Tears in a Bottle

by Sylvia Bambola

  Kate poked Paula’s arm. “Look at the road when you’re driving.”

  Paula made a face, then turned around. “I think you and Mary Lou Potter are the only virgins left in our class.”

  “I don’t think so!”

  Kate laughed. “Well practically, and you don’t want to be beaten out by a room divider do you?”

  “Stop calling Mary Lou that.”

  “Okay, okay,” Kate said. “But listen to Paula. She’s giving you good advice.”

  Thor stopped by the small foyer table and dropped his keys into a large crystal dish, then scanned the pile of mail. Bills. Was there no end to them? He could hear the TV blasting in the theater room and at once noticed his headache was worse.

  “Teresa, lower that TV, will you?” Thor shouted, already on his way up to the bedroom. To his surprise, he saw his pretty, dark-haired wife suddenly appear out of the kitchen. The startled look on her face told him she had not heard him come in.

  “You’re home!”

  “Yeah, just got in. I’d appreciate it if you’d lower that TV. I don’t know why you like everything so loud. It’s making my head split.” Thor noticed how shapely his wife looked in her silk loungewear. When he saw the bag of fruit in her hand, he frowned. “Going to see Eric?”

  Teresa nodded. “I miss him. It’s been over a month.”

  “Don’t try to justify it.”

  “Why do you make it sound so wrong every time I want to go visit my son…our son?”

  “No, you had it right the first time, Teresa. You think Eric is only yours, that only you care about him.”

  “You want to come? You haven’t been to Oxlee in ages.”

  “You know that’s impossible. Who’ll run my clinics?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Teresa patted the fruit with one hand. “Wish I could eat heavier during the drive, but it makes me so sleepy.”

  “You coddle him, you know that.”

  Teresa sighed and hugged the bag to her chest. “You can’t stick a little boy in boarding school and just leave him there. It gets so…so lonely.”

  “For you or him?”

  “He’s still a little boy. He needs—”

  “He needs to grow up. In a few years he’ll be a teenager, and he’s been boarding since he was what…seven? You’d think he’d be used to it by now. Maybe if you didn’t go visit him every month he’d get a chance to acclimate.” Thor saw the familiar tears well up in his wife’s eyes.

  “I’m lonely, Thor. My son’s a hundred miles away…you won’t let me work. What have I got—”

  “I’m not killing myself six days a week so that my wife can go out and work! Look at this house, just look at it, Teresa! Plenty of women would commit murder to have a house like this. I’ve given you everything you could possibly want, and then some. Crying out loud! You’re just like all the other ungrateful women I see every day. What do you want from me?”

  Teresa wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “You, Thor. I want you. But you’re never home.”

  “Oh, now it’s my fault that you’re not happy. Is that it? I slave day and night and it’s still not enough.”

  “Things aren’t enough. There’s a difference.”

  “You can’t have it both ways. I just don’t have the time to give you everything.”

  Teresa smiled sadly. “You have time for the others though, don’t you, Thor? Time for all those other nameless, pretty business associates.”

  “Are you going to start that again?”

  “I didn’t start this, Thor. You did. With your lipstick-smeared shirts, with bills for perfume and jewelry I’ve never seen, with late-night phone calls from women like Julie What’s-her-name—and she’s told me plenty, Thor. She’s really given me an earful. Shall I go on?”

  “Suit yourself. But I don’t plan on listening. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to change, then I’m going for a swim.”

  “That’s right. Your ten laps. Must not forget to do your ten laps.” Teresa blotted her eyes with her hand. “Is that where you were tonight, Thor? With another woman?”

  Thor stopped in his tracks and looked down the staircase at his wife. “No, I was working.”

  “I love you, Thor. I still love you, even after…after everything. But I don’t think I can go on like this much longer. You’ve changed. Your work has changed you. I know your heart has been broken. I do know, Thor. You’ve broken your own heart with the things you’ve done. And you’ve broken mine, and you keep breaking it, and I keep letting you. But I can’t take much more. Maybe I’m foolish to worry about you, all things considered. But I do worry. I do. How will you manage when I’m gone…when I’m gone and you’re all alone?”

  Thor smiled down at his wife and blew a kiss. “If I don’t see you before you leave in the morning, be careful on Hunter Mountain, especially around the lake area. You know how I hate you traveling that stretch by yourself. Maybe when they open the new interstate, the drive will be easier. But just be careful, okay?”

  Teresa nodded, not returning the smile, then walked sadly toward the kitchen.

  As soon as the car pulled into the parking lot of Brockston’s Convenience Store, Becky could see that Skip was ticked. She watched him stride to the car with those long legs of his, stiff and wary like a soldier marching into combat. In the background, Becky could see two of Skip’s friends watching, snickering.

  “Sorry.” Becky leaped out of the car and threw her arms around Skip, then gave him a big kiss, the kind she reserved for more private moments. She hoped it would make him look good in front of his friends.

  At once she could feel his body relax. And when they finally parted, she could see his eyes, soft and misty, looking at her the way they used to.

  “What took you?”

  “My dad.”

  “I still don’t know why we have to sneak out like this. Why don’t your parents like me?”

  “They don’t even know you, and because it’s easier.”

  “It makes me feel like a jerk. Like I’m not good enough or something.”

  “Look, it’s not about you, okay? It’s my dad. He still thinks I’m a little girl. He’s not ready for all this. Believe me, fifteen minutes of being grilled by him and you’d understand why I’m taking the shortcut.”

  “Well, okay, but it still makes me feel like some kind of creep. Are we going to have to sneak out on prom night too?”

  “Are you taking me?”

  “Who else?”

  Becky shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, tried to keep the joy she felt from leaping out of her and making her jump up and down like an idiot.

  Skip pulled out a paper from his jeans pocket and glanced back at his friends. “Ah…do you think you’d like to go to the Teen Health Conference with me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t get the flyer?”

  Becky shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

  Skip looked back again at his friends then at the paper in his hands. “Ah…I think it might be good for us…I mean…”

  “What are they doing?” Becky nodded toward the two boys lurking in the shadow of Brockston’s. “Why are they acting like idiots and why are they here? I thought it was going to be just you and me.”

  Skip looked over at the red Nissan. Paula and Kate were still sitting inside, watching them. “I could ask the same question.”

  Becky put her hands on her hips. “All right, Skip. What’s the deal? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I mean…we just thought that this conference might do you some good. That’s all.”

  “We? As in your idiot friends back there?”

  “Yes, and as in your dumb friends over here.”

  Beck yanked the paper from Skip’s hands. “What’s this conference all about?”

  Skip moved closer and put his arm around her. “It’s great, really great. I went last year. It’s like a field trip, put out by Planned Parenthood. You get out of school for the da
y and the conference is over by 1:30. It’s at a really nice hotel, and you get breakfast and lunch.”

  “And?”

  “And…and all you have to do is sit through a few lectures.”

  “About sex education and condom use? I’ve already learned about that stuff in health.”

  “Well, maybe you need to hear it again. Maybe you’re not comfortable with it all and need to be reassured.”

  Becky glared at her friends and then at the two tall shadows against the building. “Was this a group decision?”

  “Ah…well, we’re just trying to help, Becky, that’s all. You seem so uptight about it, we all thought that maybe in a nice environment, over a little lunch, you’d, you know & see things differently.”

  “Is that what you all thought?” Becky fought back the tears and her anger. “It gives me such a nice warm feeling knowing that all of you sat around discussing this. Discussing me, like I was some kind of mental case.”

  Skip drew her closer. “It wasn’t like that at all. It’s just that we think you need a little help…to get through this. I mean, you’re a senior and we’ve been going out three months, and you still freeze like a glacier. A little help to get you through this, that’s all you need. You’ll see.”

  Becky tiptoed into her room, then closed the door before turning on the light. She didn’t know why she bothered. She was sure her father was up anyway. He never fell asleep until she came home.

  She pulled off her clothes, threw them in a pile on the floor, and put on her pajamas. As she brushed her long, silky black hair, she studied her face. The only good feature she could see was her complexion. Paula once told Becky her skin was “to die for.”

  That was one consolation anyway. Still, it didn’t make up for those lips of hers. She tossed the brush onto the cluttered dresser and glanced at her Raggedy Ann.

  “Boy, do you have the life, just sitting on my dresser all day and nobody telling you to grow up.”

  With a sigh, she pulled her diary from the middle drawer. She opened it, found her pen, then threw herself on the bed and began to write.

  Dear Diary,

  I saw Skip tonight. I don’t think he’s going to dump me after all. Not yet, at least. And just when I was getting used to the idea. I never thought being in love could be so terrible. It’s like playing chicken with a bus, seeing if it will run you over or if you’ll jump out of the way, instead. I figure either way you lose, not the bus. So why do people play?

  Skip thinks I have a problem with sex. So do all my friends…and his. I never thought I did. Now I’m not so sure. I let him do things tonight that I never let him do before, but not the real thing, not the thing that really mattered to him. I wanted to. I want to do everything I can to please him, to make him happy. But I’m not ready for all of it. At least I think that’s the reason. I don’t know anymore. I’m so confused. I’m going to college next year. Shouldn’t I be over this silly notion that virginity means something? There can only be one ‘first time.’ Should that be with Skip? Will we last? Does it even matter? It seems like I’m getting stupider with age. Why can’t I make sense of this? Or is it supposed to make sense? The whole virginity thing is getting old, anyway. I’m tired of it. It doesn’t mean anything. So why can’t I throw it away like some useless outgrown toy? Maybe for the same reason I can’t throw Raggedy away. Maybe I’m afraid to grow up, like Paula and Kate say. I don’t know. But why is it so wrong to be a virgin? I think everyone’s right. I really am afraid to grow up. I just wish I wasn’t so confused.

  2

  TERESA EMERSON WALKED INTO the dingy little office and smelled mothballs. She smiled at the large perspiring man behind the desk and noticed that the smell became stronger the closer she got to him. It was almost overwhelming by the time she reached the cheap pine desk. She took the empty chair. The man wore a wrinkled brown wool suit and wheezed whenever he inhaled. She could deal with the mothball odor and was actually getting used to it by degrees, but the wheezing made her nervous. She found herself breathing harder as though trying to aid him in his.

  She opened her purse and pulled out a swollen envelope full of large bills. She held the envelope in the air for a moment, then placed it on the desk in front of her.

  “Before I give this to you, I’d like to see what you have.”

  The man in the brown suit chuckled good-naturedly. “Can’t say I blame you. I’d want to see the goods, too, before I forked over that kind of cash.” He pulled out a black folder from a side drawer and slid it toward her. “Like I told you on the phone, he’s an easy study. Very casual about what he does. Not worried about covering his tracks. You’ll like the pictures. A good lawyer can do a lot with these. I must admit that not all my jobs are this easy. I almost feel bad taking your money—I mean, the job was that easy.”

  Teresa opened the folder and took out an inch-high stack of banded black-and-white photos. She removed the rubber band, thumbed through them quickly, then put them back. She didn’t have the stomach to view them any closer. She picked up her envelope and handed it to the man. “I was told you’re the best. I was not misled.”

  The man started to laugh then stopped because of the wheezing. “You’ll have no trouble now, not with these. I suppose this concludes our business. I mean the deal was for six months, and you have everything you need.”

  “If you look in the envelope, you’ll see that I’ve given you an advance for another six months.”

  The man scratched his head. “Okay, lady, it’s your money. If you want to throw it away that’s fine by me. But you’ve got the guy cold. I’ve just given you an insurance policy and all you have to do is fill in the amount.”

  Teresa smiled sadly. “In some cases, one can’t have too much insurance.”

  “Kirt, you’ve got to do something! You’re the best friend we’ve got in the Assembly. If you don’t help, who will?”

  “Cool your jets, Maggie. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help. But you sure can pick winners, can’t you?”

  “You afraid of him?”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone, then a heavy sigh. “You know some people say he’s connected, has a lot of muscle power.”

  “Since when do you pay attention to rumors?”

  “You pick up a lot here at the capital. More times than not, the rumors turn out to have merit.”

  Maggie pulled a paper from beneath the blotter. Words, cut from a newspaper, were pasted on a single sheet of inexpensive typing paper. She had read them a hundred times and was about to read them again, to Kirt, but stopped herself.

  “Those people don’t play nice, Maggie, and that means when we go after him we have to do it right and we have to do it smart. It might be wise to tread a little softer, for now, anyway. Your people have been pretty rough on him.”

  “First off, Kirt, they’re not my people. They’re people following their own consciences. And second, they’re not about to tread any softer. They’ll go right on picketing his abortion clinics until this madness stops.”

  “Maggie, have you forgotten? Abortion is legal.”

  “Is it legal for a doctor to perform an abortion while intoxicated? Is it legal for a doctor to carve his initials into the stomach of a patient? Is it legal for a doctor to rape the young girls that come to him for help?”

  “Slow down, now. That’s a mouthful of accusations you’re hurling at Dr. Emerson, and somehow I just can’t see him doing any of them.”

  “No, he’s not. But some of his staff at Solutions are.”

  “Any proof?”

  “Stop sounding like a lawyer.”

  “I am a lawyer.”

  Maggie fingered the sheet of typing paper, then slid it back in its hiding place with the other one she had received the week before. This had to be the work of a kook. There can’t be any connection between these notes and Dr. Emerson.

  “Maggie? I asked you if you had any proof?”

  “A room full of them, Kirt. Broken, hurt, damage
d. I see them every day. I have to look into their eyes, watch them fight the tears, the self-hatred. It will take years before these girls are whole again.”

  “Will any of them testify?”

  “Come on, you know better than that.”

  “So what can I do?”

  “Make the State Health Department do regular inspections. They’re supposed to anyway, but don’t. If it were anything other than an abortion clinic, the Health Department would be all over them. When are they going to stop protecting this industry?”

  “Suppose I could get the Health Department to do an inspection? What’s that going to do?”

  Maggie squinted at the nameplate on her desk: Maggie Singer, CSW, CASAC, Community Life Center. Some days she wished she had gotten into something else, like retail, where your heart wasn’t always breaking into tiny little pieces. But God had placed her here. She was glad that at least one of them knew what He was doing.

  “Maggie? You there?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Somebody has to be.”

  “That’s not fair. You said yourself I’m the best friend you’ve got. But I don’t see it every day, and that gives me some objectivity. Emotions don’t cut it here at the state capital. I need hard facts. Give me something I can work with.”

  Maggie pressed the phone to her ear and rose from her desk. “That’s why I love you, Kirt. You’re so logical, so clinical.”

  “I wish you meant that, I mean really meant that.”

  “You know I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  “Well, the Bible uses several different words for love. Which one did you mean exactly?”

  “You want the facts, okay—Solutions is notorious for improperly maintaining their surgical equipment, being understaffed, performing abortions too quickly. You do an abortion every five to six minutes, where’s the time to monitor patients, pre- or post-op? Where’s the time to prepare the room for the next patient? And Solutions has no equipment to monitor patients undergoing general anesthesia. None!” She paced around her office, her small, 100-pound frame poised for battle.