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.

Cloaked In Self Protection

"You know Mary..he has got to be one of the sweetest people I know."

"He is.  He loves to talk.  Walk.  Be with me.  He took me out last week and our date was at the park.  We talked, walked and he never let go of my hand the entire time.  It was...comfortable.  But exciting."  We watched him walk away.

"Sounds pretty great to me."  To be comfortable with someone.  I think I envied that.

"It is great...I guess."  That didn't sound like love talking.   I looked at her and she shrugged her shoulders at me. "I do like him.  I really like him.  But it just feels like something's missing.  It's stupid.  I know.  Here's this great guy who treats me like gold and I want something more.  Or different.  I don't know."  She looked up over my head and sat up and away to pull out of the conversation.  Tim was coming, carrying our drinks.

"One for each of you ladies."  He sat on the other side of Mary and leaned in to talk to both of us.  I looked at his face.  Soft, clear and dark blue eyes.  Cute, not stunning, but it sure didn't hurt to look at him.  He was lean and taller than Mary.  Dark auburn hair.  "Nicky are seeing any body?"

"Uh...no."  Mary started to turn her head to give him, I know, a 'don't go there' look.  But she stopped when I smiled at Tim.

"Well...don't look."  Which of course made me want to look but he leaned in closer over Mary which made her lean in, which of course drew me in to the leaning in group.  "But somebody was asking about you."  Immediately Mary's head popped up out of the conversation t look past me in the direction Tim had come from.  There were hundreds of people but she must have thought "he" would have a neon sign pointing him out to her.

"Mary".  Tim put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her down to our conversation again.  "He just asked if you were here with any one."

"Who was it?"  Mary demanded before I could even blink.

"Shaun Hurdle".  Mary's mouth dropped open.  Why, I don't know.  But it did.

"Shaun?"   She seemed stunned.

"Why are you so surprised?"  Tim looked at Mary, surprised at her surprise. I sat and watched as Mary and Tim discussed this without me.  Without even noticing if I had a reaction.

"Shaun?  I don't know.  I guess I never...I don't know."  Tim laughed as he leaned in closer.  He was making Mary uncomfortable.  Or she was uncomfortable about something else.  Why was she so surprised?  Probably because since I didn't show interest in someone, anyone, I would think she assumed the world would know not to bother.  I know that's what she thought.  It was certainly how I felt.

Tim looked at me "do you know Shaun?"

"I know who he is but I don't really know him."  I wanted to know what he said.  Exactly.  But I didn't want to ask.  Mostly because Mary would wonder what came over me and I would have to explain me wanting to know.  

Mary spoke up "what exactly did he say?"   I knew she would have to know and smiled inwardly.

"He came up to me while I was getting our pop and asked if I was with you guys.  Then he asked if you were with anyone."  He smiled at me.  He seemed very happy about this.

"Is that all he said?"  I could read Mary's disappointment.  In Tim's casual reply or the lack of depth to Shaun's inquiry.

"Yeah, he said 'oh' and just stood there.  I brought the pop back and that was it."

"You just left him there?  What if he wanted to ask more?"  Tim looked at her.   A little stunned.

"But he didn't".  Mary looked at him like he was daft.

Mary turned to me and I felt like laughing at them both.  "Do you like Shaun?"

"I don't know.  I just know who he is.  I don't know a thing about him to know if I like him or not."

"Okay okay.  DO you think you might like him?"  She was sounding pretty desperate.  Which was a little annoying.

"Mary he didn't ask Tim if I would marry him.  He just asked him if I was with anyone.  That doesn't really mean anything."

"Well...it could."  She leaned in close.  So I leaned in closer and she whispered "don't you want to find out?"

I sat back.  Do I want to find out?  If someone likes me, was interested in me?  It did feel kind of good.  Yes, I was curious.  Maybe not as much as Tim and Mary.  I gave her a smile, she visibly relaxed.  Tim had respected our little conversation but not leaning in.  But when the smiles appeared he leaned back in.

"I could go find out more."

"No don't do that."  We just graduated high school, not eighth grade.  But I could tell he felt like he had let Mary down somehow.

Mary had other ideas.  "It won't hurt to make yourself available for any more questions.  What's it going to hurt?"  Mary and Tim shrugged like ...it will hurt nothing.  Except my pride.  And off he went.

Mary leaned in closer to me again.  I lent her my ear.  "You know I don't mean to be preachy or anything but why not just see what happens?  When was the last time you ever noticed a boy?  Or let a boy notice you?"  We looked each other in the eye, about five inches away from each other.  "Never".  She answered her own question.   Which quite rightly pissed me off.  She has no idea how I feel about boys.  Them looking at me or me looking at them.  She has no idea how I looked at them and liked what I saw but didn't understand how they could like me.  Mary looked at me and said "Nicky are you gay?"

All right then.   What's that all about?  I sat back and crossed my arms.  Smiled.  Mary didn't smile back and didn't sit back.  She didn't find that question funny.  But I did.  If she wasn't so serious I would have laughed, at her seriousness.

"Mary" I leaned back in.  "I have to say, no, I am not gay.  And you know me well enough that I am most happy by having to 'let a boy notice me'.  It's just not how I am.  When I want someone to notice, I think I'll know."   One thing I was sure of, though I believe I didn't know what 'normal' felt like, there were some things I did know.  I like boys, I just didn't know how to like them.  But it didn't worry me.  I didn't have room in my head to worry about it.

"Well I don't think you will.  I think you are hiding so no one can hurt you again."

"Maybe.  But why does that bother you?  Maybe it's just what I have to do right now."

"It bothers me because I see you alone and I see you missing out on fun stuff that I know you would enjoy if you would just DO IT."

"But that's your fun stuff.  And I am super thrilled that you have fun doing it.  That doesn't mean I will have fun doing it."

"But you don't know because you don't try."

I want to stay calm because I know she is saying this because she cares.   "I'm here aren't I?"

Now, she, smiled at me.  "Nicky I know you well enough to know that you are here just so your parents wouldn't get upset."

"Maybe that's part of it.  But maybe you don't know me well enough to know that I am glad to be here."

"Are you?"

How cynical of her.  And annoying.  "Yes."  She had to think about my simple yes.  "And I was a little curious about what Tim said Shaun asked."  Her eyes bugged a little.  "I know what I need right now Mary, just trust me.   And stop analyzing everything I say and do.  It's a little annoying."

"This has nothing to do with trust Nicky.  I just worry about you.  I'm sorry.  But I do.  I think there are a lot of things you avoid doing because you're afraid to get close.  You're worried someone will find out."

"I don't think you need to counsel me right now.   I did  come here to have fun.  I was  looking forward to it.  There doesn't need to be any deep seated reason why I'm here or how I'm going to avoid life."  I sat back to withdraw from this private conversation and looked around the gym.  The line for the artist was the same as it had been all night.  But I was eager to see how someone else saw me, even in fun.  "I'm going to go have myself drawn".   Mary didn't answer and I knew that she was close to being mad, and feeling bad because she was mad.  I wish I hadn't told her.  Because every minute with her, now, was overshadowed by her knowing and having to deal with it.  Which means I never got a break from it.  

I wandered over to the line behind the artist and stood behind Marty Matthews and his girlfriend Amber.  THey were standing with their arms around one another and her head was leaning into the side of his chest.  I don't remember seeing one without the other since ninth grade.  I heard the rumor they were going to get married.  Married.  They looked so young.  How could they get married?  I felt like I was burning holes in the back of their heads as I pictured them married and envisioned them across the next fifty years.  I tore my eyes from their married bliss and looked around the gym.

The music was non stop.  People were still dancing.  I never realized there were this many people in our class.  I didn't even know some of them.  Quite a few of them.  Mary and Tim came up behind me.

"Sorry."  Mary whispered in my ear.

"Don't be.  It's all right."  She smiled, not convinced every thing was all right.

"Well, Shaun found me again Nicky.  Want to know what he said?"

"Sure."  Yes, I do.  It's my choice to feel free for one minute.  One minute.  Free of it.  Free of heavy fear.  Free of the cloak of protection.   Just standing in that gym, with hundreds of kids around me.  I felt it was my choice.   It was a brief minute.  Not even a minute.  A moment.  It felt good.  Very good.

I looked at Mary.  I could see she didn't believe me.  What the hell?  I don't have to convince her of what I want.  Or don't want.  Why does she think I have to explain everything to her.

"He said he hoped you'd be here but didn't think you would be.  You know, he is a pretty nice guy. I didn't say too much because I didn't know what you wanted me to say."

Mary stood quietly.  Tim looked at me.  I was suppose to say something, but I don't know what.  Because I was trying to say something that I though Mary wanted me to say, instead of saying what I wanted to say.  "Let's just wait and see if he comes around...are you guys going to have your picture drawn?"

"I am what about you Mary?"  Tim seemed awfully fond of her.  I felt bad for Tim because he didn't know what was going on and he was trying to just skim right over the uncomfortableness that was pulsating from us.

It's All Leading Us To That Point of No Return

"Can I use a suitcase or do you guys need them?"

"We don't need them all, get one out of dad's closet honey."  I could feel dad watching me as I went to get it.  What did I do this time I wondered.

"Mary's mom is going to call you..."

"I'll just walk down and talk to her, so it's okay if you stay?"

"Yep."  I turned around as I left the room to watch them watching me.

I closed the door when I got in my room.  Mary sat there.  "My parents are acting goofy."

"Whatdya mean?"  Mary sat neatly at my desk chair.  Rigid looking.

"Why are you sitting there like that?"  Use to be she would be looking through my CD's and generally nosing in to what ever piqued her interest.  Most times she was in my closet to see if there was anything of hers or anything of mine that she wanted to wear.

"Like what?"

"Like....I don't know.  Like you're afraid to move."

I set about to opening the suitcase on the bed and started packing my bras, underwear, socks.  Moving back and forth from the dresser to the bed and suitcase.

"I don't know.  Seems like every time I come in here it's so clean anymore I hate to mess it up."

"Don't be stupid.  Do what you always do."

That's all it took for her to start looking in the closet and turning on music.  Aside from the clothes I wanted to wear we also packed some of what she wanted to wear.  I went to my dresser again to pack up my makeup from on top.  But I decided against it.  I left it.

"Aren't you bringing your make up?"

"No. I kind of like not having to mess with it."

"I kind of envy that.  I don't think I could go to the bathroom in my own house without it."  She laughed.  She did like her makeup.  She was certainly pretty enough without it.  But she thought she looked great with it.  Which she did.  But who always wanted to go to all that trouble?  I could hear mom going down the steps and out the front door.  Dad must have stayed in their room.  Mary and I pretty much hung out upstairs until I got hungry and we went to see what was to eat.  That's where we were when dad came in, browsing through cupboards and finally settling on making nachos in the microwave.

"So are you two looking forward to having a few days together?"  He busied himself making a bowl of cereal and sitting down with us.

"I am."  Mary always liked my dad and was very perky around him.  Sometimes I thought she had a serious crush on him.  "I'm going to see if Nicky and I can have mom's car and go to the movies tonight, then maybe shopping tomorrow.  Maybe just drive around."

Okay then.  Not really what I wanted to do but to keep Mary happy I could do this.  Tonight the movies, tomorrow shopping, that would mean tomorrow night before I could stay at home...er....Mary's home and relax.  I found myself doing this lately.  If something comes up that I have to do, I start anticipating, needing time alone.  At home.  It wasn't necessarily that I didn't want to do things and have fun.  I just looked forward to being done with it and being home.

"Nicky?"

I turned to look at dad.  Who was looking at me.  So was Mary.  "What?"  Why were they looking at me?

"I was asking you if you if you needed money?"

"Oh, I guess.  I only have about ten dollars left from my baby sitting this summer."  Dad pulled out his money clip and gave me fifty dollars.  "Feeling pretty generous aren't you dad?"

He put his hand out to take it back.  "I don't know what came over me."

"That's all right.  I don't mind."  He smiled as he pulled his hand back and continued eating his cereal.  Mary was still looking at me.  I felt like laughing.  Like nobody ever zoned out before.  Suddenly I felt a very strong urge to tell her how much she meant to me. I wanted to grab her and squeeze her.  I couldn't help but look at her and I thought I was going to cry.  All she wanted was to help me and that made me feel worse.  Mary and dad started talking about her brother Mark who was getting ready for basketball season.  Mark was pretty irrational about sports.  When he wasn't on a team he was busy trying to stay in shape.  I think dad kind of wished he had a son, or a daughter, for that matter, in sports.  He always made a big deal out of anything I did.  And sometimes it didn't seem like enough.  It was almost like I didn't give him enough to parent.  I got up and cleared our plates and glasses and dad's bowl.  They were still talking about Mark when mom came back from talking to Mary's mom.  She joined us at the table.

"All settled.  Nicky you'll stay until we get back.  Which I don't think we will plan on happening until Thursday."

Mary looked at me and I could tell  she was going to say something but was nervous about it.  While looking at the space between my parents, and stumbling a little over her words, she brought up that subject.  WHich I would have been happy to avoid.   "Uhmmm...I'm really sorry about your little nephew.  I mean, that's...uh, sad."  I stared innocently at my parents to see if they figured out what I had told Mary, about me, by what she had just said about Curtis.

Mom reached over and patted Mary's hand.  "Thank you Mary."  I got that very uncomfortable feeling that settles over everyone when there is a million things to be said, but no one has the nerve to say it.  The heart to face it.  Or the words to describe it.

Not because they can't.  But because once opened up it is so much bigger than the words.  It is so raw and searing, that everyone is more afraid of the other person's feelings or reactions, that no one wants to bring it up.  But everyone wants to ask, to know.   What are you thinking and feeling?  What sense does that make?  All kinds.  When something awful happens, everyone wants to know detail, for different reasons, but no one wants to seem insensitive and be the one to bring up the subject.  Though in reality it would probably be the best thing to do.  Bring it up.  Talk about it.  Yell about it.  Ask about it.  Bu no, I don't want to go there.  not about Curtis.  Not about me.  So am I like them?  I sure don't think I feel like them.  I don't want to talk about it because it is me.

Am I different than everyone else?  I feel like I made a conscious decision to not tell.  To not talk.  Because I didn't want to cause pain.  I didn't want to be the reason for discontent.  For shattering the perfect world that was suppose to be mine, my parents.  It wasn't that I couldn't take the pain, or face the reality of it.  I did-every day.  Every night.  Every dream.  Every lost dream.  Could I do that?  Make that kind of decision when this started?  I pushed my chair back quickly, which startled every one.

"I better get my stuff ready."  That set every one in motion.  Mom and dad went upstairs to get their things and Mary and I carried my stuff down to the front door.  I sat on the couch.  Just wanting to leave.  But knowing for their sake I should stay and say good bye.  Mary and I sat quietly.  One true mark of friendship, I thought, was the ability to sit quietly and not have to say anything.  I didn't feel any discomfort at being quiet.  And knowing Mary as I did I could feel when she was uncomfortable.  I knew she wasn't.  Not with our silence.  Mom and dad came down with their luggage.  Mary stood up and grabbed my suitcase.

I said....NO

My radio alarm sat quietly in the dark.  I turned the music on quietly and scooted back until I was in the corner where my headboard met the wall.  I pulled the covers up over me, trying to make sure the covers stayed neat on the bed but all of me was covered.  It was very frustrating that I couldn't have it both ways.  I got up, made the bed and took an old comforter out of my closet, got back up on the bed in that same corner and covered up with the old comforter.  I liked this comforter.  No matter how old it was, it was still thick and soft.  I kept it in my closet where I kept my sheets and blankets for my bed.

That's another thing mom couldn't understand.  Why I took all of my bedding out of the linen closet in the hallway and put it in my bedroom closet.  The best reason I could give her was that I liked the feeling of all of my stuff being in "my" place.  Which was my room of course.  Actually, that's the best reason I could give myself.

I thought of Mary.  Her room really looked nice today.  Leaps and bounds better than what it usually looks like.  I looked around at my own room and felt good about it's neat appearance.  I took a lot of pride in keeping it neat and clean.  Funny, it drove Mary crazy to be in my room, you'd think it would drive me crazy to be in her room.  But it didn't.  I never felt uneasy in there.  I need to ask mom if I can paint the walls a cream color.  I really don't like these yellow walls.  And I need to move the furniture.

I thought all night.  Or so it seemed.  It felt like I was consciously thinking all night.  About the furniture in my room.  But somewhere in the night I had slid down until I was on my side with my back up against the wall and my head pressed in to the headboard.  I woke before the alarm went off.  Feeling kind of hazy I went through my morning routine of eating with mom and dad, showering, brushing my teeth in my robe and then going to my room for make up and getting dressed.

I stood at my dresser looking in the mirror.  At the makeup sitting neatly in it's basket.  I didn't feel much like looking good today.  Still wet, I brushed my hair out and pulled it back with a plain hair band in to a simple pony tail.  I dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt that was very soft, with our school logo on it.   I looked in the mirror, I looked young in the clothes, I felt.... what I thought eighty must feel like.  Maybe eighty doesn't feel this way.  Maybe this is what seventeen feels like when it doesn't feel right.  Great, a gloomy day was to be had by me today.  Knowing sure made it seem unavoidable.

The day went relatively fast and passed by without me being very much a part of it.  By the time I found myself in the newspaper room I didn't even remember most of the day.  I checked my notebooks and saw my notes for the day and my homework listed in my day planner, that kind of brought the day back to me.  I remembered the words and writing them.  I tried hard to focus on the work at hand now.  We were editing our first final draft of the year for our school paper and we were all pretty excited.  Mary came in late.  

She sat next to me exclaiming "what a day!"  She was smiling, like most times.  Sometimes it just felt good to be with someone who just felt good.  Like I could just absorb that feeling.  She turned to me and whispered "I think Tim Shyder likes me."

"How do you know?" I whispered back.  She grinned and shrugged, he had just walked in and sat at the table next to ours.  He looked at her and she smiled.  I turned my attention to the draft of the page I was working on.  Before I knew it, Mary was at the other table talking with Tim.  I hope he likes her.  Mary then started going back and forth between me at my table and Tim at his table.  Which was a little annoying, but bearable. For some reason I was very uninterested in this usually exciting exchange of 'discovering if someone-likes-someone-else' type drama.

Soon enough Mary and I were heading out the front door of school.  Mary had her parent's car, I really felt like walking but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I got in the car and we headed home.

"Tim asked me out".   She was nearly giddy.

"I didn't even know you liked Tim."

"I didn't either, I don't know if I do.  It's just....he likes me, that's kind of neat.  So why not go out and see if I like him too."

"Oh."

"Oh?  Is that all you say is 'oh'?"

I can't say that id really doesn't matter to me because I can't think of anything clearly.  I and really DON'T have any feelings about it.  So I punt.  I turn sideways in my seat and smile at her.  "I'm sorry Mary, I was still thinking about the paper.  I have to refocus.  Are you going to go?  I mean, where are you going.  And when are you going?"

That was all she needed to hear.  She spent the rest of the drive home telling me they were going out Friday, tomorrow.  And they were going to start with the high school football game.  Then go out to eat from there.

"You don't mind do you?"  She said as we slammed the car's doors shut after she parked behind her house.  I pretended the sound of the doors made it  so I couldn't hear her.  "I'm sorry I couldn't hear you."

"About the game tomorrow, you don't care if I go with Tim do you?"

Somewhere over the past week we must have said we were going together.  "No, no you go ahead.  Mom and dad would probably like having me home for a night."

"You aren't even going to go?"  She feigned surprise though both knew she wasn't surprised at all.  

I felt like I had to say just the right thing.  I don't want her to worry about me, feel guilty or think there was something wrong.  "No, I really think I've been neglecting them lately.  I really think they would feel good if they thought I was staying home to be with them."

"Okay....are you coming in?"   She had started to walk up the back steps of the house.  But I had stood still.

"No, I told mom I would start dinner tonight, and I think I'm going to try and get my homework done earlier.  I didn't get it done until 10:30 last night."

We rambled on a little then she went in and I headed home.  Mom and dad's cars were gone and I let myself in to the house.  I dropped my backpack on the bottom step of the stairway to the upstairs.  And went to the kitchen.  

I almost sucked my tongue down my throat when I saw Doug sitting at the kitchen table.  I stopped dead in my tracks.

Shit.

"I let myself in with the key they gave me.".  Where was his car?  "I parked a little down the street. I thought you might be trying to avoid me."   He stood up.  I took about five steps back in to the hallway.  He stepped forward and I stepped further back, in to the living room.  "Why are you backing up?  You act like you're scared of me.  You know you don't have any reason to be scared of me Nicky."

Get away from me!  You are a sick son of a bitch!  Why couldn't I open my mouth and scream at him!  

He stepped up to me and put his arms around me.  The stench of his cologne clogged my nose.  I couldn't breath.

"Don't....touch.....me."

I kept my arms by my sides, which were trapped by his arms around me anyway.  I didn't fight.  I never had.  And I had never, ever, said "don't touch me".

But I did, this time.

He put his hands on my shoulders and stepped back to look down at me.

"What did you say?"  I stepped back and his hands fell by his side.  I think he looked scared.

"Don't touch me."

"Why Nicky?  You always like this, with me."  Hesitantly he took a step towards me.  I couldn't scream at him all of the things that were screaming in my head.  It wasn't even words.   It was was pain.

Anger.

Disgust.

Guilt.

Shame.

It was every fear I had ever had in my life.  What was it he thought I liked?  Which one of these things screaming in my head was the part I liked?  Was it the five year old that decided I liked this?  Or the seventeen year old who felt like a whore.  Felt like trash.  Felt like everyone else was better than her.

"Don't touch me."  I couldn't say anything else.  My insides were quivering so much I thought surely he could see my whole body shaking violently.  But he just looked at me.  There was nothing else I could do.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't say anything.  He stared.  I stared at the empty space next to his ugly head.  Finally, it had to have been hours, he walked past me and out the door.  I didn't move.  I didn't breath.  After what had to have been less than a minute that lasted for years I heard a car start in the distance.  It had to be him leaving.  

It can't be over.

Gone.

For good?  For good.  I knew it.  It was over.  He knew it.  On shaky legs I walked into the kitchen.  Maybe seven minutes had passed since I had come home.  I unlocked the back door and walked my very, now obviously, shaking body outside.  I walked to the middle of the yard and sat down.  How long?  Ten years, twelve, more?  I was cold.  I was trembling-no-shaking.  I looked at my hands, and watched them shake.  My heart was beating in my ears.  Leaves are everywhere.  Why didn't this feel better?  I wanted to scream.

I had the urge to get up and physically run.

But all I could do was sit there.

I wanted to beat the hell out of something.   I clenched my hands in to fists.

All I could so was sit there.

I closed my eyes and all I could see was white, hot white!  I put my fists to the sides of my head and pushed on my head.   All this time....

All this time and all I had to say was 'don't touch me'.   He just walked out.  And that's all it took?

At some point I got up and went inside.  Mindlessly I set about to making something for dinner.  Somehow I finished it, sat down with mom and dad when they came home and ate it and made my way upstairs to do my homework.   But I sat.  Unaware of anything else because my brain was so full of this.  I heard mom and dad downstairs.  I didn't really want to be around anyone.  But knowing them, one of them would be up here before too long to see if I was okay.  I might as well head them off at the pass.

I moved.  Automatically.   Which felt so normal to me.

I made myself go downstairs.  They were just going out on the porch.  I followed.  They sat on the swing at the far end of the porch and I sat on one of the gliders.   "What brings you down from your sanctuary?"  Dad put his arm around mom while looking at me.  A show of comfort that I did not take any comfort from.  I guess he wanted me to reply in some way.