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.
