Where I Am

We stopped long enough to eat with mom and dad.  I could see his nervousness and I felt sorry for him.  Mom and dad tried hard to include him and at the same time not put him on the spot.  They did discover that he was leaving in the fall for a college in Ohio and had a partial scholarship.  He was leaving in the fall?

Immediately my brain somersaulted off into the future plotting out everything that was going to happen between now and then with me life.  But I had to stop.  I had already done this plotting and planning and knew what was going to happen.  But that was just with me.  Was there a chance there would be someone else to consider in my life?  What would that do to my plans?  I quickly tried to fit him in and still keep the same plan.  How can I plan this when I don't have a clue what his plan is?  How can I plan his feelings?  How can I plan mine?  For crying out loud I haven't figured out my past eighteen years how am I going to figure out the next four months?

I felt sweaty and it wasn't from the painting.  I found myself laughing at dad teasing mom.  I don't know what about, but mom was smiling and so was Shawn so I did it again.  Thinking about something else and missed the part of my life I was in right now.  What can't I stay where I am!

"I guess if I want my room finished I need to drag you back up there go get busy."  Shawn rolled his eyes but jumped up readily enough.  Mom was beside herslef and I think dad was catching her fever.  I gave them both a 'calm down' look as I went past them.  I could hear them start to chatter as soon as I headed up the stairs.  In my room I turned the music a little louder but closed my door so it wouldn't bother them.

"That wasn't so bad was it?"  I laughed as he crumpled towards the tarp covered pile in the middle of the floor. 

"No, not so bad.  I'll get use to them."  We were standing fairly close and the hair on my arms and neck were standing straight up.  "If that's okay with you."

"I think so."   How do I do this?

"You think so?  Do you need more time to think about it?"

"I was afraid to speak, my throat felt very thin.  Like a sound coming out of it would burst it.

"I mean, okay, yes, I'm nervous too but Nicky I can't wait anymore to see what can happen with us.  I'm going away to school.  I have now, this summer, to get to know you.  I don't want to leave here and take a chance that someone else wants to get to know you.  I want you to get to know me."  He stopped to breath.  Very deeply.  He looked at me.  But stood still, where he was.   "Okay.  I have practiced talking to you a hundred times and they all sounded better than right now. I want to get to know you. I like you Nicky.  And I would like to spend this summer talking to you, doing things with you.  What ever you want to do.  But I want us to start right now.  Not six weeks from now."  He looked up at the ceiling.  I think he wanted me to say something but I was afraid to use any part of my body because I didn't think it would function right.

Here is a boy.  A guy.  Whatever!  And he wants to be with me.  Why?  Can't he tell?  Maybe he can't, but he will.  Then what?  How could he possibly be interested in me with everything that is wrong with me?

He took a step closer and I could feel my insides tremble.  "Nickie I don't know a whole lot about you.  But I feel like I have to promise you I won't hurt you.  I don't know why.  But it's a promise I will make to you right now and I will keep it.  Just tell me 'okay'.  Just say that and we'll go from here.  If you say anything else than I know I should let it go."

"Okay."  It popped out before I could analyze it.  Thankfully.

"Um, is that an okay because it's okay, or is that an okay I should let it go?"  I knew he was trying to be funny but he was also still nervous.  Already I knew that about him.

"Okay, you said to say okay and that's the okay I'm saying."

"Okay?"

"Okay."   His smile was one of relief.  I could tell that too.  If he was as scared and nervous as I was then I don't know how we got to where we were standing with no light between us.  I could feel the heat from his shirt and surely that was his heart pounding against my chest.  Or was it mine beating against his?  I couldn't tell who's it was.  He reached his hand to my shoulder and slid it behind my neck and in an instant I don't know where all of the heat went to.  I was clod.  A thrilling, chilling cold of anticipation.  What I feared most, was fearing his touch.  When his hand slid behind my neck there was a tinge of fear.  But his hand turned and he caressed my neck pulling his hand back out.  He slid his hand down my arm and took my hand.  Pulling my hand up between us he clasped it between his two hands and held it to his chest.  

"Part of me wants to rush everything because I want you to feel like I do Nicky. "  My forehead was a fraction of a hair's width from his chin and he nudged my forehead back with his chin so that I was looking at him.  His eyes were big, brown .... and watering.  Didn't look like tears.  He kept blinking.

"What's wrong Shawn?"  He dropped his head and smiled.  He let go of my hand and his hand went to his left eye.  

"There's something in my eye."  

"Why didn't you say something?"  I opened the bedroom door and took his hand leading him to my bathroom.  "Wash your eye out."

"I can't, I have my contacts in."  

"Take it out.  I'll get some of my mom's saline solution.  You can wash your contact off with it."  I went to mom's room and interrupted their conversation.   "Sorry, but Shawn has something in his eye, can I get your saline for him?"  Mom went to the bathroom and came back with a bottle of the clear liquid.  As I left the room I heard mom say something about me taking care of him  God she was so hopeful.  Pangs of sorrow for her found their way to my heart.

I walked in the bathroom and Shawn was standing there with his left eye shut and his right for finger sticking out.  Quickly I washed my hands and then took his contact.  While I held his contact I watched him wash out his eye which was by now red and a little puffy. I must have been watching him pretty intently, I didn't notice him watching me in the mirror until he spoke.  

"Sorry, I was trying to pretend like it didn't bother me."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to ruin the moment."  You didn't, is what I wanted to say as I held there with my hand out cradling his contact in my palm.  I suddenly realized how personal this may seem to him.  Me standing next to him in the bathroom casually holding his contact while he washed out his eye.  I couldn't help but smile one of those uncontrollable happy smiles that come over you and you can't exactly explain it.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"I don't really know.  I think it's because I don't normally stand in bathrooms with guys holding their contact and feeling comfortable about it."  He took the contact and started to wash it off with the saline.

"Feeling comfortable about what?  The guy or the contact?"  He watched me in the mirror.

"Both I guess.  Just seems kind of personal to me.  I don't usually feel this comfortable with others."  He had his head back and was putting in his contact.  He blinked a few times and then washed his hands and dried them on the hand towel I was glad I had put out fresh earlier.

He turned to look  at me direct instead of through the mirror.  "You feel comfortable wtih me?"  He didn't move to touch me but I felt like we were very intimate.

"I think so."  He grinned and crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter. 

"You think so?  I guess I'm kind of glad that you don't normally feel comfortable with others.  But it also sounds kind of sad."

I looked at him for a minute to see if he thought there was more to what he said.  I smiled thinking I could throw him off.   "Let's go to the porch for some fresh air, I think we are full of fumes."  I led the way and he followed.  I went to the kitchen first and got some water with him just following me quietly.  We made our way to the porch and sat on the swing.  With respectable distance between us I might add.  The moment in the bedroom seemed to have disappeared and I felt a little bewildered.  I wasn't sure if I was glad about that, or was I disappointed?

Slowly we let the swing go to and fro.  He pretty much controlled the swing with his longer legs.  I sat back far enough to where my feet just barely touched the porch.  My mind was a whirl with thoughts, pictures and scenarios.  In my head he kissed me a hundred different ways.  That first kiss.  Then I pictured him leaving without touching me again and I felt somewhat relieved.

"Nickie?"  For an answer I turned to look at him.  "About what I was trying to say upstairs."   He shifted on the swing to sit sideways and look at me.  "I mean what I was trying to say. I want to spend this summer with you.  And I was hoping that you might want the same thing."  His hand reached out and brushed along my forehead.   

What Is Normal? Can I Be?

I ran to the basement and gathered rollers, pans, brushes and a little foam brush to do the trim which I hoped worked because I didn't want to tape all of the trim.  I just wanted to paint it and be done.  I went back to the basement after carrying all of that upstairs and grabbed the old fan off of the shelf.  I opened all of the windows in my room and set the fan in the middle window and turned it on to suck the paint smell out of the room.

By the time Shaun got there I had the foam brush and was starting the trim around the closet door.  I ran downstairs to let him in.  He was dressed in old shorts that showed off some very tan and very well shaped legs. An old t-shirt of some baseball team that looked like it had been through a few other paint jobs.  My chest did a little flip flop when he smiled at me and then followed me upstairs.  He didn't have his glasses on so I assumed he had contacts in.  I liked how he looked with his glasses.  Without his glasses made him look much younger.  I was pretty embarrassed by the way I looked but he did ask for this.

"So you need to get this done today?"  He said as he looked in to my room.  "You're kidding, right?"  He looked around the room.  

"You don't think we can? It's 'one coat' paint."  I pointed at the can.

He just looked at me and smiled.  "We'll see, but this is a pretty big room.  And you'll be lucky if it really covers in one coat."

"I think we can do it.  Besides, I won't be able to stand it if I don't get it done."  I picked up the foam brush and the old butter container I was using as a little bucket.  "From the looks of your shirt you've done this before."  

"We just painted most of the inside of your house and I helped my older brother paint his not too long ago.  Good thing I saved my grubbies."  He gestured to his clothes.  He didn't wait for me to tell him what to do.  He took a brush and started on the trim around the windows after putting the paint can at his feet.  I really like the look of this color going on over the yellow.  The yellow was just too bright and doesn't suit me.

I looked over to watch him and he was carefully but quickly trimming the window.  He turned to look at me and smiled "I'm glad you let me come over."

"I can't say I mind the help.  And I'm glad you came over."  We started to talk and paint and neither of us stopped doing either until I heard mom come in downstairs.   I put the roller I was now using, down, and told him to come with me.  I couldn't believe it was after 4:00.  We walked in the kitchen and mom was standing there opening the mail.  I introduced mom to Shaun and could see she was thrilled.  She looked so happy I couldn't help but feel good.  I got some pop out of the refridgerator and handed one to Shaun.  The pop all but disappeared.  I didn't realize how raw my throat felt until I drank the pop and must have washed down all of the paint fumes with it.  

"I didn't know you were planning on painting your room today."

"I wouldn't say I was 'planning' on it.  But I didn't have anything else to do...."

"How does it look?"

"Pretty good, I like it."  Shaun was obviously a little shy as he stood there just grinning.  Mom picked up on it.

"I think I'll go up and look at it.  I'm going to put some shorts on and I'll go get some pizza for dinner.  That all right with you two?"

Shaun nodded.  He's parent shy!  "Sounds fine mom."  I got myself and Shaun a glass of ice water.  Mom left the room with a mom smile plastered on her face.  We sat at the table to take a break.

"I get so nervous around other people's parents."  He drank half of the water and got up to refill it at the sink. He sat back down.

"That's kind of funny.  I wouldn't have suspected you of being nervous around anyone."

"You've got to be kidding.  Why would you think that?"

"I don't know.  I guess I see you as popular, easy going, always comfortable.  Not the nervous type."  He looked at me like he was trying to figure something out.  His looking made me uncomfortable.  I drank my water taking care to look in my glass as I was drinking.

"I guess we aren't always what we seem."

"I guess not."

"Now if were to talk about you...."

"Let's not."  The water looked very interesting.

"It's nothing bad.  But I would have to say you're very studious.  Very serious, quiet.  You seem to always have a purpose."  I laughed and he grinned.  "Is that not true?"

"Well, I guess I always felt flighty.  Maybe not flighty.  But 'studious'?  I think that would be a stretch.  It seems kind of difficult for me to focus well enough to be considered studious."

"See what I mean?  I guess I can kind of see why you thought I was comfortable around others, because it's what I had to do.  Or what I did to get what I wanted.  I liked sports so obviously I had to be around others who were part of that world.  Coaches, other kids, parents.  Anyone 'new' in my life makes me nervous. You appear to be studious because you have to work harder at it.  But yeah...being around people isn't always easy for me.  They make me nervous."

"What about me?"  I had no problem looking at him while he spoke now.  His voice was gentle and he was trying to tell me things about himself.  He didnt' want that 'new' to be a problem.

"If I hadn't been so scared of meeting people, or worried about what you thought of me.  I would have asked you out two years ago."

"What??????"   He's liked me for two years????

"I swear."

"You are so kidding."

"No I'm not.  I've wanted to talk to you for two years."

"Why didn't you?"  I remember this conversation from the graduation party.

"I just told you."  Mom came downstairs and walked in just long enough to say the room looked nice and she was leaving to get pizza, tell dad she would be right back.  Shaun smiled at her and she floated out of the house.

"We better get back to work."  I headed up the stairs and he followed.  We picked up where he had left off.  Painting and talking.

With his back to me  he continued talking.   "Why don't you believe that I wanted to ask you out for two years?"

"I don't know.  I haven't had time to give it thought. I guess it's just funny to think about someone liking you for two years.  It's kind of flattering."

"Well....you're welcome."

"Well....thank you."  We looked at each other over our shoulders and I felt a very unfamiliar tingle of excitement.  But it was a good tingle.  Tingle isn't  a good word.  Thrill is more like it.

Fresh Paint Fresh Life

Breaking with tradition, or my newly self diagnosed OCD, I made my way to the kitchen in the morning before I took a shower so I could get a glass of pineapple juice.  Mom had left me a note on the table saying Shaun had called and then had called again because I hadn't returned his first call.  I took my juice upstairs  so I could get my shower and contemplate calling Shaun.  I went over and over  our conversation at the graduation party and then the party at his house.  I couldn't help but get excited that he was interested in me.  He sure was not difficult to look at either.  By the time I got out of my shower I was ready to call him, but nervous.  Okay, maybe I wasn't ready to call him.  But I kind of wanted to.

I towel dried my hair and pulled it back into a pony tail.  I dressed in denim shorts and a t-shirt with Winnie The Pooh on it.  Mom loved buying me character t-shirts.  She said it made her happy to buy happy little creatures with happy little faces.  I think it was her way to tell me to smile more.  Or maybe she just really liked these guys.

I dialed Shaun's number and got his voice mail.  I left a message for him and hung up.  I sat on the couch.  A whole day.  With nothing to do.  I laid back on the couch  and swung my feet up on the other end.  A day made for lounging.  I closed my eyes and tried to relax.  Tim was the first thing I thought of and my brain drifted right back to yesterday.  This happened to him.  I snapped up, swung my feet back down to the floor. Nope, not going there right now.  I went to the basement, didn't mom tell me she had bought that paint I had asked for-for my bedroom?  There were two gallons of new paint sitting by the shelves filled with old paint cans, tools, paint rollers and pans, electric cords, old fan, and various items I did not recognize for use but recognized because they had been there forever.

I took the paint upstairs and set it in the hallway outside of my room.  I went in my bedroom and for five seconds stared at everything.  Bookshelves, desk, dresser, televisions, all of the things I had gathered in the last 18 years that made a running history of my life.  I went back to the basement for some boxes, found only one big box and went back upstairs to start packing.

Quickly I took things from the walls and shelves that I decided I could live with packed in a box and placed in the closet.  I couldn't get rid of anything but I could live with it in there.  I turned my stereo on to my favorite station, I wanted music blaring in the room, not through little ear buds from my ipod and took my time filling the box.  The room seemed quite bare when I was done.  It was a pretty big room but still, eighteen years of stuff adds up no matter how big the room is.  While packing everything I seemed to notice more dust than I had previously noticed or even thought possible.  So back to the basement I went for a bucket and rags.  Very quickly, because I wanted to get to the painting and have it done, I wiped down the walls and the shelves where things no longer sat.  After that was finished I returned to the basement to find the tarp dad kept there for his painting projects.  I dragged it up to my room which was no small feat.

In my head I planned all of this prep work to take a matter of minutes.  By the time I shoved all of the furniture in to the middle of the room, stripped my bed and covered it with a couple of older sheets, piled everything I could UP to make the pile smaller in circumference but higher by stragetgy, a couple of hours had passed.  Now I was sweaty, dirty and hungry.  Did I want to eat?  Yes.  Did I want to get this painted and returned to order?  Yes.  Instinct was to go and go and start painting, work until I was completely finished.  I couldn't stand the clutter and disarray.  I looked at the pile of my room, in the middle of my room, looked at the walls that I would need to wash down again because they were still not clean and had the sinking feeling my little job was not so little.  I made myself stop.  I took a deep breath.  Where as all of this going.  I looked at the once green, now spotted, tarp covered pile in the center of the floor.  I had no where to rush off to.  Go eat.  Then come back and clean again.  And paint.

As I was walking in to the kitchen the house phone rang.  It was Shaun.   "Hi Nicky, you are a hard person to get hold of."

"Sorry Shaun, Tim was over yesterday and we cooked out for mom and dad and then I was talking to dad and I didn't get a chance to call."  I almost said I forgot but I didn't want him to think I had forgotten about him.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Tim?"  There was a question in his voice but before I had to think about answering it, which I didn't want to he went on.   "Well I was calling to see if we could get together.   Maybe go out?"

"Yes.   No."

"Am I suppose to pick which one of those answers I want?  If so, I pick yes."

He made me smile.  More.  "I pick yes, but I can't today.   Not now."

"Oh."  Not as happy as he was a second ago.

"Let me explain.  I got up and didn't have anything to do so instead of lounging around doing nothing I decided to paint my room so right now I have everything scrubbed down, pushed in the middle of the floor and covered with a tarp and I was just going to eat real quick and go back upstairs and paint my room because I want it all done and put back together tonight."  I said it all in one breath, as quickly as I could because I wanted him to hear me and believe me.  Why I thought he might think I would lie to him escaped me at the moment.

"Can you breath now?"  I could hear the happy back in his voice now.  "Sounds like a lot of fun.  Why don't I come over and help you and then we can make plans for even more fun."

"I don't think so."

Silence for a beat.  "You don't want me to come over?"

"No.  No I'm not saying that.  But that just doesn't seem right."

"Well Nicky I think it would be very right.  I would really like to see you and I think we would have a good time painting and talking.  It would be like playing cards.  Conversation sure seems easier when your doing something else."

"I would feel pretty selfish having someone I just started to get to know come over here and help me paint my room."  He didn't say anything.  He was waiting for me to just say okay.  "Okay, but you have to promise to leave if you get here and think there is no way you want to spend your day painting this room."

"I'll do that.  Well, I won't do that. But if that was how I would feel I would do that.  But it isn't."

He didn't need directions and said he would be here in less than an hour.  After I hung up I hurredly ate a bowl of cereal and went to my bathroom to see how I looked.  Criminy.  I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a pony tail again.  I felt grimy...but hey.  I'm painting here.  I washed my face and neck and felt a little better but couldn't believe I was letting him come over to one; see me like this and two; help me paint my room.

A Dad Moment

I sat on the steps and watched him drive away.  I looked to Mary's house and saw the lights on.  I was done talking for the night.  Mom and dad must have gone upstairs because I didn't hear anything through the open front door.  I locked the door behind me when I went in and went to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea to take upstairs with me.  Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading part of the day's paper and eating a bowl of ice cream.

"Hey dad."

""Hey."  He put his paper down and watched me get a glass put ice in it and fill it with tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator.  I felt him watching me and couldn't help but smile.

"Why are you watching me?"

"I don't know.  Mind tricks maybe."

"Huh?"  I sat at the table across from him.

"I could see you fifteen years ago not being able to pour kool-aid from a pitcher, but there you are now, all grown up.  Pouring your own tea.  Funny...."  he looked back at his paper instead of at me "...how and when we see our kids grown up.  It wasn't your graduation.  It was you pouring a glass of tea."

"If it makes you feel any better I'm not all grown up."

"That's funny, sometimes I feel like you grew up years ago."  I felt sorry for him.  Again I felt like I robbed him of being a father.  A daddy.

"Oh dad."  I didn't know what to say.

"But then there are times when I feel like you're so young, innocent."

"What times?"  I was curious as to when dad saw me as young.  I wish I could see myself through his eyes.  I did not want to be a disappointment to him.

"Well, like when you get an unexpected present.  Or sometimes I see you reading a book and looking so young and absorbed in the fantasy of literature.  Even tonight, with this Tim.  I know he isn't a boyfriend but you were so young with him around.  I don't know.  I can't really explain it."  He shook his head with an embarrassed grin and looked at the paper again.  My heart was aching for him.   And me.

"You don't have to explain it. Maybe it's one of those things I'll understand when I have my own children."

"That's what it is."  He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine.  "Sometimes you just have such a sadness about you Nicky.  Maybe you are what they call 'an old soul'.  I hope that's what it is is.  I would hate to think you feel old because of me."

I placed my other hand on top of his.  "Dad you have never made me feel old anything.  You've always been a great dad."  Don't cry dad.   He didn't.  He smiled.

"Maybe I just needed to hear that."

"Maybe I should have told you more often."  He gave my hand a slight squeeze and sat back, withdrawing his warm hand.  

"You shouldn't have had to.  I was just having a melancholy moment when you came in.  Sometimes you just can't escape those."  He smiled and noticeably relaxed.  I sat there with him for awhile until we both were ready to go upstairs.  A dad  moment.  I could feel the pressure of his hand on mine until I went to sleep.  And it was a comforting feeling.

It Will Change Others

"You've only told one person?  Mary?"  I nodded.  "Your parents don't know?"   I shook my head no.  "Are you going to tell them?"

I picked up a small rock off of the pavement and studied it's texture and shape.   "No."

"Why not?"

"For the same reason you didn't want to and the same reasons you wished you hadn't.  I don't think I could handle the way it would change their lives forever."

"Nickie, you should tell them."

"Of all people you should understand why I don't.  Please don't try to convince me that I should do that."

"It's not that I want to convince you to do something you don't want to do.  Are you prepared to keep this a secret from your parents forever?  Do you think you can do that and not let it come between you?"

"I have so far."

"You don't think this has come between you?"  The small rock wasn't big enough to hid much mystery.  I felt it's sharp edge as I pushed it into the tip of my finger.

"Maybe, but I would rather it come between us like this than risk my father feeling the way your's does.  I don't want to see this eat at them and change who they are.  It would effect them too much.  It's like you said.  I can deal with what happened to me a lot better than what it would do to them."

"Nickie, that's talk.  I meant it but I also know that I had to tell them."   I didn't respond.   I didn't want to go through this with him.  He knew that.  "Okay...anyway... besides that.  How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"That's a pretty non descript description."  He bent his head close to look at me.  I was done with the tears.  What a weak moment and I hate being weak.  I hate being needy.

"Tim I don't know how to describe how I am.  A lot of the things you said tonight was like you were taking the words right from my own thoughts.  I understood what you meant.  But I never thought or believed anyone else ever had those thoughts."

"More than you know.  I use to think that there was no way in hell anyone could understand how I felt.  But there are people who do."

"Honestly Tim I still feel that way.  You said a lot of the things  that I've felt for years.  But I still don't think or believe there is anyone who could possibly have a clue to who I am and what I feel or think.  I am NOT like anyone else.  This doesn't make me common to anyone.  I don't want to belong to a group where this is what we share and what keeps us together.  It is NOT who I am.  It happened to me.  And that's where I want it to end."  There was an anger starting to rock inside of me.  Not at Tim but at the idea that this made me like others that I didn't want to be associated with.  People who's commonality is what was done to them, not by choices they made.

"All right.  I'm not going to argue with you Nicky.   You don't think anyone can understand you.  I respect that.  I also repsect that you don't want this to be the guiding force in your life.  But I am glad that you told me and I want you to know that you are the same person to me that you were before you told me.  I won't think of you as 'Nicky the girl who was molested'.  I'll think of you as 'Nicky the girl I got to know my senior year through a girl I dated and we became friends and the girl I dated broke up with me and we stayed friends'."   He smiled, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Good, because that's who I feel like.  And I'm pretty content with that."   I stood up in the street.  "Let's head back to the house."  We walked across the street and quietly made our way to his car parked in front of our house.  He opened his car door and slid behind the wheel.  I closed the door for him and he smiled.  There didn't seem to be much more to say tonight.  We said good night and he left.  

Who Will Understand?

I jumped up when I heard sizzling and we went inside to find the water furiously boiling for the corn.  We put the corn in the water and took the steaks out to put on the grill.  We were both quiet and, I am sure, thinking about our own reactions to what Tim had just shared with me.  As I was placing the last steak on the grill I heard a car pull in to the driveway at the side of the house.  I could tell it was mom's car and I yelled for her when the door slammed and she went in the front door.  She appeared at the back door and saw Tim so came out to say hello. 

"Hi Mrs. Roarke."

"Hi Tim, how are you?"

"I'm doing pretty good."  He smiled at her as she came over to look on the grill.  "What a wonderful surprise.  I take it one of those is for me."

"I thought you might like dinner without the hassle of making it."

"You must of read my mind from work today.  Dad may be a little late.  Are you joining us Tim?"

He looked at me, like I might care.  "I would like to.  That'd be great."

"I think I'll go in and change in to some shorts" she threw over her shoulder at us as she walked in the house.  

"So, you think this has something to do with how you feel about school?"

"I think it has something to do with everything I think."  I went back in to the kitchen and he followed me.  I put him to work getting the Texas bread ready and I set the table with dishes, silverware, salad dressing and steak sauce. 

I thought about that.  It has something to do with everything he thinks.  "Why do you say that?"

"Besides the things I learned from going to counseling i can just tell.  I don't feel like I 'think' like others.  I know I don't think like my dad, or my mom, or most of the friends I have.  It's hard to explain without going in to 'counselor' talk."

"You feel like that still?"

"Sure, and I think I always will."  Silently I went out the back door and he followed with the bread.  We put the bread on to toast and I turned the steaks over.  Of course everything he said I was applying to myself.  I knew these things about myself.  I just didn't expect anyone else to know about those feelings.  Before I could say anymore mom came out and sat with us.  Dad wouldn't be home for awhile so we ate without him but saved his dinner.  Mom talked easily with Tim as she did with anybody.  After we ate we all helped with the clean up and sat on the front porch where we had some shade to relax in.

Mom didn't seem to have anything else to do and Tim was content to sit and talk with the both of us.  Why on such a calm and easy afternoon did I feel such turmoil?  It didn't seem right that I knew about Tim and was willing to "pump" himfor information yet I wasn't sharing in return.  I made myself take a deep breath and pay attention to mom and Tim now.  There was no reason why I couldn't enjoy this afternoon with them.

And as I looked at Tim it occurred to me...he is like me.  He is sitting there 'being' normal.  But inside...what goes through his head at lightening speed while he talks to us.

He seemed relaxed.  And able to enjoy.  There was nothing ground shattering to this relaxing thing.  We talked about television shows, a couple of movies that we had seen and mom discovered she had once worked with Tim's aunt and had fond memories of her.  Mom had fond memories of everyone.  When dad came home we were still talking on the back porch, he and mom went in to fix his  dinner and he brought it out and ate on the porch with us.  It was fast approaching dark when mom and dad went inside. 

"You wanna take a walk? My backside is tired of looking at this chair."   Tim stood up and waited for me to answer.  

"Let me tell mom and dad."  I yelled in to the house more than actually told them we were going for a walk.  We walked down past Mary's house where no one seemed to be stirring.  We didn't stop but kept walking.  "Tim, how do you deal with what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I would think that you wouldn't be able to forget it and how could you think around in."

"Sometimes I can't.  Sometimes its the only thing I can think about.  When that happens I make myself figure out why it is I'm thinking about it and get done with it."

"I don't know what you mean."   It felt easy, talking and walking, in the dark.

"Okay...sometimes something will happen that reminds me of it.  Like a movie, or seeing a guy that looks like him.  Or seeing a kid who looks like how I use to feel.  It could be anything. I have to make myself discover what it is that reminded me of it hen I allow myself a little time to think it through then I make myself do something.  Anything.  Read a book.  Go talk to mom or dad or a friend.  Work on something like a model, which I love doing.  But....then there are times when I just find myself reliving it, rethinking the whole thing.  That's the worse because I don't always know what took me back.  And sometimes I have to let myself think about that also."

"You 'let' yourself relive it?  Why don't you just do what you said, make yourself do something else?"

"I try.  But when I can't figure out why I'm thinking about it then it's hard to come up with a way to fight it.  I discovered the best thing, for me, to is sometimes...don't fight it."

"Doesn't that bring you down?"

"It can.  But I learned a trick to this too."   He smiled at me with a look of pleasure that I didn't understand.  "When the worst happens and I can't stop thinking about it.  I try to take control of it.  I take it past the time when he molested me and go through the time that he was confronted, went to jail.  I don't let myself get stuck in that time thought. To stop there continuously  would keep me in a place I don't like to be.  I move right on up to now.  To everything that led to graduation and how great that felt.  Thought I don't understand dad I let myself remember how I felt when he was so angry that someone was hurting me.  And the comfort I took from his anger.   And...sometimes, if I can't stop thinking about it I tell myself there might be an answer to letting it go by not fighting the memory of it, and learning to control it."

We walked as he talked.  The neighborhood was cooling off in the dark.  He carries some of the same thoughts I do.  I want to feel like he does though.  I want that control over this.   Is he really this okay though?     "I would think that takes a lot of practice.  To be able to do that with your thoughts."

"I guess it does.  But when I need to do it, it works.  The nice things is it works with more than just 'that' stuff.  Bad days are a lot easier to deal with when you can get yourself to focus on something good."  We walked over to the next street and began circling around.

"It amazes me how people can control themselves.  I find myself zoning out and I don't feel like I have any control over that."

"I can't always prevent this stuff from happening, but once I realize I'm in a place that I don't want to be that's when I work at getting out of there."  He laughed at himself.  I found myself feeling good, even while talking about something so depressing.  "I am kind of surprised that you don't mind talking about this.  It makes most people uncomfortable.  Even if they try to say it doesn't, you can tell."

Is this my opening to tell him?  Does he need to tell and do I need to tell him?  What could it hurt?

"I guess it's because I want to know your answers.  How you deal with it."   I looked at him to see if he was hearing me.  His head was tilted towards me but he was looking intently at the ground as we walked.  I made a turn at the corner and he turned with me.  I wasn't heading to the house now, I was going someplace totally unplanned.

"I've only told one person but .... the same thing happened to me."  I looked to him for his reaction.  He didn't say anything at first, he dropped his head slightly and placed his hand on my arm.  We stopped walking.  

He turned to me but I couldn't look at him when he was looking directly at me.  Suddenly I was exposed.  I would be a different person.  Even to him who understood.  We stood there for maybe thirty or forty seconds.  Or years.  "Nicky...."  it was almost a whisper.  When I looked up he had tears in his eyes.  "I'm sorry that happened to you."  Immediately my eyes filled and over flowed.  He put both of his hands on my shoulders.   "It has stopped though?"  I nodded yes.  He held my shoulders firmly, tight.  "And look at you!"   He smiled, while tears still flowed.

I wasn't sure how to take that.  I am sure my reaction seemed more like shock than anything.   Because I was.  Shocked.   All I could think was 'look at me what?'

"You are okay!  You're going to be okay.  It will be okay."  My shoulders started to shake in his hands and I could feel my chin tremble.  Even when I told Mary I didn't feel like this.  From everything we had just talked about, I knew he understood.  For him to tell me I would be okay, it meant something.  Maybe I will be.  The pain, the confusion and all of the mental torment I lived with.  He knew and I didn't have to explain it.  "Can I hug you?"   I just nodded.  And he did.  I had the first initial reaction I always have when someone touches me, shock like an electrical jolt.  He knew this, he knew it wasn't easy for me to be hugged.  "It's okay Nicky, not everyone is going to hurt you.  I'm not.  I don't like people touching me either.  But I won't hurt you, I promise.   Not everyone touching you is bad. "  He nearly had to hold me up after he said that, and my insides broke in to pieces.  I could feel the tenseness in my arms and body relax as I let him hold me up while I cried. 

He pushed me off of him and looked at me after a few minutes.  Another smile.  "I wish I was a true gentleman and had a handkerchief to offer you...but I don't.   Let's sit down."  He guided me to the curb and we sat on the curb with our feet in the street.  Fortunately  we lived in a quiet suburb and the chances of our feet getting run over were pretty slim.  I couldn't talk yet.  I noticed some children playing outside of a house a little further up from where we sat.  I noticed the lights on in the houses.  The darkness around us was soft, soft like it can't be during the day.  There were porch lights on.  Night noises you could hear through open windows, like a humming of the people talking, watching television and listening to music.  It wasn't really sounds that could be heard but a feeling of the humming.

The Worst Part of His Story

"You know Nicky, you don't seem too bothered to talk about this."

"If you don't have a problem talking about it, I'm okay with it.  But why did you want to talk to me?"

"I don't know, I really don't.  I just got the feeling it would be okay to talk to you."

"Why not Mary?  You two seemed to get pretty close this last year.  You never told her?"

"No, I never told her.  Maybe the fear of scaring her off.  I don't know.  It's not like I tell everyone I know about this.  This is the first time I've told anyone since I started high school.  I guess I'm always worried about what someone might think.  Would they think I'm telling them because I want pity, or sympathy?  They just don't understand that sometimes I need  to talk about it.  Just like anything else that happens in your life.  Not talking about it doesn't change it or make it go away.  Not that talking about it makes it feel better, or different."  He shrugged his shoulders and like many people do when they cant find the words to empty their thoughts he muttered "I don't know."

"It makes sense to me that you need to talk about it.  I don't think there are many people who will look at it the same way though.  It's pretty difficult for people to hear, to talk about."  He is echoing my thoughts.  My fears.

"Why doesn't it bother you?"

"I don't know".  I felt guilty.  Do I tell him to make him feel better?  Why would telling him make him feel better?  Just to know I really do understand what he means, how he feels.  Maybe telling him, and letting him know that someone else really does get it.  Do I tell him?   "I don't know if I would feel comfortable talking about this with just anybody."   I totally understand being selective.  Fearing how someone will react.

"I've been wanting to talk to you.  I don't know why.  Maybe because I didn't think you would judge me, or feel sorry for me."   

"I wouldn't say I don't feel sorry for you.  Maybe you don't want to hear that.  But I'm not happy this happened to you."  I stressed the word 'happy'.  I looked at him for understanding, he smiled.  He understood.  "I understand what you mean about just needing to talk about it, just like anything else.  Good things, bad things, they are better or made easier by sharing I guess.  I feel sorry for your dad."

"Why?"

"I would think it would be pretty difficult for a parent to hear this has happened to their child and then have to deal with the guilt of feeling like they hadn't protected their child."

"But I don't feel like that.  I don't blame dad, or mom.  Only person is to blame for this.  I wish dad could understand that."

"What does your mom feel...think...say."

"Who really knows.  I think she wants to be emotional and crazy about it but she kind of follows dad's lead.  It's time now to put this behind us and worry about what we need to do for the future."

I looked at him as he changed his voice making that comment.   "Is that your dad talking?"

"Yeah."  Quietly we sat.  I wanted to ask how he told his parents, how did they find out.  Did he tell?  Maybe he didn't.  I was afraid he would think I was being curious just to be nosy.  When did all of this happen?  How did he get through every day?  Did he think about it, not think about it.  WHAT went through his head.

I felt the exhaust fumes building in my chest  He said I could ask him anything.   "Tim I hope it's okay to ask you think but if you don't want to talk about it I understand."  He visibly held his breath.  He thought I was going to ask details.  The physical stuff.  I hurried since he didn't say no.  "How did you tell your mom and dad?"  Instantly he let go of his breath and looked at me, we had been staring at the back yard most of this conversation.  We now locked squarely on each other's eyes.

"Uh...that's odd."

"What?"

"I don't know.  I guess of all of the questions I expected, it wasn't that."

"Oh, well, I guess I just wondered how you, or why you..."  I felt myself stumbling awkwardly.

He stared at me for just a second.  Then he turned to look at the yard.  I did the same.  "Well, it happened a lot.  I remember being so scared all the time.  Scared of everybody and everything.  I was scared to be alone and I was terrified of being with people.  I remember how I felt that night I told mom.  It was the worst feeling and I don't think I could explain it to anyone.  Dad wasn't home.  I think mom knew something was wrong.  I also think she was scared to find out.  I don't know that, I just guess at that.  Anyway, we were watching TV and the lights were out.  Mom was sitting on the couch.  I was sitting on the floor close to her feet.  I wanted to be close to her, but I didn't want to be close enough to touch her.  Isn't that weird?"   He looked at me for a second and I gave him a little smile, he didn't want an answer.  But my answer would have been 'no, it's not weird at all'.   "I don't remember what we were watching.  Everything was going over and through my head.  I thought nothing could be worse than what had happened so if mom and dad got mad at me at least it would still be better than what was going on.  I felt like the house was shaking all around me.  And my insides were on fire.  Mom said later she could feel me shaking even though we weren't close enough to be touching.  She got down on the floor next to me.  She thought I was sick.  She touched my forehead to see if I had a fever.  As soon as she touched me I thought I was going to go in to spasms.  I think I freaked her out."   He stopped for a minute.  Surely he was reliving that again and I felt bad for asking.   This had to be one of the worst moments of his life, the fear of telling, of becoming....different to them.  "Instantly she just pulled me to her and held on and I started crying.   She started crying.  I couldn't talk for a few minutes but finally....I told her."  He stopped to look at me.  He looked away when I didn't look back at him.  I couldn't.  My own eyes were full. "Sometimes I wish I had never told."

Now I did look at him.  "Why?"   I know I had needed desperately to talk to someone, it's why I told Mary.  And I often regretted telling her, for my sake, and for hers.  

"I use to think that no matter what happened to me, I could deal with it.  But there were times when I didn't think I could handle what it did to mom and dad.  I mean, I'm glad I told them.  But there were times when I would have given anything to take it back so they didn't know."

"Why?"

"There was nothing I could do to help them.  Nothing.  I'll never forget hearing mom come in to check me every night.  Two or three times a night.  I think she still does sometimes.  The worst was when I would hear them crying.  Both of them.  And they were crying because of me."

"They didn't blame you."

"I know that.  I understand why they were crying but doesn't make it any easier when a ten year old boy hears his mom and dad crying.  I think it was worse than anything that happened before or since.  Court was pretty bad though."

"Court?"   He looked at me in surprise at my exclamation.

"Yeah, mom and dad pressed charges."  

"You had to go to court?"  

"No, the guy plead and spent less than a year in jail.  He didn't even go to prison.  Just jail."  I couldn't imagine going to court and telling people what had happened.

"Is he still around here?"

"No, he wasn't from around here.  This happened before we moved here.  After everything was over dad thought it was best that we move away because this guy wasn't going anywhere when he got out.  His family was all over the place."

Not Too Bothered To Talk About It

It was almost noon before I woke up.  Another weird time to wake up.  I made my bed and wondered down to the kitchen.  Mom had left me a note saying she hoped I would be there for dinner so they could hear how the party had gone, but if not leave them a note telling where I would be.

Maybe I should make them dinner.  They would like that.  I rummaged through the freezer and found some steak and laid it out on the counter to thaw.  Mom hated when I did that but she would be tickled that I made dinner for them so it all evens out in the end.  I checked the fridge for the makings of a salad and found plenty.  Corn on the cob sounds good, I should go to the store and get some.  I heard my phone ringing from some where, probably upstairs where I left it.  By the time I found it I had missed the call.  And I had two messages.  One from Tim wanting me to call, one from Shaun wanting me to call.

After getting dressed I was getting ready to leave when the house phone rang.  I almost let it go but picked it up.  

"Hello?"   

"Hi Nicky, it's Tim."

"Hi Tim."

"What are you doing?"

"I was just leaving to go to the store to get some corn on the cob.  I thought I would cook on the grill for mom and dad.  What's up?"

"Not much.  Kinda bored really.  Was going to see if you wanted company."

"I don't mind.  Want me to pick you up?"

"No, I've got dad's car."    We arranged for him to just meet me at my house when I got back from the store. I couldn't help but wonder what and why Tim wanted to come over for.  To coach me on what to do and say about Shaun?  I hope not.  Did he expect me to call Mary and see if she wanted to come over?  He didn't seem to be bothered by what Mary told him the night of graduation.  Or was he?  Would I have noticed?  I bought some corn and strawberries and Texas bread that I thought would taste great toasted on the grill and buttered to eat with the steak.

When I got home Tim was already parked in front of the house.  He met me at my car as I stopped in the driveway and when I got out he reached in and grabbed the groceries.   We went inside and he chattered away while I put the food away and washed the vegetables to make the salad.  We sat down at the table together and he started to cut radishes and celery.  I shredded carrots while he talked about starting college in the fall.

Suddenly he became very quiet.  I really hadn't had to say very much as he had obviously needed to come and talk.  I just needed to listen.  I looked at him because it was one of those moments when you knew something just wasn't right.    "I guess I'm kind of scared Nicky."   He concentrated entirely too much on the little radish under his knife.

"About what?"

"Going away I think.  I know I should be looking forward to it but I wouldn't mind staying at home and continuing high school for a few more years.  Maybe even forever."  It's not that I felt his statement was all that odd.  I sometimes thought it would be great to hide in high school forever.  It would be so easy to keep everything the way it was.  I managed.  Iknew I could get through it like I had since I began school.  The automatic pilot had worked well in high school and I was scared it wouldn't when I went to work and started taking college courses myself.  But I didn't expect this kind of feeling from anyone else.

"Did you tell your parents?  Maybe you could go to school here and stay at home for awhile."

"I wish it was something I could tell my parents about and know they would seriously consider it.  But it isn't.  This is what they think I want and to tell them differently they wouldn't understand.  Mom might want to, but dad wouldn't, and mom would follow his lead.  She thinks he knows best about future plans and all things that concern me."

What do I say?  I wasn't use to discussions of this depth with anyone but Mary.  But he came to me.  And this is about him.  "What would be so bad about going to school here?"

"It's not just about the school it's self.  There's a time when we all need to deal with our own problems.  And this is my time."

"What does that mean?"  I grinned because it didn't really make any sense.  He smiled back.  It sure wasn't a happy smile.  More of a sad twist of his lips.

"Are you okay talking to me about this?  I mean I just showed up and started blathering about all of this."

"I don't mind.  I know what it feels like sometimes, to just want to 'blather'."   This time he smiled for real.  We continued making the salad.  All of the vegetables were sure getting a very conscious effort while we struggled with this conversation.

"All right then.  I really don't have a problem talking about this.  But with people who don't know, it can be difficult.  People who know don't want to talk about it.  And THEY aren't comfortable with me talking about it."  I was getting a little nervous, my chest was feeling a little like I had swallowed five lungs full of exhaust fumes. "I was molested."  He breathed deeply as if that statement relieved that same feeling of swallowed exhaust fumes from him.  "I don't expect you to say anything.  And I don't want you to be sorry for me.  Sometimes I need to get this out and sort it out because not talking about it keeps it cluttered in my head.  Does that make sense?"

"I think so."  I busied myself by getting up and putting all of the salad vegetables in the salad bowl and tossing it with a little water.  I put it in the fridge.  I pulled the foil out of the drawer.  "Let's go outside and get the grill ready."  He obediently followed me out.  Probably wondering how heartless could I be.  Not saying anything. We were both quiet while I uncovered the gas grill and placed the clean foil on the grill.  I turned on the propane tank and then the burners.  Everything was ready here.  I stared at the grill.  He stared at the grill.

Very quietly he said "maybe I shouldn't have told you."

"No, it's okay.  I just don't want to say the wrong thing."   I really didn't.

"You can't say the wrong thing.  You can ask questions.  You can tell me you don't want to talk about it.  Whatever...."

"I don''t need to ask you questions.  And I don't think you need to answer them if I did.  It sounds like there are other things you want to talk about...regarding this.  Things other than what curiosities others might ask you."  We stood staring at the grill.  "If you want to talk to me.  I'm right here."  His shoulders slumped, slightly.   Since we were avoiding looking at one another it was more of a perception than me seeing it.  I knew how scared he was to say that out loud to someone and then wonder what their reaction would be.  "Honestly, I also talk better when I am doing something so you have to work with me to get this dinner ready for mom and dad."   I wanted to encourage him to talk, I was afraid of what he would say, I was afraid I was letting him down.

We went in and brought out the corn on the cob and a trash bag and sat down to husk the corn.  There was silence for a few minutes.  I didn't know whether to tell him I understood.  Did he already know?  Would Mary have told him?  I didn't think she would.  But I don't think I would have blamed her.  It wasn't an easy thing to know about someone and not discuss it to try and make sense, and understand it.

"Does Mary know this?"

"No.  It seems to make people very uncomfortable if they know something like this about you.  It's weird.  Because I don't feel uncomfortable talking about it, but those listening?  They do."

"Why do you say this is the time for you to deal with your problems?  What does that mean?"

He shifted his head as if to see his thoughts more clearly.  "It's time that I don't let this rule my life anymore.  That's what dad thinks anyway.  He doesn't understand why something that's in the past should still be affecting me.  He thinks I should be able to get past it."

"Why does he think that?"

"I don't really know why dad thinks anything that he thinks.  I think he kind of blames me."   He shook his head.   "No..no."  I jolted slightly at that but before I could react he said "that's not right.  It's more like he's disappointed in me for it having happened to me.  Like I'm damaged or something.   I dunno.  I can't really explain in."

"I'm sure he hurt for you Tim."

"Oh, I know that.  When he found out I thought he was going to kill the guy.  He was angrier than I have every seen anyone.  And I didn't feel like he was angry at me then.  Actually I felt so protected by his anger.  I knew no one would hurt me again.  Not like that.  I felt safe because he was so mad and out of control.  I don't know how much sense that makes.   And... I think now, he's maybe bothered by any disappointments he may have in me...he blames on what happened to me.  Like...if that hadn't of happened, how would I be different."

I didn't have to say much.   But he's saying out loud a lot of stuff that sounds familiar.   "Why ... I mean, did he say that?"

"It's hard to explain.  No, he didn't say it.  It's just how I feel."   He was ripping the corn apart pretty good.  "I think if given the chance he would physically hurt the guy who did it.  Even now.  But over the years he has changed.  Something has changed.  I know he would do anything for me, and he has.  That's one of the reasons I don't want to tell him I don't want to go to an out of state university.  He really believes that is what I need.  To get out on my own."  He chuckled and glanced at me "even though he's supporting me.   The idea is to get away.  Leave here.  Have something new to look forward to so I won't have to hang on to the past."

"Does he think leaving will make you forget?"

"Maybe.  He doesn't really understand the ramifications of all of this."

"Did you guys go to counseling?"

"They made sure I did.  That's the first thing mom and dad made sure of.  They hauled me off to a counselor who I saw for almost two years.  They didn't want this to mess me up forever."

"Did they go?"

"Only when the counselor called them in to talk about my progress.  Dad didn't understand why he would need counseling.  It didn't happen to him.  And as long as I was taken care of he was happy."

"So what happened?"  I still didn't get a clear picture of his dad, and nothing of his mom.

"In counseling we talked a lot about how this affects others.  Not just me but parents and friends, stuff like that.  I think dad has just kept this in for so long and has gone over this in his head over and over again.  And, he keeps seeing me.  What happened to me.  My guess is he hasn't dealt with it very well."

"Do you guys talk about it?"

"No, not really.  Sometimes its mentioned but there isn't any talking about it anymore."  We finished husking the corn and carried it in to wash it off and put it on the stove to boil.  I was too lazy to grill it now.  We got some pop out of the fridge and went outside to sit on the back steps.

It's Not Who I Am!!

I couldn't help but smile.  "That's funny.  Because what does that mean?  Even if this hadn't been happening to me our ideas of fun still wouldn't be the same.  If this hadn't of happened to me and I still felt more comfortable being at home, being alone, doing quiet things and not being around crowds you would just think I was quiet and shy.  Maybe I would be completely different.  Maybe not.  But I don't have the luxury of knowing that.  And honestly?  I like who I am.  I think I'm a decent person with good values and simple, reasonable, ideas about life.  So bad things happened to me.  Sometimes I'm tortured by it.  Other times, I'm not.  It isn't something that you and I have to let rule us every time we get together."

"It's hard for me to forget."

"I know."   We were both quiet.  "I regret telling you for that reason.  How it makes you feel.  But I will promise you something if you take me for my word and trust me."

"I trust you."

"Good, then know this.  If there is a time that I can't deal with this, that I can not live with this, I'll let you know.  That's a promise I am willing to make with you.  If you will believe it.  I have never gotten to that point before. I don't see it happening.  If I need help I will ask for it."

"I want to believe that."

"Then do.  This isn't a soap opera.  It's my life.  Yes I have down times.  Who doesn't?  I've seen you when you aren't happy.  You don't act any different than when I'm not happy.  You get through it.  I get through it." She was quiet.   "I am so tired.  Just trust me Mary.  I'm not going to tell you about this and drag you into it then to just lie to you."

"I don't think you're lying to me.  I just hope you can recognize when you might need help, because you haven't.  Up until now."

"But that's your opinion.  I think I didn't tell because it would have been harder for me to deal with my parent's pain then it would be to deal with my own."  She shook her head in disbelief.  "I think that's my choice Mary.  I'm dealing with now, and now I am not telling my parents.  Now I'm safe.  I can say no.  I can be safe.  I don't know what I am going to do about this next week or next year.  But for now I have to do it this way."

"It certainly is your choice.  But I don't agree with it."

"You don't have to."

"I know".   She opened the car door and got out.  She leaned in.   "Just remember your promise."

"I will."   She closed the car door and I waited until she went in the front door and closed the door behind her.  I went home.  Mom and dad were in bed.  I turned off the porch light and locked the door behind me.  As quietly as I could I took a shower and went to my room.

The night was very cool and felt wonderfully clean as I opened the my bedroom window to let it in.  I sat in the dark and looked out the window.  Will I ever go through a day when I don't have to deal with this?  A day when I am so wrapped up in work or play that I don't analyze everything I think and feel.  Where everything I think and feel isn't about 'it' or influenced by 'it'.  What kind of day would that be?  When will that day be?  Mary struck a nerve talking about other kids he could be doing this to.  

He wasn't.   He couldn't be.  I was safe for him.  There wasn't a risk of me turning him in.  That had to be obvious to him after the first few times.  I wonder how scared he was?  Or was he at all?  Was he capable of feeling fear?  Or was that part of the excitement for him.  I shook my head as if I could shake the thoughts of him right out of my mind.  If only it were that simple.

It was so dark.  I felt so comfortable here.  Sitting on the floor where no one could see me but I could see out.  Not that there was anything to see.   It was just the idea of sitting here and looking out on this little part of the world and this little part of the world couldn't see me.  I turned my head to look at my room.  It was pretty dark but my eyes were adjusted to it.  Even without lights I knew every corner of it.  The books on the shelves, clothes in the drawers,  CD.s in their cases, the radio station on my alarm clock.  It was all where it needed to be for me.  I knew enough from Mary's mom's books and our talks that this could easily be an attempt at organizing my life in the only areas that I felt any control.  I knew that.  So what.  Whatever the reason, it made me feel better.   And there's no harm in that.

Crap.  I climbed up on my bed and carefully got under the covers.  There was no reason why I had to feel angry and frustrated.  So why did I?  The day with Shaun, Tim and Mary seemed so far away already.  The talk with Mary was pulsing in my head.  Or rather, the feeling from that talk.  WHy do I have to be responsible for what Doug does?  And why in the hell do I have to tell the world what happened to me?  Mary would love to see me go into a support group and tell my story a hundred times and listen to a thousand other stories.  That wasn't for me.  If ever I was to talk to anyone it would be one on one.  I couldn't stand the looks from people, the pity, the curiosity, the sadness.  No matter what Mary said, it would all be there.  I know.  I've done it myself when I hear of something terrible happening.  All the questions that go through your head.  I can completely imagine details, or pull them from my own memory.  But the questions still flash through people's heads.  No one can tell me different.

But the worst part.  I don't want anyone comparing me to everyone else.  There is not a "group" that I would belong to.  Because this happened to me, I am not like others who this happened to.  It's not a membership.  No one can know me because of this that happened to me.  It's not who I am!

Damnit Mary.  Why do you keep pushing this?  I felt my arms so tense by my sides.  Fists clenched.  Forehead drawn tight.  Slowly I made every effort to relax.  Loosen my hands.  Soften the death grip my forehead had on my eyebrows.  Again, like hundreds of times before I saw my parents as they discovered this.  I could see mom's face and dad's hands.  After yesterday I couldn't help but picture grandma too.  Mostly how I pictured their reactions depended on whether I was feeling secure or not in my life.  At least with mom and dad.  For some reason with grandma I always picture her protecting Doug.  Which made me think maybe she had some sordid secret of her own.  That wasn't fair of me, but still, I couldn't help but wonder.

With grandpa it was different.  I always imagined his reaction as the same.  But it was different than grandma's.  I pictured him getting mad, at Doug.  No fear or pity from grandpa.  Just anger.  One thing I quickly learned after Doug started...... it never happened at grandpa's house.  Even when I was younger and Doug still lived there and I was visiting.  Not once did he do anything there.  I don't think it had any thing to do with grandma.  I always figured it was because he was terrified of grandpa.  That's an image I created very young and hung on to all of these years.  Grandpa was not an intimidating man.  He was tall, lean, non-threatening physically.  At least to me.  Maybe it had something to do with grandpa saving Doug from his own family.  Who knows.  Who cares.

My neck was hurting.  I regretted not asking mom to check in to one of those neck pillows.  I need to do that.  Tomorrow.  What else do I have to do?  Put some money in the bank.  Did Mary say she wanted to do anything?  I couldn't remember.  I just want to sleep.  I don't want to think about what Mary said.  I closed my eyes.  Where did today go?  I only spent the last hour of it talking with Mary about this again.  So why don't the other eight hours stick out?  Shaun's party.  Shaun.  Encouraging me with looks and little nods of his head.  Like he was a coach.  Why did he feel he needed to do that.  I wonder if Mary told him.  He just acted like he knew something.  Why is it I can lie here and think about Doug without even trying to and I don't want to.

When I would rather think about, maybe Shaun, and I can't have one thought about him unless I drag it through all of this other muck.

I was tired of fighting the thoughts, tired of thinking.  Finally I slept.  

It's My Choice, Right or Wrong

"I think so."  She wasn't very chatty.  She leaned back in the seat.  "I wish I had more feelings for Tim."

She was quiet for a few seconds.   "I just think he's so nice.  And you know that word is very underrated in my book.  I can talk to him and I'm comfortable around him.  I just don't have strong feelings like he does."

"You can't help that Mary."

"I know, but that doesn't help.  I want to feel something for him.  I couldn't find anyone who is more perfect.  He treats me with....dignity.  You know how he is.  I don't ever feel bad when I'm with him.  Except for the guilt for not feeling the same way he does."

"You were honest with him.  You shouldn't feel guilty about that.  And you aren't using him.  That would be worse. I don't think you're someone  who is so insecure that you need to stay with someone just so you won't be alone.  You have to do what you think is right.  IF you didn't, both of you might miss out on something incredible down the road."  I felt bad for being upset with her.   She genuinely cares for Tim but can't fake feelings that are not there.   She's being honest.

"Yeah....but what if Tim is my incredible?  What if I am looking for something that won't happen, feelings that aren't real, that are just part of movies and bad books.  And then I miss this.  What if the real is that someone treats you decent, would do anything for you, someone you can be comfortable around just being your regular old self.  What if that is my incredible and I miss it?"

We were quiet, thinking about missing the incredible.  "I don't know for sure what you need to hear right now.  But I think you have to trust yourself.  If you don't feel this is the right thing, the incredible thing, then trust that.  And personally?  I think Tim will be fine.  He did okay tonight.  I think he can accept that you don't feel the same way he does.  Besides, I think we all have years to discover our 'incredible'."

She smiled.  "I don't know.  I think maybe you found yours."

"Shaun?"  I'm not sure what an octave is but I think my voice went up a couple of them.  "I've seen him twice. Once by chance and tonight.  I don't think that maps out my future."

"Maybe not, but you won't know if you don't let this have a chance.  Don't hide from it."  

I didn't want to get mad.  But her constant advising and counseling was aggravating as hell.   "Mary?  Let's not go there.  My entire future does not have to revolve around what happened to me.  And it doesn't have to be mapped out tonight."

She turned in her seat to look at my while I drove.   "Nicky I am not going anywhere.  This is a fact of your life.  And I can't help it if I 'go there'.  I worry about you and you know it.  I only worry so much because I  know what this can do to a person.  And you are denying that it is affecting you.  And yes, your entire future does revolve around what happened to you."

"I don't think I'm denying anything.  I can't forget what happened.  It's there and always will be.  But I am trying to get past it.  I don't need to remind myself of it.  And I know what it's done to me.  But I don't have to let it do anything more to me.  And when I do finally get a moment where it isn't screaming in my head at me? You bring it up."

"I don't think you are 'letting' it do anything to you.  There isn't an 'it' Nicky.  There is a person.  A cruel and sick person who is always going to be in and out of your life and you will pretend nothing is wrong.  You'll ignore it.  And you won't let those who should know.  So your world will always be affected by him.    And I bring it up, because it's there."

"I know what you're getting at.  But I don't see the point in telling my parents or grandparents.  It's over.  They can't change it.  The pain it would cause them would be senseless."

"What about you?  Where do you fit in?  You know your parents would support you. They wouldn't allow the bastard anywhere near you.  They would press charges.  Which is what should be done.  Who else has he done this to?  And what about your grandparents?  You can't stand going there because of the way they uphold his behavior.  Do you think they would support him over what he did to you?"

"Yes, grandma would.  And I don't think he's done this to anyone else."

"Oh Nicky".  She laid her head back in the seat and closed her eyes.  "Pardon the big words but that is disillusional on your part.  Why would you think he wouldn't do to someone else what he did to you for years?  And who is he hurting now, now that you've scared him?  Do you think he went away and is suddenly living a celibate, respectable life?  His sole purpose in life was only to do this to you?  This was all for him.  What he did he did for himself.  He didn't give a damn who it was.  Whatever his reasons he did this to satisfy himself and in the process control and control and control something.  It happened to be you.  But now that it's not you....it's somebody."

I wanted to scream....and every ounce of me was, inside.  "Don't you think I've thought of that?  I have.  Okay?   I have.  But I can't destroy my family I can't do this to my parents.  Do you have any idea what this would do to them?  The guilt they would feel?  The anguish they would live with for the rest of their lives?  I can NOT do that to them!"  I slammed my hand on the steering wheel.  "And don't tell me what I have to, or should, do.  This is ME."

She didn't respond immediately.   I wanted to look at her but didn't.  "Nicky I can't imagine what you're going through.  And I don't want you to think I'm preaching.  I just think that you ask yourself the same questions and you have some of the same thoughts I do.  And if this is what you are going through, and always will, what other little girl's life is now being destroyed?"  She hesitated.   "And I think you've decided your parents and grandparents can't handle this, unfairly.   They were, and still are, the adults."

"If I could do something Mary, I would."  I pictured a little girl, another little girl.  I didn't want to think of it because if I thought of it and agreed with Mary then aren't I as responsible for that little girl?  Then I pictured mom and dad.  I pictured telling them.  Like I had pictured telling them thousands of times over the years.  But I couldn't imagine their reaction.  Sometimes it was them coming to my rescue.  Sometimes it was them defending Doug.  Sometimes it was me being sent somewhere for 'help'.  Sometimes it was them not believing.  Sometimes there was nothing because I just couldn't conjure up this image.  I could not tell them.  I couldn't pretend it and I couldn't do it.  Some of the things I imagined bothered me more than not telling.  So I didn't tell.

"Mary I know this disappoints you.  But I can't tell them.  I can't.  I would like to think that this will go away.  I know you don't think it will.  But you can't tell me anything or preach anything to me that I haven't already told myself and beat myself up about.  I would like to think that I'm the only one he has done this to.  Part of me does believe that.  I have lived with this for my forever and I don't want to live with it anymore.  How am I ever going to get away from it if I tell my parents?  How will I ever live with the way they look at me and the way they feel?  How can I ruin their lives and then go about living?"

"How can you not tell them and live a lie?"

"I haven't lied to them.  I have protected them."

"It's not your job to protect them."  This time she slammed her hand down on the dashboard.  "It's their job to protect you!"

Her anger seemed wrong to me.  This was my anger.  "It's too late for that Mary and I can't change that.  They can't protect me now from what's already happened."  I pulled up in front of Mary's house.  I saw her mom look out the door, see it was us, wave and disappeared in to the house.  "God how did we get on this again?"

"Because it's never resolved."

I turned to her quickly.  "Resolved?  What kind of resolution do you want Mary?  I am glad, relieved, that Doug is gone.  It is OVER for me.  That is my resolution.  Do you want him hunted down and brought back so he can be confronted?  By who?  Me?  So I can relive it in all it's detail for my parents to hear?  For the world to hear?  So EVERYONE knows this about me?   The resolution you're talking about is to satisfy what YOU think would be resolved.   When I think it's MY decision."

Mary didn't budge.  She spoke quietly.  Without anger.  "Yes Nicky, that is what I want.  This isn't your shame.  It's his.  You should be free to be happy.  You shouldn't be carrying his guilt.  It's his.  All his.  I have known you my entire life.  I know what you've missed out on.  Maybe I didn't always know why or understand it.  But now I do.  It isn't right.  It's weird but all of our lives I always thought you seemed so old.  Older than me.  Older than our parents.  Maybe 'old' isn't even a good way to describe it.  But while the rest of us could laugh and be silly and enjoy the crazy in our lives you cringed at it.  You were apart from it.  And that's what is wrong here.  You are always going to be apart from us.  You will never let yourself belong because you feel that this is who you are.  Well, it isn't.  It is what was done to you."  Even softer.  "And yes, I do think everyone should hear what he did.  Because he should have to face the world looking at him, for what he did.  So you stop thinking the world is looking at you because of what was done."

Equally quiet, from me.   "All that may be true.  But right now this is how I am.  You aren't telling me anything I don't already know about myself.  There is no one who will ever be able to dissect every feeling I have better than I can myself.  But this is my comfort zone right now.  Do you remember in psychology when we talked about boundaries?   Personal boundaries?"

"Yep."

"Well I am very aware of my boundaries and they are right where I need them to be.  It's a comfort to discover things that help me realize what I am feeling and dealing with are normal.  Normal for what happened in my life.  You can not expect me to deal with this the way YOU feel is right for me.  Maybe someday I will talk to someone.  And maybe not.  But that is for me to decide and not you or anyone else."

She was very quiet.  We had locked on to each other's eyes.  Neither of us wanted to 'give'.  "I don't want to decide anything for you.  I am not that comfortable with this either.  I don't like not telling my mom, and I feel guilty knowing this when your parents don't.  I just want you to be happy Nicky."