately she could see the dread come over Reggie’s face. “Worried about that asshole, Kevin, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Reggie said as he picked up a stone and threw it far into the grass.
“I got it!” Jennifer said, “Next week, you and Isaac can join me and my artsy friends for lunch in the yard, okay? Won’t even have to see him.”
Reggie’s face brightened. “That’d be cool. I’d like that. But you don’t have to, I mean, if you don’t want to.”
At the same moment Jennifer’s dad’s car drove down the street in the opposite direction.
“I better go,” she said, and then she kissed Reggie on the cheek and gave him a close hug. Reggie felt her breasts against his chest and warmth rippled up and down his body. He was embarrassed by how attracted he was to her and he hoped it didn’t show.
She broke the hug, grabbed her case, and ran to the parking area. In the car her dad asked her how the painting went. She told him it’s going great. Reggie, with Jennifer’s watercolor in hand, walked the six miles home.