David Pereda

The Rose

David Pereda

Iwatched through the window the single rose perched on the bush, admiring the juxtaposition of colors as the light of the waning sun melted with the red of the rose. The velvet petals seemed to welcome the penetrating rays with a warm embrace, and I thought of Lorraine. My mind filled with a sudden avalanche of memories: quick kisses on the staircase, covert meetings in the park, passionate encounters in my car, and, often, when my parents went out to dinner, my room. I felt a tingling invade my body like a burning skin rash. My heartbeat quickened at the thrilling reminiscences I had been trying so hard to forget during the past six weeks. Then Luke spoke, and I knew the moment was gone, and I felt a deep sensation of loss, knowing it had been mine for a magical instant but was no longer. “Long time no see, buddy,” he growled in that bizarre accent of his, a combination of native New York and imitation Southern. “What’d you do with yourself-keep buried in here?” Luke Livingston came from South Florida and acted like the typical Floridiot, always asking the wrong questions and making stupid comments. He had just returned from spending the summer break with his parents in Miami. His pink face was peeling from sunburn, and his blue eyes had red stripes and looked watery. Judging by how Luke overflowed his chair, he had also added at least twenty pounds to his already beefy frame. He had stopped for a visit, unannounced. Lucky me. There was nothing to say, so I said nothing. Instead, I smiled, breathed in deeply, and looked at Luke’s round face. He raised both eyebrows, which made him look like an owl.

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“Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink? Where are your parents, by the way?” “Out to dinner with friends.” I tried to peek out the window, but he blocked my view. “What would you like?” “Beer.” I went to the kitchen, extracted a Yuengling from the refrigerator, returned to my room, and handed the can to him. He made a surprised face. “You’re not joining me?” “I need to study for a math test on Monday.” “It’s Friday. Study tomorrow.” “I have other things to do tomorrow.” Luke shrugged and popped the can open with a hand as big as a dinner plate. He drank greedily. I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall like an elevator as he guzzled half the beer. When he put the can down and breathed again, he said, “I had a lot of fun in Florida. Wait until I tell you some stories.” “I can’t wait,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm in my voice. “Doing what?” “The usual things, you know what I mean?” He winked an eye at me. “No.” He gave me an annoyed look and patted his bulging belly. “Ate a lot, visited friends, partied, went to the beach, chased girls, you know, the usual.” He hesitated as his eyes flicked with the image of a new thought. “I picked up this woman at a bar in South Beach that was built like a brick statue and had curves like the Daytona 500.” He put the can between his legs and measured with both

hands.

“She was pretty wasted. I think she was on drugs or something. Anyway, we were exchanging saliva and groping each other under the table when her husband arrived.”

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His body shook with laughter, and I was afraid the chair would collapse. “The woman was married.” “I got that. What happened?” “The man took a swing at me. Stupid bastard. Right there inside the bar. People are crazy in South Beach, man. They carry guns and shoot each other down there. It’s like the Wild West.” He paused to catch his breath. “The man was a skinny fellow about your size. I punched him once and put 'im under the table. Broke his nose and teeth, and they had to carry him out.” He laughed again, sounding like the foghorn of a big ship. “He should’ve known better than to pick a fight with me.” “And the woman?” “She left with him, but not before she gave me her phone number and asked me to call her. She was a hooker.” “Did you?” “Did I what?” “Did you call her?” “I sure did. Carla was her name, and she was a great piece of ass, a screamer. She yelled so loud while we were having sex at the motel that the manager thought I was beating up on her and sent security to check on us.” I remembered the graceful curve of Lorraine’s neck and the softness of her skin, velvety like the petal of a rose. I remembered her lips, plump and red like a juicy apple, and her eyes, large and luminous. I remembered her little ears hiding like jewels under her luxurious mane of hair. I remembered our sweet and unhurried lovemaking. And I remembered her unique scent, a combination of vanilla, cinnamon, and rose fragrance. Luke was silent, and I hoped he was running out of steambut no such luck. “Is that math?” He leaned forward and peered at the book on my desk.

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“What’s that curlicue thing with an x and an apostrophe?” “Calculus.” I nodded. “That’s a derivative.” “What does it do?” “A derivative is like an alternate reality. It’s not the main character in the movie, but the supporting friend who can tell you where the main character is going and the expected outcome. In literature, that’s called pace, how quickly your text reads, and progression, what result you have achieved when you get to the end.” “Huh?” He scratched his nose so hard he left red marks all

over it.

“I never understand half of what you say. What the hell is all that? Can’t you speak English? Alternate reality, pace, progression, characters. What does a derivative do in math terms?” “A derivative calculates the slope of a tangent line to the graph of a function at that point. It calculates the instantaneous rate of change. For example, a derivative can calculate how fast Usain Bolt is running at any point during a race and estimate when he’s going to cross the finish line.” “I was never very good in math, and I don’t understand any of that. So, what do I need that mumbo-jumbo for?” “Don’t you play football?” “Sure,” he said proudly. “First-string tackle.” “You have to run 40-yard sprints for your position, don’t you? A derivative can tell you how fast you’re running at any point during your sprint. Isn’t that interesting to you? “I leave all that to my coaches,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, his eyes moving side to side as he tried to process the information. “Did I tell you I have a girlfriend now?” “I thought you had several.” “I mean a serious one. I guess I’m getting tired of this wild life. It’s time I settle down, but….” His voice trailed off. “But what?”

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“I’m not sure I love this girl, though.” “What’s her name?” “Kathy.” He pulled out his cellphone and scrolled down to show me a series of texts. “Look at the love texts I send her.” He expectantly waited while I read some lame sayings probably copied from Chinese cookies. “What do you think? Kathy believes I’m a romantic, and she loves them.” “They sound…okay,” I said. “Why do you send your girlfriend love texts, anyway, if you’re not sure she’s the right person for you?” “I don’t know. I guess I like Kathy a little. And I think she’s right for me. A North Carolina family like mine, you know. Don’t you think these texts are good? I tell you, someday I’m going to write a novel. Can you write texts like these?” “Probably not. Anyway, I don’t send love texts.” “Not even to your girlfriend? What’s her name?” “Lorraine. And she’s not my girlfriend anymore.” “What happened?’ “She broke up with me.” “She’s stacked that girl, a real fox. Movie star looks. Did you ever get any of that?” “None of your business.” “Oh, come on, you can tell me.” “No.” “Wasn’t she a beauty queen or something?” “Yes, she was-the Tampa Latin Fiesta Queen when she was in high school.” “How did she end up in North Carolina?” “Her mother found a job here. She’s a divorced single mom.” “I always thought Lorraine was too much of a woman for

you.”

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“That’s what her mother thought too. She didn’t think I was the right suitor for Lorraine. She wanted a rich man for her daughter.”

“Rich and white, right? "Right. And that leaves me out on both counts because my mom is white, but my dad is black.” “Yeah, you look like that basketball player Steph Curry, except you’re shorter and you’re not as good-looking-and you don’t play basketball.” “The story of my life.” “Maybe you should compete in chess. You’re good at it. You always beat me when we play.” “You don’t play very well.” Luke’s eyes flashed with a new thought. “Remember Al? The tall guy who plays the guitar downtown at Rezza’s? He got himself a brand-new Corvette. Black with red interior. Really nice. I dragged him with my Bimmer and beat him. It’s not the car you drive, but the way you drive it, I always say. It was a close race, though.” “Imagine so. How’s college coming along?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Like a breeze, man. Coach gave me two tutors who write my papers for me and sometimes – don’t tell anyone – even do my homework and take online tests. As a result, I make straight A's, and I don’t lift a finger.” I thought of hardworking students like me who had to study during extended hours to learn and pass tests and felt anger simmer inside me. “I could make straight A's by myself if I wanted to and had the time. But why?” “To get an education, maybe?” “What do you mean by that? So, you don’t think I could make straight A's if I wanted to?”

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“I don’t know. Maybe.” He looked intently into my eyes, trying to find traces of mockery or reproach in them. Then he laughed. “You know I’m training and can’t study much. Besides, I got a lot of extra-curricular activities, like girls and enjoying life. You should try getting out of this man cave and enjoy a little living with me.”

The sun had gone down, and the little light left in the room was about to disappear. I got up, switched the overhead light on, and sat down behind my desk again. He didn’t speak for a few minutes. I thought of Lorraine and how her soft fingers felt when we held hands and the sweet taste of her saliva when we kissed. He broke the silence. “Do you have anything special planned for tonight?” “I already told you-to study math.” “Come with me to The Red Door. I’ll buy you a drink. It’s the hottest place in town. That’s where everybody will be tonight. You should see the girls that go there.” “Don’t you have a serious girlfriend now?” “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, she hasn’t returned from summer break yet. She returns Sunday.” “You’re not twenty-one, are you? So how do you buy drinks?” “How do you think I buy drinks? A false ID, of course. I look older than my age, being so big and all. Everybody on the team got them.”

“Well, excuse me. I didn’t know that.” “Come with me to The Red Door. Be my friend. Live a little. Enjoy life. Find a new girlfriend.” “No, I need to study.” “What’s the matter? You don’t like to hang out with me anymore? Did I do something to you?” “Don’t be sore. I don’t feel like going out tonight. That’s all. He stood up to leave, and I rose with him. I realized how big

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he was standing next to him. Luke was taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier, perhaps more. “Maybe we can go to The Red Door another time, or do something else, go horseback riding or to the beach. What do you say?”

“Okay.” “How about next weekend?” “All right.” “I’ll get in touch with you, and we’ll fix it up.” He started walking toward the door, and I followed him. At the door, he stopped and turned to face me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to The Red Door with me tonight? I can fix you with some girl over there, you know. I know lots of girls, many of them cheerleaders.” “No. I’d rather stay home. Thanks anyway.” “Well, I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll fix it up for next weekend. We could go to Myrtle Beach. It’s not that far away.” “Maybe,” I said. “Have a good time tonight.” “You know I always have a good time. Goodbye, buddy. You’re still my buddy, aren’t you?” “I’m still your buddy.” I stayed at the door and watched him climb into his red BMW and peel away faster than he should, a cloud of pebbles scattered behind him on my driveway. It had started to drizzle tiny drops I could barely feel and refreshed me instead of getting me wet. I glanced at the sky and felt the drops like hundreds of little kisses on my face. I returned to my room, thinking of Lorraine. Did she miss me as I did her? Did she ever think of me and have that dead feeling inside her chest as I did when I thought of her? Did she still love me, or had she forgotten me? So, I sat at my desk for a long time staring, unseeing, at graphs of functions and derivative formulas, wondering if I was progressing in the right direction in life and at the right pace? Later, I

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remembered the rose and looked out the window, but it was too dark to see anything outside.

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