Asking the Devil for Favors: Part III - April 13, 2007
There was no elevator to the ballroom. Luckily, I had been born with the build of an ogre, and had an ogre's strength. In a fashion that would have been heroic were I not ugly, I carried Breanne up two flights of stairs. She lay like a limp doll across both of my arms. Her head hung backwards, on the loose hinge of her neck, held up just high enough to allow her to breathe. I cradled her softly, making sure that every step I took would be as gentle to her as possible. John, like my idiot squire, trailed behind us, clumsily trying his best to lift the 30 pound chair. Every now and again, he would drop it against a step and make an awful clanking sound.
"Just put it down, John. The last thing I need is for you to break it."
"Come on dawg, you's got to know I would'n do nuthin' likes that."
"I hope he falls down and dies," I muttered.
"Me... too," Breanne wheezed.
Smiling subversively, I muttered, "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
"What did she say, bro?" inquired my idiot squire.
"Nothing. Just try to hurry up, please."
When we reached the top, there was nothing to do but wait for John to catch up to us. His scrawny arms placed the 30-pound chair in front of us like it was an anchor he had been dragging across the floor of the ocean. I shook my head in abject disgust, then placed Breanne down as softly as I could.
"Does Rachel know to wait in the car?"
John tried to say something other than 'yes' or 'no,' so I gently wheeled Breanne around, and handed my prom ticket to the parent volunteer that was collecting them. I left John with whatever else he had to say still stuck in his throat like a plug of rotted leaves. When we were past the ticket taker, I forgot all about him. In the domain of our fellow students, I felt like we were safe. The kindness of fellow humans, however, has its own dangers.
Breanne's handicap was something I had learned not to see. That may sound ridiculous, even pretentious, but it's the truth. She was just another person to me, not to be pitied or treated any differently than anyone else. I wouldn't have asked her to get up and do a set of jumping jacks of course, but that was the extent of the difference. For the entire night, it seemed like we had been surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than to raise up that difference and make it of paramount importance to all else that transpired.
It started with a few slaps on the back that I ignored. It rose to a few people saying "You're a good man, BC." Finally, a few girls decided to tell Breanne how pretty she looked, in the most highbrow "look at me doing a good deed" manner possible. Ten or fifteen people... thinking they were doing good, but all the while conveying the message that they thought she was there only as an act of charity, that they thought she was different, that her attendance was something abnormal that needed to be commented upon. The ten or fifteen became twenty or thirty. I lost count.
"Breanne, you know I brought you here because I wanted to, right?" I slowly placed my hand on her shoulder.
"Let's... just... dance." I could see moisture in the corners of her eyes.
"Okay pal." My whisper was weak.
I pushed her into the ballroom. We found a corner where no one was near to disturb us. She put her hands on my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around her waist. For the length of three songs, I held her against my shoulder and let her stand against me. We made no attempt to move to the song. Our stillness was its own kind of dance, and we needed no other.
Eventually, a few other couples started to sway their steps slowly in our direction. They circled us like buzzards, eager for a meal. I firmed my grip around Breanne's waist. Bringing my mouth so close to her ear I could feel my own breath bouncing back onto my lips, I whispered, "Ignore them."
A hand tapped my shoulder that was not Breanne's. I turned around. You stupid girl, I thought. You stupid, stupid girl. Her name is not important to this narration, only that she was crying. Only that she was telling me how sweet she thought we were. Only that in trying to raise herself up, she was pushing someone else down.
When Breanne's knees started to tremble, I was there to wrap my arms completely around her and support all of her weight. "It's okay, pal. It's okay," I cooed. I felt the dampness of hot tears on the side of my neck where her eyes had sought refuge from the other couples.
"I need... to go... home." Instead of the breathy pause between each set of words, they came as harshly clipped as though sliced apart by a knife. It was a struggle for her to say them without sobbing.
I would have liked to have argued with her, to have told her the million redeeming qualities that made her superior to all others. Given the chance, I would have liked to express a thousand feelings to her that I would have shared with no one else. It is one of my greatest regrets that I never had the chance.
"Fuck you! She can take her brother to prom if she damn well pleases!"
Rachel!
I am not a man who knows how to cry, but I felt in that moment an anguish that resided deep in my marrow, and swelled outward into every fleshy cavity. It was tearing me in two.
"Breanne... I... I," I had no words.
"Oh, big man! Talking shit? You want some." I heard another voice. It was the vice principal's. How had Rachel managed to pick a fight with him?
"It's... okay," Breanne murmured into the furrow of my neck.
"I'm so sorry, pal." I put her in her wheelchair. She put her face into her hands, and let the tears come.
We left the ballroom to find Rachel trying to play the part of a hero. A girl had been trying to take her brother to prom. She had been unable to find any other date, and he was her stand-in. He was wearing street clothes, and had been informed that he would need a tie before he could gain admittance. Rachel had decided to curse up a storm in defense of the young lady.
As I walked up to my sister, in an attempt to make peace between her and those she was arguing with, I saw Breanne reach into her purse and pull out a cell phone.
I can't remember what I said to Rachel and the others. Not a single word. It's a vague gray mist. The whole time I was talking to them, my head kept swiveling back to watch Breanne struggling to dial her mother's phone number.
I made peace. I calmed the mood. It was what I had been doing ever since I was a child, when I found out that I hated when people yelled. I was good at it. All the while, Breanne cried into the phone, asking her mother to come and get her.
When the dispute was settled, I went back to my friend. I had no words left to say. I could not apologize for the fact that her wheelchair had almost fallen into the marina, that my sister had left her to be humiliated, or that the other couples had treated her like an outsider. I said nothing, finding the only appropriate way to express what I felt was to hold her hand until her mother arrived.
She stopped crying after twenty minutes. Another ten, and she was composed. Her mother arrived. I carried her back down the same two flights of steps I had carried her up less than an hour ago. Her mother tried to comfort her, finding all the words I had been unable to coerce from myself just a few minutes prior.
I put her in her seat. I folded her wheelchair and put it in the trunk of her mother's car. I felt too awkward to even kiss her on the cheek to say goodbye. She had started to cry again. She was still crying when the door was closed and the car was backing away.
I stood staring at the place where her car had been for ten minutes after she had gone. I might have stayed longer had Rachel not come up beside me and announced her presence by lighting a cigarette. The sudden spark from her lighter broke me out of my daze.
"What the fuck do you suppose was wrong with her?" she asked.
The moon robbed all colors of their contrast. When had it gotten so late? It seemed that only a few hours ago we had been at the restaurant and it had been sunny. In the night, in the endless silver and black wherein all colors were dimmed, I had no rage. I felt confused. I felt hollow. "I don't know, Rachel. I don't know."
"That was some bullshit, huh?"
"What was bullshit?"
"That fucking girl not being able to get in with her brother."
"I don't know about that, either."
"I can't believe they were just going to let that shit slide. I hate those fucking assholes."
"How far is home from here? I think I'm going to walk back."
Without waiting for an answer, I began to walk under the lonely yellow glow of the street lamps. When I got home an hour later, I took off my tuxedo, looked at it for a moment like it was a skin I had shed, and then put it back into the opaque zipper case it had come in. I felt better when I couldn't see it anymore.
Breanne didn't come back to school for two weeks. She said she was sick, and I never pressed the issue.
Posted by BC Woods at 12:00 AM
Print Friendly · Digg it · del.icio.us · StumbleUpon · Netscape
Comment Policy:
Anonymous comments are allowed. All anonymous comments and comments from those not registered with TypeKey are moderated. They WILL NOT appear until they are read and approved by a moderator.
It is strongly encouraged that you sign up and login with a TypeKey account. Once you do that, your comments will be immediately posted.
Comments
Your sister really should have been spit or swallowed instead of born. That really did bring tears to my eyes though.. You really did try to do a sweet thing for your friend that people had to fuck up.
Posted by: SlayersAngel at April 13, 2007 12:23 AM
great story...very sweet. however, i think you forgot to change her name to "breanne" in the last sentence of the second substantial paragraph. i do that all the time, it's like on the office when michael wrote that screenplay and changed dwight's name to...aw, nevermind. good story.
BC: Thanks Phishey
Posted by: phishey at April 13, 2007 12:27 AM
Man I know this is just a website, but after reading you for a few weeks now I feel totally involved in your life, like I know you..........and damn man, that story hurt ..........
Posted by: Chris at April 13, 2007 12:29 AM
Fuck! That breaks my heart.
Posted by: Anonymous at April 13, 2007 12:42 AM
so fucking good. thank you.
Posted by: peanut at April 13, 2007 12:44 AM
I've been in my fair share of situations like that in my life, also. I guess we're just destined to take in the chin eh? Great accounts of your exploits. I've been following them for a while, and they're all great.
Posted by: Nick at April 13, 2007 12:45 AM
A damn good read.
Posted by: Menth at April 13, 2007 12:55 AM
im sorry.
Posted by: dude at April 13, 2007 02:45 AM
I wish I could have walked with you.
Posted by: Wayland at April 13, 2007 02:53 AM
I think you should have used your ogre like strength to punch out the entire school
BC: An Uncle Ben once told me that with great power comes great responsibility.
Posted by: Carb at April 13, 2007 03:52 AM
So what was the fallout of this besides the two weeks absence? Anything go down between you and bitch sis?
BC: Wait a while. Rachel has fucked me over a lot worse than this.
Posted by: Seth at April 13, 2007 04:40 AM
It's kinda like my little sister, in a way, I guess. She's special (CP and epilepsy) but instead of people feeling sorry for her, they stare at her and repeatedly ask me to translate her words (which, mind you, aren't that difficult to comprehend anyway).
I guess it takes a bit of common sense to know how to act...
Posted by: Cameron at April 13, 2007 05:53 AM
BC, I love your stories. They're the first thing I read when they come up on my RSS feed. Keep them coming.
Posted by: Adam at April 13, 2007 09:01 AM
Did Breanne ever recover?
BC: No
Posted by: Dabby at April 13, 2007 10:32 AM
"Her neck hung backwards, on the loose hinge of her neck,"
I think you meant head hung backwards here. Other than that nit, great stories BC.
Posted by: Matt at April 13, 2007 11:02 AM
I have a friend who is a quadriplegic and I totally understand what you mean about not seeing it after awhile. At first I was uncomfortable because I wanted to make sure I ignored the fact he was in a wheelchair so I didn't insult him but after I got to know him it got really hard to remember that chair. He can STILL out drink me any day of the week! hahaha... I understand those "noble" people who want to say how unselfish you are how brave they are when in reality they don't know sh!t. Until you are in the situation you will never know. I am so glad Breanne got to go to her prom even if it didn't end very well. You are a good friend!
Posted by: Ashley at April 13, 2007 11:35 AM
Applause, for a story well written. There are no more words left, you've written them all.
Posted by: Scrybe at April 13, 2007 01:04 PM
Does Breanne at least acknowledge what you tried to do for her; your intentions? Does she differentiate between your actions and those of your sister that were beyond your control?
BC: Yes. We're still friends to this day.
Posted by: some other seth at April 13, 2007 02:13 PM
Maybe I'm reading this wrong. I think your sister actually tried to be human in this episode. Its just that she is so crude and inept that she actually made things worse. The catch being it was not on purpose for once. In this one instance, had she been more tactful, she could have been a hero. Never mind the fact that she fucked up almost everything up to that point. I don't know her personally, but maybe there is some human in there. Maybe I'm being naive, but I guess we'll just have to read more stories to find out.
BC: She has her days... unfortunately they're very, very infrequent.
Posted by: Tone at April 13, 2007 02:20 PM
I also make rice!
Posted by: Uncle Ben at April 13, 2007 07:23 PM
I really hope at least some people back then actually realized how great of a dude you really are, instead of just boosting their egos with it.
Posted by: Narke at April 14, 2007 12:38 AM
This story made me tear up a little. You write touching sad stories as well as you write hilarious ones. Amazing.
Posted by: Uyen at April 14, 2007 03:02 PM
Excellent story, I knew you could tell a story but this was, in my opinion, easily your best yet.
Anyway, not to be nitpicky, but I think I found two typos (I could be wrong though, being foreign and never having studied english).
In the paragraph after "Does Rachel know to wait in the car?"
-"I left him with whatever else he had to STAY still stuck in his throat."
I'm guessing it was "say".
-"When we were PASSED the"
Past, perhaps.
Anyway, this extended too much, please feel free to delete the post after you check it.
BC: Anytime. Thanks for the input man.
Posted by: Joel Rojo at April 14, 2007 05:39 PM
The bitch girl that started crying when she saw you guys dancing and blabbering about how good you are as a person . . . .
Must die. What's wrong with that bitch?
Posted by: Eureka at April 15, 2007 07:25 AM
An excellent and very well written story. My dad has Multiple Sclerosis and has slowly lost the use of his legs and arms over the past 15 years and I can 100% relate to the awkward situations and people thinking they are being charitable instead of treating him like a human being. Keep up the good work.
Posted by: Betty Crocker at April 15, 2007 05:17 PM
You my friend have some serious fuckinbg balls. I dont think Jesus himself had shit on you. Props bro, your a shining example of what humainty should be like.
Posted by: Squerlli at April 15, 2007 11:42 PM
Damn, dude. You're both a great writer and a good friend. Good stuff!
Posted by: Fuckin' Earl at April 16, 2007 12:00 AM
Brilliant . Simply Brilliant. It felt like I was there through all three parts. The story really touched me. You have a real talent. On top of this you also seem to be a genuinely nice person. I wish you all the best. You deserve it.
Posted by: gfunk at April 25, 2007 09:13 AM
A fantastic story. I am waiting for the story in which you deliver the ass-reaming of a lifetime to your sister. You sir, are a great man. One day they will write operas about you.
Posted by: Deepinit at April 26, 2007 04:26 PM
Amazing story, BC. With my prom coming up in just under two weeks, I know I'm going to be ultra-conscious of how lucky I am.
You're an amazing person for making the decision to take Breanne to the prom, and I'm truly grateful that you shared this.
Out of curiosity, what happened to Breanne afterward she graduated? I read in the comments that she didn't recover, but does she have some control over her life?
BC: She lives with her parents in AZ
Posted by: Tunesmith at May 12, 2007 10:00 PM
damn dude..i bet you that crying chick was on acid or something
Posted by: mike at May 17, 2007 07:05 AM
Post a comment
