by CL Walters
Good Abby reminds me we’re with Seth. I can trust him.
Bad Abby loves the idea of a good time, but she’s wary.
“So much for being early,” I say when a group of three girls bumps into me, laughing and tripping, already deep in their cups.
“You want to leave?" Seth asks. He stops to look at me. I have the impression that he is impatient with my hesitation. It isn’t so much what he’s said, but how he’s said it. His tone is pointed.
"Are you mad?" I ask.
“No. No. I was just wanting to stop in and say 'hi.' I thought it might be fun because this is the first party this year, but I feel like you don't want to be here."
I have a sense of déjà vu, as though I’m replaying a moment I’ve lived before. The past circles back around, as though around the face of the clock, same but different. I have an opportunity to make a different choice.
But I don’t.
I say, “I do. I want to hang out with you.” I flash him a Good Abby reassuring smile. Guilt radiates through me for lying to my mom and pulsates with extra force. If my parents find out. They won’t. They can’t. Besides, we aren’t staying. We are stopping in to say hello and then going to Portland. Things can't go wrong. I'm in control this time.
He gives me his charming grin. “We won’t stay long.” With that assurance he grabs my hand and pulls me into the house with bodies so thick I have to squeeze between them. Many gyrate on a dance floor, their bodies grinding against one another. Others participate in drinking games, the cheering for their inebriation shrill over the din of music and conversation.
Seth introduces me to his friend Jessie, an attractive boy who is more man than boy. His gaze makes me nervous since his perusal of me is more intimate than I'm comfortable. I step closer to Seth and he rests a possessive hand on my waist. I anticipate a few moments of chit chat and then an exit back to the truck, but after an hour, and two beers, Seth seems more interested in staying than leaving.
“Are we still going to go?" I ask.
“What?" He leans toward me and yells over the boom of the bass, the hum of loud voices and the cacophony of drunken laughter.
“The movies?" I repeat. "In Portland?"
“Maybe we could just hang out here,” he says. He pulls me against him. The rhythm of the music, the feel of being so close to a gorgeous boy, my heart flutters with anticipation of a promise. “This is fun right?”
My chest tightens with panic. Just like last time. Just like last time, Bad Abby chants. We’re okay, Good Abby says. You aren’t drinking. “I just thought-” I start and then stop.
“Are you really that uncomfortable?” He asks. His brows rise over his amber eyes with concern, but I'm not sure there isn't annoyance behind his gaze as well. I probably would have been irritated with the prude in the same situation, but I can't go down this path again. I will ruin everything I'm beginning to rebuild.
Then he smiles - that dimple - and something happens in my body that acquiesces with the fluidity of water. He holds me tighter.
"No. I'm fine," I say.
"A little longer?"
I nod. Looking around, I recognize a few faces from the halls at school but there are so many people I can’t image they are only from Cantos. Dancing is in full swing. The longer the alcohol is on the altar of teen worship, scriptures of modesty are forgotten. A few couples kiss and grope one another on the dance floor. Then with dizzying speed, it is as though the hands of the clock go backward and I’m me of that infamous night.
“Want to dance?" Seth's husky voice in my ear sends goose bumps down my spine and pulls me back to the present. I want to, remember the feeling of letting go, of not being so trapped in the prison of good Abby. I imagine being closer to him, of his undivided attention, of his body pressed closer to mine. I nod. I’m not the same girl, right?
He sets down his beer and takes my hand, pulling me away from Jessie who’s yelling something vulgar. I’m transported again:
A harmless dance.
Or so I had believed.
Have a drink.
Dancing and laughing with friends.
Party time. A party just like this one.
Back in the present, Seth leads me into the crowd and then turns toward me, pulls me so close that there is no space between our bodies. His hand is on my waist and my stomach constricts with a deep wanting. It’s physical but doesn’t match emotionally, anxiety and regret of memories pulsing through my bloodstream too. We move to the beat, my arms around his neck, the strong sinew of his muscles foundational. I close my eyes and slip backwards in time:
Have another drink.
Feeling loose.
Kanoa is staring at me.
Giddy with his attention.
Another drink. He brings it to me.
Laughter.
Kanoa is all-encompassing. I’ve seen him at school. He’s older.
He asks me to dance.
Pressed up against me, the dance is slow. I feel his body. The ache of want.
A kiss and my heart dances too.
Here, have another drink.
Drown the pain and grief of losing Poppa.
I return to the dance with Seth and shudder. He leans back, lifts my face to look at him. He’s smiling, until he realizes I’m crying. “What’s wrong?” he says.
I shake my head, unable to speak and bury my head against his chest as I return to the past:
Another dance. Another drink. I feel loose.
I feel dizzy. Where are my friends?
Here’s another drink. Kanoa. He’s there.
Have another. Drink up.
Where are my friends?
Inhibition dissipates like steam from a boiling pot.
Fast song.
Kanoa dancing with me.
“Dance for me,” he says.
People encircle us.
The crowd chants my name but they slip away as I move; a show for Kanoa.
Kanoa pulls at my shirt. I help him take it off.
His hands all over my now bare skin.
His undivided attention. His smile.
I dance. He helps me, his hands guiding my hips.
The crowd cheers.
I didn't know there were cameras.
A show for everyone.
It was too late.
Where are my friends?
In a viral moment, I became the resident slut of my high school.
“Did I do something?” Seth’s voice in my ear brings me back for good.
I shake my head. “No. It isn’t you. I don’t want to talk about it,” I say though I’m not sure he can hear me. “Let’s just dance,” I say.
He does and I move with him, trying to let go of the past to be in the present. I hold onto him as though he is a buoy in a stormy sea. As the song transitions into the next, I pull away, have righted myself. I made it through, no problems. I look up at Seth who’s red-faced with alcohol, smile at him and say, “Thanks.”
Suddenly his mouth is pressed to mine.
Taken aback I push him away, angry. “I need some air,” I say and break away from him going deeper into the house. I go to find a bathroom. My heart is racing as I wait in line, caught in between the past and the present. When I finally make it into the room I splash water on my face and look at my reflection. “What is wrong with you,” I say. “This isn’t Hawaii and he isn’t Kanoa. Pull yourself together.”
You’re okay, good Abby says. Bad Abby is quiet.
A deep breath I leave the confines of the bathroom and return to where I'd left Seth. He isn’t there.
But Sara is.
“Well. Hi, Abby,” she says, her eyes bright with drink and her tone offering bored indifference. She takes her time perusing my appearance, an obvious tactic to intimidate me. It doesn’t work. I’ve been in my share of fights, at which most local girls in Hawaii excel for sheer necessity. I won’t back down when I’m in a corner. The girls she is with work me over with the same look.
I’m
not sure why I ask her. I know she isn’t my friend, but she’s the only face I recognize, so I ask her, “Have you seen Seth?”
“Seth Peters? You’re here with Seth Peters?" Her face changes to an ugly sneer curling her upper lip. She isn’t so pretty anymore.
“Yes,” I say.
One of her friend's mouth drops open and says, “No wonder.”
“Shut up,” Sara snaps at the girl and sips her beverage. “Haven’t seen him.” She turns her back on me.
Miserable and feeling extremely out of place, I search the house for Seth. Weaving through bodies, I work my way from one room to the next. From the kitchen, I squeeze through a group of boys playing a drinking game. I’m stopped by a boy who hits on me, but extricate myself and continue through the house. When I finally find Seth, he's lounging on a couch with yet another beer in his hand and Sara on his lap engaged in a very intimate kiss. He pulls away and slurs, “Sara.” My nerves are so taught I have no reserves of patience from which to draw.
He sees me but I’m surprised he does he’s so drunk. “Abby,” he says stringing his words together with alcohol, even his grin is lopsided, still charming, but I'm so angry and shaken to care. “You know, Sara?” He says.
Sara raises an eyebrow and curls her lips into a condescending smile.
Hurt winds its way through my heart, a thorny vine seeking flesh to snag. Rationally, I know better. No promises have ever been made between Seth and I. I’ve insisted that we are just friends, but the betrayal is there nonetheless. I turn on my heel, and go outside taking deep breaths to clear the anger out of my system. It doesn’t work particularly well.
I need to leave. It is a decision that I realize comes with a price, but maybe it is the pendulum of the clock swinging the other way. I walk to Seth’s truck. It’s locked and I’ve left my purse with my phone in it. I swear out loud; it isn’t like anyone can hear me anyway. We were only going to stay a minute! Tears sting my eyes like tiny needles. Pushing my palms against my eyes to keep them at bay, I take a deep breath.
Think.
As I see it, I have two options since the house phone is fruitless: Spend whatever amount of time it will take to look for Seth again and get his keys, or start hoofing it back to Cantos. Neither option sounds feasible. It dawns on me that I can borrow someone else's phone. I look around. Someone will have a cell. Who would I call? Hannah isn’t in town. That leaves Nate and Matt, but Brutus is in the shop. Besides, neither of them will know where to find me and I don’t know how to describe my location.
A car pulls into the drive and I look back at the house. Maybe someone is leaving, but would I want to get into a car with anyone here? I consider going back in to get Seth’s keys. The headlights glare against the wild revelry occurring on the lawn and porch of the house only a fraction of what is going on inside the house. I can’t get Seth’s keys, I realize. If I take Seth’s truck he will be stranded. Then there will be questions from my parents about why it’s at our house. But I can’t stay here. My final option is to call my parents and that isn’t an option at all. I lied. Too much like last year. There is already too much tension, too much going on at home. I don’t want to add to it.
I walk out the driveway and turn toward town tears blurring my vision. How had I gotten myself into this mess?
The beauty of lies, bad Abby says.
I’ve lost sight of things. I don’t know what’s good, what’s bad, what’s right or wrong anymore. The only thing I seem to be able to do lately is make a mess.
Half a mile from the party, a truck pulls onto the shoulder, gravel popping under the tires. My pulse races and fear moves like lightning through my bloodstream. My imagination begins to build stories of kidnappers and serial killers. I hesitate and consider running back to the party.
“Abby?" Someone calls my name from the truck. A shadow climbs out but doesn’t move toward me.
I squint into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
“Gabe,” the shadow says.
“What?” My heart stops and then restarts. A savior! Elation propels me toward him and I walk to his truck weightless with relief. “Really? Is it really you?" I stop at the tailgate.
“I was driving by and thought I saw you. What are you doing walking way out here? At this time of day? Are you crazy?”
I get close enough that I’m able to see him. He looks different in the darkness illuminated by the interior of the truck light, more relaxed. He’s wearing a gray tee with D&M Hardware in white letters stretched across his chest. I can actually see his arms, sinewy with muscle, the t-shirt stretched across his nicely sculpted form. It is the most I have ever seen of him since I thought he lived in a hooded sweatshirt.
“Long story,” I say, “My driver was drinking at a party back there, and I didn’t have anyone to call for a ride home." I don’t tell him it was Seth and I don’t really consider the why of that decision.
“I can take you home. I'm headed back to town.”
I don’t know why I hesitate. It’s a no-brainer except for good Abby who glances around to see if anyone else is watching. Angry at her for being so superficial, I say “thank you,” and I walk to the passenger side of the truck. “What are you doing out this way?”
“Made a delivery for my dad, you know, for the store. A ranch twenty minutes that way.” He indicates the direction he came from with a nod of his head and gets back into the truck. “Just on my way back.”
I climb up onto the running board and into the truck with him. “I'm so glad to see you."
He pulls the vehicle from the shoulder onto the road. “Lucky break. That would have been a long walk.”
I think about Seth and being ditched for a party, alcohol and a summer fling. Hurt clings to the dark spaces in my heart and mind. I obviously don’t know him as well as I thought.
“What happened? Jessie’s party?" Gabe asks. “I mean – sorry. It isn't any of my business." In the dim light of the truck cab I can see that his jaw is clenched. He keeps his eyes on the road, the tall trees framed in headlamps of the truck as we drive along. “You were with Peters?”
“How did you know?" I ask.
“I just assumed. Jessie’s house isn’t that far down the road. He and Seth were pretty good friends. You guys seem pretty close.”
Hannah’s wisdom surfaces in my mind: people are noticing.
“I guess,” I say. “I mean, I thought so. We spent a lot of time together as kids during summers when I’d visit my grandma. We’d planned to go to Portland for a movie, tonight. Next thing I know were at a party and he’d downed a bunch of beers. I probably should have gone back to get his keys." It irritates me that I’m thinking about Seth’s welfare when he hadn’t particularly cared about mine. But it's Seth and I do care.
“He’ll sleep there. Peters may be self-centered, but he isn’t dumb.”
I raise an eyebrow at him and remember that they’d once been best friends. I wonder what happened.
“Maybe dumb about some things,” he amends and then after several beats of silence says, “Abby.”
“Yeah?” I glance at him. He’s staring at the road, the cool lights from the truck’s console illuminating his features. He has a strong profile which I can see, and the curls of his hair make my fingertips itch to touch them. I look away quickly at the thought, embarrassed by the train of my thoughts.
“Sorry,” he says. “I just remember Seth mentioning that name. In elementary school. He used to talk about a fort he made with that Abby.”
I turn and look at him. “Yeah. I’m that Abby.”
Silence rides with us awhile.
“So, what brought you back to Oregon?” He asks.
“My dad got a new job. I guess my parents thought the slower lifestyle would be better for the family. I don’t know. There are probably a lot of reasons. I didn’t get much of a say in the matter.”
"Yeah." He says this quietly.
"What about you?" I say.
"You haven't heard the rumors yet
?" He asks. His hands re-grip the steering wheel.
"I have."
"And you still got into the truck?"
"They're just rumors," I say.
"Most people would rather believe gossip," he says.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I don't answer. I don’t want to admit that I know how he feels, that I’ve been him. It would reveal too much. "Why don't you fight back?" I ask instead.
"I don't think I should have to."
I'm not sure what to say. I didn't respond to the gossip, or to the video of my drunken strip tease. What was there to say? It was all out there for everyone to see. People were cruel and mean, and it wouldn't have mattered if I had tried to defend myself not that I really could. I’d made a choice, and people were going to believe what they wanted to believe. "I'm sorry," I say instead.
“It isn’t your fault,” he says. The tone of his voice shares a hint that he does know who is at fault. Then he adds, “Maybe there’s a reason for everything. Maybe facing people and holding my ground makes me stronger.”
"Maybe me moving to Oregon helped me too," I say but I don't elaborate.
"Like the delivery tonight. If I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have seen you walking."
"Serendipity," I say.
“Like me bumping into you in the hall that day." He glances away from the road at me for just a moment.
I would have missed it if I hadn’t been looking at him myself. There’s an ache in my bones, like the hint of an earthquake getting ready to tear them apart with seismic activity. “So. You didn't answer my question? How did you get to Cantos?"
“Social services in Portland delivered me to Dale and Martha when I was ten. I have been here ever since.”
"Your biological parents?"
“I don’t like to talk about it." The way he said it sits in my working memory trying to make connections but it’s a one-sided bridge with nothing on the other side. He watches the road as we enter town and drive down Main Street the easy demeanor replaced with his usual tension.