Stolen

by Jalena Dunphy

  Covering my hands over my breasts, grabbing the first shirt I can find, not putting it on, but holding it close to my chest, attempting to cover all pertinent parts, I’m looking directly into Bruce’s eyes.

  Oh my God! I can’t look away. We both seem unable to. This is the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. I see his face redden, turning his back to me so quickly I feel a breeze prickle across my bare skin. “Don’t turn around,” I command.

  “I won’t. Oh my God, Jess. I’m so sorry. I came in to see if my phone had fallen out of my pocket and I just thought that when you said to come in that you’d be dressed. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he begs.

  I have a t-shirt on now, with a bra and underwear—not sure why I care about being fully clothed after all this. He’s seen most of me. I just do. “You can turn around. I’m dressed.”

  He hesitates, looking over his shoulder cautiously making sure the coast is clear before facing me. The fact that his face is still crimson red makes this situation only slightly less mortifying, and by slightly I mean measurable only by those involved. To anyone else, nothing has changed. This is a thousand times worse than the bathtub fiasco.

  Why are the Cosmos playing such evil pranks on me today? Cruel. They’re just cruel, that’s why.

  “So. Well. Okay. I’m just going to head back downstairs. If you find my phone, will you bring it down when you come?”

  He doesn’t let me answer him before he shoots out the door, the door slamming in his wake. I thought I was embarrassed. I don’t think it can compare to his embarrassment.

  I hear his heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs. I decide to give him a minute before I follow. Needing a minute of my own, I lay my head against the door, both arms resting on the door jamb on either side of my face, and I take a breath, attempting to forget this horrible incident, along with the horrible bathtub incident as well. Can I just be swallowed up into some big hole or eaten by a whale or some equally efficient method to get myself out of this disaster?

  “Jess, hurry up, will you? We’d like to eat sometime this week, ya know,” mom’s voice echoes up the stairs.

  Guess not.

  Chapter Nine

  Present day . . .

  The dinner isn’t as awkward as I expected. Except for a few knowing glances between Bruce and me, everything seems fine. He seems to be able to put it behind him, so I do my best to do the same, even though it was my lady parts hanging out for the entire world to see. I try not to focus on that part. I’m sure it was no picnic for him seeing me naked any more than it was for me to be seen naked by him.

  Have I mentioned how cruel the Cosmos are? Seriously, I manage to stay covered during the tickle fest only to be seen uncovered moments later? Damn Cosmos!

  When Bruce is getting ready to leave for the night, I debate what I should do; get up and give him a hug like I’ve always done, wave goodbye from the sofa, seemingly more interested in the TV than his leaving, or say goodbye from the sofa but at least look at him when I do?

  I stare at the TV for a while, waiting to see what he’ll do. He says his goodbyes to Cass, his thanks for dinner to mom, then a moment of silence, a moment that is making my skin flush with anxiety. What will he say to me?

  “Hey, Jess, see me to the door?” he questions.

  I choke on my heart as it lodges itself in my throat. Coughing a few times, trying to get my bearings, I stand, straightening my hair and smoothing my shirt, walking toward him in as casual a tone as possible. If mom notices anything, she doesn’t say. She’s back to watching a show on TV. Of course, what would there be to notice anyway? It’s not as if this is an awkward situation because this man has seen me naked or anything.

  Once I reach him, the door is already open, his hands in his pants pockets, feet balanced on the threshold. “Jess, before I leave I just want to apologize for earlier. I feel so bad, and I don’t know what to do about it. Are you mad at me?” His eyes are laced with concern.

  I feel horrible for him. I want to make this better so I attempt a joke, hoping our way of coping will work in a situation like this. Putting my hand on his forearm, I stroke the fine hairs on his arm as something to do to calm myself down, before taking a breath to speak.

  “Bruce, it was an accident. No harm, no foul, so let’s just forget about it, okay? I feel bad that that horrible image will probably be permanently singed onto your brain, but that’s the price you had to pay for walking in, or maybe that was the Cosmos’ punishment to you for tickling me.”

  I had avoided looking him in the eye until this point, but when I summon the courage there is an expression I don’t recognize. My hand drops to my side as I take a step back, staring at him as if that will give me the answer. When he finally speaks, to say I’m surprised by his response would be an understatement.

  Holding my chin in his palm so I won’t look away, he says, “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about yourself like that, do you hear me? I’m sorry I saw you in such an inappropriate way, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but seeing you has no ranking on the list of horrible images that are seared into my brain. Be uncomfortable with the situation. Be uncomfortable that it was me, but never be uncomfortable with your body. You’re beautiful. Back in the day, I would have loved to know someone as amazing as you are. Don’t demean yourself, okay?”

  His words take me by surprise. It’s so strange to hear him talk like that about me, and even stranger that it doesn’t feel all that strange to me.

  He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. With his hand still holding on to my chin, he nods my head for me before dropping his hand and walking out the door. I go to bed in a stoned state, not knowing what my feelings really are, too exhausted to care to figure them out.

  I was hoping I’d wake up this morning feeling rested, having answers to what the hell happened last night with Bruce, and feeling excited about the party tonight.

  No such luck.

  Last night will most likely go down as the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that happened, between Kyle and me, Rachel, Alex, the breakdown in the shower, then the comment that Bruce made about me being beautiful and that he wished he had known someone like me when he was younger. That was mostly the one that kept me up. What did he mean by that?

  Dragging myself out of bed and down the hallway into the bathroom, I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. Oh, the horror!

  I never brushed my hair last night after the shower; I just put it up into a ponytail, and now I’m reaping the rewards of that decision. Two times in almost as many days, a rat has found refuge in my hair. One of these days a furry little face is going to pop out from atop my head, that is, if it ever wants to leave its comfy confines.

  My face is red and splotchy from a lack of sleep and tossing and turning all night, which goes wonderfully with the black saucers around my eyes. I can’t accurately describe to you the image in front of me and be happy for that. To top it all off I’m wearing Hello Kitty shorts and a ratty old Mickey Mouse t-shirt. I would love to say I look cute and eclectic, but really, I look like I stole the shorts from a child and was given a t-shirt a thrift shop would never even sell. This is what Bruce finds beautiful? He’s a sick man.

  I strip out of my clothes, my shoulders sore from wearing a bra all night. I can’t believe I forgot to take it off; it’s not as if I wasn’t awake throughout the night to do it.

  With one foot in and one foot out of the tub, something hits me.

  That would be me! I smell some sort of weird. I knew I had been sweating a lot last night, happens if I can’t sleep because of stress, but oh my God.

  I almost trip on the side of the tub, getting wrapped up in the shower curtain as I close it, in my attempt to move this show along. I need to wash this funk off me before I risk anyone coming within five feet of me, or fifty. Fifty would be just as bad, I’m sure!

  Once I’m showered, hair and teeth brushed, body spray sp
rayed, and deodorant applied heavily, I head into the kitchen to make some coffee and maybe breakfast, too soon to tell how my body will handle food after the somersaults it was doing throughout the night.

  The coffee is made, mom is sitting at a bar stool at the island with one cup of coffee in front of her and a fresh cup in front of an empty stool. I look quizzically between her and the empty stool, trying to figure out why she’s here, why my coffee is made, and what’s wrong. I glance at the clock on the stove—9:15 in the morning. Why isn’t she at work?

  I slide onto my seat, eyeing her with caution, or maybe apprehension. It was in this room three years ago that Rogan and I had found her and Cass crying over something unknown to us at the time, where I passed out as Bruce caught me, and where I found Kyle yesterday morning after a ridiculously horrible evening we had had the night before. I think we can say this hasn’t always been a happy place, and seeing her here now, at home, on a Friday when she should be at work is making me thankful I put on that extra deodorant, otherwise I would be sweating through my pale pink t-shirt right now.

  What’s wrong? What’s happening?

  “Mom,” I begin. “What’s going on? Why are you home on a Friday?” Patiently waiting for her response, I slowly sip my coffee, mostly for something to do.

  Looking into my eyes, she says, “I thought maybe we could play hooky and have a girl’s day. I know you have a class today, but, I-I thought maybe you would want to come out with me? Let me buy you something to wear for tonight?”

  I had planned to skip class today. I’d have to see Rachel, and I don’t think I’m ready for that, or Kyle, for that matter. It’s bad enough I agreed to see him tonight. I couldn’t bear to live through seeing him in front of Rachel. I’ll save that for tonight. Yay me!

  Mom seems to need a break just as much as I do. She doesn’t look upset or angry or anything bad per se, just worn out. If this is what she needs I’ll do it for her. Not that she’s pulling my leg to cut class and go shopping, but still, I’m doing this for her. It just happens to be something I would want to do, too.

  “I’d love that, mom. I think we both need a day off from life. Let’s just not tell Cass. You know she’ll get mad we didn’t invite her.”

  “True,” she agrees. “This will be between us. Mum’s the word and all that,” she says through a small laugh.

  Since we’re both dressed and ready to go, we head out as soon as our cups are drained of their coffee, shoes are on, and purses locked and loaded with cash and charge cards—no telling how crazy a shopping day this is going to become.

  In the car, we blast “Cry Baby” by Janis Joplin, singing our hearts out, belting out the lyrics in a way that would make all wildlife, small children, or anyone with hearing run in fear, but we sing anyway, not caring who might hear. This is our thing, something we haven’t done in so long.

  The mall isn’t busy since it’s only ten o’clock in the morning on a Friday, leaving us free to roam the stores without the normal annoyances such as kids running rampant, parents screaming, and teenage girls talking in those ridiculously high-pitched voices.

  Is anyone actually born with voices like that? I swear, girls get together when they’re twelve, decide that’s the voice boys will like, and practice until their natural voice has completely vanished. Thank God, I was never like that, nor did Cass turn out like that. I don’t know who tells them that anyone likes being spoken to with a baby’s voice, but whoever it is has played a cruel joke on them and those of us who have to listen to it.

  After hitting all of the best stores, we each crash into a seat in the food court, spent, starving, and completely sated.

  “This has been awesome, mom. I can’t believe how much we bought. And thank you so much for the dress and shoes. I absolutely love them,” I exclaim.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. You’re going to look so great tonight. Kyle may need CPR after he sees you,” she says, while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Mom! You can’t say that!”

  “Oh, please,” she says dismissively. “If I didn’t say things like that, you’d worry about me and you know it. Now give me some of those nachos before you devour them all without me.”

  Once our bellies are full, our arms weighed down with shopping bags, and our feet exhausted from so much walking, we head to the car.

  Somehow, we make it back before Cass gets home, just barely managing to stash away any proof of our mall extravaganza before she walks through the front door.

  The evening passes quickly. Dinner, Cass telling us more about the gorgeous new kid she had told me about on her first day of school, washing dishes, and packing leftovers. It’s just after seven o’clock in the evening. I know it’s too early to get ready for the party, but I’m going crazy just sitting around, waiting, so I run upstairs and start the prepping process at least an hour earlier than necessary.

  Standing in front of the floor length mirror in my room, I take in the view. I’m in a sleeveless, nude colored dress with black, asymmetrical stripes, making it seem almost like the small stripes of black are all the dress is made of, admittedly a little more daring than I would normally go, but mom insisted this was the one.

  I have matte black high heels on, making me even more ridiculously tall—per mom’s suggestion, of course. My hair is swept onto one shoulder, pinned in the back, and sprayed with enough hairspray to deplete the ozone further, and a pair of long black, twist-shaped earrings. Over all, I have to admit I don’t look too shabby.

  “Oh, honey, you look amazing,” mom says with a beaming smile.

  “Thanks, mom, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say while gingerly hugging her. I don’t want to ruin my hair or makeup after all.

  “It’s easy to do when you have such a gorgeous girl to work on.”

  “Mom, stop being so gushy.”

  “Fine. Fine. Don’t let me have my moment. It’s not like it’s a common occurrence for me to help you get all dressed up. I mean, I didn’t get to help you with your prom . . .

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” she says quickly, trying to take back her slip on commenting on my prom, or lack thereof, since I never did get to go to mine.

  Rogan and I were broken up by the time prom came around, and I wasn’t about to go with anyone but him. In fact, he died soon after prom, so even mentioning the word twists my insides.

  Pulling strength from somewhere deep inside, not wanting to cry, not wanting to taint this night with dark thoughts, I reassure her that I’m fine, that it’s okay that she mentioned prom, but just to drop the subject. For a moment I can see the pain etched on her face and in her eyes, and for a moment I almost lose my resolve, wanting to curl up and cry, but I won’t. I want to let myself enjoy tonight, to forget about who I was. I just want to forget for one night—no missing proms, no stalker, and especially not the death of the love of my life.

  “Okay, honey,” she says softly. “Okay.

  “Well, you look stunning and I’m happy I was able to help you. I’m glad we started when we did; it’s almost 9:30. You better get downstairs.”

  I know she’s right, but now that it’s so close, I’m a ball of nerves. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Mom, can you just give me a minute? I’ll be right down,” I say, forcing a smile, hoping to hide the fear I feel swelling up in my throat.

  Her eyes look cautious and worried, but she relents, closing the door behind her as she tells me to relax and not to overthink tonight.

  Once she’s gone, I step closer to the mirror, placing a hand on either side of the frame. I’m looking at myself, my eyes more precisely, trying to find the old me in there; I must be in there somewhere.

  Please! Please, just be normal tonight! Please don’t panic, pass out, or have any other of my now “normal” things happen tonight. I just want to be like I was three years ago, fun, happy, someone people liked being around. I want to be able to talk to people, to have people want to talk to me, and even t
hough I know I deserve it, I don’t want Rachel to punch me in the face. If we could just postpone that, that would be great.

  A voice, a faint whisper really, from somewhere in my brain I think, reassures me that I’m fine and that I’ll be fine tonight. My subconscious? The beginning of some mental disease that involves multiple personalities? Am I finally losing it?

  “Stop overthinking. Just be you.”

  “Rogan?” Tears threaten to spill as I speak his name aloud, as if he’s here in this room with me, but he can’t be. He can’t be! “You’re dead! You’re dead! I miss you so much! Why are you doing this to me? Are you really here? I miss you! Are you really here?

  “You’re dead!” I just keep shouting. I don’t know if it’s to remind me that I am losing it, that I’m making it up in my head that he’s really here, or if it’s just a mantra I’m using to keep me from losing it, but I hear him. I know I hear him!

  “Jess, you have to let go. You have to. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, you know that.”

  “I don’t know that!” I scream to an empty room. “I know that we were supposed to always be together. We were supposed to die together. I don’t want to, no, I can’t do this anymore without you. Please! Are you here? Can you come back to me? It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice, I can’t hear it anymore, even when I sleep. It’s just silence. I need you! Oh, please, I need you!”

  The room looks like a watercolor painting, blurring before my eyes, as tears pour down my face. Slinking down the face of the mirror and onto the floor, I scream, I cry, I beg, for Rogan to take me, to come back for me. “Please, baby, please! I love you. Don’t you know that? I love you and I miss you. I don’t want to be without you anymore.

  “Please,” I whisper one last time as I lose myself in the silence that surrounds me now. He’s gone. Don’t believe me. I wouldn’t expect you to, but Rogan was here, he was. He was. I know he was!