Every Rose

by Halat, Lynetta

  I hear a lot of grumbling and movement. I see the curtain move back and hear someone announce my presence. I push my hair back behind my ears, swallow the lump in my throat, and say a silent prayer. I repeat a calming mantra over and over as someone shouts, “Be right there.”

  Finally, the door swings open with a welcoming flourish as if I’m some kind of idiot who believes that everything going on in there is perfectly acceptable and normal. “Is my dad here?” I ask the woman with the crazy wide eyes whose name I can’t remember.

  “Yeah, he’s coming. You wanna come in?”

  “I’ll just wait here if that’s OK.”

  “Yeah, yeah. OK. He’ll be right out.”

  I turn and stand on the edge of the porch, trying to focus on the beautiful man starring back at me. I give him a slight smile. He smiles back at me brilliantly. I wish I could be that optimistic. I’m lost in this thought until I hear a shuffling behind me. I start to turn around when I hear his gravel filled voice.

  “Lorri,” he snorts, “what are you doing here? You finally figure a way to have me arrested, or you wanna just hang me from that fucking tree over there?”

  Oh, shit! Oh, shit! is all I can repeat in my head. My eyes fall on his face and I notice that he has a long, thick beard and scraggly salt and pepper hair that juts out in tangled clumps all over his head. He’s so gaunt that his nose protrudes at an awkward angle from his face. My gaze travels down his shirtless form until it reaches his red clay covered pants. He’s barefoot. My mouth drops open to try to respond; but when I make eye contact with him, I see the absolute absence of humanity in his stare and that scares the shit out of me. He barely had any before. Now, there was none.

  I take a deep breath, shake my head, and turn to make my way back to the Jeep. My mind is reeling. There’s no way I can talk to him. He’s loaded or high or something. There is no dad here. Michael is looking at me with a look of utter astonishment. I turn my finger round and round. Start the car. Start the car. I will him. Thank God, he gets it. I hear the Jeep crank up.

  I hear my dad behind me. I think he’s still on the porch, though. Thank God! “It works both ways, Lorri!” he screams at me.

  I don’t think so! I spin around and point my finger at him. “You’re damn right it does!” I counter. What has gotten into me? I’ve never raised my voice at either of my parents, especially not my psychotic one!

  I jump in the Jeep. As I’m pulling my seat belt on, I glance up and see him running at me with his fist raised. Michael is turned around and starting to back out slowly and I chant lowly, “Go, go, go.” as I watch my dad chase me out of his driveway. Michael floors it and backs all the way out to the road and spins his tires as he slams it into first so that we can get the hell away from him.

  He stops a little ways down the road to pull me in for a hug. My violent sobs rack both of our frames. “Ssh, ssh, ssh,” he tells me. “It’s gonna be OK.” He rubs my back and my arms and my hair over and over until I calm down.

  I choke back a sob and look at him. “I’m so sorry that you had to see that.”

  “What?! You have nothing to be sorry about.” He frames my tear soaked face with his hands and looks me in the eye. “Nothing,” he repeats more forcefully.

  I sniffle a little more and take a few deep breaths. “Let’s go home,” I tell him.

  “OK.” Never letting go of my hand, he pulls back out onto the road and looks over at me. “You know, I forgot he calls you Lorri.”

  “Yeah, I still hate to be called by that name. It reminds me of him too much.”

  “Damn, I forgot what a crazy bastard he is too.”

  I laugh a little. “Have you ever seen him like that before?”

  “Yep, once.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “He was high. He was riding one of the horses at the river, claiming to be an Indian. His face and chest were all painted up and he had feathers in his hair. It was pretty crazy.”

  “Yep,” I released a long sigh,” it’s pretty crazy.”

  He casts a sidelong glance at me. “You know it’s pretty remarkable.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve turned out pretty normal.”

  He has me laughing again. “I’m normal? I don’t feel anything like normal.”

  “Relatively speaking,” he adds and elicits a new round of laughter from the both of us.

  ……………………………………………………….

  He pampers me when we get back to the studio. I stand at his window, overlooking the Gulf. My soul feels as vast and as deep and as undiscovered. He makes me a glass of lemonade and massages my neck. I grab his hand and lead him outside. Somehow, I think what I have to do now will be easier accomplished if we’re outside. A light drizzle has begun to fall. Normally, I would find this soothing. Garbage’s lyrics buzz through my head. Am I sabotaging us on purpose? Why do I feel this need to come clean? I teeter for a moment and toy with the fact that I don’t have to tell him; he doesn’t ever have to know, but I know that’s not right.

  I sit him down on the chaise and lean back against the balcony rail. I forge on, knowing that I have to be completely honest. This is already killing me. I can’t imagine living our entire lives keeping up this pretense. “Michael, I have to tell you something and it’s not good,” I preface. “There’s a reason my dad acted that way other than the fact that he’s probably high and most definitely insane. It’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you about but I’ve been afraid. Very afraid. Afraid of what you’ll think of me, afraid I’ll lose you. But I have to tell you.” I make an effort to still my hands.

  “OK.”

  “And I need you to not interrupt me, OK?”

  “I won’t.” He looks worried, and I have a moment of doubt that I have to push away very quickly.

  “I’m going to start at the beginning, if that’s OK?” At his nod, I tell him that it all started a few months before I graduated high school. I tell him that he’d been right about him all along. He was awful. He treated me horribly and didn’t respect me. When he stole some of my graduation money to buy pot, I’d finally decided that I’d had enough.

  I got accepted to Ole Miss and got a full academic scholarship. I’d decided that there was no place for him in my life; but for some bizarre reason, I continued to date him until a couple of weeks before graduation. It was then that I broke up with him. I tell him how angry he was and that he basically started stalking me, showing up everywhere I went and coming to my home. It was scary. My mom was so furious, I tell him.

  “So, it was the week of graduation. I’d felt bad all week, but I chalked it up to nerves and trepidation. He couldn’t seem to leave me alone. Graduation night I decided to drown my fears and problems with alcohol, and I got drunk for the first time in my life. I think it took all of three Purple Passion Everclears,” I recall. Michael smiles at me. I wish he wouldn’t.

  “Anyway, my friends and I got drunk and I even smoked a little weed. I ended up passing out in our hotel room pretty early. The next day, I felt even worse. Instead of taking it easy, I decided to go clubbing with some older friends of a friend. I didn’t want a repeat of the night before, so I avoided alcohol and weed.” I take a deep breath and steel myself. I look over at him to assess his gaze. He smiles at me tenderly and my eyes fill again with tears. “In my infinite wisdom, I allowed myself to be talked into doing XTC.” His expression changes to one of shock. “Yes, I know. Little ole me, trippin’. I had a blast that night. I didn’t pass out. I felt great. It was scary how good I felt. I woke up the next day and felt absolutely horrible, though. I never remember feeling that awful my whole life. I made excuses to my mom and Joe and stayed in bed for a few days. I started remembering, however, that I had felt bad for a while. I also remembered that I hadn’t had my monthly cycle.” I wish I could’ve gotten away with leaving out that last part. It was mortifying but no more mortifying than what I was about to confess.

  “I w
ent to the doctor and she asked me if it was possible that I was pregnant. I told her I didn’t think so because we had used protection, but she thought it would be better if we went ahead and did a test. Low and behold, it was positive and she presented me with my options.” I can’t look at him now, not yet.

  “I was reeling, so I went to his house under the guise of wanting to get back together. I gave him some hypotheticals. I asked what he would do if I were pregnant. He laughed in my face and told me that would be wonderful news because then ‘my proud, stubborn ass would stay right here and marry him.’ I told him that all my scenarios were tests and that I was glad that we’d broken up. I never spoke to him again until the other day.”

  “I went home and started thinking about my ‘options.’ Could I raise a child? What would my mamma say or do? Could I still go to college? Could I give it up for adoption? I’d never agreed with abortion, though; so I really wasn’t considering it. But then I started thinking about the irresponsible way I’d spent that last week. I got really scared about what I’d done to the baby. Then, I started thinking about what a horrible parent he would be and who in the hell was I to have a baby! I was so fucked up myself.”

  “I went back to the doctor and asked her to explain abortion to me. She told me that the fetus was not really developed yet as I was only a few weeks along. I took some pamphlets to continue reading about what to do. I decided that I had to tell my mom because no matter what I wanted to do I was still seventeen. She was so pissed. She yelled at me. I don’t think I’d ever heard her raise her voice before.” I finally steal a glance of Michael. His eyes are closed and his breathing seems shallow.

  “She wanted me to give it up for adoption and go on to school late. I told her that I would definitely lose my scholarship if I went late. She said I could deal with those consequences and take out loans. Then, I told her about my behavior the week of graduation. I told her I was afraid that I’d harmed the baby and that I thought it would be best to have an abortion. After a lot of screaming and crying, she agreed. At some point, she called my dad and told him everything, which is why he hates me. The last thing he said to me, before tonight’s episode on his porch, was that he couldn’t believe I’d turned out be such a whore.” I wince with that particular memory. I knew I wasn’t a whore. I was just looking for love in the wrong kind of way with the wrong kind of person. Not exactly unheard of.

  Michael still hasn’t moved a muscle. If his eyes were open, maybe I could get a read on whether or not he understands or might be able to forgive me. I take a deep breath and continue, “When they numbed me, Michael, I was awake and fully aware; and I swear to you, as I felt my body go numb, I allowed the rest of me to go numb. When I left, I felt nothing—no sadness, no sorrow, NOTHING. I was…numb, and I stayed that way until I saw your cards at Mona’s.” I release a shaky breath.

  “I never told anyone in all that time, but I did make a vow that I would NEVER put myself in that position again. I wouldn’t date casually. I certainly wouldn’t have sex. I hoped that one day I would meet someone; but after a couple of years, I’d decided that no matter who I met I’d never get over what I’d done and would never deserve the kind of happiness that love would bring me.”

  “Michael, your faith is so strong. I’m afraid that with that kind of faith you’ll never be able to forgive me.” He never opens his eyes even after I stop talking for a moment. I wait patiently, thinking he needs a moment to digest everything I’ve just said. His look is pure aguish. “Michael?” I call gently. No answer. I wait another few minutes, but he never moves an inch.

  I walk back inside the apartment and stand there for a few minutes, not knowing what to do. Finally, I slowly gather my purse. I turn back and hear nothing from the balcony. I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. I can’t cry anymore tonight. I’ve cried enough over the last couple of weeks to make up for all my years of numbness. I walk outside and jog to my car. It is suddenly very chilly and starting to rain in earnest. I sit in my car for a few minutes, wondering why on earth I felt the need to be honest about this. I’ve obviously ruined any chance I had with him. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I roll my window and pull the damp air into my lungs until I can’t ignore the rain pelting me in the face anymore. I start getting choked up again. With a final glance at Michael’s still closed door, I start my car and put it into gear so that I can head home.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A Thorny Redemption

  By the time I get on the road, it’s really coming down; and between the rain and the tears, it’s hard to see. At least it’s so scary a drive that I’m unable to consider anything else. Finally, I make it home. As soon as I lay my head on my steering wheel, I am bombarded with emotions. Relief to have made it home and relief to have finally confessed to him. Fear because now I know for sure he will never forgive me. Gratefulness for having had these last couple of weeks at all. Anger for not being able to hold on to it for it longer.

  I can’t even allow myself a glimmer of hope, can I? Michael is so good, so pure. I’m ruined for someone like him. I know he’s not perfect, but his faults haven’t killed anyone. Mine did.

  The rain has slackened up a bit, and I decide that now would probably be a good time to get inside the house. I pray that my parents are already in bed.

  I jog up to the steps, kick my shoes off, and then tiptoe up and across the porch to peer in the living room. It’s very dark. At least someone is still listening to me. I ease the door open and quietly head down the hallway to the bathroom. I’m soaked through and need to get a towel before I try to go to bed. At the thought of doing something so mundane while my heart is in tatters, my stomach protests violently. I shove my fist in my mouth to keep from crying out.

  I’m so consumed with this thought that I don’t see the wall jump out into my path to greet me. I hit it—hard. Shit!

  “Grace, that you?” Joe calls out. Ha ha! Very funny, I think.

  “Yes, it’s just me. I’m sorry,” my voice cracks on the last word.

  “You, OK?” my mom probes.

  NO! “Yes, I’m fine. I just stubbed my toe. It hurts.” I’m feeling the second worst pain I’ve ever felt! Of course, that has nothing to do with my coordination deficiency.

  “Come on in,” my mom beckons.

  Great! I crack their door open and force a small smile to my face. Just the right size for my supposed toe injury, I figure. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I wanted to let you know that Ginny called earlier. She wants to get together again before you leave.”

  I eye my mom for a second to see if I’m busted. Did Ginny mention that we’d only gotten together a couple of times? Her face doesn’t show any signs of suspicion. Good thing I didn’t use Ginny for an excuse tonight. “OK. Thanks. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Good. You, OK?” She finally seems to notice my appearance. “You’re soaked.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Got caught in a bad downpour. I just need to get cleaned up.”

  “OK. Good night.”

  “Night,” I mumble.

  My mom elbows Joe, “Good night, Lorraina,” he replies automatically.

  I pull their door to and cross the hall to the bathroom. That was uncomfortable, but at least I’m not busted. I don’t even know if I could muster the strength to lie my way out of any accusations at present. As I towel dry my hair, my mind begins to whirl and show me possible solutions to my Michael dilemma.

  It’s obvious from his stoicism that he’s not anywhere near ready to forgive me. Perhaps I could write him a long letter explaining in more detail my thought process behind my decision. Maybe, if I wait until tomorrow, I could go over; and he might be willing to talk to me. I could read him my journal entries that I wrote about all that had occurred. I could read some about how much I love him, and he would see that I can’t give up on him, on us. If all else fails, I could integrate myself into his life and become friends with him again until he realizes that he can’t live without me in any ot
her capacity than girlfriend. I grimace with the thought of the “friend” label. That would entail him trying to date other girls while I calmly stand by and act cool with everything. NOT gonna happen! I scream in my head.

  OK, so maybe I get in my car and head back to Oxford, bury myself in my studies, and forget these past two weeks even happened. I feel a sharp pain that works its way from my heart, into my throat, and comes out in a sharp gasp of air. I squeeze my eyes together and fresh tears roll down my face. Now that I’ve let myself feel again, I don’t think I could ever go back to the way I was, especially where Michael is concerned.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror until I begin to feel dizzy and the face that stares back at me looks like a psychedelic poster. My image twists and curves into odd, deluded shapes. A hysterical laugh bubbles up from me within me and bursts out before I can stop it. I close my eyes for a moment, shake it off, and will myself to go to my room.

  I decide that I’ll take a page out of Scarlett’s Handbook for the Seriously Screwed Up Romantic: Tomorrow’s another day. I need to go lie down for a little while and try to clear my mind before deciding anything.

  I grab a fresh towel and start towards my room. I hear quiet snores coming from my parent’s room. That was fast, I think. I ease my door closed behind me and rest my head on the door while I grope for the light switch. After several misses, my bedside lamp finally clicks on. Finally…

  As soon as I turn around, I hear a light pelting on my window. Is it raining harder again? I pull back my covers and start to peel my shirt over my head. I hear the pelting again a little harder this time. No way!

  Grasping my shirt around my middle, I slowly cross the room to my window. I’m afraid to get my hopes up. I pull my curtain back and sure enough. In a little pool of light, there’s Michael, standing back a little ways with his hands on his hips. He looks…aggravated. I’ll take aggravated.