The Village

April 1996

“In her sparkle, he found his shadow; in his silence, she found her song.”

Chapter One

Mark

The sound of breaking glass wakes me up from a dead sleep. I sit up abruptly, tossing the blankets off me as I jump out of bed. I open my bedroom door and slowly start to walk down the hallway.

“Ma?” I yell out nervously.

Suddenly, the shattered glass of our coffee table comes into view. I walk into the living room and over to the table.

In the shards of glass lays my mother, completely incapacitated. I squat down beside her and shake her once to wake her up.

“Ma!” I yell again, this time sternly.

The ringing of my voice stirs her, but she barely opens her eyes to look at me. I stand up, bending forward to pick her up as I do. I managed to drag her over to the couch. It seems almost like she was on the sofa at first but fell forward through the coffee table. I stare at her for a brief moment as I lay her down. I don’t understand how you can love someone but hate them so much simultaneously. She’s been like this for as long as I can remember. Constantly bouncing from job to job and apartment to apartment. It didn’t bother me so much when I was little because I couldn’t understand why she slept so much and missed things. We don’t have any other family here, and I’ve never met my father, so it’s always been just me and her. I don’t even know my father’s name. She occasionally mentions him if she gets high enough, but other than that he’s a total mystery. I’ll give her credit; she’s made it work for the most part as a single mother. I cover her with a blanket and walk to the kitchen to grab the broom. The clock on the stove says it’s only eight o'clock at night. I must have been exhausted today after work. There’s a pot of food from God knows when sitting on the stove and a sink full of dishes. I’ll get around to cleaning it up eventually. I sigh as I walk back to the living room, broom in hand. I try my best to sweep up the glass without waking my mom up. I have to make a few trips back and forth to empty the dustpan, but that’s okay. When I’m done cleaning up the remnants of what used to be my coffee table, I walk into the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I forgot to go to the store on my walk home and am going to need cigarettes soon. I dry my face and stare into the mirror. I always wonder about my father when I look at myself in the mirror. I must look just like him since I’m a far cry from my mother’s fair features. I wonder if I have his thick, dark hair, honey-brown eyes, and golden-brown skin. Is he as laid back and level-headed as I am? It had to come from somewhere. I guess I’ll never really know. I push the thought out of my brain and walk back to my room to grab my wallet before heading to the door.

The air is crisp and cool as I walk down the street to the local corner store. The iridescent glow from the street lights above me reflecting in the puddles makes this place look decent at night. It’s quiet in Santa Ana tonight. They’ve done a lot of work cleaning up the city in the last couple of months. One too many dead teenagers in the street, I guess. I saw on the news that last year, we had seventy two homicides as a result of gang violence. I try my best not to get too involved in the bullshit. I keep to myself for the most part. Overall, growing up in California hasn’t been the worst thing. Occasionally, we’ll get a decent-sized earthquake. Other than that, the weather is beautiful. When I turn the corner onto McFadden Ave, I see some kids standing outside the store. As I get closer, I realize it’s a couple of kids from school. They notice me quickly and turn around to face me.

“Murph, what’s up, pretty boy?” Tony yells, outstretching his hand to me.

I’ve always liked Tony. He’s a little rough around the edges, but we all are to some extent. It’s just how we grew up. Tony is my neighbor; he lives just two apartments down in the same building on Minnie Street.

I shake his hand, pulling a pack of Marlboro’s out of my back pocket with my other hand.

“What are you guys up to tonight?” I ask, placing a cigarette between my lips.

“Murph, check this out.” Tony loves to tell a story, so I know I’m in for it now.

“We went to the beach today, right, you know, just tossing the football around and shit when these girls walk by. They’re all staring at us, so I yell for them to play with us. These aren’t just regular girls, Murph. Like real pretty, rich girls.”

He slaps me on the shoulder in an attempt to drive home his point.

“Anyway, they hang with us for a while. We went and got food. One of them says she’s having a party tonight. They told us we should come. So we’re heading there in a minute. You should come with us.”

Normally, I’d never agree to go. Tony has a bad habit of getting himself in trouble. It's the type of trouble I avoid at all costs, but it beats staying home on a Saturday night.

I toss my cigarette to the ground and crush it into the pavement with my shoe.

“Where are we going?” I ask, terrified of the answer.

I don’t know why I’m even agreeing to this.

His eyes light up. “Oh, for real? Costa Mesa.”

Costa Mesa is beautiful and a really safe town, too. I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve heard that about it.

“Well, shit,” I say. “Three rejects from Cornerstone Village at a party in Costa Mesa? I don’t think we’re gonna fit in.”

Andre, who typically stays pretty quiet, laughs at my statement.

“No shit, dude, those girls love that back alley shit, though.”

Andre is cool, depending on how you define the word. He dropped out freshman year, and I haven’t seen much of him since. He got caught up in some sketchy stuff about a year ago.

“Let me just go get a pack of butts first,” I say, holding my hand up before turning to walk into the store. Tony nods his head to me. I pull the door open and walk in. Gloria is sitting behind the counter doing a word search.

“Hey Gloria, how are you?” I say as I approach the counter.

She looks up at me over her glasses and smiles.

“Mark, I’m good. How are you, baby?”

I’ve always loved Gloria. Her comforting presence is something I don’t get to experience very often at home.

“I’m good, I’m good. Could I get a pack of Marlboro’s please?” I point to the shelves of cigarettes behind her.

She looks sternly at me, mainly because she knows I’m not eighteen yet. She grabs a pack for me, sliding them across the counter. She punches some buttons on the register as I take out my wallet.

“$1.22 today, sir.” She says, smiling up at me.

I slide two dollars across the counter and grab my cigarettes.

“Thank you, Gloria!” I yell over my shoulder as I turn away from her towards the door. As soon as I open the door, Andre and Tony turn to look at me.

“Alright.” I say, “Let’s do this.”

The ride to Costa Mesa is brief. I’ve spent most of it quietly staring out the window of Tony’s beat-up Civic. I look down at my outfit, slightly concerned that I won’t fit in at this party. I just threw something on before walking to the store. I didn’t expect to go out. I guess I don’t need to fit in either way.

“Yo,” Andre turns to me from the front seat. “You listen to the new Pac album yet Murph?”

“Uh, I haven’t yet,” I say, slightly embarrassed. I’m not much of a rap guy.

“You gotta check this shit out.” He says, holding a cd up in the air.

“We’ll listen to it on the way back, man; I think we’re here,” Tony interjects, pointing out the window to the left. I follow his finger to the window, noticing a big yellow house overflowing with people. It’s one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen. The lawn is perfectly manicured, cut with such precision that I know it was expensive. The intricately placed lights strung from the trees lining the front of the house mesmerize me as I stare out of the window. I don’t deserve to be here. I can’t help but wonder what it took to get a house like this, mainly because I’ll do anything to get here someday. I stare at the house, ignoring the slamming of the car doors and the hustle and bustle from inside the house.

“Murph!” Tony shrieks, bending down with his face in my open window. “Let’s go white boy,”

I push my door open and step onto the sidewalk, never taking my eyes off those twinkling lights. My palms sweat as we descend the walkway toward the front door. I’m nervous, but I can’t understand why. I’ve been to a million parties, drank a million beers, and been with a million girls before. Okay, maybe not a million girls, but seven, which feels like a lot for only sixteen years old. But something about this party feels different. I have this uneasy feeling that this night will change my life; I just can’t tell if it’ll be for better or worse yet.

I want to leave this party at the same time I walk into it. The room is filled with people who wouldn’t look twice at me on the street—the air reeks of affluence and nepotism. I look around, taking in the sight of boys, no doubt attending Ivy League schools on their father’s dime, dressed in polos and all too-expensive Levi’s jeans. I can’t help but look down and regret my outfit tonight. My Chuck Taylor’s are scuffed, my blue jeans are worn, and my white tee shirt is wrinkled. Granted, I didn’t expect to be here tonight, and it’s not like I own anything nicer. As we make our way through the room, I’m shocked by how unnoticed we are.

In my mind, we would have been tossed out on our asses beside someone’s overly priced BMW the second these rich kids laid eyes on us. I follow Tony and Andre as they lead me through the crowded room, never lifting my head once. I don’t want to be seen, heard, noticed. Not by these people anyway. Girls surround the island, set in the center of the kitchen. They’re all pretty. Too pretty, too grown for their age, too shallow. On top of the island rests a cooler full of Budweiser’s. I try to push through the girls without a word politely. Girls like them would never talk to me anyway. I hear Tony behind me, talking to a couple of the girls. To my surprise, they giggle at his words, and their voices trail up as they speak back to him. Maybe Andre was right; they do like this back-alley shit. I grab the first beer my hand gets to. It’s cold in my hand, and I can’t wait to crack it open. I pull my lighter out to crack open the bottle when a voice comes from beside me.

“You’re not usually here,” A girl shrills.

I turn my head to the left and look down. A short girl with long, curly blonde hair looks up at me through glazed-over blue eyes. She’s beautiful, prettier than any girl I’ve ever been with.

“This is my first time here,” I say timidly, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you from Costa Mesa?” She asks, staring intensely up at me.

I don’t respond with words; instead, I tip the bottle to my lips and shake my head.

“Well,” She giggles, “Where are you from then?”

“Nowhere,” I respond sharply, making eye contact with her for the first time.

I suppose I was trying to be off-putting with my answer, but the way she smirked at me told me it had a different effect. Back alley shit.

“Do you at least have a name?” She asks mockingly, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Murph,” I take another sip. “Everyone just calls me Murph.”

She seems satisfied with my response.

“Well, I’m Bianca.” Her smile conceals inappropriate thoughts, and I hate that I’m so okay with it. “Come outside with me, Murph?”

She outstretches her hand to me, and despite my hesitation, I grab it anyway and follow her through the kitchen.

• • • •

It’s been a few hours, and this party isn’t as bad as I thought. Bianca is drunk and has been seated in my lap for the last two hours. I’ve been contemplating taking her home, but I don’t know where to take her. It’s what she wants. I only know because she’s whispered it in my ear multiple times tonight. It’s a little off-putting, to be honest. I like to put in the effort; I like the chase.

On top of that, I need a fucking cigarette. I softly whisper to Bianca that I need to get up and walk away slowly. I need a moment to get away from everyone. I start to walk toward the front of the house. There’s no crowd with everyone congregating inside or on the back patio. I like hearing the voices fade with every step I take. When I reach the front steps, I sit down, pulling my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and pulling one out. I really should quit; it’s a nasty habit. After a few drags and a pleasant minute of silence, I hear a voice coming from the left side of the house.

“Tim, wait!” A girl screams. “Please!”

She sounds like she’s crying. I keep my eyes on the ground as they come around the corner, walking only a few feet from me toward the cars lining the street.

The guy, Tim, I’m assuming, looks like a douche. He’s tall and blonde, and he's definitely a football player. He spins around quickly, sharply ripping his hand away from the girl.

“Melinda, I don’t want to do this anymore,” He’s yelling at her while she flinches away from him.

Fuck, I have a front-row seat to a breakup right now.

“I don’t understand why you’re mad,” She responds through tears. “I’m just not ready!”

I know I shouldn’t assume, but from where I’m sitting, he looks a whole lot like an asshole.

“And I don’t want to wait anymore!” He screams, “I’ve been waiting. I’m a good boyfriend. I deserve it.”

Oh, he’s definitely an asshole.

“You’re unbelievable.” She mutters.

Tim starts to walk backward, staring directly at the girl.

“I’m done,” He reiterates before walking away from her.

There’s a quick silence before I can see her breathing heavily. I remain with my eyes locked on the ground. She doesn’t know I’m here. I stand up slowly and try to stay unseen and unheard. I go to take a step down and kick my beer bottle over, the sound of glass bouncing off of the cement radiates through the front yard. Fuck.

I look back up to the girl quickly, who’s now staring at me inquisitively.

“Hi,” She whimpers. “Were you here the whole time?”

I don’t know what to say. She stares at me for a second longer before stepping out of the darkness and walking over to me. I feel stunned as soon as she walks into the light in front of me. Bianca looks homely compared to her. She’s taller, but not too tall. The way her bathing suit top sits on her body has my eyes wandering to places they shouldn’t be. She takes another step closer to me, wafting the smell of coconuts and a tropical vacation I could never afford to take in my direction. When I finally lift my eyes to her face, I’m met with emerald green eyes and long dark lashes. She has light brown freckles splayed across her face in a unique pattern. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to say back to her as she wipes tears from her face.

“For what?” She asks, with a small smile.

“Intruding,” I say sincerely.

“You weren’t, we were.”

She brushes past me to the stairs and sits down.

“You dropped your beer,” She giggles, “That’s a party foul.”

I can’t help but smile.

“I can get another one,” I choke out nervously.

“What’s your name?” She asks through a smile as I sit back down next to her.

“Everyone calls me Murph,”

She smiles again, and I’m shocked by how much I like it when she does that.

“Your name is Murph?” She questions, I imagine she already knows the answer.

“Well, it’s Mark.” I laugh. “Mark Murphy,”

She nods, understanding the nickname.

“Does anyone ever call you Marky?”

I shake my head, lighting another cigarette.

“Melinda Whitmore” She extends her hand out to me. “Where are you from?”

I don’t want to tell her the truth. I’m scared that telling her the truth will make her stop talking to me, but she has this genuine look in her eye that pulls it out of me anyway.

“Santa Ana, I go to Santa Ana High,” My voice cracks with nerves as I answer her.

“Oh, I go to Mater Dei,” She smiles.

Her smile is so warm and inviting.

“Are you okay?” I ask, afraid that I might be pushing a boundary.

She looks down at her feet before answering.

“Yeah, Tim’s an asshole,” She laughs. “This happens all the time.”

“It shouldn’t,” I mumble quietly.

She doesn’t respond, so I don’t think she heard me or maybe I offended her. She abruptly stands up, leaving me sitting alone on the steps.

“I’m going to the beach,” She declares, still turned away from me.

I watch her as she walks further down the walkway toward the road. Shit, I did offend her. Right as I go to stand up, she stops walking and turns around to face me.

“You coming, Marky?”