Second Chance

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Micah Vaughn sat in front of his stereo, with headphones on, the radio on his favorite station. He had a book out, a gift from an English teacher of an anthology of mystery stories, with plans of reading it. He opened to the bookmarked page and read the first sentence, but replaced the bookmark, closed his eyes, and listened to the music. The events of the morning were weighing heavy on his mind, as was the prom to come.

A soft rock song played in his ears, but he didn’t hear the lyrics, just felt the music. Usually feeling the music cleared his mind, allowed him to relax and forget about his worries: not today though. The dream began it all. It was so real, too life like. Micah felt as if he was there, he was the man being shot and shooting. He could smell the gunpowder, the pine needles, and the lake. He could the bullets enter his body. He could feel the shrapnel in his thigh, feel the shoulder wound. Absentmindedly, he touched his shoulder: There was no pain.

At the end of the dream, when he awoke, he heard the voice. It was familiar, but couldn’t place exactly where he heard it before. It unnerved him, made him wonder if he was possessed or going crazy. It didn’t help that both sides of the family have legends about what’s happened to him. He could have two spirits – a good thing – or could have a demon inside his soul – a bad thing. He didn’t know which one was true; was he going crazy or was he possessed?

The presence, the voice, the whatever that was in his mind - or what was occupying his soul - reassured him that everything was going to be fine, reassured that he had no worries. That didn’t set well with Micah. Of course, he was going to worry. He was a teenager; it was in his DNA. This was his first experience with love, and he didn’t want to screw it up. He knew Antoinette was special, felt so very comfortable around here, and missed her terribly when they were apart.

Micah exhaled deeply and let his mind clear. It was the best thing to do. He let the music flow over him, to calm him. Playing was an old song and one that he heard the lyrics, not just the music. They were fitting to him: new, young love and being scared. He listened to the song and thought of Antoinette as the singer told his story.

When the song ended, he opened his eyes and saw his oldest sister standing above him. Ewa was smiling, holding her car keys. Micah removed the headphones and asked, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Are you ready?” she retorted. Micah looked at the clock: 11:05.

He turned off the stereo and stood. “I didn’t notice the time,” he said. He grabbed a pair of sneakers and sat on his desk chair.

“I kind of noticed that,” she began. She looked around his room and shook her head. It was the first time in a long time that she’s been in it: she liked giving him his privacy. Three years his senior, Ewa was the first child born to Nathan and Johanna (nee Szczepanek) Vaughn.

She was an intelligent young woman, received scholarship offers from several colleges, including RPI, MIT, Cal Tech, and all the Ivy League schools. She chose to decline those offers, accepting a full scholarship from Union College. Though it was in the city and she could commute, she shared an apartment just off campus. She knew she wouldn’t be able to study at home, or have any privacy of her own. Ewa knew her two sisters, Veronica and Stephanie, would be bothering her, raiding her closet or asking for dating advice.

She urged him to move quicker. “Mr. Isopo will be upset if we don’t get to the store before lunch.”

He smiled, knowing she was right. Mr. Francis Isopo was a tailor, an older man they’ve known for as long as they could remember. He was a neighbor in the housing project, an Italian immigrant working at a downtown department store 10 to 12 hours a day so he could have enough money for his small family – he and his wife Lucia had a daughter – and enough so he could open his own business. That dream came true a few years ago. He opened a men’s clothing store that rented formal wear, for weddings and proms. When asked to attend Antoinette’s prom, Micah immediately thought of Mr. Isopo.

“Finally,” Ewa said when her brother finished tying his sneakers.

The mile ride to the store, Isopo’s Menswear, was quick and silent. Micah had wanted to discuss what happened to him in the morning, after awakening, but decided against about it. He thought that she would stop the car and try to convince him that he was either crazy or on drugs, that no one heard voices, albeit familiar ones, any longer and not be called crazy, insane or be drug tested. He just kept quiet and looked ahead as his sister drove.

He exited the car and entered the store; a small business that he thought once housed a bookstore. “Well hello Mr. Vaughn,” a loud, jovial voice announced. “How is my favorite former neighbor? Are you excited for tonight?”

Micah saw the tailor approach and shook his head. “I am,” he answered before having two bear arms embrace him tightly. All breath left his lungs as the powerful man lifted him off the ground.

“And how is the lovely Ewa?” he asked of her when he returned Micah to the ground.

“I’m doing well,” she answered.

“Bene, bene, that’s good.” He gently hugged her and kissed her cheeks.

“You know why we’re here,” Ewa stated. “I hope we’re not late.” She shifted her gaze to her brother, an effort to make him feel bad that failed.

“No, you are not. My staff and I, we like to take late lunches.” Mr. Isopo kissed Ewa’s cheek again before making his way through the racks of suit jackets and pants to the back counter. The Vaughn siblings followed.

“Micah, please go with Catherine,” Mr. Isopo directed. A mature woman with blond hair pulled tightly in a bun came around the corner, holding a tuxedo. She smiled at the teenager.

“Come with me, please, young man.” Micah followed the short woman to a row of dressing rooms. She stopped and turned to him. “Pick any room and change into this,” she said. She handed him the black tuxedo, the one he had chosen weeks before. It fit well then, but needed a few alterations, mostly to the legs.

Micah stood five feet, seven inches, an average height for a seventeen year old. His pants should have been an easy 28, but there was a complication. Because he was an athlete, earning varsity letters in soccer and track, he had large leg muscles, ones that negated his size. When he wore jeans, they were either a size 29 or 30 length, so they wouldn’t be too tight. However, he had a thin waist, a 28, making it impossible for him to find jeans and pants off the rack very often. His formal wear was no different.

Mr. Isopo had several pairs of pants that were size length 29, but each of them was too large for him in the waist. Thirties did not fit well, too large in the bottom. “Let me order a pair for you,” he told Micah that first night he came to the shop. That was in March, as soon as he knew he was attending the prom. They arrived last month, and Micah had a fitting. Catherine was the seamstress who measured him, marked the pants, and did the alterations.

Last week, he came in for a quick check on the pants, and they fit well. She wanted to do a few more alterations, tuck in some areas to make him look better. Micah didn’t agree with her, but didn’t mention it. He knew women would never lie to him about clothing.

“I didn’t bring a dress shirt,” he realized.

“That’s okay Micah,” Mr. Isopo said. “We have decided that you’ll not wear a white one.” He came walking towards the teen and handed him a box. “You’re sister and I decided a color for you.”

Micah looked at the tailor quizzically. “What color did you two decide?”

“Don’t ruin the surprise. Go put it on.”

Micah shook his head and entered the first dressing room. He placed the suit on a hook and kicked off his sneakers. He opened the box. “What color is this?” he shouted, hoping Ewa could hear him. To him, it appeared to be a pale peach, a sun-washed shade. Since his sense of self-style was terrible, he left it to them to make these types of changes.

“How do the pants fit?” Catherine asked when he exited. She had him turn, looked at how they fell on his bottom and thighs.

“They’re comfortable,” he said.

“You look awesome little brother,” Ewa said as she and Mr. Isopo watched him turn.

“What’s the color of this shirt?” the teen asked. Catherine tugged on his pants and mumbled to herself.

“Sun-drenched peach,” Mr. Isopo replied. “It’s an unusual color for men, but I had it in the back.” He looked suspiciously to Ewa.

“Why did you two think I’d look better in this color than in white?”

His sister smiled broadly. “I talked with Antoinette’s mother. I asked her what color was Toni’s gown. She couldn’t tell me over the phone, since she really didn’t know. I went to see her, and Mrs. De Fiore gave me a swatch from her gown. I came here and Mr. De Fiore found a color that would accent her gown perfectly.”

Micah looked at her astonished. “No way could I have done it,” he replied. She agreed with him.

“I have a present for you,” Mr. Isopo added. He turned and reached under the counter. He pulled out a small box. “These go with your ensemble.” Micah accepted it and opened it. Inside were the bowtie and cummerbund, both a shade darker than his shirt.

“Definitely something I could never do, match everything.”