For the Love of Peter Jones Read online

  Waking up at six gave me enough time to get ready for school. I’m amazed at how the thought of going to school occurred to me. The only reason I’m able to get up today is because of my mom. School has always been tough for me. But I know momma would not have wanted me to stop doing my everyday routine. As I was getting dressed, I took a glance in the mirror. I became fixated on my reflection. What I saw caught me off guard. I had a nasty bruise on my cheek. Must have been the mark my dad left after he hit me. Shit, I couldn’t go to school with a bruise on my face. If the teachers see this, then trouble would start. If a student sees, I would get laughed at more than I already do. Think Peter, think…then I remembered, mom used to wear this powder stuff. Foundation, I guess? That powder was the only makeup she wore. She was that beautiful.

  I entered my mom’s room and searched until I found where she kept the makeup. One good thing was I didn’t have to worry about waking up my dad when I went into her room. He doesn’t sleep in their once shared bedroom, now he sleeps on our filthy small couch. I decided I would put the makeup on in my mother’s bathroom. She has a much bigger mirror than I did, and it was easier for me to see out of. In actuality, I don’t know how this makeup stuff worked. How much do you put on? Do you rub or pat the foundation onto your skin? Whatever, I’ll pat the powder over the bruise until it’s gone. When finished I stepped back to look into the mirror to see how I did. Eh, I did a passable job on applying the foundation to my bruise.

  7:30am. I arrived at school thirty minutes early. I wanted to get out of the house before my dad made it back home. He left. I’m presuming in the middle of the night because when I passed our living room, I didn’t see him passed out on the couch. To pass the time I decided to walk around campus for a while. It seemed as if time was moving slower with me trying to speed it up. I sat at a table right outside our cafeteria at the school. I looked around vigilantly, making sure none of my peers were around to see me. I opened my backpack and pulled out a locket my mom bought for me.

  She had words etched on the outside of the locket that read: “Mom loves P.J.” The inside of the locket had a picture of my mom and me. Mom bought the necklace as a gift she could give me later in life. She had it in her mind that I was going to be born a girl, all the women on her side of the family gave birth to females. Mom was so confident I was going to be a girl that she didn’t go to the doctor to determine my sex. Mom started buying baby clothes, for girls of course. Five months in is when mom felt my first kick. The next day after my first kick, she purchased my locket. While P.J. are my initials, my original name was going to be Paisley Jones. Mom had it all planned out for her baby girl until she gave birth to me and to her shock I was born a boy.

  When mom first told me the story, I couldn’t stop laughing. I came out of the womb playing jokes on her. She first told me the locket story when I was fourteen, the year she was diagnosed with cancer. I remember sitting on her bed as she searched in the closet for the piece of jewelry. Since I was born a boy, she figured I wouldn’t want the necklace. The look on her face was priceless when she found the jewelry. Moms face beamed with excitement as if seeing the chain brought her back to my first kick. Her facial expression changed as she handed me the small silver locket. Her face looked as if she was preparing herself for rejection, waiting for me to say I didn’t want it.

  Mom ran her hands through her thick long hair. She did that whenever she got nervous.

  “You don’t have to take the necklace Peter. I only wanted to tell you the story.” She laughed a bit after she finished speaking. I laid out on her bed with the locket in my hand. I ran my finger over the engraved words.

  “The necklace is perfect mom, thank you.”

  Her face changed from fear of rejection to being overjoyed. Mom couldn’t stop smiling and continued to tell me stories about the past. I twirled the chain of the necklace around my finger. After a bit, I put the special gift in my pocket. From that day on, I carried the locket everywhere I went. Having this locket is liking having a piece of my mom with me. Apart that can’t be taken away.

  I smiled at the locket and twirled the chain around my fingers the same way I did when I first received the gift. My thoughts were interrupted. Right before putting the necklace away, someone snatched it out of my hands.

  “Look what we have here; bitch boy Peter has a locket.”

  Voices began to erupt with laughter. Then someone else spoke.

  “Man I always knew he had a vagina. He’s merely trapped in a boyish-looking body. Put a wig and lipstick on him, and he can pass for one of the school hoes here.”

  The laughter grew louder, I knew the first voice. The deep and booming voice came from Josh Carson; he’s been a bully since the pre-k. He was destined to destroy lives ever since he was formed in his mother uterus.

  “For real Josh, give me my chain back; come on man,” I said while reaching out to get the locket from him.

  He moved his hand too fast, I couldn’t grab it.

  Josh Carson and I stood about the same height of 6’0, our difference came in at our body weight. Josh is much more bulked up than I am. He has the body of a linebacker, and I have the shape of a long-distance runner. Josh has wispy dark blonde hair that could almost pass for light brown. His skin tone is fair, yet somewhat tanned. His jawline was strong. Which in my opinion, made him look bizarre. Because along with the strong jawline, Josh’s eyes were blue and beady. Small and watchful eyes don’t belong on someone with a model type jawline, but the girls at my school adored his look.

  Josh’s lips curled up before he let out a laugh. The other people at my school followed his lead and laughed. The situation that I was a part of had no effect on the students watching. Every one of their faces looked unbothered. I looked around at all my classmates, not one tried standing up for me. Not a single student told Josh what he was doing was wrong. Instead, I saw kids mocking me, enjoying the altercation in front of them. It was at that moment I realized how alone and helpless I was. I mean what could I do? It was me against Josh. The whole school seems to love and support him.

  Josh laughed even more once he noticed how red my face was turning. He then moved closer to me and examined my face gingerly. He spat in his hand and wiped my cheek. Josh started grinning ear to ear, his smile resembled a serial killer that relished in his crimes. The sight Josh saw filled his soul with delight. I watched Josh’s lip form a joyous smile.

  “Yo, everyone check this! Peter Jones is wearing makeup.”

  Some of Josh’s friends rushed over to take a look, a few girls whipped out their phones to take pictures. My body felt under attack, I was feeling too many emotions at once. My mind was shutting down, all I could do was put my backpack in front of my face. I wish by putting my bag in front of my face that I somehow could disappear. I was too ashamed to do anything.

  More kids gathered around to see. I started thinking to myself, where are the teachers or security guards at? Not around of course, notably like the cops whenever you need them. Josh smiled, no doubt he was pleased with what he had done, but he wasn’t finished yet. Josh grabbed my backpack and pulled it away from my face. What he saw next sent him into a fit of laughter. Josh was gasping for air, that’s how hard he was laughing.

  “Nice bruise, did you try and fight someone? Without a doubt, I know you lost.” He then smiled at me. His facial expression reminded me of the look of someone that came up with the most genius plan.

  “Hey, who wants to see Jones fight me?”

  People cheered, some screamed “Fight,” while others took out their phones to record. The crowd acted as if the biggest WWE fight of the century was about to take place. I stood up straight and held back tears. I was trying my hardest to push through the crowd, but people wouldn’t let me get away. I tried running in the other direction, but Josh was standing there waiting for me. I felt as if I was trapped in a maze. My father always engraved it in my brain that I’m a man. That I am to never let another man take away my masculinity. Never let an
other man make you out to be weak in front of others. Because once you do, everyone has lost respect for you. Men aren’t supposed to cry, aren’t supposed to be vulnerable, and as a man, you never run away from a fight. And here I am, doing everything he told me not to do.

  Josh charged towards me, and before I had time to react to anything, his fist had made a connection with my face. His face looked full of bewilderment. As I was falling to the ground, I held the side of my face. Josh’s punch had made this the second punch I had received in less than 48 hours. I curled up into a ball, shaking rabidly, praying and waiting for the torment to stop. You’re pathetic, you’re not a man, those words repeated in my mind over and over. Josh continued to kick me.

  “Get up Peter. Come on, fight me like a man!”

  I’ve never done anything to offend Josh, I never got in his way. I always kept my head down when he approached me, yet he still always chooses to pick on me. Any other day he could have chosen to pick this fight, but not today. Not the day after my mother died. A loud and stern voice boasted from the crowd.

  “Josh hit him again, I dare you.”

  Those words came from the most popular girl in the school.

  Her name was Trinity King. Every boy in the school dreamed of dating her, and every girl wanted to be her. She’s a junior, but everyone treated her as if she was a college graduate. When she was only a freshman, the senior quarterback of the football team asked her to prom, and she turned him down. No one understood why she did that, but ever since she turned him down, I was hooked. She seemed different. I mean she had to be since she turned down our school’s quarterback. Right?

  Josh’s eyes became big.

  “Trinity, baby, this isn’t what it looks like. Let me explain…”

  She laughed and cut him off, “Is that so? Then what is it? Please do explain.”

  Josh didn’t say a word, he looked down at his shoes. Trinity stepped closer to Josh, and looked him up and down.

  “You’re pathetic.”

  Josh mumbled under his breath and said, “Whatever.”

  He threw the locket down and walked away. Finally, the bell rung and people started rushing to class. Everyone except one person, Trinity. Instead of joining the flock and rushing off to class she stayed behind. She dropped her purse and picked up my locket and backpack, strolled over to me as if she had all the time in the world. Or perhaps that’s merely my mind that made her saunter. I quite frankly couldn’t tell.

  Trinity handed over my locket and backpack. I took it from her as if she were delicate and if I grabbed it too fast out of her hand, she would break. I couldn’t stop looking at her, she’s gorgeous. Stunning. Not enough words were created to describe her type of beauty. Finally, I realized I needed to say something, so I didn’t freak her out. I tried searching for the right thing to say. Thank you, ended up being the only words I could muster. The words sounded rushed as if I was all out of breath from running the mile in gym class.

  She smiled at me and extended her hand. God, her smile gave me butterflies. I looked at her face and then her hand. She must have wanted me to grab and take hold of it, right? I took hold of her hand.

  “Come with me love.”

  I stood there and looked at her in amazement. I had never talked to Trinity before today. I usually wasn’t even in the same area of school with her.

  “Don’t you have class; you most likely don’t want to be late.”

  She smiled at me again and said, “Come on.”

  Trinity picked up her purse, and we started walking.

  We entered into the girl’s bathroom. I stopped walking and became nervous.

  “Trinity, I shouldn’t be in here.”

  She ignored me and checked all the stalls.

  “Hello?” She called.

  No one answered back in response.

  “Nope, no one is here.”

  Trinity asked for me to sit on the counter. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what was going on, but that didn’t bother me at all. She grabbed some paper towels and ran them under water. Her touch was so gentle. I hardly even felt the pain as she wiped off all the makeup. She reached into her purse and pulled out some healing ointment and put it on my face. Josh broke the skin, and my bruise in some spots was bleeding.

  “This entire bruise isn’t from Josh, is it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Truthfully speaking, no,” I replied.

  Her eyes started to look sad.

  “Thank you for doing this for me.” She didn’t say you’re welcome instead she threw the paper towels away.

  “Meet me after school by my truck. It’s the old little white Chevy truck.”

  I looked at her and gave her a smile, a smile so big it hurt the side of my face where my bruise was at.

  “Okay, will do, but where will we be going?”

  Trinity looked up at me.

  “I assume since you tried covering up your bruise, you want to hide it. Besides, makeup isn’t strictly for girls. If a guy wants to cover a blemish, more power to them. Let’s go get makeup to cover up your bruise. The foundation I have is too dark, and the one you’re wearing is too light.”

  I grinned, “Thank you, I... I don’t know what to say.”

  She winked, “No need to thank me that’s what friends are for.”

  I’m at a loss for words. I know there is a thing called being nice. But if my ears heard properly, Trinity called ME, friend. Ever since I’ve been at this school not once have, I had a friend. I’m a junior here, and I’m now getting a friend. You would think I would be depressed over this fact, but I wasn’t. A great majority of my emotions are centered around confusion. What if she didn’t mean to say those words? I’m going to assume it’s one of those moments where people act friendly because they feel bad for you.

  “You consider me your friend?”

  She laughed at my needy/desperate sounding voice when I asked her the question.

  “Yes, friends now get to class before you miss the entire lesson.”

  I didn’t want to go to class because for the first time since the seventh grade I had a friend.

  All I wanted to do was sit and talk to Trinity for hours, but of course, I didn’t say that.

  “Okay, see you later,” I said.

  While smiling she walked over to me and gave me a hug, I turned bright red.

  “You know, this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she said.

  I watched as she walked out the bathroom, I was in a daze.

  I whispered, “I know, a beautiful friendship indeed.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three o’clock finally rolled around when my school bell rang, it was the end of the day. I wasn’t happy, yet I wasn’t sad. My feelings were somewhere in the middle of those two emotions. Without a doubt I was feeling okay. That’s a feeling I hadn’t come near to feeling once mom went into the hospital. I was feeling alright because I was getting the chance to meet up with Trinity King. It felt wrong to feel okay. I felt guilty for feeling okay right after my mom died. In all probability, Trinity wasn’t the real reason I felt alright. The truth is, I suppose I felt okay because I don’t have to go home and see my dad.

  While I was doing all this thinking, I was walking to the parking lot to find Trinity’s car. I turned the corner, and there she was. I saw Trinity leaning against her old Chevy white truck. She looked beautiful. She was wearing a long off-white cashmere sweater that hung close to her body. Paired with dark blue jeans that hugged her curves right. Her long beautiful dark curly hair surrounded her flawless round face. Her milk chocolate skin looked so soft. Her eyes, God her eyes were mesmerizing. Trinity’s big brown eyes gave me this warm fuzzy feeling. When I looked into Trinity’s eyes, I saw happiness. I saw joy, and yet there was something about them I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  Her eyes looked as if they held a story. One that hasn’t been told and needs telling. I walked over to her and smiled.

  “Hey,” she smiled while gesturi
ng for me to get in the front seat.

  She started walking around to the driver’s seat, but I stopped her right before she opened the door. I walked around to the drivers side and opened the door.

  “At age seven I began opening doors for my mom. She told me it was a good practice to have. So of course, I have to open the door for you too.”

  Trinity looked shocked. For once it wasn’t me staring at her in awe. It was Trinity staring at me.

  “Thank you,” she said with excitement in her voice.

  I closed the door once she got in and headed towards the passenger side.

  Trinity started up the car and put in a CD, Blake Shelton’s song Honey Bee came blasting through the stereo. I watched as her soft cotton candy curls moved as her head was nodding to Blake Shelton’s tunes.

  “Most people are shocked to find out that I love country and metal music. They think because I’m African American that I have to love hip-hop and rap.”

  I started smiling ear to ear and belted out, “Yeah that came out a little country.” Even though her eyes were on the road I saw a huge smile form on her face. She joined in on my singing.

  “But every word was right on the money.”

  I looked at Trinity.

  “My mom loved this song.”

  Trinity didn’t give a response to what I said. Almost as if she knew that my mother passed away. I wonder if the hole mom left in my heart could be felt by others around me. Is such a thing possible?

  When we got to the red light she looked at me and smiled. She looked like a kid opening presents on Christmas.

  “Are you ready?”

  I knew what she meant when she asked that question. She meant when the light turned green we were going to sing our heads off to the song. I mean that’s the normal thing you do with friends right? You act stupid and sing your favorite songs in a car. At least that’s what I’ve seen in the movies. I hope I’m not wrong because that would be excruciatingly awkward. I’m not good at awkward situations. As soon as the light turned green, she took off speeding. Rolled down the windows, and we sang as loud as our lungs would allow.