IN TWO MINDS

 IN TWO MINDS

 

I am holed up in my condo, curled up on the sofa, with a pint in my hand. The music system is playing some romantic blues songs. Bottles of beer, packets of tacos, chips, and meatballs lie strewn around a table in the living room. A life-size poster of W. Axl. Rose peers down at me from the wall. The mood is despondent, given that it should have been celebratory instead. It is prom night, and I am all by myself at home, parked in front of the TV, listening to blues, and guzzling some cold beer. How did I end up alone on prom night? Well, let me start from the beginning.

 

‘Lucas Carson, please open your book and start reading the poem ‘O Captain! My Captain!’ by Walt Whitman commanded Mrs Braganza, our English teacher at Cottonwood High School, Salt Lake City, Utah. A vigorous jerk on my shoulders by my classmate Benjamin suddenly woke me up from my reverie. I looked up, confused, and fumbled for words. Mrs Braganza repeated her command. I hurriedly opened my book and started reading, ‘O Captain, my Captain!

Our fearful trip is done.’

The ship has weathered every rack,

The prize we sought is won…

As I read the words, I could feel the spirit of Whitman when he wrote them. When I had finished reading out the poem a bit hurriedly to my liking, Emily, to my surprise, started cheering and applauding wildly. I gave her a sideways glance and saw her long legs, dark hair, alluring smile, and slim figure. Emily Harper could be mistaken for a model, an illusion she was happy to maintain. I was surprised that she cheered so enthusiastically for me, given that I had always given her the frostiest treatment. ‘Very well read by Lucas, Mrs Braganza, with a lot of feeling…’ moaned Emily. “’ Yes, good work, Lucas’, offered Mrs Braganza. This was the first incident where I had a bit of an inkling that Emily was even remotely interested in me.

 

The school project was due the following Monday. It was Friday, and I had not yet zeroed in on the project's topic. Feeling lost and wading through mind-boggling reading matter only deepened my confusion and procrastination. I was feeling blocked, uninspired, and unmotivated. I, for the life of me, could not think about how I would tackle and complete the task in time. I sat desolate at the school library when I spied Clair Riley approaching me. ‘Hi, there, Lucas. Why are you looking so gloomy? Is everything alright?’ she enquired, with a concerned look on her face. I don’t know what got over me, but I confessed my predicament to her.  ‘Cheer up, buddy boy, the help you have been seeking is here, ’ she said mysteriously, with a twinkle in her eyes. Now, Clair Riley, I must confess, had the sort of chiselled features, radiant skin, and long wavy hair that make it unnecessary to have a degree in romantic poetry. Fair-complexioned, with large eyes and full of kindness, she was the kind of girl whom every man would want to fight for. Now, tossing her hair back, she rolled up her sleeves, opened her iPad, and in a jiffy had supplied me with all the notes, illustrations, graphs, reading material, and research on the topic she had zeroed in on for me. She then opened her flask and poured me some hot coffee. ‘Here, Lucas, listen to some cool music on my iPod, while you sip the coffee, and don’t worry about a thing…your project will be ready in no time.’ She then very laboriously typed my project while I chilled. My project was ready in a flash. I thanked Clair profusely, but she brushed it off rather nonchalantly and waved at me as she took off for her next class. Her actions deeply touched me.

 

On Monday, I missed my transport because I woke up late and, out of breath, hurried to the stand, waiting to flag down any passing vehicle. And to my surprise, the first car to stop by was that of Emily, who was sitting in the backseat. She offered me a lift to school. As her chauffeur opened the car door for me, I clambered in clumsily. As I sat beside Emily, I was enamoured by her deep brown eyes. I could not help but glance at her perfect oval face, flawless skin that seemed to require no make-up, and her mop of hair that appeared to have been styled by a professional hairdresser. As she pouted, she drove me wild. I was dismayed when the car reached our destination in a trice, but then it was a heady experience, riding beside Emily.

 

Our school year was soon coming to an end, which meant it was time for the grand prom night. Our school, Cottonwood High School, was renowned in Salt Lake City for the grand prom nights every year. They were a much-talked-about affair in the whole city, known for its grandeur, extravagance, great food, and scintillating music and dance. I was sitting about wondering who to make my prom date, but this year I was in for a surprise. My phone buzzed, and to my delight, it was Clair at the other end. ‘Lucas, I’d like you to take me to the prom this year, ’ she said bluntly. I was pleasantly surprised and immediately approved. ‘Thank you, Lucas, I can’t wait for prom night, ’ she signed off. I was feeling euphoric when the doorbell of my condo suddenly rang. I was surprised to find my neighbour’s mother-in-law outside the door. ‘Lucas, a chauffeur, stopped by this afternoon when you were away and handed me this package. He asked me to deliver this to you’ said the elderly lady.

Thanking her, I adjusted my glasses and began to unwrap the package with increasing trepidation. Inside the package was a bouquet of roses and a poem asking me to be the prom date. Emily had signed the note with large, bright red heart signs. Just then, intruding upon the moment, the phone rang wildly…it was Emily. ‘Is it a yes then, Lucas?’ she purred. I managed to blurt out what seemed to be a yes. ‘Thank you, Lucas, you’re such a sweetheart…’Now, I was caught in two minds. I did not have the know-how to deal with this situation.

 

Feeling confused by my mind-blowing predicament, I decided to skip class the next day. Just then, you know what: disturbing the solitude and the chain of distressing, indecisive thoughts, the phone rang, and it was my pal Benji with some more grave, troubling news for me. ‘Hey Lucas, guess what, Emily and Clair are having a cat-fight at the high school gymnasium… but it seems you are the reason behind it. They are literally tearing each other apart…do something, man! My head was reeling; it felt awful to be the reason for their dispute. I hurriedly called up Mrs Braganza, ‘Ma'am, you’ve got to do something, these girls will kill each other if you don’t stop them’, I cried out in distress. ‘Well, Lucas, you have to make a choice soon, as you are the object of both their affections! For now, I can only stop the fight’. I was caught in a very delicate situation, and no matter what choice I made, feelings would be hurt. So, I decided this year I should skip prom night altogether. The Utah girls are known for their resilience anyway; they would soon get over it.

 

As I sat there taking a swig of my pint in my condo, I could hear the sounds of merrymaking in the distance. It was prom night. Bonfires, loud fireworks, cars honking, bands playing, people cheering and singing.  Salt Lake City was celebrating a glorious year gone by, and our high school, Cottonwood High, was at the end of the academic year. I close my eyes, and the soulful blues engulf me. Next year will be different, when I may play some more cheerful music.