chanting in my head:
Why, oh why, oh God—
Why did you let her leave?
Mistakes
[1]
Saturday.
I lay in bed unwilling to believe
anything that happened the night before.
Maybe I had just imagined I saw my
father humping my brother. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe I was so
discombobulated from my breasts being touched by Jason that I hallucinated the
whole thing. It had to be a mistake. So I went over it again: I came in, saw
them, saw THAT—
I moved on to a more pleasant
topic.
Jason. Had I imagined him? No
way. My lips still felt slightly swollen. I could still taste his mouth.
Still smell that hint of soap and aftershave on his neck. God, what a night.
And what a mistake.
That’s the problem with
temptation: Once it’s right there in front of you, it takes superhuman will to
resist it. Which is why you can’t let yourself ever get to that point. You
cut it off way before you’re alone in a car with the boy of your dreams, parked
near a urinating bum.
That was where I went wrong. I
should have insisted he take me home first. I could have avoided the whole
mess.
So now what? Fix it. You know how
you got into that situation, I told myself, so don’t ever let yourself get
there again. Easy enough. Just fix it.
The phone rang at eight-thirty.
“So,” Posie asked, “did Mr. Sleeze
try anything?”
I guess that nod she gave me before
I drove off was not her blessing after all.
“Kind of.”
“So what did you do?”
“You know, just—”
“Hey, guess what’s in the paper?”
I privately blessed God for the
distraction. “Um, Angela?”
“She just settled some lawsuit over
in California. Three million dollars—three million! Of course, she won’t
confirm that, as usual, but that’s what they’re saying. Good for her. Another
church gets it in the rear. So to speak.”
“Great.”
“You coming over?”
“No . . .” What was a good excuse
to give? That I wanted to watch my brother all day? Check him for signs of
trauma? Ask him to his face if my father was molesting him?
“I think I’ll stick around here
today,” I said. “The place is a mess. I need to clean.”
“Then come over tonight. I’m off.”
And return home to another scene
like last night’s? No, thank you.
“Uh . . . not tonight, okay? I’m
really tired.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Maybe it’s just a bug. I
think I’ll stay in this weekend.”
We hung up and I went back to bed
and pulled the covers over my head.
Really, that fixes anything.
[2]
The phone rang a few hours later.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I should have checked Caller
ID.
“How are you?” Jason asked.
“Fine.”
Great. Was this what we were
reduced to? Was this what our conversations were going to be like from now
on? Sex ruins everything.
“Want to grab a bite tonight?” he
asked.
“No.”
“Movie?”
“No.”
“Check out books from the library?”
“Jason—”
“Lizzie. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just have a lot to do.”
“Like what?”
Like avoid you.
“Just . . . stuff.”
“Well, I’ll come over and help.
Your dad’ll probably be happy to see me.”
“Very funny.” One of those deadly
pauses, so uncomfortable. “So . . .”
“So . . .”
I bit at a hanging cuticle. This
was torture. A day before I would have loved to get a phone call like this.
But somehow that was another girl, another life, and maybe it was superstitious
of me, but I couldn’t help thinking that this thing with Mikey was the direct
result of making out with a guy in his car.
“What if I ask Posie?” Jason
suggested.
“Ask her. Maybe she’ll go.”
“No,” Jason clarified, “will you
go? If she chaperones?”
“Look—” I didn’t really want to
get into it, but didn’t see how I could avoid it. “What I did was a mistake.”
“No, trust me,” he said cheerfully,
“you did it
Why, oh why, oh God—
Why did you let her leave?
Mistakes
[1]
Saturday.
I lay in bed unwilling to believe
anything that happened the night before.
Maybe I had just imagined I saw my
father humping my brother. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe I was so
discombobulated from my breasts being touched by Jason that I hallucinated the
whole thing. It had to be a mistake. So I went over it again: I came in, saw
them, saw THAT—
I moved on to a more pleasant
topic.
Jason. Had I imagined him? No
way. My lips still felt slightly swollen. I could still taste his mouth.
Still smell that hint of soap and aftershave on his neck. God, what a night.
And what a mistake.
That’s the problem with
temptation: Once it’s right there in front of you, it takes superhuman will to
resist it. Which is why you can’t let yourself ever get to that point. You
cut it off way before you’re alone in a car with the boy of your dreams, parked
near a urinating bum.
That was where I went wrong. I
should have insisted he take me home first. I could have avoided the whole
mess.
So now what? Fix it. You know how
you got into that situation, I told myself, so don’t ever let yourself get
there again. Easy enough. Just fix it.
The phone rang at eight-thirty.
“So,” Posie asked, “did Mr. Sleeze
try anything?”
I guess that nod she gave me before
I drove off was not her blessing after all.
“Kind of.”
“So what did you do?”
“You know, just—”
“Hey, guess what’s in the paper?”
I privately blessed God for the
distraction. “Um, Angela?”
“She just settled some lawsuit over
in California. Three million dollars—three million! Of course, she won’t
confirm that, as usual, but that’s what they’re saying. Good for her. Another
church gets it in the rear. So to speak.”
“Great.”
“You coming over?”
“No . . .” What was a good excuse
to give? That I wanted to watch my brother all day? Check him for signs of
trauma? Ask him to his face if my father was molesting him?
“I think I’ll stick around here
today,” I said. “The place is a mess. I need to clean.”
“Then come over tonight. I’m off.”
And return home to another scene
like last night’s? No, thank you.
“Uh . . . not tonight, okay? I’m
really tired.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Maybe it’s just a bug. I
think I’ll stay in this weekend.”
We hung up and I went back to bed
and pulled the covers over my head.
Really, that fixes anything.
[2]
The phone rang a few hours later.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I should have checked Caller
ID.
“How are you?” Jason asked.
“Fine.”
Great. Was this what we were
reduced to? Was this what our conversations were going to be like from now
on? Sex ruins everything.
“Want to grab a bite tonight?” he
asked.
“No.”
“Movie?”
“No.”
“Check out books from the library?”
“Jason—”
“Lizzie. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just have a lot to do.”
“Like what?”
Like avoid you.
“Just . . . stuff.”
“Well, I’ll come over and help.
Your dad’ll probably be happy to see me.”
“Very funny.” One of those deadly
pauses, so uncomfortable. “So . . .”
“So . . .”
I bit at a hanging cuticle. This
was torture. A day before I would have loved to get a phone call like this.
But somehow that was another girl, another life, and maybe it was superstitious
of me, but I couldn’t help thinking that this thing with Mikey was the direct
result of making out with a guy in his car.
“What if I ask Posie?” Jason
suggested.
“Ask her. Maybe she’ll go.”
“No,” Jason clarified, “will you
go? If she chaperones?”
“Look—” I didn’t really want to
get into it, but didn’t see how I could avoid it. “What I did was a mistake.”
“No, trust me,” he said cheerfully,
“you did it
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