Saturday, May 25, 2013

Chapter Twenty-Four, Part One A Bit of Spice :)


Part One

The steam rising from the cappuccino cupped between her hands eased her headache and she sensed her pores opening. But nothing could erase that image of Dan crying all over his sister.

Laughter hobbled from the television hanging above her head but none of the ER visitors chuckled along with the stupid sit-com.  They were too busy coughing, sniffing, moaning in pain or soothing distraught babies.

But the time ticked away.  Occasionally she opened her eyes.  The corridor to the ER rooms remained void of either Shields brother (and thank God their father, too), and Alice's black boots stared mournfully, seeming to beg to Bekah to seek their true owner- find out what mischief she'd gotten her scrawny butt into tonight.

Strange she hadn't even asked for the boots she'd lent Bekah a couple of months ago. In fact, few phone calls had passed between Bekah and her party-going friend during the last month and the smaller girl kept knocking on Bekah's conscience.  Aggression was Bekah's middle name when she focused on what she wanted, so why hadn't she yanked Alice away from the glittery, flame-filled fun she'd been engaging in for too long?

She certainly wasn't anything like Dan or Ryan.  They incessantly sought the best for the people they loved. Ryan had offered repeatedly to slam down a thousand dollars so she could move to an apartment far from her nasty neighborhood and finish her senior year in a better school.

But Bekah wasn't having it.  Leaving Westview meant running from her tormentors, both physical and mental, and she'd be damned if she'd give up and run like a chicken.

Someone kicked a child's ball softly toward an end table filled with magazines, one of which bore the Bimbo of the Month upon its cover.  Bekah had grown weary of girlie magazines at a young age, having been clearly aware of the publishers' scheming ways:  "Thou must look like this, thou must look like that, or you're not good enough. You're a nobody and no one will like you." Those were the words that popped into her head every time she spotted store shelves sporting  all sorts of cheerleader fodder.

Maybe Allie's problem had been fed by those idiotic magazines.

Across from her, a thick hand tugged at black dress pants and a man sat down in one of the burgundy, leather seats.  Remembering Oliver's black dress suit, Bekah held her breath.   However, spying a priest in that chair relieved her fears that Oliver had joined her.

The priest nodded as he rested his right ankle atop his left knee.  A single, dark curl fell over his forehead in a very Superman-like fashion and he owned marble blue eyes that raised the similarities between him and the man of steel.

But he was different. Bekah squinted, realizing his familiarity aside from the Supes resemblance.

"Hey there," he said. "You look like you need a friend."

Was he serious?  Yes, of course he was.  He was a priest. It was his job to act like he gave a crap and maybe, like Dan, he actually did.  So the two of them could strike up a club called, "Professional, GQ-ish Guys Who Really Give a Crap."

She mentally sighed.  Never would she completely lose her cynicism.  It seemed to be etched into her personality just like good ole Tammy Faye's tattooed eyebrows.  God rest her soul.

Realizing Father Superman was still awaiting her reply, she cleared her throat. "I'm OK.  Do you work or volunteer here?"

"No... I'm.... here because of a friend." He cocked his head. "You looked rather lonely and depressed, so I thought I'd join you."

"I'm fine." She took a long swig of her sweet, warm drink and lowered it to her lap.  "And no offense, but I'm not Catholic."

Something about the way he smirked and shrugged seemed funny to her.  "That's fine by me."

He sniffed and pushed the curl off of his forehead as he glanced over his shoulder, and then leaned forward. "I'm surprised.  Usually people recognize me by now."

"Recognize....?"  She set her Styrofoam cup on the table beside her.

The whispers circulating around them partnered with his hint that she'd missed an important detail.

"I wouldn't have said so if the others hadn't begun talking." He blew out a steady breath. "But not much I can do about it, short of plastic surgery."

Bekah felt as though she'd just been raised on one of those high-rides at an amusement park and then dropped on her freakin' head.  Yes, that was it!  She should have recognized him, he'd been on TV and Youtube so much that any girl her age would be an idiot not to recognize him.

However, he'd vanished from the scene suddenly over five years ago and...and she'd been too stressed mentally to place him, but soon enough others were flocking to him for autographs. He sat back with a resigned smile, signing various magazines, casts, other paraphernalia.  One woman even had him sign the back of her prescription!

Within five minutes, he'd been completely surrounded and Bekah, the rockhead, sat there with lyrics to one of his songs popping along inside of her:

Mad Night…
We must have met a thousand years ago
You took my hand
I followed sure
Had it been planned?

Coincidence or destiny?
I crossed into eternity…

Bekah held back laughter.  No wonder he'd switched professions.

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