Chapter 44 Samson
I buy my mother a Hershey’s bar in Smith’s Bookstore and Stationers.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I walk outside. The light is dirty and gray. Subdued. The streetlamps are on and seniors are smoking in huddles to stay warm.
We watched a video on childbirth today in biology. Gunner passed out, much to my astonishment and delight. He had to wait outside in the yard, gulping down fresh air, while the school nurse checked him. Hammer Adams almost threw up. His face lost all its color. The rest of us were fine.
I stand at my bus stop. No fear like before, but I’m still aware of those around me. I keep a lookout for groups of kids.
“Watch out,” I say, turning around, after someone nudges me.
Only, it’s Jennifer.
She is wearing lip gloss.
I can’t help but smile.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“What are you doing, Samson?”
“Waiting for a bus.”
She smiles.
“What’s up? You all right?” I ask.
She nods.
Should I ask her?
I have to.
“What happened that day, anyway? In the park, I mean. It’s no big deal. Just that—”
“My mom needed me.”
“Oh, OK.”
“You got gum?”
I push my hands into my pockets, which is ridiculous as I know I have no such thing.
“No.”
She looks into one of my eyes, then the other. Back and forth.
“Why?” I ask. “You all right?”
She moves closer. Her breath fills the void between us. I sense people watching. She stands on her toes and her breathing slows. I get a little dizzy. Unsteady on my feet. The crowd around us goes quiet. The whole world falls silent. Blurs. It goes away. Buzzing in my ears.
“You’re a fool,” she whispers.
She looks down for a split second and then she pushes forward.
Her lips meet mine and we stand there. She pushes into me and I put my arm around her, my schoolbag swinging awkwardly from my shoulder.
The taste of her. Butterflies in my stomach.
She pulls away. Looks at me. And then she kisses me again, harder, and I feel the shape of her body pressing into mine. She softens. Pulls away again.
“Well?” she says.
I smile and then she smiles.
My face is hot. Heart racing.
“Better go catch your bus, Sam Jenkins.”
I turn and I can hardly walk, my knees aren’t working the way they should. I look back and she purses her lips and turns away.
When my bus sets off the whole bus station is staring at me through the window. A group of girls surround Jennifer and there looks to be a carnival atmosphere out there; everyone asking questions, excited, electric.
My insides are spinning.
She kissed me?
Jennifer Adamu kissed me.
Not a peck on the cheek or a quick kiss on the lips. A real kiss. I think I even felt the tip of her tongue brush mine.
People on the bus must have seen what happened but nobody says a word. They are all thinking about it, though, they must be, a monumental thing like that. I can still feel her on my lips. They’re tingling. She really kissed me.
Do I have a girlfriend now?
I have no idea.
One old lady with a heavy jacket stands up as we approach the waterworks and as she passes me she looks back for a split second and winks.
I smile so hard I have to look away.
Music in my ears. Symphonies. Crescendos.
When I reach the boat I have transformed into a full-grown man. I’ve leapt ten years ahead. Shoulders back, chest out. A girl kissed me today, on the lips.
“What are you grinning about?” asks Dad.
“Nothing.”
He looks at my head.
“That mop on your head. You want to keep it?”
I run my hand through my hair. “What do you mean?”
“What I say. You want to keep all that hair or you want me to shave it off for you?”
I frown. “Mom’d kill me.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“She’d kill you, Dad. Both of us.”
“The minute you let them boss you around is the minute your life’s over, boy. They didn’t build the skyscrapers of this world, did they? They didn’t discover electricity or steam power. They have their place, but don’t let them tell you what’s what, Samson. Now, do you want your head done or not?”
She kissed me. Jennifer Adamu actually kissed me.
“What about school?”
“What about it? You get grief from a teacher tell them to come talk to me.”
I can still taste her on my lips, on my tongue.
A surge of joy. Waves of it.
“All right then. Let’s do it.”
“Right.”
She kissed me in public.
He takes me into the bathroom and opens the cabinet. His section has nail clippers, a shaving brush, shaving soap in a dish, his razors, Old Spice deodorant, and his toothbrush.
Dad cuts my hair real short with kitchen scissors first. Then he places a hot flannel on my head. He takes his shaving brush.
“Badger, this is. Genuine badger bristles.”
He adds water and pushes his brush into the soap. Jennifer Adamu kissed me today, pushed her body into mine. I felt her hip bone. The soap froths. He slathers my head and then starts scraping the razor over my skin.
She kissed me in front of everyone.
“Crown to hairline first. Then against the grain. Get it down to bare skin.”
He finishes with another damp flannel, this one cool.
I look at my face in the mirror and smile. “I look like you, Dad.”
“Course you do. Scrubbed up like a man now.”
He goes off to read For Whom the Bell Tolls, and, for the first time in a long time, I feel no compulsion whatsoever to dig my hands in the LEGO box.
For kids, that kind of stuff. I sit and relive the kiss over and over in every tiny detail.
I rub my palm over my smooth head. I want to see her.
Soon. All day, every day. I want her to push herself into my chest again.
“That guy on the next boat. Jeff Turner’s nephew,” says Dad.
His cousin’s son.
“Phoenix?”
“Jeff Turner’s relation.”
“What about him?”
“He’s told you he’s not well, has he?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“He’s explained it all to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, OK then.”
Mom comes home carrying two Safeway bags.
She seems exhausted. When she looks up and notices my shaved head her face falls in on itself.
She ages. I have never seen her look so desperately sad.
She’s not angry. I thought she might yell or tell Dad off.
But no. She’s quiet and she looks aghast. Like she’s seen a ghost, or a sinister premonition.
Like her whole world just caved in.