“That’s ridiculous!” I screamed at the teacher. Everyone around us looked at me in shock. In all of my years of schooling, I had never talked back to a teacher like this. “He was just protecting me. Randy’s the one who started it.”
“No room for exceptions, Miss Groves. These two were both fighting, we saw it. They both have to go.”
“But…”
“No exceptions,” the teacher said with firm finality as I followed him and Corbin to the door.
“You go first,” the teacher said to Corbin as the other teacher held onto Randy. “Are you okay to drive? I can still call an ambulance or someone to pick you up.”
“I’m fine,” Corbin’s voice was gruff.
“Straight to your vehicle and out you go. If you come back, we’ll call the cops. You’re lucky we’re not getting them involved now. Assault charges don’t go away so easily, you know,” the teacher harangued. I found myself completely disgusted with the teacher. This was ludicrous.
“Corbin, I’m coming, too,” I added from behind.
I rushed out the door, not caring if the teachers had anything to say about it. We walked swiftly to the truck, climbing in quietly. Once there, I looked at Corbin’s face.
“Corbin, are you sure you’re okay? It looks pretty bad,” I said softly. “Maybe we should call my mom…”
“No, Emma. I’m fine. I’ve already ruined your night with my damn temper.” He sighed, a glassy look filling his eyes. He slowly turned the ignition on the truck, filling the parking lot with a dull roar of the engine. He still held the towel on the cut with his extra hand.
“Corbin, you didn’t do anything wrong! You protected me from that slimeball. You didn’t do anything,” I yelled over the hum of the engine, hoping he would believe me. I felt horrible for the part I had played in the night. “If anyone’s at fault, it’s me,” I added as my eyes shifted from his face to my feet with guilt.
“What?!” Corbin shouted in shock, looking over at me. I was afraid the truck was going to stall.
“What are you talking about? I saw that creep grab you, and I saw you pushing him away. You had nothing to do with this, Emma. “
“Well, I didn’t play any smaller part than you. If I’m not to blame, neither are you. You stepped in when I needed you.”
Corbin shook his head and sighed. “Regardless, I ruined your prom night.”
“You didn’t ruin it.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well,” I said hesitantly, “it’s not technically over yet. Mom’s not expecting me home for like three hours.”
“And what do you suppose we do with those hours? It’s not like we have many places we can go dressed like this.”
I thought to myself for a second. “Well, there is one place that we are dressed appropriately for.”
“Where?”
“We were there once tonight.” I said, happiness in my voice.
“The barn? You want to go back to the barn?” Corbin asked.
“Why not?”
Corbin played with the idea in his head.
“Well, I guess we could. I had thought about asking you to go back there after prom anyway, you know, instead of going to the after-party. So I guess we’ll just move the plans up a few hours.”
“See, it’s working out fine. Nothing’s ruined.”
“If you say so.”
“Well, I’m with you. What else matters?”
He looked at me, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “You are missing out, though, you know.”
“On what?” I quizzed.
“While you were dancing, I had requested the chicken dance. I figured it was a group dance you could handle.”
I opened my mouth, gaping at him in mock horror. “Oh my goodness. What a shame I’ll be missing out on that fun time,” I proclaimed.
He laughed. I was happy that the mood was finally lightening up.
“Well, we do have a radio at the barn…” he said jokingly.
“I’ll pass. I think there are better things we can do with our time,” I offered.
“Like what?” Corbin asked with curiosity. His eyes flickered.
“You’ll think of something,” I flirted.
* * * *
I had no idea where this side of me was coming from. Sure, I was wildly attracted to Corbin. But sexy and flirtatious were not part of my vocabulary. I attributed this new confidence to the adrenaline rush from watching the fight. Corbin seemed to wrestle with the possibilities in his mind for the rest of the drive. After several miles on the now-familiar dirt road, his truck finally jolted to a stop.
“Here we are…again.” Corbin said. His eye was starting to bruise, but the bleeding had at least stopped.
“Our own private prom,” I added, laughing. “Mr. Jones, you are such a troublemaker. What am I going to do with you?” I asked, gently stroking his face near his injury.
“Oh, you’ll think of something,” he promised, winking at me. He leaned over and kissed me gently. It quickly turned into a more urgent, heavy kiss, his hand grasping the side of my face, crushing my curls as he cradled them. He pulled away gently, quickly got out of the truck, and walked over to my door, a man on a mission. He opened it, and this time I got out on my own volition. Not caring too much about the dress anymore, I followed behind him down the dirt path, holding his hand the whole way. He turned on the lights once we were in the barn and the magical setting returned.
“Much better than prom,” I said, smiling up at him. His eyes were serious, looking into mine.
“Emma,” he said, turning me to face him and putting his hands on my face. “I love you. So much. I thought I was going to lose it when I saw Randy touching you,” he said, leaning in to kiss me when his words were finished.
“I love you, too,” I softly muttered into the haven of his mouth. He continued kissing me, hands moving against my body in a claim of ownership, ownership that I was more than happy to submit to. I felt my heart start to race as the kiss got greedier. He darted away enough to look at me, his hands on my hips.
“I almost forgot. Wait here one second.” I sighed in frustration. What horrible timing this guy had.
He jaunted across the barn, reached into a tiny cooler I hadn’t noticed earlier, and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. I recognized the contents immediately. Despite my newfound carefree attitude this night, alarm bells started to ring. This was too much.
“Corbin,” I said seriously, “this is a bad idea. I’m not going to risk…”
“Shhh…” he said, opening the bottle. “Relax, Emma. It’s just grape juice.”
“Oh,” I said, stopping mid-rant. I blushed at my blunder. Always the square. Or the killjoy. “Sorry, I just assumed…”
He handed me a glass of my bubbling grape juice. I took a sip. It was delicious.
“I think I know you a little better than to bring alcohol here. Give me some credit, okay?” he snickered, shaking his head.
“How about a toast?” he declared, raising his glass in mock sophistication. He put his nose in the air a little bit too high. I giggled.
“A toast? Are we the toasting type now?” I said, laughing at the ridiculous pretense that two people who ate potato chips and sandwiches in a barn would be toasting.
“To a prom night that we’ll never forget,” he announced, “and to us…and the long road that got us here and the long road that waits ahead.”
“To us,” I chimed in, clinking his glass and feeling somewhat silly. But I did like the pretense of the long road ahead.
I couldn’t imagine my life without this crazy, romantic, sweet, gorgeous goofball standing beside me, making me laugh every step of the way. We sipped on our “bubbly.” Corbin reached for my glass and set both of them on the tables. He wrapped his arms around my waist again, his hands finding home on my protruding hips.
“You’re so beautiful tonight, Emma. I love you so much. I want to be with you forever.”
I blushed at the complime
nts and looked down at my feet. After the heat in my face had cooled, I looked up at him.
“I love you, too. Forever.”
Corbin launched into kissing me again, his hands whispering across my back, igniting chills all over my body. I wrapped my arms tenderly around his neck and delved into the kiss completely. The kisses were initially languid and lazy, flowing gently like a dandelion seed in a breeze. Soon, though, the breeze intensified to a zealous gust. We kissed roughly, passionately, with a need that neither of us had recognized before but had become a welcome guest within these walls. I felt my mind drifting off into the twinkling white lights, floating into the whimsical setting itself.
The next few hours were filled with more joy, passion, and love than I would ever experience again. We were two young kids treading into the waters of adulthood, neither one of us knowing what lay ahead or just how deep the waters were. And though we were clumsy and arguably foolish in our actions in the barn that night, our actions were guided by pure love and trust. Not a second of regret or hesitation flooded my mind as I followed Corbin into that hayloft. I had always considered myself a rule-follower and a moral stickler. Despite myself, though, it didn’t feel wrong. It couldn’t feel wrong when I felt so serene lying in the arms of Corbin, engulfed in his entire sense of being. For the first time in my young life, I felt fulfillment and contentment at their deepest levels.
When I awoke in Corbin’s arms a few hours later, I smiled up into his face. My mind was soggy with the inevitable sleepiness that follows passion, but my mind still grasped that as a unit we were forever changed. The lightness of an adolescent relationship had been replaced with the heaviness of an irreversible connection. I knew at that moment that he would be a part of me at the deepest sense of my being for the rest of my life, and I relished in this fact.
When we knew it was time to return to the realities of the external world, we groggily treaded down the hayloft ladder. More kissing threatened to intensify, but we knew that my mother would hear about the fight and Corbin’s expulsion from the dance. I would have some explaining to do for the last few hours. But I would worry about that tomorrow.
For that night, I had only wanted to revel in the beauty of our connection, in the strength of our desires. As Corbin hugged me to him and professed his love one more time, I glanced around the room, taking in the sheer magic of the atmosphere that would be gone come morning light. I knew there would be other nights and other memories, but I felt like there could never be another fairy tale night that lived up to this one.
* * * *
For the rest of my life, when I saw the stars twinkling in the night sky or lights at Christmastime, I would think of those lights that Corbin had laboriously hung in that barn. When I saw a rustic, peeling building claiming to be a barn, I would think of that barn, our barn, where we had eaten sandwiches and danced to the radio. And whenever grape wine or grape juice or grape anything tantalized my taste buds, I was transported back to that enchanted night when we first committed ourselves to one another completely and irreversibly.
Chapter Fourteen: Working Hard, Playing Hard
Emma
Memories
The remaining weeks of our junior year flew with characteristic ease and swiftness. Before we knew it, the humid days of summer sat at our doorsteps, waiting to be filled with new memories and laughter.
Thankfully, the only repercussions from prom night were my mother’s uncharacteristic wrath. She had heard about the fight from Mrs. Pratt, our neighbor, who had heard from her son, and the teacher who had thrown Corbin out. Although my mother was gracious for Corbin’s interference between me and Randy, she was curious about where our extra hours of time had gone after leaving the prom. We left her in the dark as much as possible. She eventually dropped it, probably because she thought that not knowing what happened may have been better than facing what truly happened. As a precaution, though, I found myself facing a “birds and the bees” talk only a few days later. With my mother, that was certainly a trip I wouldn’t ever want to sign up for again.
The weeks that had passed since that night deadened the intensity of the situation, and things went back to normal. Randy Clark, of course, glowered at Corbin every chance he got and went out of his way to flirt with me at school. Other than that, the situation seemingly dissipated. And so, with hot, empty days ahead, Corbin and I both decided to take summer jobs. I took a job in the mall in an attempt to save up some money for the exuberant expenses associated with college.
Corbin took a job at the local amusement park, which afforded him the simple luxury of being outside all day. After much persuasion, he decided that he would apply to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. A typical desk job just wasn’t his cup of tea, and his amazing artistic abilities made it seem like a perfect fit. Corbin wasn’t so confident in his abilities, but he agreed to humor me and apply, admitting that if he got in, it would be a dream come true. He knew, however, that his dad, Mr. Practical in every sense of the word, would never go for four years at an art school. He would deem the endeavor a complete waste of time and resources. Unless Corbin was going for a “real” career, such as a lawyer or a real estate agent, Mr. Jones probably wouldn’t be supportive. So Corbin needed to save as much money as possible. He would borrow the rest. Of course, Corbin wasn’t too concerned about it. His motto was “worry about it when you’re standing right in front of it.” Too often than not, his small paychecks from the park were spent on music or day trips for us that summer. I, on the other hand, saved every single penny I earned. I tried not to hold his laissez-faire nature against him, but sometimes it was hard. I knew that come fall, he would be scrounging for cash.
Nonetheless, we both worked away our days and laughed away our nights together. We still visited “our” oak tree on a weekly basis and visited “our” barn as often as we could. With his sense of freedom found in his driver’s license, our possibilities for exploration were opened up tenfold. We visited the zoo, a water park, and even drove to the beach on our days off. We spent Memorial Day and the Fourth of July picnicking with my family at the local lake. My mom invited Mr. Jones to our picnics on both days, and to everyone’s surprise, he came with us on the Fourth of July. To Corbin’s true surprise, Mr. Jones actually had a good time.
The summer passed with an ease that is typical of the sunny days of the season. Merriment was plentiful, especially on the days we spent with my mother, who was more often than not in her hot-pink string bikini in a lounge chair on the front lawn. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” she would say while a chocolate ice cream cone dripped down her chin. Poor Corbin saw more of my mother that summer than he had bargained for.
As the end of August loomed and the first day of our senior year threatened to end our summer fun, dread started to pang within me. One more year, and then it was off to the real world. Bills, distance, and major life choices loomed ahead of us, threatening to come between us. Although I hoped, even prayed, that Corbin would get accepted to the Art Institute, a part of me feared what it would mean for us. Would we start to grow apart if he was three hours away? What if I only saw him once a week or once every few weeks when we were busy? Although I tried to quiet these fears and convince myself our love was strong enough to survive, I couldn’t calm the uneasiness I felt deep down.
I felt like a black cloud was looming in the distance, waiting for graduation day to pass. I knew that if I mentioned it to him, Corbin would quickly dismiss the application for the Institute and pass up on his dreams. Thus, I kept quiet. I knew that I needed to suck it up. It would be worth it in the future when we both had careers we loved. I would have to deal with some distance in the short term to ensure our happiness and solidity in the long run. So, on the last day of summer, as we sat entwined under the oak tree watching the ducks swim on the creek, I decided to relinquish my fears and doubts to the universe. What was meant to be would work out, I told myself, trying to believe it. Just then, Corbin leaned down and kissed me. All was well. It see
med that all would work out.
Chapter Fifteen: Wings
Corbin
The cell door clinks open as Frank trudges back into his familiar place on the top bunk. I think nothing of it until a guard yells, “Jones.” I sit up from the bed and glance over toward the bars. It is time.
I exhale audibly as I head toward the gate. Despite the recent developments, I still must be searched. While those in the outside world would shudder with humiliation at the depraving search, I have grown accustomed to it. In here, nothing is sacred or private. Humiliation and inferiority are a part of life.
I am led down the corridor to a room in which I have spent hundreds of anguish-filled hours. Hours spent hoping for a change, hoping for news, hoping for the truth. For so many years, that hope dwindled until it finally became nothing but a bug stomped into the cement floor. Now it has been resurrected, against all odds. The hope has grown wings again and is ready to sail out of this prison, carrying me with it. Overjoyed shouldn’t even begin to describe it.
I had dreamed of this meeting, dreamed of the day I would be exonerated from that crime, when I would hear those final words that would set me free. Yet, as I walk down the hallway to meet with my lawyer, the warden, and the prosecutor, I feel nothing of the sort. Instead, feelings of confusion, fear, and anger swarm my soul.
For years I sat in here, an innocent man labeled a criminal. For years, I spent my days in the company of true murderers and rapists, living the life meant for them. Solitude and sorrow became fixed entities in my day to day life. Yet now, after twenty-eight years of buzzers and clinking bars, of cardboard-like nourishment and monotony that can kill, of years of letters and pleas than fell on deaf ears, of appeals and disappointments, they decide I am truly innocent. One dedicated foundation, some fingernail scrapings, an overlooked hair, and some DNA testing helped the suppressed truth to finally surface, but it took twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years. What is one to make of that? Clearly, I have known all along that it wasn’t my fault, that I wasn’t a murderer. It is no surprise to me. Yet, shouldn’t it be more surprising to them? The guards, my lawyer, the judge, the warden, they all act so formal and nonchalant about the news. I mean, yes, they seemed apologetic, but how can a “we’re so sorry,” make up for twenty-eight years? How can they give me back those years that I lost? How can they make up for oversights and mistakes that should have never happened, that cost me my life? How can they explain away their overzealous prosecution of an innocent boy based on how a situation appeared? How can they reign in the ships that have already sailed from my harbor and sank, their treasures obliterated in the crash? No settlement can possibly give me back the life that I lost, the part of my life that would have probably been the best years of my life.
Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance Page 10