Apples to Ashes
Lit Fuse
As I pushed my way through hordes of antsy, violent, rude, dandruff-infested, and hungry teenagers who were all vying for admission to the cafeteria for nothing more than $2.75 worth of steamy, refried slop, I could only think one thing: “I hate high school.” As a matter of fact, being nearly trampled by adolescent animals which made the Mufasa-killing wildebeest herd from The Lion King seem tame was nearly enough to make me hate life in general. I’d always been slow to anger, though, so my daily struggle for cafeteria food wasn’t truly enough to nurture such a strong dislike within me. What really tested my nerves and tied the worst of knots in my gut was puppy love.
It was everywhere: in the hallways, in the gym, outside the girls’ locker rooms, and on the twenty-odd steps leading to the gates of Grand Heights High were I spent four of the most miserable years of my life.
Although, on this day, the rush for food was particularly violent and the weather was particularly hot and uncomfortable, I survived just I always did. And just as I always did, I took the same route to the same spot to sit with the same people. I was never a big fan of change.
As I approached a faded blue table—my faded blue table for the past two years of high school—a petite girl whose dramatic black curls overshadowed the quietly beautiful features of her face waved me over enthusiastically. “Trina! I saved you a spot,” said Kenley, my best friend of nearly sixteen years. I couldn’t help but smile when I replied, “I know, Ken. You always do.”
I nestled in with my zealously glazed orange chicken between Ken and our other friend Jasmine. We’d all met in freshman year and together we stayed. We complemented one another too well to ever let ourselves be separated. Jasmine was pretty quiet, not in the sense that she was shy, but in the sense that she always knew when to speak and always had the perfect thing to say. The thing I never understood about her was her objection to nicknames. She corrected people rather harshly if they ever got too comfortable with her and dared to call her Jazz. Every day, when Ken would call me over, Jasmine would wrinkle her nose ever-so-subtly at the use of my nickname, and at the use of Kenley’s for that matter. That was just how she was.
I greeted the girls on the other side of our table with my usual “hi” and a half-smile. They were just lunch friends, girls with whom I had no classes and girls I never saw or talked to outside of school. No sooner had the “hi” escaped my lips and my rear had settled between my two best friends’ did Kenley drop her spork in her cardboard tray and turn to me with the widest grin on her face.
I let her stare at me like that for a few seconds while I opened my milk carton and peeled the plastic covering off my steaming foil tray of orange chicken. “All right Ken,” I sighed. “What is it?”
“I have found the perfect guy,” she half-beamed, half-squealed.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes as I usually did. “Dare I ask....What makes him more perfect than Steven?”
“This one’s—"
“Or Marcus?”
“Trina...”
“Or Darrell, or Phillip, or Ricky, or any of the other dozen guys you’ve nearly fallen in love with over the past three years?”
“Oh, Trina, give me a break. I swear this one’s different. He really is per--"
“You know, she’s got a point, Kenley,” Jasmine chimed in. “It’s only September and you’ve already had two boyfriends since the beginning of summer—and you swore you were going to marry both of them.” Perfect timing, perfect words.
Ken narrowed her hazel eyes at both of us and scrunched up her lightly freckled nose. “I can’t believe you guys. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
Of course, it was just like Ken to jump to the most dramatic of conclusions. That was why I loved her, though. She was everything I’d always secretly longed to be, and she had the hair I’d always not-so-secretly longed to have. She was easily bored, and I was easily entertained. In a nutshell, she kept my life interesting.
“Ken, you know we want you to be happy, but this is no way to do it,” I said. Jumping around from guy to guy in a matter of months...what good is that going to do you?”
“I’m not “jumping around”—that’s for whores,” Ken pouted. “I’m just picky in love. Anyway, can I at least tell you about this guy?”
I gave in. I figured I was going to hear about him sooner or later, and at the moment the former option seemed more much appealing than the latter. “Go for it.”
Ken’s trademark smile brightened her features once more as she proceeded to tell Jasmine and I how Thomas Fukunaga was “the one.” He was cute. That characteristic was a staple for Ken’s flings. He was chivalrous...just like every other guy she went out with. He was smart. Actually, even I had to admit that was new for Ken. She seemed to have a natural attraction to guys who were too dense to make their own decisions or to do their own homework.
“So his GPA actually makes it into the three digit ranking, eh? Looks like you’ve got yourself a winner Ken,” I said. Jasmine snickered.
Ken giggled in agreement, failing to recognize my biting sarcasm. She was by no means an idiot, a moron, or anything along those lines, but cute and chivalrous—and now, smart guys had, time and time again, proved to rob her of her senses. Poor dear.
“You know Trina, it’s about time you found someone for yourself,” Ken remarked. The childlike glimmer of infatuation had temporarily left her eyes, and her senses had clearly returned. Now she was serious, but I didn’t want to be bothered with this conversation. We’d had it too many times before, and it never got any easier.
“Kenley, you know I can’t do that...” I started.
“Why not?”
“You know exactly why not,” I replied, trying my very best to avoid her interrogative stare while attempting to remain as unemotional as possible. It was too late, though; I could feel my stomach bubbling with anxiety as we approached the age-old debate. I knew at that point my emotions were about as controllable as the black plague.
“Oh Trina, not this whole cult thing again. You know I wish you’d just get out of that thing already.”
I flashed my stormy eyes up at her. She looked genuinely concerned—she always did, but I could never be certain of just how sincere she was. With natural-born actresses it’s rather hard to distinguish the truth from the lies.
“Ken, for the last time, it’s not a cult. It’s—a minority religion.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s stupid. You shouldn’t be deprived of having a normal life for some cult.”
“My life—is normal.” The volume of my voice danced as I strained to contain my frustration. “Just because I can’t have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m some kind of—freak.” By now the other girls had left the table and the tension became increasingly palpable. “Unlike you, I don’t need some guy by my side to function.”
Jasmine rested her hand on my shoulder and told me to calm down, but it was too late. I pushed my tray away and left the table.
I had always been slow to anger, but two things always managed to light my fuse: puppy love, and being reminded that I could never have it for myself.
It was everywhere: in the hallways, in the gym, outside the girls’ locker rooms, and on the twenty-odd steps leading to the gates of Grand Heights High were I spent four of the most miserable years of my life.
Although, on this day, the rush for food was particularly violent and the weather was particularly hot and uncomfortable, I survived just I always did. And just as I always did, I took the same route to the same spot to sit with the same people. I was never a big fan of change.
As I approached a faded blue table—my faded blue table for the past two years of high school—a petite girl whose dramatic black curls overshadowed the quietly beautiful features of her face waved me over enthusiastically. “Trina! I saved you a spot,” said Kenley, my best friend of nearly sixteen years. I couldn’t help but smile when I replied, “I know, Ken. You always do.”
I nestled in with my zealously glazed orange chicken between Ken and our other friend Jasmine. We’d all met in freshman year and together we stayed. We complemented one another too well to ever let ourselves be separated. Jasmine was pretty quiet, not in the sense that she was shy, but in the sense that she always knew when to speak and always had the perfect thing to say. The thing I never understood about her was her objection to nicknames. She corrected people rather harshly if they ever got too comfortable with her and dared to call her Jazz. Every day, when Ken would call me over, Jasmine would wrinkle her nose ever-so-subtly at the use of my nickname, and at the use of Kenley’s for that matter. That was just how she was.
I greeted the girls on the other side of our table with my usual “hi” and a half-smile. They were just lunch friends, girls with whom I had no classes and girls I never saw or talked to outside of school. No sooner had the “hi” escaped my lips and my rear had settled between my two best friends’ did Kenley drop her spork in her cardboard tray and turn to me with the widest grin on her face.
I let her stare at me like that for a few seconds while I opened my milk carton and peeled the plastic covering off my steaming foil tray of orange chicken. “All right Ken,” I sighed. “What is it?”
“I have found the perfect guy,” she half-beamed, half-squealed.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes as I usually did. “Dare I ask....What makes him more perfect than Steven?”
“This one’s—"
“Or Marcus?”
“Trina...”
“Or Darrell, or Phillip, or Ricky, or any of the other dozen guys you’ve nearly fallen in love with over the past three years?”
“Oh, Trina, give me a break. I swear this one’s different. He really is per--"
“You know, she’s got a point, Kenley,” Jasmine chimed in. “It’s only September and you’ve already had two boyfriends since the beginning of summer—and you swore you were going to marry both of them.” Perfect timing, perfect words.
Ken narrowed her hazel eyes at both of us and scrunched up her lightly freckled nose. “I can’t believe you guys. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
Of course, it was just like Ken to jump to the most dramatic of conclusions. That was why I loved her, though. She was everything I’d always secretly longed to be, and she had the hair I’d always not-so-secretly longed to have. She was easily bored, and I was easily entertained. In a nutshell, she kept my life interesting.
“Ken, you know we want you to be happy, but this is no way to do it,” I said. Jumping around from guy to guy in a matter of months...what good is that going to do you?”
“I’m not “jumping around”—that’s for whores,” Ken pouted. “I’m just picky in love. Anyway, can I at least tell you about this guy?”
I gave in. I figured I was going to hear about him sooner or later, and at the moment the former option seemed more much appealing than the latter. “Go for it.”
Ken’s trademark smile brightened her features once more as she proceeded to tell Jasmine and I how Thomas Fukunaga was “the one.” He was cute. That characteristic was a staple for Ken’s flings. He was chivalrous...just like every other guy she went out with. He was smart. Actually, even I had to admit that was new for Ken. She seemed to have a natural attraction to guys who were too dense to make their own decisions or to do their own homework.
“So his GPA actually makes it into the three digit ranking, eh? Looks like you’ve got yourself a winner Ken,” I said. Jasmine snickered.
Ken giggled in agreement, failing to recognize my biting sarcasm. She was by no means an idiot, a moron, or anything along those lines, but cute and chivalrous—and now, smart guys had, time and time again, proved to rob her of her senses. Poor dear.
“You know Trina, it’s about time you found someone for yourself,” Ken remarked. The childlike glimmer of infatuation had temporarily left her eyes, and her senses had clearly returned. Now she was serious, but I didn’t want to be bothered with this conversation. We’d had it too many times before, and it never got any easier.
“Kenley, you know I can’t do that...” I started.
“Why not?”
“You know exactly why not,” I replied, trying my very best to avoid her interrogative stare while attempting to remain as unemotional as possible. It was too late, though; I could feel my stomach bubbling with anxiety as we approached the age-old debate. I knew at that point my emotions were about as controllable as the black plague.
“Oh Trina, not this whole cult thing again. You know I wish you’d just get out of that thing already.”
I flashed my stormy eyes up at her. She looked genuinely concerned—she always did, but I could never be certain of just how sincere she was. With natural-born actresses it’s rather hard to distinguish the truth from the lies.
“Ken, for the last time, it’s not a cult. It’s—a minority religion.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s stupid. You shouldn’t be deprived of having a normal life for some cult.”
“My life—is normal.” The volume of my voice danced as I strained to contain my frustration. “Just because I can’t have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m some kind of—freak.” By now the other girls had left the table and the tension became increasingly palpable. “Unlike you, I don’t need some guy by my side to function.”
Jasmine rested her hand on my shoulder and told me to calm down, but it was too late. I pushed my tray away and left the table.
I had always been slow to anger, but two things always managed to light my fuse: puppy love, and being reminded that I could never have it for myself.