Chapter 1

It was the final day of sixth grade, thank god! My best friend Brian Fleming and I were done for another school year.

We had been best friends since we first met on the bus on the way to school back in second grade. I found out he had a much older sister named Karen, and I told him about my three siblings, an older brother, and twin sisters, who were all older than I.

My name is Charles Xavier Newman!

Technically, I am a ‘Junior,’ but I hate that, because I hate my dad. More about him later.

I was born on July 28th, and Brian’s birthday is on July 30th. Two days later than that, we wouldn’t be in the same grade, and maybe not best friends, but we are.

The bus dropped us off in the middle of the block, and we each walked about three blocks to our houses. We lived on the same street, just five blocks apart.

Brian is 5ft6, looks like a very young Ron Weasley, but with medium brown hair that he keeps combed better.

I am 5ft10, and because my mom is a redhead and my father has brown-haired, I have what my mom calls chestnut colored hair.

... Here is where this story begins.

It is early summer, 2012,

between sixth and seventh grade...

Getting to the house and finding the front door unlocked, I walked in.

We live in a nice big six bedroom home in an affluent neighborhood called Hamilton Meadows in South Columbus, Ohio, although I never heard any talk that we were rich.

When the door is locked, that means the house is empty, otherwise it’s unlocked. I took my stuff up to my room, the last room on the left, of the six bedrooms in the house. One is set aside for my dad to work from home, but he never uses it anymore.

I took off my backpack for the last time until seventh grade begins, in just over three months, putting my schoolbooks in the small bookshelf I had been collecting every book from first thru sixth grade, including the novels I had to buy and read along the way. Most of what was left I threw away, leaving me with a totally empty backpack that I zipped up tight and threw on the floor in my closet.

I heard the door open, and I ran out to hear, “Charles, help me bring in the groceries, please?”

“Sure, have you been gone?”

“Yes, I needed to go shopping, why do you ask?” my mother Annie, short for Antoinette asked, with a bag in her arm.

She would freak out if I told her the door had been left unlocked, so I just said, “No reason,” as I went to grab some groceries, bringing in two at a time, until the car was empty.

“Thank you, Honey,” she said. “How was the last day of school?”

I got next to her and began to empty the bags and said, “Five hours too long, Mom.”

She chuckled, or was it a giggle?

Once I was done, I asked, “Save the bags or throw them away?”

“Those are very reusable brown paper bags, Charles. They have lots of uses. Fold them and put them with the rest, please?”

“We have over a hundred of them, Mother.”

“Don’t sass me, young man,” she said giving me a smile. “Thank you, now, skedaddle so I can make dinner for the family.”

“You mean I may actually see my dad, face to face, this evening?”

“He works hard and needs to stay on top of the financial markets. Go find something to do, your sisters won’t be here tonight.”

“It’s just you, me, and him?”

Now, that was a giggle.

I was called down to dinner, seeing my father, Charles Senior, for the first time in four days.

There was Fried Chicken, Fried Okra, and Tossed Salad. All my favorites.

Hmmm?

“Guess what I did today, Charles?” Mom remarked.

“Don’t have a clue?” I said as I sat down.

“I signed you up to start Cotillion next week.”

“What?”

“Cotillion,” my father repeated, in his marginally raspy voice. “It’s kind of a dance class, but with exactly as many boys and girls. You learn how to communicate with members of the ... opposite sex, while you are learning the traditional ballroom dancing steps.”

SO, this is why he is here!

“The class is on next Tuesday, so either tomorrow or Sunday I need to take you shopping for some new clothes that are appropriate for dancing,” my mother said.

My mother is Antoinette Marie Newman, barely shorter than I, with really nice red hair and blue eyes. She has a heathy figure, I suppose.

Dad, Charles Excelsior Newman, is shorter than I am at five eight. He is around five years older than Mom, meaning he is nearing 49 and ‘Annie’ is 43.

By the way, Brian lost his father, Jeffrey, when he was ten, leaving him with a sister, Karen, who is seven years older than he is and his mother, Shirley, who is a dark-haired blonde. I believe Shirley and Annie are near the same age.

Brian’s father’s middle name had been Brian. My buddy’s full name is Brian Watson Fleming. In all these years, he has never explained where the Watson came from!

“What will I be wearing to the ‘Dance school?’”

“Nice slacks, a button-down shirt and a tie,” was the answer I got.

“A tie?”

“Yes, a tie,” my father said jeering at me a bit, pulling the chicken leg from his mouth to speak.

Knowing they were working together; I couldn’t voice my honest opinion about this and simply agreed I needed the new clothes. I couldn’t remember the last time I got anything, so it was probably as good as any time to go shopping.

Between bites of my favorite vegetable, Okra, I asked, “Where is this happening?”

“Where it has been for over fifty years, the Bradshaw Family Cotillion,” my dad said.

“It starts this next Tuesday evening,” Mom said. “I have already talked to Brian’s mother, and he’s going as well. She’s telling him about it right now.”

“Brian’s going ... Are you sure?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Call him and find out,” she declared.

“Oh, I will ... right after dinner,” I said.

I picked up the house phone and dialed his personal number, and he answered.

“Hey Brian, did your mom... ? Yeah, so did mine. Uh-uh, we’re going shopping for clothes too, and a tie! Yeah, it’s a conspiracy,” I said loud enough for Mom to hear and react to.

Remembering I had him on the phone, I remarked, “Yeah Brian, my mom, the Nazi, said to get off the phone so we can all high-step to the mall together. Talk to you later, Auf Wiedersehen.”

On my way up to my room, I heard Dad say, “Well, that’s done. I am heading back to work.”

Come Tuesday right after lunch, I got into the car, and Mom turned to me saying, “While we are out shopping, if you don’t embarrass me then I won’t embarrass you, all right?”

“OK, Mom! Uhm ... Mom, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure honey, anything.”

“Did you learn to dance at a Cotillion like you and ‘Mussolini’ are sending me to?”

“No, Charles I didn’t! But I wish I had. I can’t count how many times I stepped on a boy’s feet at school dances. However, from going to lots of dances and with a few boy’s patience, I not only learned how to dance, but I think I am pretty good at it. After you have been to a couple of these weekly Cotillions, I would be more than happy to help you learn any of the finer points if you would like?”

“You would? I might step on your feet, Mom,” I chuckled.

“I can wear your father’s hunting boots, if necessary. We’re here. Now, you need to get two pairs of pants, two shirts, and two ties, all right?”

“All right, all right!” I responded, breaking into my best smile for her. Maybe calling her a Nazi was over the top? Mussolini, on the other hand.

Maybe this isn’t going to be nearly as bad as I thought it would. I didn’t realize that I needed a size larger shirt than I had been wearing.

Slacks are a different kettle of fish. I put on a pair that I thought were my size, and this guy came up to me and shoved a tape measure towards my crotch.

“Hey, dude ... Not cool. Warn me before you touch my package!”

Mom heard me. She giggled and blushed. I have got a cool Mom even though she and ‘him’ signed me up to learn how to dance.

The guy explained exactly what we were measuring and I ‘stood up straight’ as he had asked. He announced my waist and inseam and asked what color?

I turned to Mom. She had mouthed ‘black’ and ‘navy blue.’ I turned back to the guy and said; “I think, I would like one pair to be black, and the other to be hmmm — navy blue.”

He said, “Very good, Sir.”

Again, my mom giggled, but I didn’t mind.

I have always worn slacks. I don’t own any jeans. Don’t like the way they fit, feel, or look. I am not going to end up one of those fat slobs. You know one of those dudes whose stomach spills out over their pants. I like my pants to be comfortable and just cover my belly button. I have Dockers and Cargo pants, but not jeans. These new pants were beltless, with the name Sansabelt on them, very comfortable.

We went through the same rigmarole for my new button-down shirts. We did the same with ties and left with the first new clothes I had gotten in quite a while. Mom said it had been only eighteen months.

Well, it’s Tuesday evening, at five-thirty in the late afternoon and I am scared ‘shitless.’ I didn’t say that to my mom, of course, but she could probably see it on my face. She also doesn’t put up with cursing!

“Honey, it’s not going to be nearly as bad as you think. The first hour is just the new students. At seven-thirty, the returning students come in until it’s over for the night around nine pm.”

We all arrived at the Cotillion on Lockbourne Rd, across the street from a Church of Christ.

Mom had picked up Brian from his place and we all traveled together. That means we will probably go with his mom Shirley next week. Our mothers have become pretty good friends over the years.

“Charles, I can stay, or leave and come back?” she asked us.

Brian and I looked at each other saying at the same time, “Leave!”

“OK, boys. You don’t have to hit me with a sledgehammer. See you later,” she said smiling as she was leaving.

I had my cell phone in my pocket. I figured I could always call her if need be. It was intended for emergencies only and I was told to keep it turned off.

There were many girls and boys at this thing. Interestingly, the boys were all clustered together on one side of the room, and the girls were doing the same thing on the other side. The boys were dead quiet, and the girls were talking and giggling.

Suddenly there was a loud excitable voice that said, “Attention — Welcome to The Bradshaw Family Cotillion. My name is James Bradshaw, but you can call me Jimmy. All of you are new this year, and I am sure that some of you don’t want to be here, while some of you have been paid off by your parents.”

‘Why hadn’t I thought of that?’ I thought to myself.

He continued, “Now, there are exactly as many boys as there are girls, so boys ... find a young lady, introduce yourselves and go to the center of the room.”

I looked over at Brian and said, “Good luck, Buddy.” I carefully stepped my way over to the cluster of girls looking around trying to find someone as scared as I was. Over near the mirrored wall, I noticed a girl with very pretty brown eyes and red hair just like my mom’s!

I quickly moved along towards the wall and went up to her. I had never purposefully been this close to a girl my age, ever. She smiled at me, and my face just about burst with the smile I had.

“Hi,” I said, nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory (An expression of my dad’s that I have always liked, but I would never admit that to him!)

“Hi, what’s your name?” she asked.

An even bigger smile, with dimples, came to her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I spoke. “That was rude of me. My name is Charles Newman, but you can call me X.”

You can call me X? What the hell was that? The number of people who even knew my middle name I can count on one hand. I say, ‘You can call me X?’ Geez, Charles.

She is awfully cute in a girly sort of way.

“Well X, that’s nice! My name is Claire. Did your mother spring this on you this past weekend like mine did?”