Starting Position

Chapter 19

The next week went by in a haze; all sound and color mixed together and coated my scenery in a strange, blended mist. At times, it seemed to creep inside my mind and wrap around it, disconnecting me from reality.

Letting myself delve into thought about dinner with my father and Sarah wasn't an option. I had been able to keep the memories and feelings at bay while surviving on autopilot. I had mastered this.

My father had attempted to start conversations here and there,  signifying he would like to discuss the dinner or, more accurately, Sarah. I would be coming down the stairs and he would invite me to watch some TV show, only to casually bring up the dinner. Or, I would be seated at the dining table doing homework, and he would haphazardly walk in, asking me questions while pulling items out from the cabinet and then placing them back inside. He had never had much tact, but then again, I couldn't say I had exhibited much in the last few days either, as I would avoid his questions by saying I needed to finish homework or run an errand. I wondered how long this would would continue and, with the door open for more, when the next dinner would be.

Track practice hadn't been going well. Ever since my uncharacteristic run at the last meet, Rodriguez had been trying to goad out the reason responsible for my sudden surge in speed. I didn't know what to tell him. Truthfully, I didn't understand it either. It was like a past version of myself had stepped into my shoes and ran. Every time I tried, my mind seemed to flash blankly, as if I had blacked out during the race. The only feeling I could recall was the elation that I had briefly experienced after I'd finished.

So, I started avoiding Rodriguez at practice, keeping to myself even more than normal. He eventually got the hint and dropped much of his focus. A tiny pang plucked at my insides when I saw his disappointed face, but mainly I felt relieved that he had surrendered. I could continue normally.

The conclusion to this uncentered week had taken place at choir practice. We had been going over the songs we would be singing for the spring concert, Carver and Lydia bickering back and forth, when Amy and Jerome had openly asked if anyone else would like to audition for one of the leads in the songs. A few people raised their hands, and, for one fleeting moment, I felt my fingers twitch in response. Quickly, I flexed them and resumed control.

Auditions then commenced. Some of those who volunteered had sounded quite good. I even noticed a flicker of alarm flash across Carver's freckled face with one particular audition, but her mass of curls succeeded in masking it.

It had been decided that Carver would lead the opening song along with one other; Lydia would sing two songs, one of which was a duet, and the other eight songs had been divided between five other members. We then practiced and I felt a sense of contentment flood through; such was the case whenever I sang.

Afterwards, Morgan caught me as I exited the concert hall and fell in line with my steps.

"I thought for a minute you might audition," he had said.

"Sorry to crush your dreams."

We then delved into a conversation about the auditions. I had given Morgan a compliment on his own audition and congratulated him on receiving the lead in a song. His performance had been nice; he had a solid, deep baritone and commanded the stage well.

"So, you thought about my offer?" he had said, catching me off guard.

"What offer?"

"Dinner."

I froze in place, unsure of how to proceed. One single word had disabled me. Luckily, Morgan was quick to the rescue.

"I can see you haven't thought about it," he said with a smile. "I just thought I would ask – you know – if you wanted to, that is, maybe we could grab dinner together soon. After a practice."