129
This book is for my friend David
Born Nov 8th 1964
Died Aug 26th 1991
I will never forgive you for killing yourself.
The Love of
Whitney
When I was growing up, everyone told me the childhood years were the magical years. I don’t think any of that is, or ever was, true. Not after that nightmare my friend David and I had that snowy and ice-cold season of winter. That year, 1978, felt like it lasted forever. We made a vow to each other we’d never speak of it to anyone, ever. I guess you can say, well, I lied.
Everyday for fifteen years I thought about that unforgettable winter and what we did. How could I ever forget about the love of my life, Whitney, the girl who died in the icy waters of Cobblers Brook, slang fully known as, Sewer Lane.
Floating on the broken thick ice towards the river is what we did almost on a daily basis during every winter season. Occasionally we would fall into the freezing water up to our waist, laughing and slowly walking to the shoreline, and then we would wait until the freezing temperatures stiffened our pants.
The day Whitney came down to the shoreline to watch us float on the ice was the day our lives had changed forever. A girl, scared to even swing too high on the swing set when we were younger, found the guts to jump from the one lane bridge and onto the ice. Who knew she was jumping to her death, or should I say, murdered.
1
Today is Friday, my sixteenth birthday. I was walking home from the bus stop alone in the dark, sore as can be after wrestling practice, thinking of the presents my mother had bought for me, and the usual bullshit present I got from my grandparents.
My best friend, David, was sitting on the church steps against the doors waiting to scare me, and give me my birthday gift since he was holding a bottle of Vodka he most likely stole from his father’s liquor cabinet. Needless to say, the bottle was empty. He walked toward me with his finger stuck in the throat of the bottle swinging it from side to side. He looked like he just got into a fight with one of the neighborhood bullies, or fell in the mud since his knees and elbows were dirty from possibly being pushed down to the ground in the battle? I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. As he walked closer to me, for some reason I noticed he seemed taller, a lot taller as though he stretched over my head a good foot. That instant I felt strange, or should I say, intimidated.
“What are you doing Andy?” he asked tossing the bottle into Mr. Shaw’s rose garden across the street. “Hey, happy birthday by the way,”
“Thanks,” I said surprised he even remembered. “Nothing, I’m just going home to have some cake and ice cream. Do you want to come?”
“Yeah sure,”
We walked up the steep hill as we did everyday since we started taking the bus to school. We looked up at the broken street lights we smashed sometime ago, remembering all those thousands of rocks we threw up trying to hit the light and giving each other the credit for finally hitting that stupid light. We walked in the house which smelled of burning candles my mother had lit just before. Everyone started singing happy birthday to me. David stood against the wall making funny faces until the singing stopped and then sat next to me at the dining room table. We all knew David didn’t get along with his father since my house was his so-called retreat from life for a while. Some days he would walk in with “other” bruises on the side of his face. He kept telling everyone the steep stairs in his house is what he falls on all the time, but we all knew, especially when he didn’t want to go home when it was time to go.
I blew the candles out hearing the phone ringing, and saw my mother quickly reaching for it before it stopped. “Hello,” I heard her say from the kitchen. Then, without another word said, she hung up the phone. I knew who it was. It was my so-called drunken father, but to this day, I never asked, nor did I want to. My mother came back in the living room with her famous fake smile, holding one of those big knives you see in a horror movie with the serial killer holding it high in the air and ready to slice the head off a half naked woman. “Let me slice the cake so everyone can have an even piece.” She said softly still holding her fake smile. David was the first one waiting as though he hadn’t eaten since school started. He looked at me wanting to tell me something, but he didn’t want to say it in front of my family.
“After we eat, let’s go down to the cellar for a moment. I want to show you a new move on the weights.” I said making an excuse for him. He nodded.
When we went down stairs, David was fidgety and smiling at me like he had won the lottery. “Donna showed me,” he said with the biggest smile on his face. Donna, the quiet girl with biggest brown eyes and the longest brown hair in the neighborhood, was the highlight of David’s nightly dreams. He would dream of her wrapped up in his arms, stranded on an exotic island, and then wake up in a drenching sweat in the middle of the night. She was his ticket to happiness. She was his ticket to living.
“Showed you what?” I asked knowing exactly where this conversation was going.
“She showed me her boobs,” he said, and then he smiled as wide as a child getting the taste of his first lollipop. I saw in his eyes he was imagining his hands fondling them, so I had to ask.
“Did you touch’em?”
“No, she was in the other room.” After he said that, I wondered if she showed them to him, or did he just watch her getting dressed like he was watching a train going around in circles through a toy store window.
“Did she know she showed you her boobs?” I asked knowing what the lie was.
“I don’t know,” he said as the smile left his face.
“Maybe she knew you were there,” I said trying to make him feel better.
“Whitney was in the room with Donna the same time she was changing her shirt,” He said knowing I had a thing for Whitney.
“Whitney,” I said as a smile came over my face. The dreams, the thoughts of her made me feel like I was giving the orphanage a million dollars. She was different from the other girls we knew in the neighborhood. She was 17 a whole year older than David and me.
“What was Whitney doing?” I asked thinking she’s got the only set of boobs I ever wanted to see and touch.
“Nothing,” he said looking down at the weights like he was lying to me.
“Who was she with?” I asked him realizing there was more than just seeing Donna’s boobs.
“She was with that new kid from New York, what’s his name?”
“Peter,” I said pushing his evil name threw my teeth and feeling the strain against my cheeks. He was the other older one, the one who had a license to drive. He was eighteen and legal to get the beer. God I hated him. I hated his name. I hated even the thought of him. Peter was the only person in the world that could make my blood boil.
Jealousy struck me like a Mack truck plowing through a crowded parking lot, smashing every car in sight. David saw it in my eyes, I didn’t want to hear anything about Peter, but something told him he had to tell me, and when he did, it completely ruined my birthday, until, my mother yelled down stairs telling me I had a visitor.
“Whitney,” I said out loud and ran up the old wooden stairs forgetting for a brief moment David ever existed and dashed into the living room. There she was taking off her coat with her back towards me with that slim sexy body I’ve wanted to hold since I discovered that girls were more than just girls. Her hair was long and silky draped over her shoulders like a black Victoria Secrets negligee covering the length of her back. She turned around holding a dark blue, plain wrapped box and looked into my blue eyes. I smiled feeling my hands getting sweaty, wanting to hold her ever so close, gaze into her brown eyes forever, and kiss her ever-so soft lips. “Hey,” she said with a soft twinkle in her eye that made me melt. I wanted to believe she had feelings for me, and that’s the reason she came tonight.
“Do miracles happen?” I asked myself. “Do they?”
“Happy birthday old man,” She said handing me the present with her arms straight out. I lightly pulled it from her hands, imagining for a brief moment about how life would be if I could just hold her forever. My mother and sister giggled and looked at me with a funny face. David stood behind me staring at her. He knew she was beautiful, and better looking than his make-believe girlfriend Donna, who, was 18 and didn’t even know he was even alive.
I turned and caught him staring at her with his eyes as wide as they could be, and then turned around and looked at her once again. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress just covering her knees, and a black pair of boots with a zipper on the side. She looked as though she came to pick me up for our first date. She nervously touched her thin gold necklace, and followed it down to the neckline of her dress. Suddenly she turned her head, and looked out the front door window as though she heard a strange noise. There he was, Peter, knocking at the door, and waving to his girlfriend, Whitney. My mother smiled as she opened the door.
“We only stopped for a few minutes.” Whitney said clasping her hands together, and stepped back from the door to give Peter enough room to enter. I could smell her soft perfume tingling in my nose. I closed my eyes for a quick moment breathing in, absorbing the imagination of running through a field of flowers, and holding her hand. I was crazy about her I just wish she felt the same way.
“Hey,” he said waving his hand like a true piece of shit Yuppie, and then I saw him lightly put his hand on the small of Whitney’s back. I cringed and fisted my hands tight. Peter was ugly to the bone. He had brown eyes, stick straight brown hair, with a slim weak looking body. Most everyone didn’t accept him when he moved in, because he had this, “I’m better than you attitude.” Maybe since he was from the Big Apple, he thought he could do what he wanted, and never had to worry about getting caught. That doesn’t happen in the small hick towns, especially Merrimac, Massachusetts.
“Hey Peter,” I said clenching my hands into a fist again thinking how good it would feel to punch him in the face as hard as I could.
“What are you guys doing tonight?” I asked trying to ignore the feeling of hatred.
“We’re going to the movies. We thought maybe you wanted to go with us, since it is your birthday,” My eyes lit up with surprise. I wanted to go, but I didn’t know whether my mother was going to let me, until she said, “As long as you come home after the movie is over.” She handed me a five-dollar bill. I turned and looked at David, and quickly remembered he was still here. “Can David come?” I asked. Whitney looked at Peter, and kind of smiled in a way she was afraid to ask. “Sure, if he wants to.”
“Are you coming David?” David looked at me and saw in my eyes I really wanted him to go. No matter what, I wanted him to go. He nodded his head yes.
“Let me get my coat on and we can go.” I said thinking this could be my chance to steal Whitney from Peter, the evil villain.
“Be home after the movie.” My mother said again giving me a, you-better-get-your-birthday-ass-home-after-the-movie or else look on her face.
Whitney slipped her coat on, and smiled putting her arm around me making me melt inside as we walked out the front door. I wanted to grab her hand and hold it like we were lovers, but the thought of that shitbag Peter was walking behind us.
We stopped in the middle row of the drive-in movie theater in Haverhill, perhaps the last one in the country from the, so-called wild fifties, or so I thought. Whitney sat up front with Peter sitting ever so close to him. David and I sat in the back of his father’s two-door Chevy Nova with leather seats that made us slide in every direction every time he turned a corner. I could smell his horny nervous sweat coming off Peter’s body that made me sick to my stomach.
“We’re going to get some popcorn,” I said pushing against his seat. I looked over the front seat trying to squeeze through and saw Peter’s sweaty hand on Whitney’s bare leg close enough to feel her crotch. I slammed the seat forward causing Peter to bang his head hard against the steering wheel. David started to laugh as he squeezed through slamming the seat forward again. We knew we were walking home that night after Peter called us both assholes and then screamed don’t come back. What we didn’t know was that Whitney was going to lose her innocence, unwillingly. Peter looked over his shoulder and caught me staring back at him with this, I hate you look on my face, as David and I walked to the snack shack. I saw his eyes glaring at me through the flickering light of the movie. Something told me I should have stayed in the car. I should have listened.
2
Peter turned his head acting like he was watching the movie and slid his hand up Whitney’s bare leg heading for the forbidden territory. Whitney grabbed his wrist and quickly pushed his hand away, and smiled nervously. Peter reached over and lightly kissed her on the neck.
“Peter,” she said pushing him away. “Please don’t. I want to watch the movie.” Peter leaned against the seat and took a deep frustrating breath. He looked around the Drive-in parking lot and saw a couple of cars with the windows fogged up. He grinned a little bit knowing what they were doing inside, and then he lost his smile looking at Whitney thinking about doing the same thing.
“I didn’t come here to watch the fuckin movie.” He whispered in a low tone. “I came here to get laid.” Without warning, Peter violently grabbed her breast and squeezed it like a tennis ball. “Peter, no!” she shouted pushing his hand away, “That hurts!” Peter looked around the Drive-in again as he slowly rolled up the driver’s door window. He looked at Whitney like he was another person, determined to get what he came for. His eyes stared at her with rage lightly placing his hand against her shoulder, massaging it softly, he pushed her down on the seat as hard as he could, reached up her dress and grabbed her underwear with a full fist and tore it away from her legs, giving her a skin burn.
“You’re going to fuck me, you little bitch!” he shouted lifting her dress over her waist. “Peter, No!” she screamed as loud as she could, trying to push him away feeling his hand slam against her face covering her mouth. Whitney fought back with all her might and dug her nails into his chest, when suddenly Peter lifted his arm and slapped her across the cheek sending stars to her eyes. Whitney covered her face with her arms with tears rushing from her eyes. Peter forcefully spread her legs apart, and then he slapped her harder on the other side of her face, which sliced the bridge of her nose with his class ring. Whitney fell limp on the seat slamming her head against the car door as Peter plowed himself into her like a raging bull, Whitney screamed in pain sending an ear-piercing scream through the car. She felt Peter’s fist slam across the side of her eye, as her head fell against the door
“Peter, please don’t.” She cried. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t want you to--.”
“Shut the fuck up bitch, you’re nothing but a whore!” He shouted forcing himself even harder into her with his hand pressed hard against her neck, and then shot into her with one hard thrust raising his head with a smile releasing him self inside of her. He looked down taking a deep breath as he pulled himself away seeing the blood on the seat. He picked up her underwear, breathed a heavy breath wiping him-self off, and then threw the underwear in her face.
“Wipe off the seat, and clean yourself up. We’re getting the hell out of here.” he said wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Whitney pulled her dress down, wiped her eyes, and slowly sat up in the seat. She wiped the blood off with her underwear and opened the passenger door. Peter quickly grabbed her by the arm and squeezed hard feeling the bone.
“Where the fuck do you think your going, bitch?” he said gritting his teeth. Whitney tried pulling away from his vise grip, and then sat back in the seat and shut the door. Peter started the car, and threw it into gear with his foot pressing the gas pedal against the floor. The tires spun the gravel in all directions, and bounced the front of the car into mid air off every mound until almost hitting another car. He sped out of the drive-in parking lot, and squealed his tires around every corner until he passed the Merrimac town line.
David and I made it to the town border after thumbing for rides from oncoming cars just after ten o’ clock hoping we can make it home before my mother called out the dogs, when unexpectedly, Peter pulled up behind us honking the car horn.
“Get in dipshit!” he shouted as Whitney opened the passenger door. When I squeezed between the seats, all I saw was her beautiful black dress had been torn apart revealing the straps of her bra, bruises on both of her cheeks, and a small laceration across the bridge of her nose. She looked as though she fell from a train bridge and landed on the rocks below. She looked at me with absolute terror and tears in her eyes, running down her swollen face.
“Take me home.” She said to me quietly. “Take me home.”
Peter sped down the road at the rate of speed where any inexperienced driver would lose control, and stopped at the bottom of our street. David and I jumped out of the car with Whitney as fast as we could before Peter could step on the gas. Surprisingly, we saw Whitney plant her foot hard against the car door, and kicked it shut with all her might.
“Asshole!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You’ll pay for what you did!”
We watched Peter, drive away spinning the tires and squeal around the corner. Nothing was said for the longest time. David and I just stared at Whitney wiping her eyes, trying to fix her dress, and gazing out into the darkness remembering what happened, or perhaps, trying to forget her first real date.
“Take me home.” She said again quietly, and held the tips of my fingers. She looked at me scared, wanting to cry even harder, angry at the world, or angry with her self.
“What happened to you?” I asked dropping my hand away from hers. “Did Peter rape you?”
Whitney looked dead into my eyes. She wanted to tell me everything, she wanted to scream, but no words could describe how she felt.
“Nothing,” she said, and slowly walked toward her home. David and I just stood there wondering. We looked at each other in silence watching her somewhat lifeless body walk down the street. We knew she was raped by Peter. We knew by the way she was walking that she was in a lot of pain.
We made it a point to confront the evil villain the next time we saw him, and find out what really happened to Whitney. Then, Peter will have to learn how to walk all over again after we tell our good friend, John (a.k.a. the leg breaker) Wallace.
3
Three weeks went by, and it’s been a long time since we saw, or heard anything from Whitney. She never came out of the house for the annual neighborhood winter barbeque. That year was the coldest party ever. The temperature never reached ten degrees all weekend, but still, everyone in the neighborhood helped out making hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, and of course, stocked up on the beer. That year was held at the Germinara’s house, because of their huge heated garage they built over the summer with windows facing the open field where we played baseball in the summer until the sun went down. Everyone was amazed when Scott’s father filled up a kiddie pool inside the garage, and floated around on a tire tube with his six pack of his favorite cheap tasting beer sitting on his belly. Whitney’s dad usually took his clothes off and ran around outside in his underwear when he got drunk. All the women would have a contest to see who can pull them off first, except for one, Mrs. Clancy, the single mom who keeps asking Whitney’s dad to fix the kitchen sink. We all knew why he needed to fix the sink, apparently so did Whitney’s mom. That year was fun.
The last time I saw Whitney’s so-called boyfriend Peter, or should I say, the rapist, he was sporting a pair of wooden crutches, with the thick foam ends that gave you a rash on your armpit, and a nice pair of bright white shaded casts reaching up past his kneecaps. We never told “the leg breaker” what happened to our friend Whitney, we didn’t have to, but her father did. But I know one thing, everyone knew who broke Peter’s legs, and even though Whitney’s dad never mentioned a word to anyone during the wild party weekend. They all knew. Bad news travels fast in Merrimacport Mass.
On the morning of November 7th, David and I were walking down the street in our ice floating attire. I asked my mom to get me a pair of fishing waders for Christmas last year so I wouldn’t catch the flu if, or when I fell into the cold water. David was wearing his father’s waders that were three sizes to long for him, but since he sprouted like a weed over the summer and fall, they really didn’t look so bad.
We stopped in front of Whitney’s house like we usually do, ever since we were able to roam the streets on our own, and looked up at her window shaded with white lace curtains.
“Throw a rock up, and see if she’s home,” I said.
“My luck her father will come out and beat me up,” David said remembering what Whitney’s father did to the old man across the street, after he accidentally smashed the side window of his new car when he ran over a rock mowing the lawn. I remembered that day glancing at the paint chipped yellow house across the street. I never saw the old man come out of the house after that incident. Rumor has it, the old man went to the hospital for a small procedure one day, and he never came back, presumably dead we thought. His wife has people deliver her groceries and medications now. David and I seem to think she’s afraid to come out of the house, especially living across the street from a man who has the worst imaginable temper possible.
“Her father’s not home.” I said. “He must be working. Look, his car is gone.”
David picked up a small rock, and tossed it up to the window and missed, hitting the old clapboard on the side of the house, and caused one of the boards to fall off.
“Great stupid, now we’re in trouble for sure.” Whitney opened the window and waved, and then looked at the piece missing from the house, and started to laugh.
“Hey, we’re going down to Sewer Lane, do you want to come along?” I asked hoping she’ll tag along, but I knew she wouldn’t. She never did.
“No, I have chores to do.” She told us.
“What are you doing later?” David asked.
“Nothing,”
“Come down later then,”
“Okay,” she said and shut the window. I looked at her standing in front of the window, and for some reason she looked, well, bigger.
“Hey look at Whitney. Her boobs look bigger to you?”
“No,” David said picking up another rock, skipping it down the street, watching it bang into the turnaround island in the middle of the road.
“They look bigger to me.”
We walked down to Sewer Lane, and hopped from one floating hunk of ice to another trying to find one that could hold our weight. Suddenly, we saw Whitney’s father struggling to climb up the muddy embankment near the mouth of the brook, and then quickly jump into his new Mercedes, that Whitney said he bought as a so-called birthday gift slowly driving away, he looked down at us as though he wanted us to see him doing something he shouldn’t be doing. I stared at him with total curiosity, wondering, what exactly was he doing down on Sewer Lane?
4
Just then, without warning, David jumped into the cold water pulling up a wooden crutch. “That’s one of Peter’s crutches!” I shouted jumping off the ice. I pushed my way through the water toward David, when suddenly I saw Peter’s other crutch. We knew something was terribly wrong when we had both of Peter’s crutches, and no Peter. David scoped out the ice-filled brook, slowly pushing the ice away with the foam part of the crutch. He pushed away a big piece of ice near the old stone bridge, and found the expected. Peter, floating face down in the icy water with his arms spread out, as though he belly flopped off the bridge. We pushed our way over to him, turned him around, and saw all the bruises and cuts on his face like he was bludgeoned to death with a large rock. David tipped his head up, as the water around him instantly became blood red from a long deep slash across his neck. We saw Peter’s head moving in a direction as though it was just barely attached to his body. At that point we knew Peter was dead. Peter had been murdered, and we saw the killer-Whitney’s dad. David dropped Peter back into the water, jumped away like he was on a springboard, lost his balance, and dunked his head under the icy water.
“What the fuck David?” I said.
“What the fuck, what the fuck?” David repeated gaining his balance, and wiped his face with his hand.
“Whitney’s dad did this! He killed him!” I shouted.
“Ya think!” he screamed. “We just saw the fuckin guy running up the hill!”
David grabbed Peter by the belt and pulled him to shore. I helped him drag him completely out of the water, when just as quick as a blink of an eye; we heard the sound of sirens blaring.
“Jesus David, if they see us with him, they’ll think we killed him,”
David looked at me with a dumbfounded look on his face, when we heard a police cruiser slam its brakes on in the middle of the bridge. David instantly put his arms up in the air like he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Since there was nothing either of us could do, I followed suit.
The police officer’s slid down the muddy embankment holding onto a tree branch so they wouldn’t fall into the cold water, and told us to step away from the body. David and I stepped three steps back holding our hands up as high as we could, until the older police officer told us to put our hands down. He also told us Whitney’s father called the station himself and confessed to the murder, and explained to them where the body was. He also mentioned we were going to find you here to.
I looked at David wiping his eyes. At first I thought he was wiping his eyes because he was crying over Peter’s death, then I saw the dirt track across his cheek. In a small sense I was relieved he wasn’t crying.
The police officer’s examined the body and took pictures as we stood there freezing our asses off, until my mother came down and picked us up. She yelled at both us for being down here, even though we’ve been doing this religiously since we were ten years old.
As we drove by Whitney’s house, we saw three cruisers parked in front, and then we saw Whitney’s dad with his shirt splattered with blood and mud, being taken out of the house in handcuffs with an officer on each side. He looked at me looking at him as we drove by at a snail’s pace, and the only thing I could think about was, Whitney’s dad was going to be caged up like a wild animal for killing peter. Whitney looked at us as she stood near her mother on the old porch as, and then put her head down in shame. I wanted to run over and hold her tight, but the only thing I could do is stare at her from the rear window until we turned the corner and headed home.
When we walked into the house the phone was ringing. My mother picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello,” she said somewhat out of breath from running. She looked at David and me as she listened to the other person on the other end, and then hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
“That was the police,” she said. “They’re coming over to ask you two some questions.” David looked at me knowing exactly what kind of questions they were going to ask, since his brother went through the same thing five years ago. His brother’s friend, Mike, was driving along Route 110 in Amesbury one night and side swiped a tree across from Eastern Lumber, with Paul Clarke sticking his head out the window. Needless to say, he didn’t have a head anymore after he hit the tree. The paper stated that Mike stopped and picked up his friend’s head off the side of the road, and dropped it off at the doorway of the hospital leaving Paul’s body in the truck with a note attached to his chest saying he was sorry. Me, I didn’t have the slightest clue of what was going to happen when the police arrived. All I cared about was if Whitney was going to be okay.
“How did you find the body?” Sgt. Smith asked pulling against his tight shirt.
“Face down,” David said. The Sgt, looked at me for confirmation, and all I could do was nod my head yes.
“What did you do when you found the body?”
“I turned him over.” David replied. Again I nodded my head.
“Do you think Mr. Willman killed your friend?”
“He’s not my friend,” David spoke clearly
“Okay, let me rephrase that. Do you think Mr. Willman killed Peter Kahn?”
“Yes,” I said out loud before David could answer.
“What about you David?”
“Yes,”
“You do understand, if we need you to come to court for a witness testimony, you’ll need to come.”
“Yes,” David said looking at me for agreement. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.
“Why did he kill Peter?” I asked.
Sgt. Smith looked at David and me, and stroked his chin like he was stroking a go-tee.
“No one knows why people do bad things.” He said softly, and then he stood up pulling down his shirt again, and looked at my mother in a sort of strange look. He walked away from us gesturing my mother to come with him. They talked for a while near the front door, and then I saw Sgt. Smith shake my mother’s hand before he walked out the door nodding his head.
David and I stared at each other wondering what was going to happen now, since we were in the middle of a murder case. In a small but strange sense, it was exciting.
5
Whitney, unexpectedly, came to my house the following Saturday after her father was hauled away. She quietly came up the stairs, lied down on the bed facing me, and wrapped her leg around me. Her cut across the bridge of her nose was almost a distant forgotten memory, and the bruises on her face still covered with small amounts of make-up.
She stared into my blue eyes without saying anything, and then closed her eyes as though she just wanted a little peaceful harmony. I could feel her breath on my lips. I could smell her soft scent of perfume surrounding me. I wondered if I was in heaven, or was I dreaming. I was in heaven.
She put her arm around me, and lightly kissed the tip of my nose. That moment in time will always be forever etched in my memory. I still get goose bumps thinking about that day.
“That night we went to the movies.” She whispered slowly opening her eyes. “Peter raped me.” She looked deep into my eyes, I thought maybe she wanted me to say something, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just listened
“That was the first time I’ve ever had sex with anyone. It hurt so bad I cried all night. Sometimes I think he stole my innocence. Sometimes I think it was my fault he raped me, because I keep thinking I led him on.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I whispered.
“Because I know you care a lot about me, and I know you wouldn’t hurt me like Peter did.”
“Is that why your father killed Peter?” For the longest time she didn’t say a word. I thought maybe she didn’t want to think about it, or maybe she didn’t want to answer it.
“I think I’m pregnant.” She said pulling me closer closing her eyes.
I didn’t ask her any more questions after that. I was afraid to, or maybe I didn’t want to. I stared at her thinking and trying to picture the horror of what had happened in that car. I keep telling myself; David and I should have never gotten out of that damn car.
“You’re the only one I can trust.” She whispered and lightly kissed me on the lips. I smiled at her, and slid my hand down to the middle of her back feeling the clasp of her bra. She opened her eyes and smiled at me, and then closed her eyes again touching the tip of my nose with hers.
We lay there holding each other for who knows how long. No one was home for most of the day. I think we fell asleep in each other’s arms until the mid afternoon. She didn’t want to do anything. She didn’t want to face the fact her family is shattered because of her father’s bad temper. She didn’t want to think about the only time she’ll ever see her dad now is through a plexi glass window with a phone attached to the wall, and hearing the distant small talk of, so how’s school?
The phone rang waking us up out of a sound sleep. Whitney slid off the bed and answered it like she lived here. I quickly found out it was her mother on the other end when she said “Mom,” in a bitchy tone. She slammed the phone down and breathed a long heavy sigh, as though she was going to tell me she was moving far away.
“My mom is bringing me to the doctors in a few minutes.” She said looking out the window.
“Does she know you might be pregnant?”
“Yes. Your mother is home. I have to go.” She reached over and gave me a big hug and a kiss, then slid her soft finger down the side of my face looking at me like she was never coming back, and quickly went down the stairs leaving out the back door before my mother saw her.
I lay in my bed for a few more minutes thinking of her, and why she came up acting like we were a loving couple, wondering, hoping, and yes, praying it would someday come true.
My mother yelled up the stairs telling me to get my lazy ass out of bed, and come down and help her with the groceries, when the phone started ringing. “Hello,” I said.
“What are you doing?” David asked. I knew the sound of his voice every time he called, and because he never says hello, or goodbye for that matter.
“Nothing,” I told him.
“Be down in a minute,” he said and hung up the phone. When I hung up the phone I saw a small picture of Whitney’s school picture on the table, when I flipped it over I saw the words ‘I love you forever’ written in black ink. I smiled with the feeling of goose bumps covering my body thinking about the first kiss she gave me when we were ten years old. We were acting like a married couple sitting next to each other on her back porch when she kissed me under the soft moonlight. I kissed the picture and left it on the table. I rolled my eyes lazy-ing down the stairs hoping for a miracle I wouldn’t have to help put the food away, when David walked in with his father’s waders on holding a grocery bag, and placed it on the floor in the kitchen.