Knee Deep

by Jolene Perry

  I float in a haze, not quite believing it’s all happening. Part of me thinks I’ll wake up in the morning, take a day off of school, and Luke will come and share movies and popcorn with me. All will be well. But that’s not at all how it will go. Shawn’s in jail for hitting me. Shawn’s dad is in jail for hitting his mom. Luke’s gone to live with the dad who left his family behind. It’s like I’m suddenly in a movie on the Hallmark channel. For the first time all night, I smile.

  Something touches my hand, and my eyes float up to see a nurse placing papers in my grasp. Is she talking? I let my eyes float down—it’s a packet for battered women. Battered. What am I supposed to do with this? That’s not me. Shawn’s different. He’s not like those guys. I’m definitely not like the girls who let someone walk all over them like that. No way. Shawn and I are different, special. Or, we were. Were.

  Grief for the loss of him, of what he had, grabs its claws into my chest and I drop the folder, scattering the papers across the floor.

  My body breaks into sobs, even though the pain cuts deep. Each shake brings another wave of dizziness. Dad sits and rests his hands on my calf. Mom tries to hug me, but I don’t want it. I want to fold in my arms and legs, fold myself in until I’m a tidy, crisp white envelope. Perfect. Clean. Untouched.

  No more Shawn. No more trying to kiss away cherry shaved ice, or lying together in the backyard, his hand running up and down my back.

  Why couldn’t it be enough? Why wasn’t that enough for him? Why wasn’t I enough? And the boy I was enough for, I let walk away. My knees press into my chest as I lie on my side, clutching myself together underneath the worn, heated hospital blanket. My feet shake, my legs shake, my hands are like tissue paper. Each shake sends another wave of pain from the side of my head, but there’s no stopping it. There’s no stopping me from falling to pieces.

  A blurry Dad jumps up and leaves the room. A few moments later a nurse comes in and stands next to the IV I’ve been hooked up to since arriving.

  The shaking fades. My sobs have shaken all the parts loose they can for tonight. My body’s too heavy for any more thinking or feeling. Sleep is starting to take over and I can do nothing about it.

  ~ 21 ~

  Mindy’s in my room five minutes after the final bell at school has rung.

  “This is so crazy, Ronnie,” she says.

  “I know.” I’m still dizzy. Reclining on a sea of pillows is the only thing I seem to be able to do.

  “He’s really in jail?” She sits on the foot of my bed, slowly. Mom’s given her my dizzy warning.

  “Yep.”

  “For how long?” she asks.

  “No idea.” As awful as it is, I hope he’s there for a long time. Maybe if I don’t have to face him it’ll all just fade away, not be real.

  “Is it just me, or does this all feel like a Hallmark movie?”

  I giggle, just like that. “Definitely a Hallmark movie.” I love that we’re close enough to have the same thoughts.

  “So, now what?” she asks.

  “Well, my grades are good enough that I only have finals in two classes. I’ll do them later this week, just before Christmas break.” Hopefully my brain has retained some of what I learned.

  “I know I said this already, but this is crazy. I mean, I don’t even know what to write in the book.”

  “I think, ‘Ronnie royally screwed up, landing one boy in jail and chasing the other off to live with his mostly-absent father’ should do it.”

  “I can’t believe Luke just left.” She pulls her knees up and uses them as a chin rest.

  Fingers dig through my chest, scraping at the raw edges left by my mess. “I believe it. Any normal, rational girl would have jumped into his arms, and I wanted to. Really, really wanted to, but I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “No reason, and also a million reasons at the same time.” There’s just no words.

  “Are you going to write him?” she asks.

  “I get the distinct impression from his mom that I might want to give it some time.” Which sucks. And hurts.

  “I’d still write him.”

  “When my brain starts working right, I will.” But I’m not going to write him until I think I might be able to handle another rejection.

  “Paul and I are back together.” A sly smile pulls at the edges of her mouth.

  “Really?” I’m relieved to not be talking about me anymore.

  “I told him to think about what I said for a few days, about space, and he did, and he agrees. It’s really more of a trust issue than anything when you need each other every second.” She’s scraping out her fingernails.

  “So…” Is that it?

  “So, we’re kind of starting over. A date here and there, or whatever.” She shrugs.

  “And that’ll work?”

  “I don’t know, but I like him, so I hope it does. If it doesn’t…I mean, that sucks, but it is what it is. I don’t want more. Not now.” And I can see it on her face, it would suck, but she’ll do it. Split it off for her independence.

  I’m amazed she can be so relaxed about it. How isn’t he everything?

  ***

  “Dad.” I stop with my fork poised over my plate, every piece of me tenses in repulsion over the idea. “I do not need to go to some group thing with a bunch of abused women!”

  He slumps, and lets out a sigh as his eyes catch mine across the table. “Ronnie. You may not think you belong there, and that’s fine. But this is not something we’re negotiating.”

  I roll my eyes. “This all seems way overboard.”

  “Sorry. Non-negotiable.” He takes another bite of food. How can he be eating right now?

  I lean back in my chair, dinner forgotten. I’ll have to talk to Mom tomorrow.

  “I see that look.” He points at me. “Your mom and I have talked. It’s done.”

  I wonder if he’ll realize that all he’s doing is making new ways to torture me when I’ve done a pretty stellar job all on my own.

  ***

  Ben comes home for Christmas. My situation with Shawn isn’t discussed, but I know Mom and Dad have talked to him about it, because he never asks about the huge bruise covering the side of my face.

  Right now, I just hope it’s almost gone before I have to go back to school.

  ***

  Three days before school is my first group session. I use half a bottle of concealer to cover my bruise, and then I take Dad’s car because it’s nicer, drinks more gas, and has a better stereo. If they’re going to make me go, I’m going to enjoy at least part of it. I enjoy the loud music, and I enjoy using more of their money for fuel than necessary.

  I step into the community building. I hate that I don’t know where I’m going, and can’t walk right to my class. I walk slowly so I can see as much as possible without stopping.

  The sign is large and I barely need to pause.

  Women’s group. Room 114.

  At least it doesn’t say—Stupid Pathetic Pushover Women, meet here.

  I’m mad I have to be here, and wonder how Dad would know if I didn’t go…I almost stop in the hallway.

  Crap. I can’t do it. He’d probably just know, anyway.

  Room 114 is easy enough to find. Do I just walk in? It’s not like I could bring a friend, or something. Even though Mindy probably would come with me. No need for two of us to have to go through this humiliation.

  I’m the third one in the room. There’s a woman, probably in her thirties, talking with a girl who I’d guess is just a little older than me. I didn’t expect to see people my age in here. They both smile as I step in. I’m not sure if I smile back or not. Again, this doesn’t feel like it could be real. The seats are in a big circle, of course, no corners for Ronnie. Not today.

  My heart’s beating way harder than I want it to, and my bag slips in my hands a few times as I scan the circle and try to find a seat where no one will notice me. A stupid thing to try and accomplish in a circle, especially bec
ause I don’t want to be the girl just standing alone in the middle of the room.

  “Your hair is amazing,” the older woman says.

  “Thanks.” I sit and pull my phone out of my pocket so I can be busy while I wait for this thing to start. Tension from being here, and not wanting to be here, tingles in my chest. I lean forward, letting my curly hair fall down around me, knowing my makeup probably doesn’t do as good of a job as I want it to in covering the bruise on my face. How cliché for me to step into this kind of class while still bruised up. I wish I could put a sign across my chest that says: This bruise was all a ridiculous misunderstanding. Really, my dad’s making me come, or I wouldn’t be here because I don’t have to be.

  I scroll through my texts. There are a lot from Shawn. The first one I look at was the one from after Thanksgiving where he apologized for not remembering the night before. I hit erase. I keep reading. How didn’t I see that all he was ever trying to do was make me feel bad?

  SHAWN: HOPE YOU’RE ENJOYING PLAY PRACTICE. WISH I DIDN’T HAVE TO WORK, BUT U KNOW…

  SHAWN: WISH WE COULD SPEND MORE TIME. I’M REALLY TRYING, I’VE CUT BACK MY HOURS, EVEN THOUGH I NEED TO SAVE SO WE CAN AFFORD TO HAVE FUN, BUT UR SO BUSY.

  SHAWN: WHERE R U? PRACTICE FINISHED TEN MIN AGO?

  SHAWN: I KNOW THIS IS UR THING. AND I GUESS EVEN THOUGH WE DON’T ALL GET TO DO EXTRA STUFF LIKE U DO, THAT U SHOULD GO AND HAVE FUN.

  I hit erase over and over and over.

  LUKE: DRESS REHEARSAL WAS AMZNG. U R AMZNG. I’M SO PROUD OF U. U NAILED IT RONNIE. UR HARD WORK PAID OFF.

  My eyes close. Luke. I miss him, like this comfortable everyday part of me that just isn’t here anymore. But more than that; more than just comfortable. Like I learned I loved him too late, and was too stupid about it when I did figure out I loved him.

  “It looks like we’re ready to start.” A grey-haired woman in a too-large pair of navy slacks is standing in front of her chair. “This class is once a week for the next eight weeks, and I hope we all get a chance to get to know one another.”

  My eyes float around the room. No one looks weird, or crazy, or like they should be in jail. Not that you have to look a certain way to be in jail or anything. I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected. They’re all so normal.

  A few more women are sitting next to people they’re chatting with, friends I guess. I wonder, do they just keep coming, even though they’ve done the course before? Do they come back again and again? I’m not sure.

  We go around the circle and introduce ourselves. Easy enough. No one has to stand up and say, I’m Ronnie. My boyfriend hit me a few times. None of that.

  “We’re just getting warmed up here.” She smiles. I’m mad at myself for letting everyone’s names wash through me without paying more attention. At least when I’m forced to come again next week I would have been able to use a few names—not that I’d want to talk to anybody.

  “Close your eyes. I want you to think of someone you know who makes you feel safe.”

  My phone is still clutched in my left hand. I force myself to slide it back in my pocket. It also gives me some time to look around and see if people are actually closing their eyes. They are.

  Just before I relax enough to close mine, I see a girl across the circle watching me. We smile. She closes her eyes first and then I let mine follow.

  “Okay, I want you to find your safe place. Somewhere you love. Someone you trust. Anything.”

  I see Dad first, then I see Ben. Funny. Guess I do trust my brother, even though he generally irritates the crap out of me.

  “Somewhere you always love to be. Or someone you love to be with. Someone who is good for you.”

  My brain fills in the rest. Someone who knew my secret before I understood it.

  Luke.

  He’s it. He’s there.

  Juliet loved Romeo. But Ronnie loves Luke.

  How long have I not been in love with Shawn? I’ve loved Shawn, but was it really Shawn? Or just the idea of him? The kid I met at the beach when our parents got together, and the guy who was part comfort because I’d known him so long, and part mystery because we didn’t live near one another for years.

  More importantly, how long have I loved Luke, really? I can’t think of a time when I didn’t love Luke in some way or another.

  “If your person is a man, and is not your brother, cousin, father, or granddad, find something else.” She chuckles. A few women chuckle along with her.

  Okay. No Luke. I bring myself to the beach. That’s easy. The small house we rent when Mom and Dad can afford it. The problem is that as soon as I’m in that house and on the beach, Luke’s there too. Or, Shawn is.

  We’re asked to open our eyes. Two women share stories. They’ve both come to the course before. One talks about how her boyfriend was drinking and tried to take things too far, but she just stood up and walked away. Women around the circle gasp. I almost open my mouth to tell her that’s nothing. Shawn did worse to me the night he ripped my underwear off. Just as I’m about to speak—I don’t.

  Whoa, another wave of something big and unfamiliar blows through me. I have a story. Worse than hers.

  My eyes scan the room again. I belong here. I can’t believe I belong here. Now there’s not enough air in the room, but I force my lungs outward enough to not panic. Passing out on my first day here would be a bit over the top.

  When class is over I can’t stand up and leave soon enough. I don’t want to be part of this group, part of these people. I just want to be Ronnie Bird. High school student. Sometimes high school actress. Daughter of good parents. Sister of Ben. Friend to Mindy. Simple. Me.

  Instead, I’m Ronnie—the girl who let a boy hit her because she was stupid enough to love him.

  I don’t have words when I get home. What do I think? I have no idea. It’s just another experience that sort of puts me into shock.

  “How was it?” Dad asks quietly as I step inside the house.

  I glance behind him to see Mom and Ben watching a movie on the couch. My feet force me to stop, but there’s really no words in my head right now. Not for Dad. Not for anyone.

  We stand still, just watching one another for a moment. Then I walk to my room and close the door. How am I supposed to explain how hollowed out, shocked and humiliated I am to my father ?

  I turn on my computer, such an ordinary thing to do. But I don’t feel ordinary. Not anymore. Did the group help? Make it worse? I don’t want to be one of those women, but the reality of it all is that I am. I am one of those women. Why is it that I can sit there and listen to their stories and know exactly what they should have done, but had no idea what to do in my own story? My story that’s my LIFE. If it’s so important, why didn’t I know what to do?

  Even though the thought is terrifying, and all I can see of him is how I broke him in my driveway, I decide to send Luke an email.

  Luke—

  It sucks that I’m afraid to write you. Not your fault. All mine. You were right. I wasn’t acting. I love you. It kills me to think about how much I love you, how many ways I love you. I’ve loved you as a friend since you’ve been my friend, and I wasn’t there for you, not when it mattered. Even this year, on Thanksgiving, I should have really heard what you said about your dad. Instead, all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to talk about Shawn.

  I wanted so much more from you and didn’t see it. When I think about that day lying with you on the floor, I wish I could change it. I wish I could have had your arms wrapped around me, and mine around you. I wish that the first time we kissed as Romeo and Juliet I would have told you that I didn’t feel like Juliet in that moment. I felt like Ronnie. I did that whole play as Ronnie, the girl in love with Luke. And I guess, just like them, we don’t get the happy ending we deserve. I guess that means I’m not your happy ending, and it hurts. It hurts more than losing Shawn. Way more.

  I loved you both and it wasn’t fair to any of us.

  Shawn hit me hard w
hen I tried to break up with him. I didn’t go to his house the night you dropped me off. The night you told me you loved me, so many parts of me wanted to run with you and never look back, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself for that either. I spoke to your mom, and I swear my heart dropped when she said you were gone. I didn’t go see Shawn until after.

  He put me in the hospital, Luke. Concussion. I’m okay. He’s in jail. I missed you over Christmas. Mom made her chocolate popcorn, and it just wasn’t the same without you here. I know I’m just unspeakably selfish.

  There are a million better ways I could have handled everything. So, for whatever it’s worth, I love you. I hope you and your dad come to a good understanding. I hope your first semester of college is as amazing as it should be. I can’t believe we won’t share our senior year. But I guess that’s the point, right? That I screwed up so badly you don’t want your senior year here?

  I’m trying to figure out who I am without Shawn, and who I am without you. And I’m still the same girl, but hopefully I’m a little smarter than the girl who got into this mess. And it is a mess.

  Take care of yourself, Luke. You are special and amazing. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it until it was too late.

  I love you.

  Ronnie

  It’s five torturous hours before I get an answer—almost midnight. The whole time I’m angry at myself for not just calling, but I’m too afraid of what he’d sound like. Heartbroken. Indifferent. Angry. I can’t handle it. I wonder if everything would be easier if I knew Luke was three hours away, missing and loving me the way I am him.

  Ronnie—

  I’m so sorry you got hurt. It’s like I should have been there or something. I’m an idiot for not telling someone about Shawn right away, I just couldn’t stand the thought of you being angry at me. I wanna kill him. Let me know when you’re ready to talk again and hopefully I will be, too. Even though I miss you, I need a little more space. I’m glad you have a chance to figure things out while you’re on your own. I can’t imagine not having you in my life in some way or another. I miss you in a way that I shouldn’t. It’s probably not good for either of us right now. It’s killing me to stay away. Guess that doesn’t really make sense when I just said I needed space, huh? But you know what it’s like to be filled with confusion to overflowing. You chose him over me—it just sucked, and still hurts.