CHASING PRINCESS CHARMING

Chapter 1.   Dark purple. I decided this will be my color for the month. Call me radical, call me weird. I’m creative. Call me eccentric, or call me crazy. I’m unconventional. I do not follow the rules. I believed in individuality and it showed in the way I dressed, the way I acted, and especially the way I styled and colored my hair. I parked my Maserati Gran Turismo in front of a white steel gate. I was at least ten minutes early. I leaned against my car and played with my phone. I never rang the bell. She knew I’m never late but I never put pressure on her since she always took more than an hour to get ready. Luckily, patience is one of my virtues. After fifteen minutes the gate opened. I looked up and found myself face to face with the sweetest-looking face I’ve ever seen. Dark blonde hair, chocolate eyes and small pouty lips in red rogue shade. “Wow!” we both said at the same time. She giggled.  “You really outdid yourself this time, Kenny.”  I really hated that nickname, but six years later, I got used to it. “I could always say the same thing about you, Jennifer Gracie.” I love calling her by her full name. She rolled her eyes and I couldn’t help smiling.  She hated it. She stared up at my hair and shook her head.  “How could you afford to color your hair almost every week and not damage it? I am so envious!” I just shrugged.  She was right. I do change my hairstyle almost every week and I guess I was blessed with really tough hair. Today, my brushed-up hair was tinted with dark purple and black, while my undercut gives a hint of my real hair color, dark blond. I opened the passenger door for her. Yes, chivalry is not so dead after all. When we arrived in school, I walked Jen to her first class.  I could feel many pairs of eyes staring at us. We do make a cute pair. Jennifer in her heels, long pink skirt, white sleeveless top and long curly hair perfectly tied into a pony. Me, walking side by side her, in my white pants, white turtleneck shirt and black leather jacket. We turned heads whenever we walk the corridors. It annoyed me at first. But then again, if Jen didn’t mind, why would I? I heard a guy whistle on the side. I turned to him, raised a brow and shot him a grave look. I saw him gulp and turned away. That’s right. You know what’s good for you, you moron! I carried Jen’s books while I walked her to her next class. She didn’t complain since she always brought all her books to school, while I didn’t carry a single one. With a photographic memory, I didn’t need to bring my books at all. “Thank you, Kenny,” she said when she took her books from my arms. “You are an angel.” She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you after my last class.” I walked to my own class, with both my hands inside my jeans’ pockets. Without Jen’s books, my arms suddenly felt empty. Without her walking by my side, I suddenly felt alone. Everybody around me seemed to disappear. I am not in the business of knowing people too well. I do occasionally socialize with others, but aside from Jen, I didn’t really care about anyone. I only half-listened to Mr. Sanderson talk about manic and depressive episodes. I didn’t need to listen intently to know exactly what he was talking about. This was a subject I know quite well since I have spent many hours researching and reading about it. It was one of the reasons I took up psychology, even though my father insisted I take up business management so I would be worthy enough to inherit his empire, or even if my math aptitude scores suggest I should be a physicist. I probably would excel in any course or subject, but I chose psychology for personal reasons. Acquiring any skill may be easy for me, but taking care of someone who would need me the most is a lifetime commitment I needed to prepare for. And when I commit myself to something, failure is never an option. Mr. Sanderson was looking directly at me, clearly waiting for me to answer. I closed my eyes for a moment to recall just what exactly he asked. Mild… episodes of hypomania… depression..does not meet diagnostic requirements. I cleared my throat. “Cyclothymia, Sir.” He raised a brow and stared at me for a moment. Then he turned to the class and explained the symptoms of Cyclothymia in detail. I guess he thought I wasn’t paying attention to him at all. Well, like I said, I researched this subject long before he became a professor. This wasn’t just a subject I needed to pass. This… was my mission.   ***   “Kenny, where are you?” I could hear the tears in Jen’s voice when she called me on my phone Saturday night. “Sweetie, are you okay?” I asked. Once in a while, I would get calls like this from Jen. The last time, she completely broke down because her father walked out on her mother and didn’t return home until a week later. There was silence on the other end of the line. “I don’t know. Suddenly, I feel…” she sighed. “Blue.” I tried to laugh to make her feel more relaxed. “I’m at Rhythemes. Why don’t you come here and watch me play?” “I don’t have a car.” “Take a cab. I’ll drive you home.” “Are you going to be sober enough to drive later?” “Are you forgetting who you are talking to, sweetheart?”  I asked smugly. “I’m Ken Clarke. I never get drunk.” She finally laughed. “Save a table for me.” I have a big smile on my face when I hung up the phone. “Hey Joe!” I called one of the waiters. “Save that table on the front for my guest, okay?” For the past two months, I have been substituting my cousin, Brett, as a drummer for his band. Brett had an accident and had to undergo physical therapy. Since he plays to support his college education, and his father refused any form of help from my Dad, I thought standing in for his gigs would be the best way to help. I remember that day I first met Brett. While all our other cousins welcomed me, in a way that I know was so phony and scripted, Brett looked up at me and said, “Whazzup, dude? Welcome to the Addams’ family!” I knew then, we were going to be very good friends. Brett was the one who got me into playing drums. My father was against it and didn’t pay for my drum lessons like Brett’s parents did with him when we were young and they were still financially well-off. His tutor allowed me to sit in his classes. Good thing, I have the ability to learn while watching. Brett’s family’s business crashed when we were in freshman and since then, he had been taking gigs to help his parents pay for his college tuition. My father was so much against me playing drums at Rhythemes but I insisted since I was doing it for Brett. Initially, I thought about using a stage name to prevent any association with the famous Robert Clarke. But the stage name I fancied was Factor Offner, and Brett was so much against it. He said, “You rock the name Ken Clarke just fine. Factor Offner, on the other hand, is a social suicide, not just for you, but for the whole band!” Jen arrived at the bar just as we were starting our first set. I gave her a salute and then I started playing. “Date?” Bailey, the band’s front man, asked me with a teasing grin on his face. I shook my head slightly. But as I lose myself in the drums, I thought, Why would Bailey ever think that?