Song for the Asking

I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling…counting the splotches of textured paint…Yes, I had a bad case of insomnia with a hearty, heaping helping feeling of wanting to get to know more about Ceci…and I had attempted to count something other than sheep. I hadn’t felt that way since the Christmas of 1985 when I got my Nintendo: the feeling of what could be…
Yeah, I know, the comparison’s apples to oranges…but the feeling was the same…well, let me try and salvage this the best I can: I had this giant hole in my heart and soul that I felt I had the missing piece. Okay, I got my Nintendo when I was ten and besides passing crushes on girls who would give me the time of day (assuming they were wearing a watch) but nothing else, my brain was not set to accept they could make me happy and confused and filled with joy and pain all at the same time…no, that honor went to Super Mario Bros. (stupid World 4-1!).
I could count on one hand the amount of steady relationships I had in my life, that being…well…none…there was never the “right” one—and that right one being one that had to fit into rather small parameters that were…whatever.

Could I blame myself? Sure…and for the most part I did. I could have made a greater effort to talk to people. I could have brought a box of donuts to school and shared them…but the pessimism about my fellow man would get in the way.
Thoughts like: they’ll expect you to do that every day.
Or: They’ll think you’re creepy.

So, the issue stood…why was I thinking about Ceci when I was sure that what she was doing was only to be friendly. I would be assigned the title of “older brother” or “bodyguard” …which is a step up from “hey, I used to talk to this one guy…what was his name?” And as much as I felt so much for her…I knew little of her and I would have to hold everything back in the morning as to not cause her to be afraid of me… but maybe I could say just enough to get something going.

My dad dropped me off at the school at six-thirty in the morning on the premise of an early morning meeting of the Drama Society. It was the truth: I was acting like I had a an early morning meeting of the Drama Society and I was soon going to act like I had it all together….or I’d act like a fool...which was the most likely scenario. I didn’t have a script that morning.
When the truck turned the corner, I turned to the right and walked down the road, back to Oak Street. I spent the short walk going over the scenarios in my mind and all of them ended in either complete doom or in something that I refuse to write here due to the fact that it could never happen and…never mind.

I turned off of East Spokane avenue to see the house again, but Ceci was not outside. The thought of sheer panic came over me: fight or flee? Complete the mission and walk to the front door or make an abrupt about face to the “R-Store”? Then, pick up a Dr. Pepper and some licorice; then walk back to the high school and wait for the doors to open up? Perhaps dash to Mike’s house and try to play it all off and say she wasn’t home that morning?
I debated it repeatedly in my mind so much that I ended up standing at her front door.
“Mr. Chairman, why are we standing at this door? She will spit us out….”
“Spit on us is more like it.”
“Yes, what he said.”
“And there’s still the argument about her allegiance to Cosmo!”
“Can we at least knock on the door?”
“A little late, it’s opening now!”
The front door opened and Ceci’s mother stood in the frame looking like she was ready to head out the door.
“Good morning, Andrew,” she said with a beaming grin. “Ceci said you were going to help her with her first day. Come in."
“Thank-you,” I replied as I stepped into the house.
The boxes that cluttered the front of the house and living room just two days earlier were gone. The house even had that “lived in” feeling to it—like they had been there since the house was first built and there had always been furniture in place.
“Does she run every day?" I asked, setting my backpack on the floor.
“Yes, and this morning she said that she was going to ask you to join her, but we don't have a phone yet."
She directed me to take a seat on the sofa that I recall heaving into the house on Saturday and I did so.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Thank you.”
“No sugar. I forgot to pick some up, is that okay?”
“Not a problem,” I said as she went into the kitchen.
My eyes glanced around the room: a mid-size television, VCR and various, blank labelled videotapes. The bookcase on the far wall was filled with books. Large, leather-spine books (that explained a lot of the weight to the boxes). I stepped over and scanned through the titles: classical works of Shakespeare, Chaucer, Cervantes, Twain and a faded paperback of The Great Gatsby.
“She’s read those so much and she refused to let me leave them behind.”
I turned around and she handed me a cup of steaming coffee with a small amount of milk or cream.
"Mrs. Daiglar's going to love her”.
"Is she the English teacher?"
I nodded as I walked back to the couch and took a sip.
She moved back to the kitchen and looked out the window. The weird thing was that she never introduced herself…or I never asked her would be a better way to put it. It was also at that moment I wondered what had happened to her husband…or maybe she was never married…it was another question that I had no answer to at that time.
“It’s raining a bit, I hope—“
The front door opened and Ceci stepped in. She waved to her mother and to me.
“Great, you’re here!”
I stood up from the couch so fast the cup in my hand nearly spilled all over me.
“I’ll be right back,” she stated and then disappeared in the hallway. I heard a door close and took that as a cue to sit back down again.
In twenty minutes Ceci walked back into the living room wearing a pair of jeans, a white shirt with a multi-colored flannel-like over it and a silver crystal cross pendant. Her hair, while still a bit wet, had a picture perfect position.

"Ready?' She asked, holding a backpack in her left hand.
"If you are,” I replied as I stood up and grabbed my own pack.
We walked out of the door and she turned back to yell: "Bye!"
Her mother did not reply but I turned around to see her waving to us.
Ceci walked towards the middle of road and I followed close behind.
'I've already checked in, so the school should have my records.”
"When did you do this?” I asked, again, she was looking right at me.
"On Thursday, a few days after we looked around the town a bit.”
She turned her head back and looked ahead.
I hope you enjoy your day.” I wasn’t sure why it was important to fill in every quiet moment so I was not too surprised to not receive a reply.
“Am I going to like it here?” She asked as she turned to me.
“Depends on how much you care about football.”
“Never really got into it.”
“How about the arts, like drama club?”
“Are you in Drama?”
“Yeah.”
“Any good?”
“Yeah, I act like someone else every day.”
“It’s best to be yourself. Are you yourself right now or are you attempting to channel the calm, smooth guy?”
“I’m never calm and I have no idea on what being smooth is.”
“Neither do I.”
“Perfect.”
"Have you have ever read Hiroshima?” She asked as we walked up the steps leading to the school.
"Yeah, it was a bore to read in class. It took me two years to appreciate it.”
“How about Chaucer?”
"Who?"
“That I was of hir felawshipe anon and made forward erly for to ryse, to take our wey, ther as I yow devyse.”
“The Hobbit? Or do you have popcorn in your teeth?”
“Close,” she replied as I opened the front door. “'Thank-you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We walked down the main hallway. It was then about seven-thirty and there were only a few students in the hall. A few were sitting in the pit: a side section of the hall where one could sit and veg, opposite of the Library where the bathrooms were. Supposedly off-limits to freshman but that ‘rule’ never got past the first day of school.
“It’s old English...”
“That sounds harder to read than ‘Old Shakespeare’.”
“It can be.”
“Will I need a Rosetta Stone?”
“Maybe a good tutor.”
“Are you volunteering?”
She flashed a small smile as we continued our walk to Mrs. Davis’, the counselor--and the one who would give Ceci her final schedule—office.

I knocked, but there was no answer and the office lights were off. A good enough signal to the both of us that she was not in yet.
“What do we do now?”
"Do you have your locker number and combination? we can at least get you ‘moved in’ here too.
"Yeah,” she replied, taking out an envelope, 'number twenty-seven; 34-66-30.'
We walked back down the hall, towards the office and to the smaller, double-stacked lockers. We stopped in front of number twenty-seven and I proceeded to unlock the lock.
'Can I jam it open?" She asked.
'If you want to, but be careful about what you keep in there afterwards.”
"People steal things?"
“The preferred term is ‘borrowing without asking;’ like your only pen or calculator.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied while ripping a piece of paper and stuffing it into the lock mechanism.
We walked back down the hallway where l placed my backpack in my own jammed locker, closed it and proceeded to the gym.
“We saw this building from the butte, right?”
“Yes.”
"When does first period start?”
“In about half an hour.”
“What do you do when you come here early?”
'I don’t usually come this early-- I ride the bus…but I’ll eventually drive myself to school.”
"You have a car?"
“More like an “ar” or a “ca”…
“Missing a few vital parts?”
“Yeah, like working brakes,” I replied, while looking straight ahead at the wall that had the message 'Keep the Pride Inside the Tribe 'painted on it along with a portrait of an Indian in full headdress regalia.
"That looks cool.”
“Doesn't it?”
“Yes”
“I sometimes look at it and it kind of returns my faith in this school, brings back the pride. It’s also big during basketball games.”
“I imagine so. It’s centered on both sides and when the other team comes onto the court they’re being stared down by this guy.”
“And he doesn’t blink either.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “I suppose we need to see if Mrs. Smith’s back.”
“Yes,” I replied with just a smidgen of disappointment. If I had it my way, we would stand there together for the rest of the day.
We walked back down with were more people there than earlier and they all seemed to notice Ceci walking beside me.
"Good morning, Andrew, Ceci. Here you are, the first day and you’re already way ahead of me.”
Mrs. Smith had just turned the lights on in her office when we arrived. Her office was a small, windowless, and painted cinder block alcove off the corner of the hallway. Blink, and you'd miss it.
“Wanted to get a jumpstart on it all. Andrew’s showing me around the school.”
"Okay, let me just open your file, after I put all of this away.”
We followed her into the office.
"All right now, Cecillia Alanis deLaubans, here is your class list.”
I held in any emotion I felt about knowing her full name.
"Thank-you,” she replied as she looked over the schedule. "Mrs. Smith?"
"Yes?"
“I’ll need the bell schedule too; when each one goes off,”
"It's on the back of your class list.”
She flipped it over to see, "Thank you.”
"Ceci , I hope you'll do well here at Reardan. Your tests show high marks are you sure you don 't want to go up a grade level?"
There was no response, as Ceci was preoccupied by her list of classes.
"Ceci?" She asked again.
"I'm sorry,” she replied, her attention now on Mrs. Smith.
"Are you sure You don't want to move up a grade level, your tests show you have the potential."
"Thank you. I’m okay. Don’t want to overload myself."
"Well then, welcome to Reardan. We will see you later.”
We left Mrs. Smith's office and into a hallway full of students, weaving our way through the gaps to the other side of the hall.. I looked back every few seconds to see if she was still behind or had gotten lost in the barrage. Again, the school was not huge but for some odd reason, everyone hung out in the hallway…not on the sides, but in the middle so you could play a game of human pinball as you bounce off of others.
We stopped in front of Mrs. Daiglar’s room.

“Well, this is it.”
“My first period class?”
“Yes.” I looked at the people passing by…a few had the “who is she?” question in their eyes and at that moment the social order of things slammed into me.
I had no holds on her. I mean, I was helping her and I was being a good person…but there was nothing to keep her from talking to others or anything like that. I wasn’t trying to be possessive of her; like a toddler who grabs onto something and refuses to let go for no reason other than that’s what they do. No one would want to be known as "clingy".
I guess the way to put it would be sometimes you have those thoughts or dreams that go down the long path and you see the end of that path, or at least the one you want, but you don’t dare look down the middle…because you only want to think of the good parts…like the beginning and the end…at least in my dreams.
Wow, that…that sounds way off…doesn’t it? Okay, I mean that as we stood in front of that door I wanted to tell her everything…that even though I didn’t who she was…she could have been from another planet or had eleven toes or something—I didn’t care because I wanted to be with her. She could ask me to do anything and I probably wouldn’t question it.
It wasn’t possible, however, to say all of that while standing in the doorway—the message would be lost as people went between us and into the classroom.
“I’ll see you later then?”
“Yeah.”
“When is lunch?”
“11:45.”
“Okay, if I don’t see you before then, meet me here at that time.”
“I will.”
“Thank you,” she replied as she turned and walked into the room. I was tempted to walk in with her but then the second (aka “tardy”) bell rang…and I had had not grabbed any books for class.

I rushed to get my books for Geometry class, knowing I would receive a mini-lecture from Mrs. Humphrey for being late.
“You're late, Andrew. That’s your third tardy,” Mrs. Humphrey came through with her harbinger of doom as I closed the door behind me. She leaned over her lectern and made a mark in the grade book. I said nothing as I sat down in the row near the window, second desk from the back. There was nothing to plead and on that morning it didn’t look like she really cared to hear the reason for my excuse.
We were in the middle of a chapter on polygons. I took out my textbook and turned it to the corresponding page. Then, I opened my notebook and readied myself to take notes but l just could not get into the feeling of taking down notes! I was looking at the blackboard and looking at my book. But I wasn’t in that classroom. I didn’t dream about a south sea island with bikinis and night dancing and I wasn’t imagining grand tours of the world…I was thinking only of the day before…standing on that dirt and rock road--gasping for air--and I hoped we could do it again.
My next three classes, English Ill, Spanish and U.S. History were simply a repeat of first period…except I was on time for them. We were issued our novel The Great Gatsby in English and were to read the first chapter…let me rephrase that: we were SUPPOSED to read the first chapter but I couldn’t get past the first paragraph. Spanish, was the same as it always was, but more so as l answered every question Mrs. Daiglar asked me, incorrectly--I might add. The icing on the proverbial wedding cake was in US History as we were simply writing out vocabulary words…which didn’t require too much thought: write down the word or phrase and find the definition in the text or it would be on any other day as I had written “Ceci” down a few times instead of the word I supposed to be looking up. Finally, the time had come. It was 11 :45 and I raced down the hallway to meet her where I said I would. I looked ahead to see that she was there, standing near Mrs. Daiglar’s door just as she said she would. But, there now five people around her, two of them guys. My--at one moment high-flying--spirt took an abrupt crash dive.
"Ready?" She asked me when she saw me coming.
"Yes," I replied, somehow, as my brain felt like it had shorted out.
"Andrew helped me move in the other day.” She looked at me and winked. “We better go. I'll see all of you later. It was nice to meet you.” She said to the others.
We walked out of the school together and I walked on her left side. She was smiling about something but then her expression turned serious. I thought I’d break the ice:
"How were your classes?”
She didn't answer.
"Ceci?"
No response.
"You know, Andrew, Reardan's not bad, it's better than my old school.”
"Where did you go to school?"
She didn't answer.
I looked at her as we walked onto the sidewalk. I hesitantly tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly jumped a foot high as she turned to me.
“Sorry.”
'No, no it’s alright just lost in thought. Andrew, I guess I should let you know something about me.
"Like what?"
"I can't hear a thing.”
“Oh?” I replied.
"You sound surprised."
"Yeah, because usually, if people don't respond to me then I assume something's wrong with-"
"Nothing's wrong with you, at all,” she replied, showing a faint smile.
“I feel that way about you too.”
"That's sweet, Andrew, it really is. Thank you, thank you very much. You're a great person too, you know that?"
"No, I'm not,” I replied.
'Yes you are,” she said, "don't be so hard on yourself. I've heard what people say about you at this school…and I don't want you to look away when they say things like that to you.”
'What do they say?" I asked, fearing that she now knew how other students felt about me. "Mostly, they'd say things like: 'Why i s she with him?' or 'Does she Know what 'or whatever they say, that really doesn't matter to me.”
"They actually said that in front of you?"
"No, they whispered it, but, I can read lips…a little. Sometimes I can’t make out what they’re saying, but—“
So, you don't care about what you've heard?" I asked.
She looked at me right in the eyes, “I believe what I see, not hear.”
“So, is that a no?”
“There’s always going to someone to bring us down, just got to look past them and find that other voice.”
"Thank you” I replied, trying to hold back tears right then and there. Regardless of how I felt about her, I did not want her to know the effect that she had.
We started again on our destination…there were students who were far behind us earlier but now coming back from the store.
"You're just dying to know more about me, aren’t you?"
"Me, and almost the entire student body.”
"I noticed. So, do you get to be the one to interview me?”
“You don’t have to tell me-”
“-It may help if you get a notepad.”
“I’ll call my camera crew.”
“Funny. Well, I used to live in Georgia and Alabama for a bit. I was an honor student, ran track. Things were great, I went to church, had a lot of friends…”
She stopped walking and I didn't notice until I turned to see she was not beside me.
"Ceci?"
"What?"
"I have to ask a stupid question.”
“There are no stupid questions. Insane one yes, but not stupid. I think I know your question. Do you want the short or long answer?
“Short.”
“As you wish: It’s quiet. It’s an eerie quiet.”
“Has it always been that way?”
“No. I used to just walk by a stream and listen to it babble or…or hear someone behind me and turn to watch them laugh hysterically about something. Now, I kind of feel like I’m missing out on conversations and life… I can see they're having a good time; that something’s obviously funny but l can't hear the joy and reading lips isn’t the same.”
“Some things aren't worth hearing.”
"But to be a part God's earth unable to hear a word of it anymore…that…that hurts.”
“What about hearing aids?”
“They only work if the rest of the inner ear is there.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m good. It could be worse…don’t suppose you’ve read The Miracle Worker?”
“As in Helen Keller?”
“Ah, so you know.”
“I owe a big thank you to Alex Trebek.”
We walked back to the school and went in. We were getting the looks by everyone still "Do you wonder what they think?"
"Yes, a little,” I replied—trying to hide my emotion from her…which was impossible.
“What should we make them think?”
She then grabbed my hand and held onto it tightly.
“How about this?”