Writer’s Shop Talk: BFFs Revisited
October is a month replete with birthdays of people I cared about deeply but who are no longer part of my life for one reason or another. October 4, for instance, was my father’s birthday; he would have been 105 this year, but he died almost 60 years ago in a plane crash near Miami International Airport at the age of 45. Mom, who died nine years ago at 86, would have been 96 tomorrow.
Straddling those two birthdays is that of Mark Prieto, my best friend from my neighborhood in Westchester, Florida, an unincorporated community in Miami-Dade County from 1975 till 1977. He’s the namesake and inspiration for Jim Garraty’s best friend in the Reunion Duology, and even though he and I never went to junior high school or high school together, my memories of our friendship inform his literary alter ego.
Since I don’t have time to write a “proper” blog post, I present another glimpse of Jim and Mark’s friendship from my upcoming novel, Reunion: Coda.
Lunchtime in Cobra Country
First Lunch Period, Between Periods 3 and 4
Students chatted and clanked their trays and utensils as they waited for lunch. The smell of pizza made with cheap ingredients, canned vegetables, and salad filled the air, making their stomachs growl. The line stretched along one wall of the big room, where students from different grades mingled without caring about their status. The lunch line was a rare place in South Miami High where being a sophomore, junior, or senior didn’t matter. Here, the only thing we kids cared about – besides the taste of the food – was whether we had brought our lunch money. The cafeteria was lively and fun, a nice change from the boredom of classes.
But I felt none of that. The fluorescent lights hummed above me, casting a harsh glare on the food and people’s faces around me. The cafeteria reeked of pizza, sweat, and teenage hormones, making me feel queasy. Round tables filled the space, each one crowded with students who chatted, laughed, and ate with gusto. Two assistant principals watched from the sidelines, ready to pounce on any troublemakers. I shuffled to the only empty table, in the corner by the entrance. I’d grabbed the first thing I saw in the line: pizza, green beans, orange slices, and a large oatmeal cookie with half a pint of MacArthur Chocolate Milk. I bit into the pizza and grimaced. It was soggy and bland, nothing like Cozzoli’s. But I was too hungry to care.
I looked around the cafeteria, searching for my best friend, Mark Prieto. He was supposed to meet me here for lunch, but he was nowhere to be seen. I took another bite of my pizza and started to worry. Maybe he had forgotten about our plans. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had gotten into a fight.
Just as I was losing hope, I spotted Mark making his way towards me from the far end of the cafeteria where the lunch line and the cashiers were found. He had his usual jeans and button-down shirt on, and he carried a tray in his hands and a bright smile on his face. He gestured at me and approached the table.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. I had to go to the bathroom.”
“No problem,” I said. “I was just starting to worry about you.”
Mark sat down across from me, his lunch tray in front of him. We chatted about our classes, our plans for the week, and the latest gossip. I laughed and relaxed, forgetting all about my worries.
After a while, Mark took one last bite of his pizza and made a face. “This pizza is terrible,” he said. “It’s so greasy and the crust is hard.”
I laughed. “I know,” I said. “That’s why I always get the oatmeal cookie.”
Mark reached over and took a bite of my cookie. “This is good,” he said. “Can I have another bite?”
I laughed again and told him he could have the rest of my cookie.
“So, how are your classes?” I asked.
“They’re okay. I’m really digging Business Ed, though. Especially Business Math.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Well, for one thing, I like math. It’s fun and useful. And for another thing, Ms. Garcia is hot.”
I rolled my eyes. Mark had a crush on every attractive female teacher in the school.
“Come on, man. She’s old enough to be your mom.”
“So? She’s still cute. And she’s nice. And she knows her stuff.”
I shook my head. Mark was hopeless.
“Whatever you say, buddy. Whatever you say.”
Suddenly, Mark’s eyes widened. “Hey, I heard you signed up for chorus,” he said. “I know we talked about it over the Christmas break, but I thought you’d chicken out.”
I smiled. “No, I didn’t chicken out,” I said. “How’d you find out?”
Mark waggled his eyebrows. “Everyone here knows almost everyone else. Word gets around, bud.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Seriously, though. I’m glad you decided to do something fun besides all that AP stuff you’re taking. I know you take school seriously, but sometimes you take it way too seriously.”
“I’m really excited about it.”
“What’s your teacher like? Mrs.-?”
“Quincy,” I said. “Well, she’s cool, I guess. If I had to describe her succinctly, I’d say she’s a cross between a sweet grandmother and a Marine drill instructor.”
“’ Succinctly,’” Mark repeated. “Oh, look at you and your fancy shmancy vocabulary!” He laughed, but not unkindly; he knew that my dream was to be a historian like Cornelius Ryan.
I took a sip of my chocolate milk. Mark took a swig from his half-pint carton of plain milk.
“Good ole moo juice,’ Mark said. “So, which group did you end up joining, Mr. Singing Cobra?”
“I thought that was general knowledge, my friend.”
“Well, I heard you joined the chorus; I didn’t hear which of the choruses,” Mark said.
“The men’s ensemble,” I deliberately chose the alternative name for the Boys’ Choir. I was 16, not 12.
“Why not Mixed Chorus? There are girls there, you know.”
At the mention of “girls,” I glanced down. Only slightly, and only for a split second. I hoped Mark hadn’t noticed.
“Have to start somewhere, you know,” I said as casually as possible.
“You used to sing at Kinloch Park. I wouldn’t call that ‘starting somewhere.’”
“Mark, that was in sixth grade. We’re in 10th grade – “
“Halfway through 10th grade, my friend,” Mark interjected.
“Fine,” I replied, annoyance creeping into my voice. “Halfway through 10th grade. But you’re talking about when we were kids in sixth grade. My voice has changed a bit since then, and I haven’t done a lot of singing over the past three years.”
“Except for when you sing the main theme from Star Wars.”
“That’s humming, not singing,” I retorted.
“Whatever.”
“Seriously. I’m a bit rusty. I figured I’d start with the basics. You know, like dipping a toe in the pool before going swimming. Baby steps, man. Baby steps.”
Mark cocked an eyebrow in wry amusement. Then, his expression changed to something akin to understanding. “Hey, I’m only yanking your chain a bit, bud. I’m happy that you’ve decided to do something besides study, play solo wargames, and read books all the time. You’re still a kid, you know. You’ll have plenty of time for that history stuff after we graduate in two and a half years.”
I laughed. “Still keeping to that countdown to graduation, I see.”
Mark snorted. “I don’t hate school; I mean…look at all the girls here,” he said, nodding to one of the other tables, where Ann Saroyan, one of the JV cheerleaders, was having lunch and chatting amiably with three other girls from the squad.
I sneaked a peek at the object of Mark’s attention, hoping she wouldn’t notice. It was Ann, of course. One of the prettiest girls in Cobra Country, by a long shot. I had known her since third grade, but we never got past exchanging polite greetings. I once fancied her in fifth grade, but I soon learned that she didn’t go for nerdy boys like me. So, I gave up on her and dreamed of Farrah Fawcett-Majors instead, the blonde bombshell of my 11-year-old fantasies.
“Point,” I said.
Before Mark could reply, I noticed a blur of blue and white moving in the general direction of our table.
I sipped my chocolate milk and pointed at the cafeteria entrance. “Do you see her?” I asked Mark. “The girl who just walked in.”
Mark looked up and scanned the room. “Who? Where?”
“There,” I said. “The one with the long chestnut hair and the blue denim outfit. She’s heading for the lunch line.”
Mark squinted and nodded. “Yeah, I see her. She’s pretty. Who is she?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember her name. But she sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’ this morning. She was amazing.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “Wait. I thought the first period was just the boys’ chorus. She auditioned?”
I nodded. “Yeah, the period was almost over, and Mrs. Quincy hasn’t picked songs for us to practice, so we guys were just talking in class. It was almost boring, really, until she showed up. She has a voice like an angel. And a British accent.”
Mark whistled. “Wow, sounds like you have a crush on her.”
I felt my face heat up. “No, I don’t. I just think she’s talented. And nice.”
Before Mark could tease me further, the girl walked up to our table and smiled shyly at me.
“Hi,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for helping me with the audition earlier.”
I blinked, surprised, and flustered. “All I did was give Mrs. Quincy a pen so she could sign a form – ” I racked my brain for her name.
She blushed but kept smiling. “Martina,” she said. Her voice was soft and warm, and I felt a tingle in my chest. “But you can call me Marty.”
“Marty,” I repeated.
“You were very kind – ” she continued.
“Jim,” I interrupted, holding out my hand.
She took it and shook it gently. “Nice to meet you, Jim,” she said. “I have to go now. Lunch and fourth period, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, feeling a pang of disappointment. “See you around, Marty.”
She waved and walked away, joining the lunch crowd at the back of the cafeteria.
I watched her go until Mark nudged me on the shoulder.
“Come on, Jim. We have to get to class. Second lunch is starting. You don’t want to miss algebra, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Marty.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
You must be logged in to post a comment.