She put her head down, and started fidgeting. She needed to say something more. Perhaps she wanted closure with this conversation.
We looked at each other in an awkward moment of silence. I thought about how much I liked being with her in the short time that we were friends.
“I’m still going to college to study pharmacy,” she blurted out.
“I’m glad. You are very smart, and have a bright future ahead of you.” I wanted to ask about the baby, but really didn’t want to pry.
“I’m going to give the baby up for adoption.”
“Have you heard from Mr. Zoose?” I asked.
“He called offering money. But my father nearly killed him. My dad confronted him and Mr. Mash. I have to move on. It was wrong, on so many levels.” She started to tear.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I know why I did it,” she said. “I think that my relationship with Mr. Zoose was my way of coping with all the stress and pressure. It was wrong, and it has cost me dearly. But everyone in this school has problems and their own way of dealing. Some commit suicide, some are violent and join gangs. Some do stupid things. Some rebel against their families or situation. Maybe Mr. Zoose was my way.”
I kissed her on the cheek and wished her the best of luck.
I went to rehearse for my special graduation performance. The music teacher, Ms. Virgil, had the sheet music for “Separate Ways.” We ran through it ten times. It sounded good, but needed to be better. Members of the school band insisted the song was actually called “Worlds Apart.”
Delancey and I had a bite to eat at Morana. The food was terrific, and it was free since her father owned the place. Mr. Kenmare was in Boston again. I smiled when she told me this, and Delancey smiled in return. We went back to her building afterwards.
The doorman flashed me a dirty smile as we stepped into the elevator. Delancey looked weary. We talked for a while about how close to the end of high school we were. She silently reached out and grabbed my hand. She pulled me toward her and we embraced. I loved being with her, in every way, in every shape and form. I grew more and more attached to her every minute that we spent together.
That weekend, we went to see a movie, but didn’t see much of it. We were in the theater kissing the entire time. She was tender and warm. Being with Delancey made me happier than I had ever been in my entire life. After the movie, we went for dinner, at a Middle Eastern restaurant in midtown, Café Anubis. I ordered hummus, babaganoush and kababs, but Delancey hardly ate a thing.
On the way home, she had a hot dog from a street cart. “The works!” she shouted to the vendor. She was ravenous, and after gulping down the hot dog, she ordered another one.
“I guess you don’t like Middle Eastern food,” I remarked.
“Middle eastern affairs are better left to the middle east,” Delancey said. Her father was still out of town.
We were intimate at her place, and I stayed until well past midnight. Whenever I was with her, it was like time standing still. I really didn’t want to leave, but knew that if I wasn’t home by a decent hour, my father would freak out. We drank tea, and ate desserts. She wore my shirt and nothing else when she walked around the apartment. “This will forever be my favorite shirt,” I said.
There was a strong bond between us, and she easily made my heart melt. There were instances when I took the time to picture our future together, but I stopped myself, knowing that we were headed in two different paths.
When I was dressed, I kissed her goodbye. I looked back at her in the apartment. It was painful to leave her behind. As I rode the elevator down, my heart ached to be with her. I had never experienced anything like this feeling in my life. I was already so attached to her, so quickly, so deeply.
When I had arrived home, I apologized to my father. He was not amused and did not like the fact that I was home so late again. “My house, my rules,” he said.
“I have good news for you. I will not be going away to college.” My father smiled, looking happy for the first in a long time.
“I am joining a band. I recorded a demo with them some time back and the song is on the radio. I really want to give this a shot.”
“David, I know. I spoke with Woody. Don’t sign any contracts until we get a lawyer to read it. I hope it works out, and if doesn’t then you can just stay home and go to college here.”
Delancey and I went out for Chinese food. It was a hot summer afternoon, typical of June, and dark clouds started to gather.
We ate at a small restaurant called Yan Wang that only local Chinese immigrants frequented. It was dark, dingy, and without menus. Delancey knew Manhattan like she knew the back of her hand; otherwise it would have been impossible to find this place.
A waitress brought us dim sum, and Delancey spoke to her in broken Cantonese. I laughed out loud. Having heard Christine speak Cantonese, I knew that Delancey had butchered it. For sure it was the best Chinese food I had ever had. The waitress followed up with a big bowl of noodles with an unusually flavored meat. I asked what meat it was and Delancey replied that I should just eat and not ask too many questions.
Lightning flashed and a thunderstorm broke outside, quickly becoming a heavy summer squall. The restaurant’s windows were battered with rain and wind. It seemed as if we had left New York and were caught in a monsoon in Asia.
The rains continued to come down hard, and Delancey and I raced through the streets of Chinatown hand in hand. We were getting soaked, and I grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. She screamed as the cold rain drenched us. We ran through the deserted streets, past roasted ducks hanging in store fronts. We were the only people caught in the torrential downpour. We took the train to the west side and ran to her building, still holding hands, getting wet all over again. Water dripped from our bodies into the lobby and elevator, all the way up to the top floor.
Delancey resembled a goddess from a painting I had once seen at the Museum of Art. Her make up and carefully brushed hair had been washed away, and her natural beauty was shining through. “You look more beautiful now than I have ever seen you.”
We entered her room, and immediately took off our wet clothing. She threw me a towel, and put on a hot pot of tea. I was shivering. Although it was June, the thunderstorm had really cooled things off. Delancey changed into a tee-shirt, and threw me a pair of her father’s sweat pants. They were huge, at least three sizes more than what I needed. I sat with my bare chest exposed.
She lit a handful of red candles, explaining that electricity was sometimes an unnecessary convenience. The room was visible by candlelight only, and the flickering flames made interesting shadows on the walls. Random flashes of lightning provided the only other light.
We sat on her bed and drank the tea. It was boiling hot, and it warmed my insides instantly. I placed my hand on her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her. Her skin was damp, as angelic as anything in this world. She glowed as her wet skin reflected the candlelight. She kissed me and removed her tee-shirt. We embraced and rolled in the bed for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t think we ever stopped grinning, not even for a second.
She blew out the candles, causing white smoke to rise like swirling ghosts. We talked about our future. Delancey had sent her paperwork and deposit to Vassar. I told her that college was out, at least for now, and that I was going to join the band.
“I could drop out of college and tour with you and the band,” she said.
It was a tempting offer. But I knew better.
“Your father would kill me if that happened!” I shouted. We stayed up talking for the rest of the night. It was an incredible feeling to have her so close, both physically and emotionally. It was early in the morning when I realized I had to be home before my father awoke at sunrise.
My clothes were still damp, but I could stay could no longer. The more I was around her, the stronger my feelings for her grew. She was like a magnet, pulling me in. I quickly dressed, and left her apartment, glancing back to see her sleeping face.
The subway ride home was desolate, providing introspection. Delancey and I had such a good thing, and it was coming to an end soon. I thought about long distance relationships. She would meet another guy, and I would meet other girls. We were both young and needed to live our lives. We needed to find ourselves, and not get tied up into a long term relationship at such a young age.
On Monday, the prom was the talk of the school. It was just a couple of days away. I needed to pick up my tuxedo and a corsage for Christine.
John and Carlos informed me that Sam was going to the prom.
We were eating lunch when Delancey walked into the cafeteria. I felt her presence the moment she entered, though my back was facing her and she didn’t make a sound. It is difficult to explain, but I had developed a sixth sense when it came to her. She kissed me hello, and sat down at our table.
“Even though we have separate dates for the prom, I am planning on spending the entire evening with you and not my date.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I have some really bad news. My father is back in town but will be away on business after graduation. I’ll be staying in Long Island. I don’t have to come back to Stanton, I passed the swim test last week.” Delancey was deflated. Our time was now cut short.
“I could come out to Long Island by train,” I suggested.
“We’ll work something out,” she said sadly. She went to her next class.
John would be taking Helen to the prom, and Carlos was going solo. We decided to split the cost of a cab ride to the city. We would pick up Christine on the way. This would save us some money, and we would all be together the night of the prom. The three of us discussed picking up our tuxedos at the same time tomorrow. Sam would be on his own.
“Did she say swim test?” Carlos asked.
“Yes, she did,” responded John. “Why? Are you worried?”
“I can swim; I’m not concerned about me,” said Carlos.
Stanton had a strict rule. No one could graduate without swimming twenty-five yards in the school’s pool.
“Does anyone know if Sam can swim?” I asked.
“I know for a fact he can’t swim. When we went to the beach on Memorial Day weekend, he wouldn’t go past knee deep into the water because he couldn’t swim.” Carlos smirked.
“How is he going to graduate without passing that test?” asked John.
“The rule is if you don’t pass the swim test, you have to take the swimming instruction class in the fall, which would mean that he would not be able to go to Harvard,” I said. “This was the one rule that was completely inflexible in the history of Stanton.”
Sam never took the swimming instruction class. I remember seeing kids with asthma, the flu, and all kinds of medical excuses, taking the swim test in order to graduate.
Stanton was a school with a long history, and the swim test rule was definitely part of its history. The school instituted the rule as a result of the large number of graduating students that went into the Navy following World War II. There is a famous old photo of the graduating class of 1941, sitting on the steps of Stanton. That year, the boys were sent to WWII in the Pacific. Many Stanton alumni were on board the USS Indianapolis which sank during a submarine attack in the Phillipine Sea. The ship carried about twelve hundred crew and enlisted men, and three hundred went down immediately with the ship, upon a torpedo attack from the Japanese Navy. The remaining nine hundred waited in shark infested waters, without lifeboats, food, or water. Legend has it that six hundred seamen died, and of the three hundred survivors, all ten Stanton graduates on board had made it. All had passed the Stanton swim test with flying colors.
I wondered how Sam was going to get out of this one.
I practiced my song for graduation with the band. The music teacher decided to enhance the song, and she brought in back up singers from the chorus. We tried different approaches, including speeding up the tempo, and going heavy on percussion. The song sounded perfect.
I was concerned that my vocals would pale in comparison to the original song. The band Journey had Steve Perry as their lead singer and his voice was probably the most unique in all of rock history. Ms. Virgil, the music teacher said not to compare myself to the original because no one could sing with haunting pain and anguish like Steve Perry.
After school, Sam and Juan Perez were hanging out on the front stoop of a nearby brownstone. They practically hissed at me. I still couldn’t believe Juan was taking the love of my life to the prom. I had no one to blame but myself.
I went to Delancey’s building. She was packing for Long Island. We went to her balcony, overlooking Central Park, and had a cup of coffee together. As I held her in my arms, a warm feeling of happiness surrounded us like an invisible bubble.
The feeling wasn’t just from the hot June heat. It was energy, a tangible, electric energy. We hardly spoke; rather we drank our coffee and smiled a lot. She went back to packing.
“I was in a huge fight with my Mom…we really got into it… about not staying in the city after the prom. But she really insists. She says it’s not safe for me to be alone. I wish we had more time, David.”
“As do I, Delancey.” I kissed her goodbye as my insides were being torn apart.