Memory Corner #11

Victoria

Victoria joined me on my walk to middle school without saying a word. She was thirteen years old, about a year older than me, and about two inches taller than me. She was thin, pale skin, raven black hair that she tied with a red bow, and she wore black lipstick that later I found out she stole from the Sav-On Drugstore. And she always wore that weird dress that looked like an old white wedding gown that was washed in the machine too many times. 

About the third time she walked with me, she told me she liked Black Sabbath. She said she knew that I had the album and if I could lend it to her. "I don't lend my music. I buy import albums and they're hard to replace."

"Then maybe you can play it for me at your house. I can't go in, of course, but I can listen by the window outside," she said blankly, as if my answering yes or no meant the same thing to her. 

"No problem," I said. "It's up to you anyway."

Then she reached over and held my hand the rest of the way to school. 

She didn't walk with me the next day, and I didn't see her at school. But when I got home, she was standing outside my window. "I've been waiting for you,"she stated matter-of-factly, neither annoyed or anxious by the wait. 

"Didn't you go to school?" I asked.

"No, I stayed home, and then I came here, because this is what time you come home," she explained. "I'm ready for some Black Sabbath. It's up to me, you said."

She never seemed to smile, but she didn't need to because she was so pretty when she looked sad, which was always. A smile just wouldn't fit her odd style. 

I set the speakers in the window, put side A of the first Black Sabbath album on repeat and joined Victoria outside. We rarely talked. We held hands a lot. Her attention was always focused on the music. She'd nod when a song finished, her way of clapping, and remain still when the next song started. 

Once we listened to both sides twice, she said it was time to go. No goodbye. No See you tomorrow. Just turn homeward and walk away. 

But there she was the next morning on the way to school. I asked her if she'd like to hear my new Jethro Tull album. She said, "Maybe." Then she disappeared into the crowd headed for their homerooms. 

"Maybe?" I asked myself. The way she said it haunted me. No yes or no. I don't even know if she knew who Tull was. She wasn't the type who ooo-ed and ahhh-ed. Neither a swooner or a hardcore fans. I could've asked if she'd like to listen to Beethoven's Ninth, and I'd have got the same answer. 

At lunchtime, I understood why. 

She was having lunch with a girl and two boys who shared her taste in make-up and clothes. They were like the Goth kids of their time. That is, a time when there were Rockers and there were Mods, but this look was new. They gathered by the cafeteria table area and ate in silence. Silence. They had that in common. I was playing chess down the steps from the tables, but I managed to catch Victoria's eye. 

She stared at me for about ten seconds, then resumed eating. Her friends turned to look at me but found no interest in me. 

The lunch bell rang. The students massed at the building entrances leading to the next class. 

That was the last time I saw Victoria. I asked around the projects if anyone knew where she lived. None of the younger kids knew. But an older gang member knocked on my door and I answered. "I heard you were asking about Vicky."

I nodded yes, and said, "Victoria."

"Yeah, yeah, Victoria, right, homey," the old cholo said with a smile. "She's my little niece. My sister didn't take care of herself when she was pregnant with Vicky. I mean, Victoria. Poor thing wasn't right in the head when she was born. My hermana had a hell of a time getting her into regular school. Anyway, I'm Hernan, call me Herman if you want. So what did she take from you?"

"Nothing," I said. "We used to walk to school together, then she stopped going to school."

"Oh," he said, and scratched his head. "She likes to steal albums from the kids around the projects."

"I don't lend my music," I said.

"Good movida, homey," he said with a knowing nod. "Don't trust anyone with the sounds, you know. Good you learn that young. Well, I'm glad to hear you have your albums. I live at Project C-101 if Vicky comes back and does take your albums while you're at school. Yeah, she does that. My sister says it's her way of telling a boy she likes him. Doesn't matter now, I guess. Heard she ran away. She does that sometimes. Anyway, take it easy, homey. See you 'round."

That evening I put the stereo speakers in my bedroom window and blasted Black Sabbath till the neighbors started complaining.