The crash didn’t play favorites. It took the same amount from me that it took from Mr. Champagne Cocktail. He doesn’t come in that night, either. Or the next.
Now I’m sitting at my desk, for show, my hands folded in my lap, my pencil untouched on my notebook. My teacher drones on, her own enthusiasm lackluster.
At the end of the day, it’s time for the inevitable. The lower amount of money from Doc’s ain’t enough to get by on. But it was supposed to be. Doc’s was supposed to keep me in school, and now it can’t.
Frankly, that makes me mad. Madder still when I think I should be standing in front of this classroom by now, but ’cause of Roy, I’m a year behind, still sitting at this desk. And now I need to be out there, first in line, trying to find a second job. I can’t sit here any longer. Not with nothin’ in the bank. Not when jobs are going to be even harder to come by. I’ve no other choice but to sign away the last inklings of my dreams. For real this time. Permanently. With no hopes of coming back. I was kidding myself that my life would allow me to get my degree.
The door to the school’s office opens soundlessly. My footsteps, as I approach the desk, seem too quiet. Everything ’bout this moment feels like my time spent at Southwest Dallas High School will soon be forgotten: the talent shows, my victory in the spelling bee, the poem I wrote that my teacher tacked to the blackboard.
At one time, those were notches in my belt on my path to becoming somebody. But none of those matter anymore, not when my desire to be more than poor dangles broken, like those damn lights in the bank. It was hard losing Roy, but I hadn’t truly lost myself, ’til now.
I slide my disenrollment papers ’cross the desk, Bonnelyn Elizabeth Parker signed at the bottom, and the clerk accepts it. Just like that. She won’t question me; she probably saw this coming after I took that long break. She won’t frown at me; I’m over the legal dropout age. So few of my classmates graduate—now even less. I can’t be the only one who’ll trade in lessons for hours at some remedial job, if anyone is even hiring. I need to be up early, knocking on doors, before they are all gobbled up.
I thank her—for what, I don’t know—and leave the tiny room. I don’t want to think anymore ’bout what I just did. I don’t want to think ’bout Buster once again being out of a job, or the possibility of my ma losing hers if people go back to making their own clothes to save money. My feet simply move, carrying me out of the building, a chill running down my spine.
“Bonnie?”
That name: only spoken by one person. Despite the darkness of my mood, my heart flutters.
Clyde leans against a tree at the bottom of the school’s steps, arms and ankles crossed. He’d appear casual if it weren’t for the concern etched ’cross his face.
“Clyde,” I whisper, but in my mind, it’s as if I scream. Maybe it’s ’cause his presence speaks volumes. “You’re back already?”
“Never left. Spent the last couple of days trying to find myself that job.”
He never left. With each step down the stairs, I let that sink in.
“But then Blanche told me what you were up to.…”
“That girl’s got a big mouth,” I say.
He fidgets, uncrossing his arms, patting his palms against his thighs. “Should I not…”
“No.” I stop in front of him. Clyde Barrow is all nerves, and I’d be lying if I said butterflies aren’t taking flight in my stomach. We’re inches apart, but I want to move closer. It’d take only a slight roll onto my toes to be in perfect alignment. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He pushes off the tree, steps closer. “How you doing?”
“I’ve been robbed.” I drop my school bag to the ground. “That’s what it feels like.”
I could elaborate, ’bout how I’m not simply referring to my bank account, but Clyde is nodding.
“Never told you why I wanted to enlist, did I?” I raise a brow, and he says, “Wish I could say it was ’cause of duty, but I’d be lying. I spent too much time sitting ’round, wasting my day, or running away, trying to stay a step ahead of the law. But I wanted to make good, be somebody, and for the name Clyde Barrow to end in a handshake instead of a door in my face. So, when the navy turned me away, I felt like the floor fell out from under me. All my plans went to hell.”
I nod, biting my lip. He gets it, maybe better than anyone.
“Remember this feeling, Bonnie.” He takes a moment, swallows. “I reckon decisions are only going to get harder from here on out.”
“That ain’t what I want to hear.”
Clyde intertwines his fingers with mine, looking down as if he’s asking if I’m okay with the gesture.
I squeeze his hand.
“I’ll make ya a deal,” he says. “You keep clawing your way to what ya want, and I’ll keep trying to do the same.”
“But what is it that you want? You didn’t quite answer that one the other day.”
He swings our arms between us. Back and forth. Slow. “A stretch of land to farm. Been trying to find some for my family. Land is hard to buy, even harder to keep nowadays, but…” He shrugs, trails off.
“No, tell me.”
“I want a simple life, away from the rules and the people telling me that I’m doing wrong.”
“Maybe if you stop doing wrong, you’ll stop hearing it.” My voice comes out teasing, needing to help ease the tension in both our shoulders.
He smiles, his chest rising with a soft laugh.
I return his smile—not something I thought would happen today. But then I sigh, thinkin’ of my Mason jar. Not what’s in it but what I etched on it. Clyde and I aren’t so different, both wanting more than the odds we were born with.
Clyde nudges my chin, brings my head up. “Hey, let’s see that smile again. When one door closes, another one opens, right?” He smiles slyly. “But, on the chance it don’t, you can always pry it open.”
My face is mock-serious, or at least that’s the look I’m going for. “It’s that mentality that landed you behind bars in the first place.”
Clyde chuckles. “You may be right, Bonnie.”
“I take it you didn’t have much luck finding a job?”
He rubs his nose. “Lots of those doors being slammed in my face.”
“What ’bout Doc’s? I know it ain’t your thing, but…”
“This crash hasn’t been kind to the doctor either. You know that.” Clyde touches his ear. “And he’s already done so much for me. I won’t ask any more from him. I’ll keep knocking on other doors, though. For you, Bonnie.”
There I go, smiling again, eyes glued on Clyde. With his lazy smirk, he watches me right back, his eyes dancing over my face as if he’s memorizing each plane, each curve, each freckle.
Love comes in at the eye.
A William Butler Yeats poem jumps to the forefront of my mind, and I’m happy Clyde stands across from me, that he came here for me.
“Well, what’s going on here?” A looming figure appears beside us. A head taller than Clyde. Square chin. Prominent brows. Light, shaggy hair.
“Roy?” Disbelief and confusion pummel me like a rainstorm.