Maybe I Will

by Laurie Gray

When we came downstairs, Dad and Mr. Goldman were sitting at the dining room table. Mr. Goldman stood and held out his hand when I walked in. “Hi, Sandy,” he said. “It’s so good to see you again.” He was even taller than I remembered with dark curly hair and blue eyes that seemed to see right through all false pretenses. He waited until I sat down before sitting back in his chair. “I thought you were great in the musical last week,” he said. “You probably know my niece Grace. She was one of the lost boys.”

  “Thank you,” I said in exactly the good-manner voice my parents had taught me to use when someone paid me a compliment. “I didn’t know Grace was your niece.”

  He nodded. “My sister’s daughter. She was thrilled to actually get a part as a freshman. Great program Hamilton runs there at the school.” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and reached for his briefcase. “I have something for you,” he said, placing his briefcase on the table and popping it open. He handed me the notebook the police had taken from me. “I believe this is yours.”

  “Thank you,” I said again, using the same good-manner voice. I tried to figure out what this was supposed to mean. “You don’t need it anymore?” I asked.

  Mr. Goldman shook his head. He pulled a file from his briefcase and set it on the table. Then he closed the briefcase and put it back on the floor beside his chair. He laid both of his palms flat on the file in front of him and looked me directly in the eyes. “First, let me tell you how really sorry I am that this happened to you. I’m sorry that Aaron Jackson assaulted you, and I’m sorry that Detective Morales gave you that nasty bruise on your forehead.”

  I felt my ears burning and resisted the urge to reach up and touch the bruise.

  “You didn’t deserve any of this. I want you to know that I have read all of the reports, and I absolutely believe that you told the police the truth, and I really wish there were something I could do to make this all right.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and pulled a stack of papers out of the file. He handed them to Mom.

  “These are the reports the Detective sent to my office for charging purposes. I promised you copies, and here they are.”

  I could see Mom clenching her teeth as she looked through them. “Theft . . . Minor in Possession of Alcohol . . . Obstructing Justice . . . Perjury . . . Resisting Law Enforcement . . . Battery to a Police Officer . . . “ She shook her head angrily. “Some of these are felonies!” Mom exclaimed. She shuffled through the papers again. “Did I miss anything?”

  “No,” Mr. Goldman replied. “That’s all six charges the detective submitted against Sandy.”

  Dad pounded his fist on the table. “You think Sandy is the criminal here?”

  Mom held Dad’s arm and tried to quiet him. “Don knows Sandy is not a criminal. He wouldn’t be here if he thought that.”

  Mr. Goldman nodded. “Sandy’s definitely not the criminal here. I won’t be filing any of these charges. I know the sergeant had Detective Morales prepare these reports just to cover her own butt and protect the police department.” He took a deep breath, and Dad did the same. “I don’t agree with it, but I also know the detective was probably within the department’s reasonable force continuum guidelines when someone tries to take evidence from a detective.”

  Dad didn’t look happy about this last statement. “So why are you really here?” he asked accusingly. “Just to make sure we don’t sue the police department?”

  Mr. Goldman shook his head. “My primary purpose in coming here personally was to explain to Sandy why I won’t be filing any criminal charges against Aaron Jackson, even though I have absolutely no doubt that Aaron committed a B felony sexual assault and deserves to spend the next 10 to 20 years in prison. I firmly believe that our community would be safer if Aaron Jackson were registered as a violent sex offender.”

  “If you know he did it, why don’t you charge him?” Dad asked. “And you can charge him for raping Shanika Washington, too, while you’re at it.”

  “I’d love to, Bill. I have probable cause for both charges, but I don’t believe there is any way at all I could get a conviction on either count. I don’t mind filing a long shot and letting the chips fall where they may, but I think if I tried this to 100 juries, I’d lose 100 times.” He looked at Mom to see if she agreed. She nodded. “I can’t justify the expense to the taxpayers, and I can’t believe you’d want to put Sandy through that either.”

  “Sometimes it’s better to just move on,” Mom said. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “What do you think, Sandy?”

  I was thinking about Aaron actually raping Shanika. I was wondering why she didn’t tell me that herself. I was gathering that Mr. Goldman did not intend to file any criminal charges of any kind against Aaron, and that’s why he was giving me my notebook back. Mom seemed to think this was for the best. Dad wasn’t happy about it.

  “I don’t know,” I replied weakly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think anymore.”

  31

  Choose your own company, and command what cost

  Your heart has mind to.

  —Antony and Cleopatra, Act III, Scene iv, Lines 37-38

  TROY CALLED JUST as Mr. Goldman was leaving. “Hey, Sandy,” he said. “I got your message. How are you doing?”

  “Better,” I said. “I have a huge bruise on my forehead from where the detective threw me to the floor, but aside from that, I’m good.”

  “So is that why you were in the hospital?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I had a concussion, so they wanted to observe me for a few days.”

  “So how’d you get crosswise with a detective?”

  “I just wanted my notebook back. Trying to grab it from a police officer wasn’t a very bright decision on my part, though.”

  “So did you get it back?” Troy asked.

  “I did, so I guess all’s well that ends well, right?”

  “I guess,” agreed Troy.

  After a moment of silence, I decided it was time to launch into the little speech I’d practiced with Doc. “I’ve been going through a lot lately, and I’ve really missed you. Mom and Dad have sent me to a counselor, and I want to talk with you about everything that’s happened, but I’m still feeling a little afraid.” I took a deep breath. Troy didn’t say anything. I wondered if he was still there. “Anyway, I was hoping that you’d be willing to meet with me and my counselor so I can tell you about what I’ve been going through.”

  “You want me to meet with you and your counselor?” Troy asked.

  “Yes.” I said.

  “When?” asked Troy.

  “Sometime this weekend,” I replied. “Any time before I have to go back to school on Monday.”

  “What about Cassie?”

  “I was going to call her next.”

  “Can we both come at the same time?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’d like that.”

  “I’m pretty sure she has a date with Aaron tonight. What about tomorrow morning? Not too early, like maybe 10:30?”

  “Let me check with Doc,” I said, “but I think that should work. Do you mind meeting me downtown at her office?”

  “I can do that. Text me the address as soon as we hang up, okay?”

  “You got it. And Troy . . . “ I hesitated and had to swallow hard. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem,” said Troy. “It’s been pretty weird without you lately.”

  I let Mom and Dad know that I’d talked to Troy, and we confirmed the time with Doc. “Are you ready to call Cassie?” Mom asked. “Do you want me or your Dad to make the call for you?”

  Just when I was thinking things with Cassie couldn’t possibly get any worse. A call from my parents now, and she’ll write me off forever. I shook my head and took a deep breath.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, “but I think this is something I really need to do myself.”

  “All right,” said Mom. “Just let me know as soon as you hang up.”

  “I don’t
even know if she’ll answer. I’ll probably just get her voice mail.” I went up to my room and tried to collect myself. I prayed that if Cassie did answer, she wouldn’t be with Aaron. I dialed the number and tried to relax. Things with Troy had been okay, so maybe Cassie would be ready to listen now, too.

  She answered. Her “hello” sounded edgy, icy. I wanted to hang up, but she knew it was me from her caller ID.

  “Hey, Cassie,” I said. “It’s me, Sandy.”

  “Hey yourself,” she said. “Troy told me you’d probably be calling.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, trying to act happy about the fact that Troy called her the second he hung up with me. “Did he tell you what’s going on?”

  “He told me you want us to meet with you and your shrink tomorrow morning at 10:30.”

  “Would that be okay with you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve been going through a lot lately, and I’ve really missed you. I need to talk to you and Troy. Mom and Dad have sent me to this counselor, and, well, I just talked with Troy…”

  “Is this about Aaron?” Cassie cut me off. “He told me you and Shanika Washington are both crazy. Are you ready to tell the truth now?”

  My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone to my ear. I sat down on the edge of my bed and leaned forward as far as I could. Far enough to keep me from saying a word.

  “Are you ready to drop your stupid story about Aaron assaulting you?” Cassie insisted. The way she said it made me think that Aaron was right there with her listening to every word we were saying.

  I sat up straight and took a deep breath. “The truth is Aaron sexually assaulted me,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.

  No response.

  “Cassie?”

  “I don’t believe it.” Her voice was curt now. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Just forget it,” I said.

  There was a muffled sound, like Cassie was covering the phone and whispering to someone else.

  “See you around,” I said.

  “Not if I see you first,” she retorted, and I could hear Aaron laughing in the background as she hung up.

  I was giving Mom and Dad the gist of my conversation with Cassie when Troy called me back.

  I answered tentatively. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sandy.”

  “Hey, Troy.”

  “Um, I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it tomorrow after all.”

  “You could come without Cassie, you know,” I said.

  “Don’t make me choose between you and Cassie,” Troy pleaded.

  “I’m not the one making you choose,” I said. “She is.”

  “I want to be there for you, Sandy, but I HAVE to be there for Cassie.”

  “What about Aaron?” I asked.

  “Aaron won’t be around forever,” said Troy. “He doesn’t love her.”

  “So you’re just going to spend your life waiting in the wings?”

  “It’s not like that,” Troy said. “Think about it. Let’s say Cassie’s right and you’re blowing whatever happened with Aaron all out of proportion. Then it’s better that I don’t go tomorrow. On the other hand, let’s say you’re telling the truth, and Aaron is as much of a creep as I think he is. He’s going to do a serious number on Cassie, and I need to be there for her when he does. Either way, Cassie needs me to be there for her.”

  There was no point in arguing with Troy’s logic. Part of me was relieved not to have to face either of them tomorrow, until the reality began setting in that our friendship was really over.

  “Sandy? Are you there?”

  “I understand,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “I hope so, Sandy,” Troy sounded truly torn. “I really hope so.”

  I hung up and turned to face Mom and Dad. “Troy’s not coming tomorrow either,” I said.

  “Oh, Sandy.” My mom came over and gave me a big hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I lied. “I’m not really surprised.”

  “Well, I am,” Dad said. “You three have been best friends your whole life, and when you need them most, they completely abandon you.”

  “I guess we may as well call Doc back and cancel the 10:30 appointment,” I said.

  Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. “Come and sit with me on the couch for a minute,” Mom said to me. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  I didn’t have a good feeling about whatever it was Mom wanted to say, but I very reluctantly let her lead me to the couch. “What is it?” I asked.

  “I want to talk to you about Shanika,” Mom began.

  “What about Shanika?” I was disappointed with Cassie and Troy, but that was nothing compared to the fury I felt when Shanika’s name crossed my lips.

  “She’s called the house every day. She really wants to talk to you. Why don’t we call Shanika and see if she’d keep the 10:30 appointment with you?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to Shanika,” I said. “And anyway, she probably has to teach taekwondo tomorrow.”

  Dad came over to where we were sitting. “Well, I think Shanika really wants to talk to you, even if you don’t have anything to say to her.” Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt to call her and ask.”

  “And we can change the time if we need to,” Mom added.

  “Fine,” I said. I stood up. “You call Shanika. You set it up. You drive me there, and we’ll just see what happens. I’ll be in my room.”

  32

  This above all: To thine own self be true.

  —Hamlet, Act I, Scene iii, Line 78

  I SAT ON my bed and read through the spiral notebook that Mr. Goldman had returned to me. I pulled out the new notebook Dad bought for me and copied my Better Off Dead poem into the old one. I wished that I could write another poem to figure out how I was feeling now, but nothing was coming. Maybe if I had a drink . . . But I didn’t really want a drink, which was good, because I didn’t have anything to drink anyway. Plus, my parents would be monitoring that pretty closely.

  Maybe there wasn’t a word in English that described my feelings. Maybe no one else has ever felt this way. Maybe I should make up a word that describes this feeling. I sneaked downstairs and borrowed Dad’s Latin Dictionary. If I’m going to make up a word, best to start with a solid Latin root.

  I flipped through the dictionary until the restlessness and futility consumed me. I tossed the book on the bed and ran through my taekwondo forms a couple of times. When I lay back down on the bed, I pulled out the old notebook and opened to a clean page. I wrote “Friends” on the top left side and “Enemies” on the top right side. I wrote “Aaron” under “Enemies.” I wrote “Luke” under “Friends.” I wondered when Luke would be getting out of the psych ward. I couldn’t bring myself to write Troy or Cassie or Shanika on either side. I tore out the page, wadded it up, and threw it in the trash can.

  When Mom called me down for dinner, I was very happy to have another nice, home-cooked meal.

  “It’s supposed to be 60 degrees and sunny tomorrow afternoon,” Dad said. “I thought I’d get the bicycles all tuned up tomorrow morning so we can go for a bike ride later in the day.”

  “That sounds good,” Mom said. “Would you like that, Sandy?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Let’s ride up to the old Coney dog place. I can’t remember the last time I had a root beer float.”

  Dad smiled. He was swirling a glass of ice water in his hand, the way he would normally swirl a glass of red wine with the meal. It seemed strange to me that my parents were not drinking wine with the meal, but I didn’t say anything about it. Doc had suggested at one of our family sessions that they completely remove all alcoholic beverages from the house and not drink in front of me for the time being. She said just seeing or smelling the alcohol could be a trigger for me. I think the real reason they got rid of everything was to make sure I couldn’t sneak into it when they were sleeping.

  Dad cl
eared his throat and raised his eyebrows at Mom.

  “Sandy, did you have any questions about the things Don was saying when he visited this afternoon?”

  “Not really,” I said. Just because you tell them doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it. Shanika’s voice. I thought back to the day we sat in her car and I told her about Aaron. She talked about hazing and she even said something about “the rape.” I remember how funny I felt when she said “rape.” Why didn’t she tell me about what Aaron did to her right then? Why did she tell me about Hector and the wrestling team, but not about her and Aaron? She thinks I’m just a kid, that’s why. I’m only a sophomore, a taekwondo student. I was crazy to think I was her friend.

  “Sandy?” Mom touched my arm. “Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I apologized. “What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that I’ll take you to Doc’s tomorrow morning and do some work at my office while you and Shanika talk with Doc. You can call me when you’re ready for me to pick you up.”

  “So you talked to Shanika?” I asked.

  “I did,” Mom said. “She said her Dad would cover her classes tomorrow. She’ll be there at 10:30.”

  “Did she say anything else?” I asked. I drained my water glass, wiped my mouth, and folded my napkin up beside my plate.

  “Just that she’s really glad you’re home and doing better and how much she really wants to talk to you tomorrow,” Mom said.

  “Well, I’m glad it worked out for her to go,” said Dad.

  “How are you feeling about seeing Shanika tomorrow?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Angry. Scared. Anxious. Nervous. Excited. Why did Shanika agree to this? Did Mom push her into it? I blinked several times to clear my eyes and my thoughts. “I’m glad Doc will be there. I don’t think I could do it otherwise.” I could feel Mom and Dad both looking at me.

  “It’ll be fine,” Dad said.

  I suddenly wanted out—out of my meeting with Shanika and Doc and out of this conversation. “I think I’d like to get started on the homework assignments you picked up for me.” I carried my plate and glass to the kitchen sink. “I don’t want to be too far behind when I go back to school on Monday.” I picked up the stack of school books sitting on the counter. “Do you mind if I work in my room?”