noticed his hands, how big they were, and rough-looking.
“Look. Why don’t you let me give you a ride.” His voice was strong now, commanding.
“Back the hell off, you freaky bastard ! I don’t want a ride!”
I forgot for a second what type of person he might be, how he might have duct tape under his seat. But for those couple of seconds, it felt good letting loose on him. A quick vision of me punching him a few times in the face flickered through my head. For about two seconds, I felt great. Invincible. Until he turned off his car and opened the driver’s side door.
When I saw his foot hit the ground, that was it. I was gone. Off running. There was no way I was going to become a statistic. Not me.
I looked around — quick—considering the option of running up to one of the houses, but the houses nearby were dark, so I kept running. As I ran, I cursed my shoe choice, boots with three-inch heels (Stupid Becca’s boots.). And I tried not to slip on the pavement with all the little potholes.
The cold air hit my face, and I fell into a weird kind of rhythm, running, with each step saying a word in my prayer: “Dear God,” one, two, “please save,” three, four, “me from” five, six, “this lunatic,” six, seven.
I left Comb-over Man in the dust. When I looked over my shoulder, he was nowhere to be seen. I kept running though, and I ran until I got to my front door, gasping for breath. (I admit, I’m not in the world’s greatest shape.) But I made it and burst in through the front door, an out-of-breath, upset, sweaty mess. But I made it.
October 10, Even Later -
Tears,
Star-Crossed Lovers,
And Cocoa
Mom took one look at me and started asking a million questions at once.
“Stacy! What are you doing home? What’s wrong ? What’s going on? What happened ? Didn’t you get a ride? Why didn’t you call me? You know I don’t want you out walking alone at night.”
I sighed, took a deep breath, and told her a story about my evening. About me and heartbreak. Me and betrayal. I conveniently left out the part about the pervert and his roll of duct tape, axe, and hammer because then she’d never let me out of the house again. I started to cry—not my first choice.
“Oh, Stacy. Come here,” she said as she put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Which made me sob. And we just stood there in the middle of the living room. I was crying with her arms wrapped around me, and we didn’t say anything for a while. And it wasn’t just about my broken heart, it was everything all rolled into one—everything that was supposed to be that wasn’t. Everything about Mom and Dad growing old together and watching Jill, Becca, and me grow up and have families of our own. Everything about the whole of life that we’re all going to miss out on; everything that’s different now. I didn’t have to say all of those things, because they didn’t need to be said. The way you can just look into someone’s eyes and tell what they’re thinking sometimes, that’s kind of how it was with Mom and me.
“Come on,” she said as she handed me a tissue to wipe my eyes. “Let’s make some cocoa. How does that sound?”
“That sounds really good.”
I sat on a stool in the kitchen and watched as she made us hot cocoa from scratch, with milk and cocoa powder and sugar and vanilla. We chatted as she stirred it on the stove, like I was a little kid again.
We settled in on the couch with our cocoa, and she put on the DVD of The Way We Were with Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford—the same one we’ve watched a thousand times before. I got the box of tissues, and we sat sharing a blanket. At the end of the movie— when Katie and Hubbell see each other on the street, and they feel all wistful about how their lives could have been together, the star-crossed lovers—we cried like we always do.
When the movie was over, Mom told me all
“Look. Why don’t you let me give you a ride.” His voice was strong now, commanding.
“Back the hell off, you freaky bastard ! I don’t want a ride!”
I forgot for a second what type of person he might be, how he might have duct tape under his seat. But for those couple of seconds, it felt good letting loose on him. A quick vision of me punching him a few times in the face flickered through my head. For about two seconds, I felt great. Invincible. Until he turned off his car and opened the driver’s side door.
When I saw his foot hit the ground, that was it. I was gone. Off running. There was no way I was going to become a statistic. Not me.
I looked around — quick—considering the option of running up to one of the houses, but the houses nearby were dark, so I kept running. As I ran, I cursed my shoe choice, boots with three-inch heels (Stupid Becca’s boots.). And I tried not to slip on the pavement with all the little potholes.
The cold air hit my face, and I fell into a weird kind of rhythm, running, with each step saying a word in my prayer: “Dear God,” one, two, “please save,” three, four, “me from” five, six, “this lunatic,” six, seven.
I left Comb-over Man in the dust. When I looked over my shoulder, he was nowhere to be seen. I kept running though, and I ran until I got to my front door, gasping for breath. (I admit, I’m not in the world’s greatest shape.) But I made it and burst in through the front door, an out-of-breath, upset, sweaty mess. But I made it.
October 10, Even Later -
Tears,
Star-Crossed Lovers,
And Cocoa
Mom took one look at me and started asking a million questions at once.
“Stacy! What are you doing home? What’s wrong ? What’s going on? What happened ? Didn’t you get a ride? Why didn’t you call me? You know I don’t want you out walking alone at night.”
I sighed, took a deep breath, and told her a story about my evening. About me and heartbreak. Me and betrayal. I conveniently left out the part about the pervert and his roll of duct tape, axe, and hammer because then she’d never let me out of the house again. I started to cry—not my first choice.
“Oh, Stacy. Come here,” she said as she put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Which made me sob. And we just stood there in the middle of the living room. I was crying with her arms wrapped around me, and we didn’t say anything for a while. And it wasn’t just about my broken heart, it was everything all rolled into one—everything that was supposed to be that wasn’t. Everything about Mom and Dad growing old together and watching Jill, Becca, and me grow up and have families of our own. Everything about the whole of life that we’re all going to miss out on; everything that’s different now. I didn’t have to say all of those things, because they didn’t need to be said. The way you can just look into someone’s eyes and tell what they’re thinking sometimes, that’s kind of how it was with Mom and me.
“Come on,” she said as she handed me a tissue to wipe my eyes. “Let’s make some cocoa. How does that sound?”
“That sounds really good.”
I sat on a stool in the kitchen and watched as she made us hot cocoa from scratch, with milk and cocoa powder and sugar and vanilla. We chatted as she stirred it on the stove, like I was a little kid again.
We settled in on the couch with our cocoa, and she put on the DVD of The Way We Were with Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford—the same one we’ve watched a thousand times before. I got the box of tissues, and we sat sharing a blanket. At the end of the movie— when Katie and Hubbell see each other on the street, and they feel all wistful about how their lives could have been together, the star-crossed lovers—we cried like we always do.
When the movie was over, Mom told me all
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