What They Don’t Know

by Nicole Maggi

  I’m still shaking, so I’m sorry if this entry is hard to read. Today was like one of those horror movies where the main characters can’t see what’s really going on until it’s too late. Where everything seems to happen in slow motion until suddenly there’s a man with an axe right outside your window and you have no way out.

  Today I finally saw the man with the axe.

  This morning at breakfast my mom asked me how much homework I had this weekend. Right then, my hackles should’ve gone up. I should’ve said that I had a ton of homework and no free time. But instead, I told the truth; I finished most of it in study hall yesterday.

  “Great!” Mom said. “Your dad has a rally in Woodview and really needs our support.”

  I shot Bethany a look across the kitchen table. She gave a small shake of her head that clearly said, don’t even try to get out of it. I guess she already tried and failed.

  “Wear a skirt,” Mom called to us as Bethany and I climbed the stairs after breakfast. “Something long so your legs are covered.”

  In other words, look like the good conservative girls we’re supposed to be.

  My wardrobe has no shortage of long skirts and dresses, because I’ve never been allowed to wear a short skirt or jeans to any of my dad’s rallies. After all his campaigns, they’ve piled up. The problem is that most of them are too tight on me now. I had to dig deep into the back of the closet to find one with an elastic waist, and then I covered it with my nice long tunic sweater, which has always been a bit baggy.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You’re wearing that?” She was dressed in one of her best dresses that made her look cool and elegant. “How old is that skirt?”

  “I want to be comfortable,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “You know how long we’re going to be on our feet. Besides, my coat will cover most of it.” This winter, Mom bought us all new coats because she knew we’d be on the trail with Dad. I really love my coat. She let us choose our own, and I picked a trench-style wool coat in a deep brown and red plaid. It wasn’t cheap, but Mom didn’t balk. Probably because she knew I’d be on display. She doesn’t skimp when she knows other people are watching.

  That’s how at 9:30 on a Saturday morning, I found myself in our SUV with the rest of my family, on the road to Woodview. Hannah got out of it because she’s “dealing with wedding stuff.” For a moment, I almost envied her.

  But the rest of us were there to rally for my dad. On the car ride to Woodview, Jeremy went on and on about how he’s been stumping for Dad all over campus. He goes to Mountainview Community College. Bethany and I had to hold back from rolling our eyes, because Mom kept turning in her seat to lavish praise on him. Sometimes it is truly disturbing how much she dotes on him.

  Even though it was about twenty-eight degrees, the rally was outside on a makeshift stage in the middle of the town square. Dad likes outdoor rallies because people who are walking by tend to stop and listen, so it basically has to be a blizzard of catastrophic proportions for him to hold a rally indoors. My family and I stood off to the side while the mayor of Woodview introduced Dad. I looked around the square. Woodview is different than Wolverton, a little more run-down, a little more rustic. There were a lot more people in cowboy boots and hats here, more pickup trucks than SUVs. Dad loves these kinds of towns, where the population is a little more working-class than at home. He thinks they’re easier to influence.

  When the mayor called Dad onto the stage, we all followed him up the rickety stairs. Dad took his place at the podium, and we fell into line behind him, Mom in the middle so she was just behind his shoulder. She positioned herself like that so when someone takes a picture, they can see Dad and his dutiful wife, with their children surrounding them.

  I looked out into the crowd, which was smaller than most rallies we’ve been to, probably because no one wanted to stand out in the cold. Everyone was shivering. In the front row, the press corps looked like their hands were frozen around their recording devices. I felt bad for them, because they had to be here.

  “The moral fiber of this country is shredding. It is up to us to weave it back together…”

  I’ve heard this speech so many times since Dad announced his candidacy for state senate last year that I have it memorized. It’s seventeen minutes long, and it touches on most of the election’s issues. The “moral fiber” theme runs through the whole thing in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. There’s the section about how crime has gone up since marijuana was legalized, about the attacks on religious freedom (though he really only means Christianity, rather than all religions), and how gay marriage is threatening the traditional values we’ve always held dear.

  My dad is an amazing public speaker. His voice rises and falls like a symphony. He’s filled with passion as he talks about these issues. It is easy to understand why everyone nodded and clapped, the word yes rippling through the crowd as he underscored his points. I agree with him on some things. I don’t think marijuana should be legal, mainly because now that kids have easier access to it, they’re coming to school high. And they’re driving high. The number of accidents caused by impaired driving has increased since legalization.

  But most of the stuff? It’s backward. Like gay marriage. The Supreme Court said banning it is unconstitutional. Move on. How about we focus on solving homelessness or the fact that probably half the kids in Woodview don’t get enough to eat? These are issues my dad doesn’t talk about. It is more important to him that the “moral fiber” of this country be mended than people have food and shelter.

  Then he launched into abortion. He saves it for the end of his speech because that’s the note he wants to end on. “We all have work to do. Our mission is to show the country that we want to protect life and we want to improve it. Those in need don’t need a handout; they need our hands, helping them be a part of a vibrant community that sees the potential in every human being.”

  I mean, you really gotta admire how he eases into it, how he couches it in caring for families. A lot of people nodded and “mmm-hmmed” along with Dad. I also noticed some people shifting uncomfortably. A few even walked away, shaking their heads. This seems to be the issue where a lot of people draw the line. Almost everyone who walked away or looked uncomfortable was female. I used to get angry with people who walked out in the middle of his speech, but now I understand it better. Now I’m not sure I’d want a man standing on a platform telling me what I can’t do with my body, either.

  “I envision a country where families are strong and where women have real choices. And we’re already turning this vision into reality, with crisis pregnancy centers across the state.”

  Dad paused. This was usually where he wraps up, but instead, he took a breath and gave a portion of the speech I’ve never heard before.

  “As you know, there are very few clinics remaining in Colorado. It’s been a source of shame that one of those clinics is in my hometown. Every day I have to drive past it and think about the babies who are murdered there. About all the lives ruined there, because every woman who has an abortion has to live with the regret of what she’s done.”

  Mom shifted from one foot to the other.

  Dad’s gaze swept over the crowd. “As your state senator, it will be my priority to follow the lead of so many other states and make Colorado an abortion-free state. A state where all of us, including our women and children, can live healthy, happy lives. A vote for me is a vote for that future. Thank you, my friends.”

  He reached back and grasped Mom’s hand, pulling her forward so they were standing side by side, arms raised in victory. The show was over.

  Except we couldn’t leave yet. The press stood up, all their hands in the air, wanting to ask questions. My dad pointed to one and then another. I don’t even remember their questions. My mind was still swirling about his declaration to make Colorado an abortion-free state. What does that even mean? How co
uld that be possible? He could outlaw every abortion clinic in the state, but could he make every pregnancy wanted and celebrated?

  As the questions wound down, my dad pointed to the one female journalist in the press pool.

  “You say that you want an abortion-free state for the health and safety of women. What about cases like Lanie Jacobs? An abortion would’ve saved her life, but the hospital refused to perform the procedure and, as a result, both she and her baby died. Do you think there needs to be exceptions for cases like that? Or in the case of rape or incest?”

  My breath stopped in my throat. The Lanie Jacobs case was all over the news. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The only comment I heard from my parents when it was in the papers was, “Oh, that poor man.” Meaning Lanie’s husband. Nothing about the woman who actually died.

  I think I expected my dad to say yes, there should be exceptions. That the mother’s life was just as valuable.

  I think, in that moment, I still loved my dad.

  He leaned into his microphone. “What happened to Lanie was tragic and unfortunate. The hospital was put into an impossible situation. Under the circumstances, they made the right decision. Performing the abortion was against their policy, and there was no guarantee that an abortion would’ve saved Lanie.”

  Extreme cold flooded me from inside my heart. Did he really believe this? Did he really value women so little? Everything went blurry around me and all I could hear was the sound of my own inability to breathe. My dad’s voice pierced through.

  “As for cases of rape and incest,” he went on, “I believe that attacking a child because of its father’s mistakes is wrong. Besides, it’s extremely difficult, if not impossible, for a woman to become pregnant through rape. Making exceptions would create loopholes that any woman wanting an abortion would find her way through.”

  Suddenly I wasn’t cold anymore. I was hot, so hot. I was a flame, turning my father’s words into ashes and cinders. I was red-hot living proof that he was wrong. I was a flesh-and-blood example that yes, you can in fact get pregnant from rape.

  I looked over at Mom. She had that placid stand-by-your-man look on her face. Ruth and Joanie were by her side. I hoped they were too young to really know what Dad was talking about. To understand its direct implications on their own lives. Jeremy—I couldn’t even look at Jeremy. He’s a mini-Dad.

  My gaze slid to Bethany. Her eyes were downcast, her expression closed off. Like there was a lot going on inside her brain, but she refused to show it. I furrowed my brow. Did she disagree with Dad? Did she think the same things I did?

  Once again, I wondered if I could tell her. If I could trust her. But I don’t think I can risk it. I stepped back a little so that there was a space between me and the rest of my family. I was separate. No matter what choice I make now, I’ll always be different.

  I wanted to run fast and far. To someplace where I would not be judged or yelled at or told what to do. Someplace where I could think my own thoughts. Someplace safe where I could make this choice for myself.

  If I tell my parents, they will make me keep the baby. I don’t know that I’m prepared to do that.

  If I tell Bethany, she’ll always look at me differently.

  If I tell Hannah, she’ll never be able to look at me again.

  This journal is the only safe place I have.

  Signed,

  Mellie Rivers

  February 26

  Dear Ms. Tilson—

  I have to confess something. I’ve been stalking Mellie Rivers since the Women’s Day Fair last week. I mean, not really stalking, just keeping an eye on her during school hours. I can’t stop watching her. Remember when I said that I never stopped being her friend? Well, I didn’t, and a good friend knows when something is up. And something is up with her.

  She used to eat lunch with Delia Talbot, but now she eats alone in the cafeteria annex with all the loners. Meanwhile, Delia eats with their other friends in the main part of the cafeteria.

  (Note to self: Invite Mellie to sit with me at lunch tomorrow.)

  She also goes to the bathroom after every period. I haven’t gone so far as to follow her in there, but I’m dying to know what she’s doing. Crying? Puking? Is she bulimic? Maybe she just drinks a lot of water? She carries a water bottle with her, and I see her refilling it at the water fountain at least twice a day. So maybe she’s just peeing a lot?

  (Note to self: I need to hydrate more.)

  Mellie goes to the school library after classes are over. I do too, but I’ve been going to the library after school since freshman year. Mellie’s not a regular. Now she comes every day. She doesn’t seem to be working on a project. I walked past her yesterday—casually, totally low-key—and she was writing in her journal. This journal; the one for your class.

  A little while later, her sister Bethany came in and as soon as Mellie saw her, she slammed her journal closed and pulled out her textbooks. Bethany asked if she was going home soon, and Mellie said she had a bunch of research to do for an English paper. Maybe it was true, but it seemed like she’s avoiding going home.

  I’ve also noticed that her prayer circle has disbanded. They used to meet every Thursday afternoon—the same time as my Amnesty International group. But last week as I was going to my meeting, I saw Delia and the other girls leaving school together. I have to pass the classroom where they usually meet, and when I glanced in, Mellie was sitting there all alone. Why did her friends run out on her? What could she have possibly done to them? Mellie is a genuinely nice person. I can’t imagine her pissing off five girls simultaneously. I think this is fallout from their argument after the Women’s Day Fair, and Delia dragged their other friends with her. Delia seems like the type of girl who would do that.

  Then yesterday Mellie made a phone call from the pay phone down the street from school. Maybe she doesn’t have a cell phone, but why wouldn’t she use her home phone? Because she doesn’t want to be overheard, that’s why.

  Those are the facts I’ve gathered, but here’s an observation: Mellie just seems—lonelier. Grayer. She’s always had a bright aura and now it seems dimmed. It’s as if a light inside her has gone out.

  All these things taken separately might be nothing, but together they add up to something.

  You’re probably reading this and thinking, Why, Lise? Why does this matter to you so much? Why are you getting so emotionally involved in something that has nothing to do with you?

  I’m asking myself the same questions and I can’t answer them. I don’t know why I feel pulled into this, why I feel like this is my business when it really isn’t. But until I know Mellie is okay, I’m not going to stop.

  —Lise

  February 26

  Dear Ms. Tilson,

  I called the RAINN hotline today. I waited until after school, when the street was empty except for a few stragglers and the afternoon was fading into dusk. I used the pay phone at the end of the block. It’s lucky there still is a pay phone, because I can’t exactly call from my home phone.

  Someone answered after the first ring. “RAINN hotline, this is Lucy. How can I help?”

  I hung up.

  Lucy can’t help me.

  No one can.

  Signed,

  Mellie Rivers

  February 27

  Dear Ms. Tilson—

  Tonight Rowan took me out to dinner for our one-year anniversary. One year! It feels like longer. I’ve known him all my life, so it seems like we’ve been together forever. He took me to that fancy new steakhouse over in Mountainside Plaza. He wore a suit and I wore a pretty dress, and it was like we were playing at being grown-up. Except without alcohol. Everyone around us was much older and drinking a lot of wine, while we had iced tea with our steaks. He held my hand across the table as we waited for our food, and we talked and talked and talked. That’s the best thing about Rowan. I
can talk to him for hours and never feel bored.

  He knows me so well that it’s actually a little scary. The only other person who knows me like that is Mom. So he knows when something is bugging me.

  Before dessert came (chocolate molten lava cake—so freaking good) he said, “There’s something on your mind lately, isn’t there? Do you want to talk about it?”

  The thing is, if I had said, “No, I do not want to talk about it,” that would’ve been okay. He never pushes. He listens. He’ll offer advice or help if you ask, but he won’t try to fix your problem without permission.

  “There is something, but it’s weird and you’re going to think I’m a freak.”

  “I already think you’re a freak,” Rowan said, laughing. “So, you know, no danger there.”

  “Ha, ha.” I looked out the window. It’s really pretty up there at Mountainside, and the moonlight was hitting the mountains just right. “You know Mellie Rivers?”

  “One of the mayor’s daughters? Yeah.”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I used to be friends with her, like forever ago. But I still care about her for some reason—”

  Rowan interrupted me. “Not for some reason. You care about her because that’s who you are. That’s your nature.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Thanks. But I feel like something is going on with her.”

  “Going on how?”

  “I don’t know. It could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. But I can’t shake it. It’s like this gnawing feeling in my gut. I’m worried about her.” I bit my lip. “I followed her the other day,” I admitted. “Like, around school. I’m insane, Rowan.”

  He smiled. “You’re not insane. This is what you do.”

  “Stalk people around school?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, you care about people. You don’t give up on them. You’re like an emotional detective. You don’t give up until you get to the heart of the matter.”