There was poetry in his casual conversations. There was beauty in the
way he walked down the halls of his high school. Everything he said was
of importance and value--his peers hung on to every word. His laugh was
music and his smile was wind chimes. He never had to try. He was
perfection.
His senior year, after a football game, he went to a party hosted by a teammate. There was always a party after the game. It was Friday night.
That Friday night in September the air was balmy. Summer wasn't quite
done with their little town. It held on with its slipping fingertips of
late afternoon sun. The party went as parties go. He was a mess, like
always. But he was Heaven, so no one cared.
yet.
He woke up in his friend's house. Bodies were everywhere. He tried to creep out, his heart racing. Shit. My parents will kill me. There
was movement, cursing, and then hazy eye contact. Her fingers had
accidentally be trodden upon, but no person whose fingers have been
stepped on cares if its an accident. She looked at him with such hate. No one had ever looked at him like that.
He
made his way to the bathroom to get a look at himself. He had bruises
and scratches all over his face and arms. He had a pretty deep cut on
his shoulder, too. What the fuck happened last night? He remembered nothing. Nothing after arriving at the party. It was all gone. He didn't even remember drinking.
He
sat on the side of the tub and tried to piece together his night. His
chest felt hot and his body ached. His head throbbed, and the sound of
blood in his temples drowned out any logic he could grasp, any memories
he had. He had never really been scared before. He'd had an easy life.
But alone in that bathroom he felt it fully. He knew, on some level,
that his night had been bad. He'd done something bad. Every ounce of him
was swimming in fear--you don't have to think to feel it; it's an
animal instinct.
He made it to his car. Every now and
then he swerved a little on the way home. He hoped to God he wasn't
still drunk and that he didn't get pulled over. It was hard to tell.
When he got home, his parents were gone. He couldn't think of any reason
they wouldn't be there. Even though he was scared to see them, he kind
of wanted the comfort of their stability. He wanted to be in trouble,
because then he might know why.
He walked the halls
Monday with less confidence. She watched him. In time, when no one
confronted him or filled him in about that night, he tried to forget it.
There was still a dark truth whispering in his ear, dreams haunting
him, but no matter how hard he tried, he remembered nothing. He was
kinder to everyone in guilt. In general, he was better-liked than he
ever had been before. He helped people when they needed it, he was more
thoughtful of his parents, and he tried harder in school. He was prom
king. But she who had thought his laugh was music, saw him differently.
There
was feigned happiness in his casual speech. There was brute in his
walk. Everything he said was still heard by everyone--but she hated each
word. His laugh was cold and his smile was evil. He was trying too
hard. He was horrible. When she passed him in the hall, she felt her
stomach drop and her neck go cold.
Years and years
later, their class grew very old. Their faces had collapsed inward and
downward. Their glasses grew thicker and their clothes became more
modest. She'd gone to college and was a nurse until she retired a year
before her husband--she hated that year without him; she loved him very
much. Prom King started working at a factory and worked very hard. His
wife was still teaching at a preschool. He had never stopped trying to
make up for Friday Night Sins. He was a good man.
She
had known she was going to die. She was feeling old very old and tired.
She'd worked very hard, and her body was beginning to fail her--she
didn't see it that way, though. It was just slowing down, slowly
shutting down little parts at a time so when she went, it would feel
right. Her adult children worried and fussed over her. They loved their
mother very much. But when they expressed their concern she smiled and
said, "Quiet, my loves. When the Lord says its time for me, then I'll
go. No questions about it. I'm going to be ready. I've made my peace
with those I love and with those I hate." Then she would reach for their
faces to kiss their crumpled and upset foreheads.
She
had her funeral planned about a year in advance. She had the letters she
wanted read sealed in envelopes. She wanted her voice to be alive in
the ceremony, so people knew she was still with them. She really
believed she would be. He decided to go to the funeral. It was a small
town, they were in the same class. He was a good man. Good men pay their
respects.
Each of her children had letters to read,
her husband had a letter to read, and her best friend Millie. The
letters were very moving. No one knew how well she could write! They
were beautiful. Each was read in turn with quick stops for a shuddering
sighs. Finally Millie hobbled up to the podium in the hot, cramped,
little room. She opened the envelope, and looked at the paper. Her face
went white and her mouth opened a little. She cursed her friend and
folded the pages back up.
"Millie! Mom wanted it read!" Jenny, the
youngest said. Millie huffed, but she opened the letter again. It
didn't really look like a letter. It was several pages ripped from a journal. Millie began:
A letter about last Friday night (not the Katy Perry song).
Here
the older members of the audience laughed a little, and the younger
audience listened politely, unsure if it was appropriate to pretend they
understood the reference.
Millie,
I'm
writing this down tonight so I don't forget it. And someday when I
don't have to think about it anymore, I want you to read this. I imagine
that will take a long, long time, because it's all I can think about
right now. I can't sleep, I can't eat. I just keep thinking about that
Friday night... three days ago, now. I was drunk and you were taking
care of me. You are always such a good friend. That was my first time
drinking ever. It was my birthday, so we decided to celebrate.
Then
he showed up. I was obsessed with him. You know who I'm talking about. I
talked about him all the time. I talked about how beautiful he was. My
obsession was bordering unhealthy. But I was sure I loved him. He was a
little crazy that night. I don't know if that's how he usually acted.
Everyone was talking about it. He seemed a little more than drunk. Some
people thought he'd gotten a drink intended for someone else--a girl I'm
assuming. Others just thought he was having a good night. I didn't know
for sure, but I still wanted to be close to him. I'd never been to a
party like that before. The music was so loud, and boys kept trying to
dance on me--but I just wanted to find him.
The
vodka was making me bold, you know. But you were my DD. We are so damn
responsible. We're good girls. I don't really think we belonged there.
I'd begged you to come with me, and because it was my birthday you gave
in. I stumbled over to him. You tried to stop me. (He really was acting
weird.) But I would have none of it. This was my chance. I knew it was
probably the only one I'd ever get.
There's a part in there that's a
little fuzzy. But next I was in the bathroom with him. We were kissing.
I'd really gone thinking that if I had the chance I'd have sex with him.
I was on birth control because of irregular periods, and I loved him. I
thought I was ready. I'd thought it through really carefully. I didn't
tell you that, Millie, and I apologize for that. You should have known
what you were dealing with.
But when we got in there and he started
to take off my shirt, I wasn't so sure. I was getting a little scared.
I'd never done it. What if I was awful? I wasn't thinking clearly enough
to really care about how gross the bathroom floor was, but I knew I was
a little scared. But I let it go a little longer. And then he started
to take off his pants and I saw dude junk for the first time. I hated
it. I didn't want to do it anymore. I pushed him off me and told him I
was sorry. He pushed me back down and started to take off my pants. I
scratched the hell out of his face, out of his arms, anything I could
reach...
But there was that. You don't need any more details, love.
That was already probably too much. I don't want to hurt you for this
letter. But the point is, I don't blame you. I know you'll blame
yourself, reading this. That night we told our parents we were staying
at the others' house. Our parents don't like each other that much
anyway. It's a lie we'd gotten away with for a long time. It was getting
really, really late, so we finally decided to just stay there. I was a
mess. When he left, he said, "Good thing I won't remember that
tomorrow. What's your name, again?" I said "Sarah." I saw my bruises in
the kitchen mirror, and when I put my clothes back on, they
disappeared. I just looked like a drunker version of the girl who'd
walked in. I didn't cry. I refused.
If he was going to forget it, so
was I, I decided. I took shots like a pro. I was so sore, but I acted
like I was alright. When the music started to die down, I'd almost
forgotten about earlier. Only my soreness reminded me. You and I
collapsed next to some other kids in the front room. We fell asleep
spooning. Even if you didn't know it, you were there for me. I needed
someone to hold me with love, and you did that for me.
The next
morning he tried to sneak out. He stepped on my hand, as if the night
before hadn't been enough. I looked at him, probably pretty meanly, and
his face showed me that in fact he had forgotten the night before. And
that thought made clear to me that I had not forgotten, no matter how
hard I tried, and I would never forget. But you, darling, are not to
blame. So stop it... NOW. Haha, I know you too well. You won't stop. But
life's too short. You did what you could, and I love you for it.
Your Best Friend,
Sarah
Millie
stopped for a moment and looked around. She had sobbed her way through
the letter. She looked at the horrified audience. Not a single funeral
fan waved, not a single word was spoken. She looked directly at the prom
king. He was crying. His face was in his hands. He remembered
everything. That was his punishment. The memory. He wanted so badly, but
he knew now that he had no choice but to stay. He owed it to Sarah. He
was so happy in that moment he hadn't brought anyone with him. He didn't
want to explain Millie's livid glance. No one knew except for he and
Millie. Millie smiled at Sarah's children. Then she continued, "There's
another letter here. It's Sarah's adult hand-writing and on different
paper. There's a date and if my math is correct, she probably wrote it
when she was 30. She began to read again:
Millie, I write you again,
There's
more to the story that began on an unfortunate Friday Night. After that
everyone loved him. He got really nice all of a sudden. But I hated
him. I had nightmares for years. I couldn't escape it. But now I'm on
some good drugs and in some good therapy. I'm figuring it out. I really
am. I mean. It isn't perfect, but life goes on. You can't move forward
if you keep looking back. When he got called up at prom, I left a very
confused Aaron Reedy to cry in the bathroom. After that I had no choice
but to leave because I'd messed up my carefully painted face so badly.
That was the first time I cried about it. But it was certainly not the
last.
But now... I've changed so much. And I don't know what was
wrong with him that night. I don't know if he would have ever done it
under any different circumstances. There's a chance he would have and
had done it again, in which case I'm so very sorry. I'm not sure if
saying anything would have made a difference though.
Regardless, he
changed after that. I don't think he remembered at all. But I know that
in his heart, a piece of him had broken. You cannot hurt another person
in the way he hurt me and not leave with a scar. It doesn't matter if
you forget the event, you walk away with a new and very profound ache in
your heart. He was hurt too.
I've come to realize that my pain
caused a new and beautiful chapter in a man's life. It isn't right. It
will never be right, but I do believe God has a plan. He didn't plan for
me to be raped, but he sure as hell planned for some goodness to come
out of it. Up from the ashes, yeah? You and I are fans of Chitty Chitty
Bang Bang, Millie.
After a lot of time and a LOT of therapy, I've
forgiven him. And I don't want him to know that until I'm gone. I don't
want anyone to know any of this until I don't have to walk into church
or the grocery with people looking at me, pity in their eyes. I'm
stronger than people think I am. But I do want this message to get out
there, and I want you to deliver it, Millie. Because I love you, because
I trust you, and because you have never, ever let me down. Tell him.
Tell him I forgive him. Tell him I don't hate him anymore. I want to
leave this world that that peace made. This is my final goodbye. I love
you all, loves. You are so very precious to me, and I hope that you can
move past that night, because I've left it behind me. You should too.
Faithfully yours,
Sarah
There
were about 9 boys in the prom court that year because the prince was
tied about five ways. Everyone was wracking their aged brains for
hints--who was it? Millie knew it. "Stop it. All of you. It doesn't
matter who it was. If she wanted you to know she would have given you a
name. Just take her message and leave. Don't you dare start drama at
this woman's funeral. Hush your gossiping and respect the woman's
wishes."
At the burial, Millie made her way quietly to
the prom king's side. She didn't say anything for a long while. When
mourners started to leave, only those two remained, looking at the fresh
earth. Finally, Millie looked up at him. "You are in enough pain. I
forgive you. In time you will forgive yourself. It won't be today. But
when you do, call me and we'll get some Starbucks. Okay?" Then he
sobbed. He cried in a way Millie had never seen a grown man cry in all
her life. He fell to his knees and put his palms on the turned earth. He
didn't say anything. He just cried. He squeaked and mourned Sarah in a
way he never knew he could. He wanted her back more than anything so
that he could tell her he was sorry. He just wanted to say he was sorry.
And she had burdened him with this memory when he could do nothing
about it.
Millie considered staying with him, but she felt
uncomfortable standing over him while he cried, and she was too old to
get on her knees that way. So she left. He stayed there until the
morning. It got chilly at night, and his sweat from the day made him
shiver. His wife called him over and over again, but he didn't answer
her calls. He just laid there.
Millie came the next day to visit
the grave--she wasn't over it yet. She found him there, sleeping. He had
become very sick. She called her sons to help load him into her car and
they took him to the hospital.
He was there for about a month, and when he was released to go home, he texted Millie. "Do you want to go to Starbucks?"
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