Part Four
Over the course of six months, my ten year old face has become familiar, but in a small way.
Small commercials, music videos, talent shows.
I hadn’t seen Chresanto, Rayan, or Craig throughout these months. I wondered if they were doing as “well” as I was. They were lucky if they weren’t. All of the work was tiring and I continually missed my computer.
In the little time that I did have it to myself, my parent’s comments ceased.
No more that’s fantastic how you learned that by yourself Chico or there’s Mr. Professor being the next Bill Gates.
It all…ceased.
And so did my dream…
I was twelve, experiencing middle school. Assuming things would be different because of my known face, I tried to put away the memory of my bullying past.
I decided to be normal.
I decided to throw away my computer dreams. I hadn’t touched one since I was ten.
My parents kind of gave me the hint to let the dream go by actually not hinting at it at all. It just shifted its way through the silence.
My sort of known face brought me bundles of friends especially since I appeared in Gym Class Heroes’ original video Cupid’s Chokehold last year. I think it was embarrassing, but apparently some girls thought it was cute; thought I was cute.
Feeling something missing in my life, I often tried to occupy myself by dancing in the mirror alone in my bedroom at night.
I still remembered these dance moves but I couldn’t quite touch on when and where I learned them.
Everything was just a faint memory to me now.
That was until father woke me up on a Tuesday.
Thinking it was time for school; I woke and did my daily routine of brushing my teeth, oiling my hair, washing my face, and putting on my clothes.
With my book bag over my left shoulder, I headed for the front door to catch the bus until my parents stopped me.
They sat at the dining room table with suspicious smiles broadcasted on their faces. Those weary faces.
“Jacob, come have a seat,” mom commanded pulling out a chair next to her.
Worried, I placed my book bag by the door and steadily walked into the dining room with them. I sat in the seat calmly waiting for them to talk.
“Ito you’re not attending school anymore,” mom cooed softly.
I looked at her puzzled. I was going to ask why, but dad read my face and answered.
“Because, if you remember, Walter finally gave us a call back after three years.”
‘Walter? Who was Walter?’ I asked myself.
“Who?”
“If you remember Chico, he was the guy in Los Angelos who you auditioned for. Him and Keisha.”
“Audition? What? What did I audition for?”
“You auditioned to be in his pop group and after these tiresome years of getting your face out, he finally added you to their group. Rayan, Chresanto, and Craig if you remember them.”
Chresanto’s name stuck out the most causing a flood of memories to flash back to me. I remember the hours of riding in the truck, I remember the unchangeable building, and I remember the hot stuffy room and the dance instructor. I remember Keisha’s dark lips and Walter’s bald head, and…and I remember the “test”.
