"Can you help me at my new apartment?" I kept my back to him as he sat with my parents at the kitchen table. I kept washing the dishes and pretended that I didn't hear him. Mom and I had a pretty good schedule going with who did dishes and who did dinner. I liked helping at home, especially since mom went back to work and I reaped some of the rewards of a two income household. And most times our home was very comfortable and happy. This was not one of those times. Sometimes I wondered how mom and dad couldn't perceive my discomfort, my anxiety. I guess we can all act pretty normal when we want to protect someone, and I sure didn't want my mom and dad to know.
"Nicky, Doug is talking to you." I could feel her smile at my dad as she said behind me "sometimes she just zones right out". Dad would be smiling back at her, they always seemed so pleased with one another. I don't mean smirkey pleased, but quietly, pleasantly pleased with each other, with life, with me. I didn't ever want to destroy that. I turned my head and grinned quickly at them. I barely glanced at Doug. I had promised myself that I would not put myself in "that" position again. I had always succumbed to his requests. Requests usually made in front of mom and dad so as to to seem innocent.
"I'm sorry mom. What?" I twisted just enough, keeping my hands in the hot and soapy water, to look at mom.
"Doug was asking if you could go and help set up his new apartment."
I kept my hands in the water, washing an already clean plate. "I can't mom. I promised Mary I would help her with her research paper. I have to work on my own paper and the year book, and the school paper. We're working every day on final drafts for the first issue." Doug never said a word, I knew by now his little tricks. He would plant the suggestion then let them talk me in to it. In some pathetically twisted way, this made it even better for him. "Sorry mom I can't." I turned back to the dishes and finished them.
"That's okay, I guess being a bachelor means I need to do these things for myself." I kept my back to him and could feel them looking at me. Expecting me to say something. I put the plate in the other side of the sink, rinsed all the dishes there with the hose. I took my time. Dried my hands. I turned to walk out of the kitchen and looked at them as I walked out.
"I guess so." was all I threw back at them as I escaped through the door. I couldn't wait to go outside because I didn't want to feel trapped in the house. I walked out of the house. I walked down the street until I got to Mary's house and I sat on the steps. Mary was the only one who knew. And I had only told her in the past few months. It was while talking to Mary that I had decided I would not let it happen again.
I'm sure I left mom and dad kind of befuddled. I never denied Doug anything before. If he requested some kind of 'help' from me, I did it. If he wanted to take me out to dinner or a movie, I said okay. No, I didn't want to, but I felt I had to. I didn't want to upset mom or dad. Doug had been a part of their lives for a very long time. Mostly dad's. Doug had a rough life growing up, and dad's family felt sorry for him. He was almost always included in their family plans because his own family didn't include him in anything. At one point Dough's family situation got worse. My grandpa had a meeting with Doug's family and somehow Doug ended up living with my dad's family. So they were kind of raised as brothers. I actually called him 'uncle' until about two years ago. But I felt like that made him as good as my real uncles. When I stopped calling him 'uncle' my parents couldn't understand it. Doug told them it was no big deal.
Even though I had promised myself I wouldn't let it happen again, this was the first time I had just not "let" it happen and I was very scared. My whole insides trembled. This was not my norm, protecting myself. I waited a few minutes then got up and knocked on the front door. Mary came racing to the door, and got there right before her fifteen year old brother.
She opened the door and called him a 'dork'. He halfheartedly punched her in the shoulder and walked away. There was a time when they would have pummeled each other, but like their parents said ... "they are growing up". Probably none too soon. They could get pretty vicious. At least in my eyes. Not having any siblings I didn't completely understand these physical assaults. Sometimes I envied them. Sometimes I went home eternally grateful my parents stopped at one, me.
Mary reached out the now open door and grabbed my wrist and pulled me in. I followed her upstairs to her room. Once inside she closed, slammed, the door.
"I'm sorry Nicky. I tried to get out when I saw his car down there but mom wouldn't let me out until I cleaned my room. I tried to get it clean!" I looked around and was surprised at the near cleanliness of her room. "But I couldn't get it done fast enough."
She sat on her bed and I sat on the floor. "Don't worry Mary, nothing happened." She eyed me suspiciously. Even though I had told her, she knew I didn't always tell her everything. "I swear Mary.". She relaxed a little. When I told her she had wanted to tell my parents, then her parents, and it was very difficult for her to not tell her parents. Her mom is a counselor and she felt her mom could help. But help meant telling mom and dad.
Mary and I had made this deal. Whenever she saw his car at our house she would call or show up and see if we couldn't thwart his plans.
"Did he try anything?" Mary wasn't in to sordid details she was in to protecting me. It was her nature.
"Yeah he asked if I would go to his new apartment and help him set it up."
"You're kidding! What a prick!"
"The worst of it? I would have really helped him clean it and set it up and then...." We were both very quiet. For the obvious reason, reality, that made us both mad and thoughtful.
Quickly Mary smiled to cover her watery eyes. "But Nicky! You did it!"
I knew what she was talking about. I didn't just 'let it happen'. I said no. I left. I protected myself. Why didn't I feel better? I liked that I was here instead of in his car, on the way to hell. I felt guilty but I couldn't tell Mary that. I felt nauseous. I laid back on the floor with my knees in the air, it felt like there was very little air. Mary laid back on her bed in the same position. We were very quiet. I needed quiet. Mary could tell. My heart felt like it was on the war path. My ears were ringing. My hands were quivery. I didn't really like talking about this. Sometimes I was relieved somebody else knew. Other times I wished I had never said a word. It meant sharing something. Something that I didn't want let alone want to share. Sometimes that just made it twice as bad. Other times though, like now, the sharing almost seemed to lighten the load. Mary knew, but she didn't pry. She didn't push me. She was quiet when I needed quiet. Like now. This was new to her and she wasn't sure how to tread. It was not new to me and I didn't know how to tread. The sharing was new. And the sharing was scary.
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