“I can’t . . . um, don't . . .” I looked away.
He put his arms around me.
“I don’t know what to say." I kicked a rock down the steps. "This all new and—"
“Won’t you see if you like this boy standing in front of you?” His fingers splayed in my hair.
“I don’t . . . Stanford, my summer plans . . .” I stared at him, wide-eyed and confused.
“Nicky,” his thumb moved on my cheek. “I know your plans. You've told me about them. I want your dreams to come true just as I had the chance to realize my dreams. Being together has nothing to do with stopping your dreams. Now that you've said that, brings me to my point. I know I need to get your attention. You're an expert the way you resist and push people away. I've listened to you so carefully and I’ve heard you say repeatedly how you don’t have time for new relationships—especially boys.
“I know you don’t think you have room for me. I promise I’ll go slowly . . . so slowly. We can be together while you have college and work toward your career. The vision you have for your future? I understand it.” He ran his hand up and down my back. “I know you’re afraid. I’ve . . .”
He looked down at the ground.
The face of a little boy took the place of the man who previously stood in front of me.
“I have to confess," his feet shuffled. "I’ve done some checking on your family and friends."
“Checking? What do you mean? You hired a P.I.?” I was being sarcastic, but he ignored my jabs and continued calmly.
“There are things I can do for them. You know how hard I’ve worked at developing connections with people through my charity work and the events I attend. If you just . . . I’ll show you. Please give me a chance.”
“What do you mean you’ve checked on my friends and family?” I asked the question again.
"I need to understand what challenges, they face, because . . .” He danced around the issue delicately. “Because of the challenges I face.”
Embarrassed he’d seen me on such a deep level; I realized he understood a relationship of any kind with me wouldn’t be easy. I turned away; hardly able to face the difficulties I put people through, and hardly able to face him.
“I know about your father from what you told me last year, and I know someone in Municipality. Do you really understand what he’s going through? Will you let me tell you some of the things I've found out?”
“Found out?” I stood straight with my head up and my shoulders back. I braced myself for the information I knew would shake my fragile foundation. When it came to my father it always meant rebuilding something.
Chapter 20
A Love Story Begins
“My friend at Municipality is your dad’s supervisor, and”—he hesitated—"Your dad is in trouble because of his problems with alcohol. He’s been caught drinking on the job.”
No, no, no. Stanford! What will I do? How will I go there? If I need a loan or have to work, will they still let me in?
“What’s the big deal? All those shop guys drink. Instead of coffee or snack breaks they have shots. I've seen them drinking plenty of times when I've gone in to see my dad.”
“It's more than an afternoon shot.” He heaved out a weary breath. "He's gone way beyond social drinking."
When only five years old, I knew my father had become more addicted to alcohol. Each year was progressively worse than the one before. We all watched him sink further into his black hole but even so, my mom, sister, and I had only picked him up at the bar after work, when he couldn’t drive home. I never heard my mother talk about any troubles on the job.
Of course, why would she?
We never talked about any of it.
Now I understood.
My father’s disease pulled on our family from every direction. Like some black vapor, it tried to settle on us as if we were falling into madness and suffocating with him.
* * * * *
When I was about fifteen, Dad was rocked in a way none of us could have imagined.
Several employees that Dad supervised came to him with written complaints about a bus driver they'd witnessed in the bathroom injecting himself with a needle. The man was sent to the lab for a random drug test. It came back positive for heroin.
Municipality, San Francisco’s transportation system of busses, streetcars, trolleys, and cable cars, had a strict disciplinary policy for substance abuse. Since it happened in his car barn, my father was the person who had to report it. The consequence for a first time offender was suspension without pay and mandatory rehabilitation.
Several days later, the driver came into the bus “barn,” where my father worked. These barns were large, open warehouses with no doors. They were home to the extra vehicles that needed repair or those not in operation. They had attached parking lots and multiple entrances and exits, making unauthorized entry, easy.
The suspended driver came in my father’s office with a gun, held it to dad's head, and demanded to be reinstated or he'd pull the trigger. My father couldn't rescind the suspension; it wasn't in his power. He knew he needed to make the man believe he could.
With one pull of the trigger my father’s life would have been over. Thankfully, as my father pretended to draw up the paperwork a coworker happened to walk by. He witnessed what was going on and made a call to the police.
Even a full-blown alcoholic like my dad knew he couldn’t reason with someone under the influence. All he could hope to do was keep the man calm and not escalate the situation.
Fortunately, the driver never got the chance to pull the trigger.
Fortunately, the police arrived in time.
Fortunately, my dad never found out if the driver was serious.
Fortunately, my dad was sober that day.
Unfortunately, my dad was never quite the same at work.
During my father’s life, the rumble and pain had been low and steady, but the day a gun was held to his head, his earthquake came, and it shook him down.
Afterward, whenever we faced his mental or physical abuse, even my mother made excuses for him. She was so completely bathed in the codependent relationship that she immediately embraced another excuse for her husband's drinking. I lost count of the number of times Jenise and I heard: “Understand what happened to your father at work,” and “Just imagine if you had a gun held to your head. How would you react?”
Our parents didn’t seem to understand anything my sister and me were going through. We were still children, developing our emotions, social observations, and judgments. Instead of becoming confident, self-assured women, the lessons at home made us fearful, hesitant to embrace new people and events, and afraid we would disappear into the sadness and disappointment of our family.
And now, he'd had a gun held to his head and we were supposed to be empathetic to our father?
The floors in our home was covered in sand so soft, that in order not to sink and become buried, we had to walk a tightrope in soft slippers . . . All because dad couldn’t handle his life.
* * * * *
“Nicky, I know what happened to your sister,” Ryan swallowed. “I’d like to help her.”
Wait, how do you know?
“I’ve worked with the vice-president at San Francisco State setting up a few networking groups. I've made relationships with employers trying to get internships for them and I’ve come to know the CEO of City Architecture.”
Ryan came on fast.
I was losing all resistance.
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this. Are you saying if I don’t date you, you won’t do anything for my family even though you can?”
“And one other thing, Nicky.” He pushed on, ignoring my question.
I lifted my confused gaze from the ground to look in his eyes. At five-foot, seven-inches, I didn’t consider myself a short woman. But looking up at this big man, seven inches taller than me, I felt as if I stood in his shadow.
“Your friend Jerry has a scho
larship to Stanford for baseball. I know the athletic director there and I can suggest he take a closer look at your friend.”
“He’s already going, so . . .”
“With my input he might be eligible for more—maybe a starting position on varsity. For a freshman that's a big deal. He might get the attention of professional scouts.”
“Okay, so you have contacts. Are you saying—"
“I’m saying when you touched my arm in the outfield, and when you flirted with me on our visits to Yountville, and let me lift your body to mine at the party last year . . .” His eyes narrowed. "Didn't you understand?”
He kissed my forehead.
“Don’t you want more?”
He kissed my hand.
“Aren’t you curious to explore me?”
He kissed my ear.
Yes, curious . . .
“You’re so driven. I love that, but you don’t have to stay closed off,” he said. “Life isn't choosing one or the other when it comes to dreams and relationships.”
“I don’t understand how I could have both.” I rocked on the heels of my slippers.
“And yet, people do it every day.” His hand smoothed my hair.
“I know they do, but I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”
“You never know until you try.” His eyes twinkled in the moonlight.
“I know, but—"
“Just try us, Nicky. I’ll give you the time you need to sort out your thoughts, but understand me. Just because you don’t hear from me every day, my feelings haven’t changed. I won’t disappear and I’m not playing a game or making you part of an elaborate joke.
“If you don't see me for a few days or a week, I'm only reassessing, planning differently and preparing to get your attention in other ways. That’s why I went up to the Veterans’ Hospital alone with you. I needed to see if what I felt and saw in your eyes was real.”
“Just ask me out if that’s what you want.” I planted my feet. "Why go through all of this elaborate entrance tonight?"
“It’s not enough to leave this to chance,” he said. “You’re stubborn and incredibly strong and I know you would’ve said no if I'd asked you out. I want you to know me in a more intimate way. I need to understand how I can motivate you to let me in.”
But I can’t have a personal relationship with you or anyone else right now—it’ll be a disaster.
"I have no experience and I don't know how to be with anyone." I looked directly in his eyes. "I'll be a mess. I might make you a mess, too."
He pulled all of my body to his with one big arm that slowly moved up my back. Warm fingers and the pulsing tips of temptation caressed the base of my neck.
His other hand lifted my hair, grasped it, then flattened, gently cupping the curve of my head, bringing my lips to his, as if preparing me to receive more than just a kiss.
The anticipation of his mouth covering mine made me rise to my tiptoes; my body's urges pushed me toward him. When I felt his lips sliding and pressing on me, I knew he’d implanted a fire that wouldn’t easily burn out.
Without questioning my natural responses, I naturally bent my head back to receive his body, his desire, and everything that seemed to be opening. It felt like my brain was melting, sliding down my spine, leaving me with no ability to stand, reason, or speak. I was helpless as he continued plucking everything juicy from me with his wet and lovely lips.
What's happening to me? What’s that pressing on my stomach? It’s . . . oh, holy God, it’s his penis. He’s erect for me?
“I could’ve gone to Yountville with you, pretending I only wanted friendship, but now," he took a deep breath and gave me another open-mouthed kiss. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. His lips spread a sweet glaze on my ear, delicately touching me as he spoke. “I’ve been waiting so long for you . . . so much longer than you know. I promise to be careful with your feelings and considerate to your family. Just give me a chance to show you how I can love you. I’m only a boy. Don’t be afraid." He kissed the edges of my mouth, and finished with a simple kiss on my forehead. "Your mom has the certificate I brought for you."
"What certificate?" I felt like I mumbled the words.
"The one signed by the team." His sexy laugh sizzled. "Good night, sweet Nicky, I’ll see you again soon.” He walked down our garden pathway to his car, got in, and without looking back, drove away.
I stood in the night air, frozen in place, with the feeling of his lips lingering. The sound of his whispers swirled everywhere.
A part of me skipped with the joy of a child, excited about being with him.
Terrified to take a chance, the other part of me resisted allowing someone into the world I’d so carefully built around me.
I was afraid the delicate ripple he made with his kiss would turn into a raging current, rushing to some ocean beyond my control, carrying away all I’d planned.
Sitting down on my front steps, I hugged my knees and rested my chin on them. My head and body ached for more. One by one our relatives left. I said goodbye and watched them get into their car and drive away. I saw the lights go down inside my house and with them, it felt like something had also softened in me.
Perhaps the locks around my heart were opening.
Or was it that my innocence that dimmed and faded away, had finally closed the book on my childhood?
I felt something new, and I sensed change coming.
Before that night, I didn’t understand why a person wasn't in control of his or her own life. Now I was beginning to see that sometimes, choices weren’t ours to make. Sometimes, we’re swept up before we understand what’s happening to us.
No matter how carefully I’d laid out my plans, the randomness of the world around me had just made its move. My evening shadows had given way to a new kind of dawn.
With it, came the chance to take a risk and change everything.
I settled in my bed with new feelings and began to write the story of Ryan Tilton and me.
Chapter 21
Hidden “Evils”
Excited, scared, pissed off, worried—these were some of what I felt when I opened my eyes the next morning.
For the first time ever, I felt awake.
My mind spun and circled in thoughts of what it would be like to have a boy in my life and what being a woman was all about.
Was I automatically a woman because I was eighteen, or did it involve a certain set of life experiences? If so, what were they?
Sex?
College?
Work?
Contributing to society in a meaningful way?
Having a child?
Everything felt reborn, as if layer upon layer of my skin peeled, one faster than the other, leaving me like a new baby: open, exposed, and ready for baptism.
Emerging with my “new” personality, feelings of rebellion had finally broken through. I could hear her voice pleading with me to give into my raw and fresh urges. It was as if she had injected me with new lightning. It flashed throughout my body.
It’s time to challenge yourself. Take a leap; risk something—anything. Everything—step away and let go . . . you’re ready.
Lying in bed that morning, I gave birth to my “Evil Twin.”
She represented new rebellion, swimming against the current, living more randomly and pushing away stoic behavior.
The “Evil” side of me encouraged speaking out, questioning, and challenging every part of the life I’d previously sought to control.
I toyed with the idea of not going to school in the fall and instead backpacking across Europe or the United States to celebrate this new freedom. Why shouldn’t I shake my tail, toss my hair, and then go to Stanford in January? I had a vision of telling my parents, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to travel across the country. I’ll be back in the spring to go to Stanford—if dad still has a job.”
Her voice flooded me with ideas, making it difficult to process them rationally. So as I’d done many times before, I turned
to what helped me see things more clearly—I wrote in my journal to sort out my confusion.
I wrote about the big arms holding me inside them—arms I’d been drooling over since last year. I couldn’t believe they’d finally circled around me in such a sensual way.
My pen flew on its own as it described Ryan's soft lips and the way they covered my entire mouth. They weren’t clumsy like the few kisses I’d felt from Jerry. Ryan’s lips just seemed to know. I could feel the experience in them, their strong hardness demanded a response—my response, and now I had to consider what kind of message to return.
What did he actually mean when he said he could help my family? And if I didn’t date him, he’d wouldn't do anything?
Why should I care?
Whatever he could do with his contacts for my friends or sister was of no concern to me. They’d never know whether Ryan had or hadn't created an advantage for them.
On the other hand, I was definitely concerned about my father’s probation. It affected me directly, and for once I wanted to be selfish. Without my dad working, I might not attend Stanford and my entire life's plan would need to be revised.
The next time I saw Ryan, I promised myself I’d stare right into his eyes, and tell him, “I’m ready. I'll explore you the way I want, when I want, and how I want. It will all be on my terms.”
The more I thought about the way he explained his vision and story of how he’d been waiting for me, the less I believed him.
If he truly had feelings for me, I would expect him to react with respect, and understanding, even as I envisioned my tender emotions spilling and running all over the place.
How would I discover the advantages I had over him—if I had any at all?
I decided to mount a challenge. The only way I could think of was testing his statement of commitment. He said he wasn't having sex with any woman. What would be the best way to find out if that was true? I could watch him from a hidden spot to see if he called a woman to the railing with his "come on" smile or beckoned her with his finger.
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