“Who’s that?” Cha Cha pointed at a demure, birdlike bespectacled boy downfield, standing with another awkward looking student.
“That’s Oliver, a friend of Jack’s. I really like him. He’s super friendly. He came by my house to make sure I’d be at the game. He’s gay and so open about it, it’s refreshing.” I think of my older sister still “in the closet” not able to come out to our strict Catholic parents.
“The petite Mexican guy with the John Lennon glasses is Gomez ‘Gonzo’ Gallegos. They’re roommates and best friends.” I wave at them they’re discussing us at the same time. Shielding her eyes with her hand from the late afternoon sun: “Hmmm…Who’s to be my next victim?” She contemplated, trying not to laugh, tapping her fingers on her thigh.
“See the blond, curly-haired, teddy bear looking guy, isn’t he adorable?” I point at a boy standing near Oliver. After the game, when she’s introduced to Mac, his smoke blue eyes lit up, “Hey, Sexy Mexy.” He said. A sweet addition to Jack’s gang and Cha Cha, who steals his heart.
There were sixteen buildings on 250 acres. The Notre Dame like vesper bells chime hourly from the cathedral’s tower. It’s the second largest employer in town; the state and federal prisons are number one. They own another Catholic boarding high school—Scholastico Academy (sister school).
The barns housed the herd of 45 horses for the Vaquero Riding Club, which hosted Gymkhana’s—rodeo competitions with local schools. Extracurricular activities included a full varsity sports program. Also, a Glee Club Choir that toured the states, a theater arts program, skiing, tennis courts, and an outdoor pool. Twenty-six states and nine foreign countries were represented. The school through the years produced politicians, doctors, lawyers, musicians, artists, entrepreneurs and distinguished representatives in every profession.
Headmaster Rawleigh Rio described it as—Caught between the Devil and the Gulf. The Colorado Federal Prison on one end and the Royal Gorge, the world’s highest suspension bridge at the other end.
I spot a group of dark-haired boys downfield. It’s Fernando Fernandez & Company. He shadows Jack at all his activities and boasts that he’s going to befriend Jack, to maneuver me away from him. All this energy focused on a girl he hasn’t seen up close. It enrages him that a Mexican girl prefers a white dude.
The high jinks kick off; Jack hides the football under his shirt. The Nutsbe Chaffins dogpile him, and the football slips out. A rowdy performance for us, the boy’s school doesn’t receive many female visitors. All eyes are watching us.
Midfield, sophomore boys, cheer for the Junior team: “GOOOO—NADS!!!” Cracking each other up between yells, and ringing a loud, clanging cowbell. We roll our eyes and giggle.
We watch an elegant, white-haired, lady approaching.
“Well, look what I’ve found—girls. I’m Marie Noonan, I teach Humanities here.” She waits for us to stand up.
“I’m Rose Ramirez, and this is Chavela Chávez, so nice to meet you. We’re friends with Jack Dillon.” I offer my hand to shake.
“This is such a pleasant surprise.” She smiles warmly.
“Humanities, what’s that?” Cha Cha asks.
“Right now, we’re reading Joseph Campbell’s, Hero with a Thousand Faces; he was a fascinating mythologist,” Marie said. I flash a thousand-watt smile.
“Would you like to sit in on one of my classes?” She asks. Before we answer, she heads toward her parked car behind us.
“Ms. Noonan, I want to come to your next class, when is it?” I hustle to catch up with her.
“Oh, call me Marie, all the boys do. On Thursday at 3:30, Room 6, bring a notebook and pen, I look forward to seeing you.” She placed her black leather purse and folded, New York Times newspaper on the front seat of the pristine blue, 1965, Chevy Nova. She slips in and drives away, waving her hand, nodding dismissively at me. A faint wisp of Jean Naté perfume lingers in the air with the puff of exhaust.
Cha Cha passes on the class; she has to take care of baby Julian. Usually, a straight-A student, she’s held back a year and must work extra hard to make up classes missed while in California.
~
I’m a budding maverick with a beginner’s mind. I yearn for a large-deep-spacious life. My parents try to hold me back; my mother warns, “be cautious.” I want more of everything: art, books, movies, and music. I’m an adventurous seeker, an empty tablet primed for new words. I crave radiance and ache for transformation. I want a life that is more than Red Cañon.
Things that happen when you’re young seem so much more important because they’re happening for the first time. Choices made unknowingly, are so vital and profound. I’m a proud Colorado Chicana, with honey-brown skin, long, curly, black hair, big chocolate eyes, and a light-up-the-sky smile that I’m quick to flash.
Jack Dillon is whip-smart and well read, with boy-next-door good looks. I fall for his lively, eager, sky blue eyes that perk up when laser beamed at me. We have a strong mental connection that is more of a turn-on than any physical attraction. True Love fuses beyond sexuality. Our souls alight, align and dance in celebration.
He’s enigmatic and retreats into himself with a sideways gravity. Gentle but heartlessly direct, after meeting my plump mother, he remarked: “Now there’s a set of hips!” His laconic, cool grace and indifference renders him stuck up, but he is just shy and reserved. He’s the inverse of me. Jack is genuine and honest with indifference to the rules. Tall and slender with a dry sense of humor, his introversion flows with slight distrust. A shock of thick, satiny, chestnut hair falls like a closed curtain over one side of his face shielding him from the world.
Everything is charged, vibrant, and alive when I’m with him. My life was one way until there was Jack… Enormous. First. Permanent.
7
Baptism by Boulder
We shall be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. –Corinthians 1:15
Chavela and I cruise on bikes to El Martinez Mexican restaurant, a small adobe building, the perfect rendezvous place and only a mile from Sacred Heart School. We stash them in a storeroom; Mom’s a childhood friend of the owner.
Jack and Caleb wait in the parking lot; they’re excited to share a new discovery. It’s the first time we’re invited to The River. The crisp, elm and poplar leaves flutter red and yellow to the ground, swirling at our feet, on the blustery autumn day.
“How far is this place? Are we the first girls to see it?” Cha Cha asks. It’s her first time meeting Caleb. She looks sharp in jeans that fit after losing all the baby weight. Her family took care of little Julian while she’s at school or with friends.
“It’s a half mile down this road which dead-ends at The River. Yes, you are the first non-Sacred Heart students to grace our new find,” Jack confirms.
“It’s a beautiful, peaceful spot. We can light up a joint and hang loose,” Caleb adds, oozing charisma. He’s tall and lanky, with a slight swagger, shoulders slouched with hips thrust forward: A Keep on Truckin’ lean. His slit perpetual stoner eyes are framed by a mop of curly, shimmery blond hair and a blissful smile. He’s from Santa Fe, New Mexico; Jack picked him as his best friend, a couple of hours after arriving at Sacred Heart School.
We skip and pretend hopscotch on the road, and moo at the Holstein cow audience kept in by an electric fence. “How did you find it?” I ask.
“Our squirrelly friend, Oliver Fellini got pissed at a jock for calling