Life's A Cappella (4 page)

But I was also angry because I had already depicted a scenario in which I was being judged and looked down upon. Or worse, he could be feeling sorry for me. And, in my opinion, pity was not only degrading, but, more importantly, a complete waste of an emotion. Pity could cripple the soul. Pity was for spineless fools who bent over and let life fuck them. Pity was not for me. I was, in my own right, a fighter and not someone to feel sorry for.

"Okay," Trent said as he leaned down and kissed my cheek. "See you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure," I responded and watched him leave, a bit confused by his easy acceptance of our sleeping arrangements.

"You're thinking too much," Camilla told me once Trent was no longer in earshot.

"Yeah," I agreed, trying to calm my frenzied mind as I crawled into the passenger seat and reclined it so I could stare up at the stars.

Camilla got two bottles of Corona from our cooler and handed me one after she popped the top off. I drank slowly and asked, “Isn’t there some law about drinking in a vehicle?”

“Yeah, but I think the key has to be in the ignition. No worries, Erin. Your cop can’t get us in trouble.”

“My cop?” I laughed.

“Well, he’s definitely not mine,” she teased.

“Is this the girl talk part where I tell you how cute he is?”

“God no,” she wrinkled her nose. “Only part I wanna hear is if he has any good moves in bed.”

Camilla tucked the pillow I threw at her face under her head, laughing as she set her phone to play from her Imagine Dragons file. It was odd that I enjoyed their music as much as I did since their lyrics were more uplifting than angry, but I was a fan. I found myself quickly lulled to sleep listening to It’s Time, dreaming about an island that never slept and a girl who had grown to be someone she could be proud of while still staying true to who she was at the core.

Chapter 6

Erin

While the sun had not disturbed me, I couldn’t sleep past the smell of coffee. I opened my eyes and eagerly took the offered cup from Trent and enjoyed my first sip. Wait, Trent? I eyed him suspiciously, trying to clear my head of its morning fog.

Trent grinned at me and very happily, too happily said, "Good morning."

"Mornin'," I responded, not liking him for his early morning cheer.

He watched me patiently as my brain slowly came to life and I became a fully functioning adult. "Cam's out running," I said as a way of making conversation.

"It speaks," he joked and disheveled my already matted up hair. I quickly rummaged the backseat for my comb and tried to tame my hair down. "I saw her earlier but she strongly advised me not to get near you without coffee."

"Yeah, thanks," I said as I lifted the cup to my lips.

"Now that you're awake, can I get you breakfast?"

I nodded in agreement, but quickly blushed when I remembered the state I was in. First I needed to brush my teeth and take a shower. I grabbed my book bag with all my belongings and started to tell him I'd meet him in fifteen minutes when he took the bag from me.

"Great," he said. "I'll get breakfast ready while you fix yourself up."

"Fix myself up?" I asked.

Trent held his hands up, a sign of retreat, and replied, "Personally, I think you look gorgeous, but in my experience, the female species isn't happy until they've done more than put a comb through their hair."

"Female species?" I asked, raising my eyebrows, and ignoring the fact he just called me gorgeous. I’d been called many things, but gorgeous? Never.

He laughed at me and reminded me how, in his defense, he had brought me coffee. I allowed him that little bit of leverage and followed him to a small store with stairs that led to an even smaller apartment. I took a quick shower,
fixed myself up
, and met Trent in the kitchen to see what he was cooking.

“Frosted flakes? I thought you were gonna make me breakfast,” I joked.

“Oh no,” Trent shook his head. “I never said anything about making anything.”

“Hmm…I think I remember…”

“You remember nothing,” he interrupted, still shaking his head. “I don’t make food. I buy precooked, already packaged food.”

“I’m disappointed, Trent. Just when I was starting to see the sex appeal of the harmonica.”

“And how is the sex appeal of the harmonica related to my preference of prepackaged food?” he countered.

I thought about it and replied, “It just is, okay?” And that was the argument I would stick to. Because I’m a part of the female species, as he so eloquently stated, and it is well known that we don’t have to have a relevant argument to maintain an argument.

Trent smiled at me and handed me my bowl of cereal, which I willingly took. After my first bite, I motioned the spoon towards the bowl and told him it was the best cereal I’d ever had.

“Smart ass,” he responded.

“No, seriously. The milk to cereal ratio is perfect.”

“Uh-huh.”

I shook my head at him and insisted, “Some people drown their cereal and you’re left with a milky syrupy residue that you then have to drink straight from the bowl. Or they don’t put enough milk and your cereal is left in a wading pool, too crunchy to be enjoyed. So then,” I continued, undeterred by the odd looks I was receiving, “you either have to add more milk and hope you don’t drown them, or suffer through mediocre cereal. But you, my friend,” I said pointing my spoon at him, “have mastered what I call cereal bliss.”

“We all have our specialties. Me? I’m a professional in calculating the correct cereal to milk ratio,” Trent laughed.

“I’d call you a scientist, but it’s more of an art,” I said seriously.

“He’s wasting his talent chasing around bad guys,” Dave interrupted as he emerged from his room wearing nothing but his tighty-whities.

“Oh, um, well, shit, this is an interesting morning,” I laughed.

Dave stood directly in front of me, with his hands on his hips and asked, “Does my masculinity intimidate you?”

“No, Dave. I just prefer boxer briefs,” I responded, causing Trent to cough out his cereal as he laughed at the dubious look Dave gave me.

***

Once on the beach, I dug my toes in the sand and stared out into the ocean while Jermaine handed out Margaritas. Not entirely my favorite drink, but who was I to turn down something free?

A small cold front must have pushed through the previous night as the air was cooler than the day before. But the sun beat down with such ferocity that the combination of the two made our beach day enjoyable.

From a distance, I saw a sailboat wading in the water and found myself wondering what it would be like to sail. Just hop on a boat and take off to an undetermined destination. Go from island to island, until I found that perfect spot where I could cast all my worries to the sea. The ramblings in my head would sink to the deepest part of the ocean and I could live with the desire to look back gone.

Camilla turned on the radio just in time to hear 50 Cent and The Game let us know How We Do. Camilla and I sang along loudly, or more accurately, obnoxiously, and danced under the heat of the sun.

“I don’t know if we can be friends,” Trent told me, and I squished my eyebrows at him in response, wondering what had brought his statement about. “You listen to too much rap.”

“Oh well,” I shrugged, narrowing my eyes at him, ready to tease him back. “It was fun knowing you for less than twenty-four hours.”

“That’s all I get? Not even a little bit of tears?”

I shrugged my shoulders again and felt him tug my hair gently. I didn’t know how to respond and didn’t want to overthink our exchange, so I quietly drank my Margarita. I overheard Tonya and Trent talk about the merits Rock had over Rap, but focused my attention on my future. In less than a week, my last semester would start and I was in for one hell of a semester with a full load of classes, a part time job, and a nursing internship with a local pediatrician. I couldn’t wait. Finally, after years of hard work and dedication, I could start planning a real future.

Once I graduated and had a full-time job, the first thing I would do was work on my savings account. To date, I had only been able to put in $20 a month and had a little less than a grand in there. Obviously that didn’t give me much breathing room, but I would expand on it. Watch it grow, never withdrawing. I would eventually have enough that I would feel comfortable in case shit happened. Because, if life had taught me anything, it’s that shit always happens.

As I sat in silence, Jermaine and Camilla discussed their upcoming spear fishing trip scheduled for later that evening. This would be Camilla’s sixth trip and she had proclaimed herself a certified addict to the sport. I had laughed at her choice of words, when, in actuality, what I wanted to do was scream. Addict. Spoken like someone who had no understanding of the true meaning of the term or its implications.

But I couldn’t be angry at her. It was her good fortune that she was raised by a family, while I couldn’t bear the idea of dreaming about having a family. I knew about as much about the meaning of family as Camilla knew about addiction.

My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed Camilla staring at me expectantly. “Sorry, zoned out for a bit,” I explained.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us tonight? You can snorkel.”

“Don’t sharks come out at night?” I asked.

“Yes!” Camilla exclaimed excitedly. It had been a dream of hers to swim in the open waters with sharks. A bucket list of sorts. If you asked me, that type of bucket list would only have you meeting your Creator sooner rather than later.

“I’ll pass.”

“Titty baby,” she shot at me, daring me to challenge her. I didn’t. Instead, I remembered her puzzled look the first time I used the term “titty baby” in front of her. Now she used it whenever she wanted me to do something that was clearly outside my comfort zone.

“Blood and sharks? No thanks. I like living,” I told her.

“What if we all went snorkeling before we start spearing?” Trent offered. Jermaine had invited him earlier and he had accepted eagerly. Too eagerly, if you asked me. Seriously, what was it with these people and their eagerness to violently thrust a spear through an unsuspecting fish? And the blood floating around, just begging for sharks to come? Here take a chunk off my leg. It’s not like I need it or anything.

“We can do that,” Jermaine said. “How ‘bout it, country girl?”

I thought about it for a second and figured what the hell. If I got bitten by a shark, at least it’d be an interesting story to tell. If there was anyone left to tell the story.

After a few hours, we all climbed aboard Jermaine’s boat, me with one of my favorite books in tow so I could read once everyone started spear fishing. I watched as Brianna expertly untied us from the dock, hopped into the boat and into Jermaine’s waiting arms. Their show of affection was appropriately accompanied by a wave of awe’s from Camilla and Tonya.

Trent sat next to me and offered me a sip from his bottle of water. “Country girl, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, shying away from the nickname. Personally, I preferred redneck or
gringa
.

“So, where are you from?”

“Alabama.”

“Where in Alabama?”

“The country side.”

Trent shook his head. “Talking to you is worse than pulling teeth.”

“Have you pulled many teeth as a police officer?”

“I got called in to break up a fight between two neighbors and wound up helping one of the guys look for the teeth he got knocked out of him.”

“You’re a class act, Trent,” I told him and smiled, hoping the sadness I felt wasn’t obvious. “I grew up in a lot of places and the cops I came across wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

Trent gently brushed his hand across my cheek, watching me, maybe waiting for me to fumble away from him again. I held myself still, forcing myself to maintain eye contact with Trent while I felt my heart beat at a radically fast pace, and willed myself to breathe normally. He finally broke contact and I relaxed, but was also slightly disappointed at the sudden disconnect. “Most people laugh at that story,” he told me.

“Yeah, well,” I shrugged and took his water away from him so I could have another sip before we started snorkeling.

The whole notion of swimming in the ocean, a foreigner in a world I wasn’t sure I was welcomed, still intimidated me. But I had to admit I was glad I had agreed to go. Not because Trent would take hold of my hand every so often or because our bodies kept touching. No, it was because of the colors and the fish. Just like last time.

Or maybe not quite like last time. Maybe a bit better because Trent would nonchalantly take hold of my hand and grin at me underwater. And because our bodies would keep touching, ever so slightly, almost like a whisper or a promise of what was to come. My body very much wanted to know what was to come; yearned for it. My brain, not so much. It was apparent though, that at some point I had decided to quit listening to my brain, just this once, and allow things to happen naturally.

Our time under water was over too soon. While my friends speared, I tried to concentrate on the book I had brought but my thoughts kept going back to Trent. And the warmth that lingered over my skin in the places he had touched. I wondered how long it would take for his warmth to spread into more dangerous territories and take hold of my heart. It wasn’t something I longed for, but felt its inevitable pull.

Although I couldn’t find the focus to read my book, I stared at the words, trying to make sense out of them. I only looked up to see my friends climb back on the boat, animated from their hunt and eventual kills. I smiled at them and their words but wasn’t fully content until I leaned into Trent’s broad shoulders as we made our way back to land. Recognizing the song playing from Jermaine’s mp3 player, I quietly hummed along to It Hurts to be Alone and hoped Bob Marley’s words weren’t some sort of premonition.

Chapter 7

Shayna

After changing her diaper, Nate held up his baby doll triumphantly. She watched him and felt herself smile before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to hide her smile, but wasn’t sure she should smile at him. He’d taken her away from Momma.