Forever Blue (7 page)

    
Although that piece of paper put me at ease, the pain of him moving away was still unbearable.

    
“I’ll try to call, but writing might be easier,” he said. “You know—because of my mom.”

    
I buried my face in his chest, never wanting to forget his scent which was a cross between Axe deodorant and Irish Spring soap. For the past two years,
I found solace and comfort in that smell, like wrapping myself in a warm towel after it’s just come out of the dryer. “This can’t...this can’t be happening,” I sobbed.

    
Carter couldn’t escape his feelings, no matter how brave and manly he tried to be. “I’ll be honest with you, Alexa. I just don’t know how I’m going to live without you either.”

***

    
I wished I’d known way ahead of time about Carter moving across the country. I would have surely
better prepared myself. Those last couple weeks, Mary was wound awfully tight and insisted on watching us more closely than ever before. The way we snuck around to see each other outside of school was the most ridiculous thing imaginable. I think those final few hours we spent together meant more to us than the entire two years we were friends. I savored every moment in my mind, like a picture that I could reflect
back
on later.

   
The very last day of freshman year passed in one great boring blur. It troubled me that Carter never showed up at school. I spent the day plagued by unsettling thoughts. I
wondered if
what I was feeling was the first taste of what life would be like without him.

    
I made the two-mile journey home on foot
after school that day.
My eyes scanned the neighborhood ahead in anticipation.
Something startled me
as I got closer to Carter’s house.
His basketball hoop was not on the driveway. I told myself that he just packed it away to repress any lingering uncertainties about my discovery.  I trekked up the driveway to his front door. A rush of something horrifying overtook my emotions. The wooden ‘Welcome’ sign on the door and the cheesy plastic white chair that always sat on their porch were gone.

     I rang the doorbell, and held my fears at bay.
The living room window drapes were drawn, so I wasn’t able to uncover anything. Someone had to be home and I didn’t even care if it was Mary.

     
I waited several minutes, but no one answered. I peeped through the small square glass window on the door, hoping for a miracle. Then
I scanned the living room several times to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. The house was as empty as my heart. I
sprinted to the side gate of the house
in sheer panic, and
glanced around at the naked back yard. Dead leaves were scattered along the concrete patio like shells lost to the sea. The rational part of me knew what was happening, but the other half didn’t want to believe it.
I walked to the kitchen window, quelling my nausea, and
searched the inside for some sort of sign that they were coming back. At the sight of bare rooms and an empty kitchen, my legs became two limp limbs. I sank to the ground and cried feverishly. He left me—without even saying goodbye. After all the things we’d been through together, he just packed up and left.

Something in the rose bushes caught my attention
in the midst of my crying jag. I forced myself off the ground, and
walked over to what
was distracting
me. I came across a basketball stuck in between the thorny vines. He’d left behind his second most prized possession. I pulled the ball out of the rose bush
with
trembling hands, wondering if I should have
taken it home.
I mean, it was the only thing I had left of him, and I was sure I had every right. I tucked the ball underneath my arm and wiped my tear-streaked face. It wasn’t much, but in a way a piece of him was still with me.

    
Something underneath the ball brushed up against my skin. Bewildered, I rolled the ball over. A white piece of paper was taped to it, some sort of note. I unfolded it, and what I read nearly made my heart stop. In perfect penmanship were the words,
Until we meet again.

Chapter 4: Surprise, Surprise

    
After several months of talk and no action, fifth-teen-year-old Carter Storm convened uncomfortably with his mother, manager, and record label representative in a glass-walled conference room. At the start of this journey, Carter naively thought success would surely happen overnight. He soon realized it was a lot more complicated than it seemed—meetings, contracts, lawyers—it never ended, and he had little say in the matter. His mother was in charge of all the wheeling and dealing, so for now he would just have to grin and bear it. One false move and the three people sitting at this table before him had the power to shatter his long-awaited dream.

    
Carter’s manager, Hue Hurlman, looked up from a document lying in front of him and asked, “Are we ready to make a decision?” He perspired like a junkie. Droplets of sweat descended down his pale and blotchy skin and dripped onto the glass top table. The pressure of the meeting
was finally getting
to him.

    
“Yes, I think we are ready,” Mary intervened. In fact, the woman was more than ready.
  
She awaited this day since the moment Carter was born. “Let’s get this show on the road. My son’s not getting any younger.”

    
“Well, let’s hear it.” Hue crossed his arms. “Time is money, guys.” His obese, egg-shaped body barely allowed him to sit contently at the table.

    
“We are prepared to offer Mr. Storm a generous sign-on offer of one-million dollars.
 
Now, if the album turns out to be a success, we’ll sign him to the label permanently and renegotiate.” The record representative slid a document over to Carter’s mother. “And these are our terms.”

    
The
typical scowl spread across Mary’s
weathered face
as she read over the contract.
“Wait, wait. Hold up here.”

    
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Storm?” The representative did his best to remain patient.
They
had been sitting
in the meeting over three hours and had not come to an agreement, because of this persnickety woman.

    
“One-million?
Please. That’s chump change, and you know it.” Mary pushed the contract back at Hue and fired back, “It’s as if we’re talking about some amateur here.”

    
“Mom, come on. Can’t we just worry about the money part later?”

  
“Hush your mouth. Do you want us to forget everything and walk out right now? Is that what you want?”

   
Carter gazed into his lap and whispered meekly, “No, Mom.”

    
Mary slapped her hand down on the table
in finality.
“Five-million
and not a penny less.”

   
“Now, Mrs. Storm,” Hue said, “let’s be reasonable here.”

“It’s insane to offer that amount of money, especially to someone who is still relatively unknown,” the representative explained. “There is no guarantee of anything, Mrs. Storm. It’s a crap shoot.”

  
“Well, if you don't want to agree to my terms, then I’m sorry. We’ll just have to decline your offer. We can always find someone to pay what my son is worth.”

    
Carter’s fears came
in waves throughout the meeting when his mother would say something to make him fearful of her blowing the whole gig. Then the feeling would subside after Hue would appease her. But not a moment too soon, the fear inside him would rise again when his mother became confrontational.

    
“Mom, just listen to him. Please!”

    
Hue stood up from his seat in distress. “Yes, Mrs. Storm, let’s be rational about this.”

   
“Come on, Carter.” She grabbed him as though he were a child wandering astray. “We deserve better than this.”

    
“Wait, Mrs. Storm. Please. Let’s sit down and negotiate this,” Hue pleaded.

    
Mary glared at him like she would burst into flames. “Under what terms?”

    
“Well, what about three-million?” Hue asked the now-irked male record representative.

    
The representative tapped his pen against the table
in apparent frustration and said,
“You know, I’ve had enough of this. Let me just say that if Carter doesn’t produce, you will be indebted to us,” he retorted. “Two and half million, take it or leave it.”

    
Mary’s smile was as evil as the devil himself. “Oh, he’ll produce all
right. My son will make you more money than you have ever dreamed.”

    
“There is one more minor detail that I would like to discuss.” Hue dragged his chair closer to Carter and signaled Mary to stop before she even spoke. “And I only need Carter’s input on this.”

    
Mary crossed her arms in supreme authority. “Nothing is agreed upon without my consent. It’s MY son we’re talking about.”

    
Hue ignored her comment
said, “Carter, we think it might be more profitable for you if you have a stage name.”

    
“Really?” Carter asked, intrigued.

    
“Oh—now ‘Carter Storm’ isn’t a good enough name for you people?” Mary bellowed. “What next?”

    
“Mrs. Storm, that's quite enough already,” the representative cautioned. “Let the kid make a decision on his own for once in his life.”

    
Hue moved in conspiratorially close to Carter. “I’ve been thinking—what do you think about the name ‘Aiden’?”

***

    
I sort of reverted back to my old life
after Carter left,
the life before we met. I found myself once again alone and without a friend in the world. Sometimes I would just sit outside on my porch and stare at their driveway for hours, as though doing so would force him to come outside and start shooting hoops. Carter’s house remained vacant for about six months. Then a young Asian couple moved in and I sobbed for days. It just didn’t feel right, like
someone stepping into someone else’s
worn shoes.

     I wrote Carter
a letter every day for the next few months. I pretty much gave him a blow-by-blow description of everything going on in my life. The letters went something like this: what I ate for dinner, the three-point shot I made with his basketball when I played a game with Dad, and most importantly, how much I missed him. Then I waited for his reply with great anticipation, wanting to know everything going on in his life. After all the waiting, wondering and postage, I never received a response or even a phone call. I tried seeking him out
when the internet came about,
but my search was fruitless. I had to accept the fact that our friendship was over.

    
I had a bizarre dream
a couple weeks after Carter had left me.
I was in front of the grocery store with my mother in the middle of the night. She asked me to stay put while she ran in to get some milk. I hung outside the sliding glass doors, awaiting her return, and that was when I saw him. Carter made his way to the front of the store, dressed in the same outfit I had last seen him in: striped red-and-blue shirt and old faded blue jeans. I stopped him before he went into the store, but he didn’t seem to recognize me.

    
“Carter…it’s me, Alexa.”

    
He just smiled
and said nothing. Then he got into someone’s car and drove away.  I chased that car down the street, calling his name to the point where my skull hurt.

    
I woke up from that dream in a cold sweat. This was the first of many dreams that would come to haunt me.

***

    
I gradually grew out of my shell by the time I hit tenth grade. I just went through the motions in high school. I couldn’t wait for it to be all over, and
I had no interest in making an effort to acquire any new friends.
I sat alone under a tree at lunch
every day
and thought about Carter. Nothing really mattered to me at that point in time except him.

    
“Hey, anybody home?” a female voice asked, intruding on a daydream I was having about Carter.

    
“Um, can I help you?”

    
A dark-skinned girl looked down at me. “How come you always sit alone out here at lunch?” she asked. “Don’t you have any friends?”

    
Peeved by her question, I snapped back, “Is that really any of your business?”

    
“No, but it looks like you can use a friend,” she said, genuinely.

  
“No, I don’t, but thanks for the offer.” I took a bite of my bologna sandwich and turned away, hoping she’d somehow get the message and be on her way.

    
She’d plopped herself down in front of me. “I’m Ruth,” she said, holding out her hand. I didn’t take it. “Why are you so bitter?”

    
“I don’t know. Why are you so nosey?”

    
“Wow. No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

     
The insult hurt like a knife twisting into my heart. “You know nothing about me, so don’t try and pretend you do.”

    
“Look, I just moved here three-weeks ago from Texas. I don’t know anyone.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a brown sack lunch. “And I see you in this same spot by yourself every day.”

    
“So what’s it to you?” I asked.

   
“I could just use a friend here, that’s all. And from the looks of it, I thought maybe you could too.”

    
I finally decided to face her. “Oh yeah? Well, where were you three-years ago?” My anger was
like a volcano ready to explode—it came out of nowhere.

    
“Texas?” Ruth replied.

    
Ruth uncovered a plastic container filled with something covered in red sauce. It smelled God awful, like sweaty feet.

    
“Eww. What are you eating?”

    
“Chicken curry. My mom made it last night.” She held it out to me. “Want some?”

    
“Uh—no thanks.”

    
“It’s really good. You shouldn’t judge until you try it.”

    
I gave the girl a proper once-over. She was actually quite attractive with chocolate-colored skin, long black hair, and almond-shaped eyes the color of moss. Her attire consisted of a purple V-neck blouse and black slacks. Truthfully, she was as harmless as a snowflake.