Sweet Sorrow

by Tricia Drammeh

  “Oh my God, did you hear?” Morgan shrieks into the phone the moment I’ve assured her my door is shut behind me.

  “About Mark? Yeah.”

  “No, but did you hear who turned him in? Victoria!”

  “Victoria Penny?”

  Victoria is one of the biggest gossips in school. I haven’t heard her say anything about me and Mark, but I’d assumed she’d been talking about me behind my back. Though, now that I think about it, she hasn’t been whispering in class. She’s been oddly quiet—well, for her.

  “Yes. And Madeline Blankenship.”

  I don’t know Madeline very well. She dated Mark after we broke up. They were together until about three months ago. At the time, I didn’t really care why they broke up, but now I have my suspicions.

  “How did you find out? They didn’t say their names on the news.”

  “I found out from Dale. His dad works for the DA’s office.”

  My mind is reeling. Is all this true? Did Dale really find out the names from his dad, or is this just speculation?

  “Are you sure?” I ask Morgan.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Dale told me not to say anything to anyone… So, right. Don’t say anything, not even to your dad. The names will come out sooner or later.”

  “What about mine? Did Dale say anything about me?”

  “Well, no, but he already knows about you thanks to Mark and his friends. Or maybe ex-friends. I wonder how many people will turn against him?”

  I don’t care about that. The whole school has been talking about me for weeks, but how much worse will it be if I end up on the news? Nothing is private anymore. With the internet and gossip and news crews, it’s only a matter of time. If I have to testify, my name will definitely be out there for everyone to see. Forever.

  I’m practically hyperventilating now. I fumble for my pills. It’s hard to breathe.

  “Row? Row?” Morgan is yelling into the phone. “I’m coming over.”

  “No, I…” It’s too late. She’s hung up. I sit on the floor, putting my head between my knees, trying to do some of the breathing exercises the therapist taught me. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m calm. I’m okay. Before the pill has a chance to kick in, I begin to calm down on my own.

  Having my name in the news has always been a possibility. What’s worse? Being a victim of rape or the perpetrator? Mark is the criminal, not me. And now that I’m not the only one to accuse him, my case against him is suddenly a lot stronger. There’s strength in numbers. Three against one. Maybe more than three, if other girls come forward.

  Morgan arrives and is surprised to see me shaky, but calm. My parents greet her and ask her to stay for dinner. Pizza is ordered, and we all sit in the living room, speculating about Mark and what will happen to him.

  “His scholarship is toast,” Dad says.

  “Not necessarily. Innocent until proven guilty,” Mom reminds him.

  “In a court of law, but not in the eyes of college recruiters,” Dad says. “His scholarship was just an offer. He can lose it at any time, for any reason. No guarantees. UCLA won’t want the bad publicity. Mark’s a good ballplayer, but not that good. He’s off the team.”

  Dad goes into his office, probably to make a few phone calls. He wants to see if he can find out anything, even if it’s unofficial or blatant speculation. I sort of feel the same way, but I’m not interested in speculation. Only the facts.

  When the pizza arrives, Morgan and I fill our plates and go to my room. It’s easier to talk without my parents around.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Morgan says, talking around a mouth full of pizza. “School will be interesting tomorrow.

  Interesting. Well, that’s one way to put it.

  ***

  The school day is a whirlwind of gossip and I’m in the middle of it. People who glared at me or avoided me yesterday, are clamoring for my attention today. Dad has advised me not to say anything to anyone except for Morgan, and I’m heeding his advice.

  “Are you going to have to testify?” a girl in English class asks me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “I haven’t talked to them.”

  “Have you talked to Maddie or Victoria?”

  “No.”

  Wow, word travels fast. Madeline and Victoria’s names are all over the school. Neither girl is here today, and I can’t blame them. I wish I wasn’t here either, but with less than a week until our first performance, I can’t skip school.

  In art class, Eddie is quiet. He barely looks at me. His gaze is fixed on the door as people stream in. Whispers filter down the aisle. Stares shoot my way. Without a word, Eddie reaches under the desk and squeezes my hand. It means more than anything anyone could possibly say. I’m afraid to look at him, afraid I’ll start crying if I do, so I return his squeeze. He doesn’t let go of my hand until class starts.

  After rehearsal, Eddie asks to talk to me. I follow him outside.

  “Rowan, I want you to know I’m sorry about everything that happened,” he says.

  “So am I. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

  “I’m sorry I pushed you to talk to me. And that I blamed you for what I did to Mark. You never asked me to fight him. That shit was on me. I can’t say I regret it, though. He needed to have his ass kicked.”

  I’m not sure what to say about that. Mark did deserve to have his ass kicked, but Eddie created a really bad situation because of his decision.

  “Anyway, I hope we can still be friends,” Eddie says.

  Friends. My heart throbs painfully and my eyes burn. Friends. That’s the last word I want to hear right now. Despite everything, I’m still in love with Eddie. I want to work things out with him. I miss him.

  “Okay,” I finally say when I realize he’s staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Okay, what?”

  “Yeah. We can be friends. Definitely.”

  Being friends with Eddie is better than nothing. He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t blame me or resent me. And that’s a huge relief.

  “I really am sorry,” I say. “It was terrible of me to push you away. I should have at least talked to you and told you why I needed some space.”

  “Yeah, you should’ve, but I understand why you didn’t. And I should have cut you a break. Rowan, I…”

  He trails off when a car pulls into the parking lot, coming toward us. Carlos’ car. Crap. The last person I want to see is Carlos.

  Eddie looks at me. His words come in a rush. “I just wanna say I’m proud of you. You told the police about Mark and because of that, other girls had the courage to do the same. That takes some serious guts to do what you did.”

  I look at the ground, embarrassed. I hadn’t talked to the cops out of bravery. It just sort of spilled out when they questioned me, like a dam bursting. But I don’t say that to Eddie because Carlos’ car has stopped on the curb right in front of us. The driver’s side door is opening and I want to get away before Carlos talks to me. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched. He’s coming right toward us. I hate confrontation. I hate it.

  “Oh, look at the two lovebirds,” Carlos says, his voice dripping with sarcastic poison. “Whose ass do you need him to kick this time, little girl?”

  “Carlos, stop,” Eddie says. “Just…I’m coming.”

  Eddie turns away from me and is walking toward Carlos, as if trying to herd him back to his car.

  “You gonna let this little girl get back into your head, hermano? She’s already ruined your life. Little girl, did he tell you how much money he owes me? Because of you? He might spend time in jail. Because of you. He’ll have a criminal record for the rest of his life. Because of you. Forget college. Forget getting a car. Because…”

  “Enough,” Eddie says sharply. “Let’s go.”

  Carlos says something in rapid Spanish. He pushes Eddie. I hold my breath, bracing myself for a fight.

  “Go home,” Eddie says, stepping away f
rom his brother. Carlos comes toward him again. Eddie steps away and puts his hands up, palms facing outward. “Just go. I’ll walk home today, man.”

  Carlos curses in a mixture of English and Spanish before getting in his car and peeling away. A small crowd of drama students are gathering on the curb, watching.

  “It’s all good,” Eddie says with a stiff smile. “We’re just practicing for West Side Story.” A few people laugh and the tension dissipates.

  Eddie looks at me. “See you tomorrow.” He walks away without another word.

  Morgan grabs my arm, half pulling me to her car. Once we’re inside, she turns to me. “What was that all about?”

  “Well, I guess Carlos doesn’t think Eddie and I should see each other.”

  “See each other? Does that mean…?”

  “No, no. Eddie and I aren’t seeing each other. He wants to be friends.” I fight back tears and continue. “Carlos pulled up, saw Eddie talking to me, and he freaked. He pushed Eddie…”

  “I saw that.”

  “But Eddie didn’t fight back. I guess he finally figured out I’m not worth the trouble.” My laugh is bitter and totally fake.

  “Or maybe he figured out it isn’t worth getting arrested for fighting with someone when you can work it out another way?”

  “You sound like Laura.”

  “Laura?”

  “My therapist.”

  “Cool. But seriously, maybe Eddie decided that fighting is a stupid waste of time. Look what happened the last time he lost control of his temper.”

  “Maybe.”

  I hope Morgan is right. Maybe Eddie learned something. Grew up. If something good could possibly come out of what had happened between Eddie and Mark, maybe this is it.

  Maybe Eddie and I can really be friends, and maybe…

  No. It’s better to stop those thoughts in their tracks. Eddie and I will go our separate ways after high school. I’ll go to college. He’ll work to pay back his brother, and hopefully, he’ll eventually go to college too. Life will go on for both of us. And this painful chapter in my life will finally be closed.

  ***

  The next time I see Eddie, he seems normal. Relaxed. Either he and Carlos have made up, or they haven’t run into one another. I’m just glad everything is okay for now.

  Eddie seems fine, but Mr. Fredericks seems like he’s about to come unhinged. There are problems with the lighting and an electrician has to be called in. One of the sets is screwed up and has to be redone. Mr. Fredericks is pacing and shouting at everyone.

  It’s a tense rehearsal. Everyone is out of sync. Lines are forgotten. Mr. Fredericks finally calls rehearsal early and tells us all to go home to rest and de-stress.

  I leave the auditorium and run straight into a group of Mark’s baseball buddies. I stare them down until they look away.

  “Little bitch,” Michael spits out.

  “Takes one to know one,” I reply, feeling juvenile, but proud of myself for saying something.

  Michael starts toward me just as the auditorium door opens and several students step into the hallway. Michael and his friends retreat, chased away by a handful of drama students and the fear of witnesses.

  “Ready?” Morgan asks, coming to stand beside me.

  “Let’s go. See you all tomorrow,” I say to my group of amazing friends. Real friends. People who never judged me when the rest of the school did.

  “See you tomorrow? Is that a threat?” Beth asks, laughing.

  “Tomorrow will be better,” I promise.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Hope. I have hope and faith that tomorrow will be better, and each day will get better after that. In a few days, I’ll stand on that stage in front of the entire school and for the first time in a long time, I’ll hold my head high. Because I have nothing to be ashamed of. And the show must go on.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Our first performance is in front of the senior class during school hours. Basically, the whole day is a throwaway day for the cast. We’re excused from almost all our regular classes today. It’s nine-thirty and the auditorium is filling up. I’m nervous and exhilarated all at the same time. I’ll be on stage before the entire senior class and a quarter of the faculty.

  “You ready?” Eddie asks. I nod, unable to speak. I hope my vocal chords are more reliable when the play starts.

  Principal Dansen is making a longwinded announcement while the cast makes last minute touchups to makeup and costumes, and the backstage crew adjusts settings and lighting. In a way, this is a trial run. Our last chance to iron out our imperfections before we do our first paid performance on Friday night. Saturday, we have a matinee and an evening performance. Both performances traditionally receive lots of support from the community, and our booster club has almost sold out both performances. Sunday is our final performance and discounted tickets are offered to family and friends.

  The curtain rises. When I step out onto the stage, I’m trembling, anticipating cat calls or loud whispers, but the auditorium is silent. With so many teachers present, it’s doubtful anyone wants to take a chance of ruining the play and being suspended from school.

  Our performance is almost flawless with very few errors. Nothing catastrophic occurs, and it’s probably only the cast, the drama instructors, and the English teachers who notice any bungled lines. Overall, Mr. Fredericks is pleased with our performance and compliments us generously.

  During Friday morning announcements, Principal Dansen uses thinly veiled threats to “suggest” to the student body that they act with dignity and decorum at tonight’s performance. Instructors from a couple of different community colleges will be attending, and there’s a rumor one of the news channels might be covering our performance. The play has drawn extra attention this year because our school has been mentioned several times recently—and not in a good way.

  “I expect each and every one of you to uphold our Ocean Front values. The auditorium will be heavily populated by members of faculty, and anyone who violates our school’s rules of conduct will be punished. On that, you have my word.”

  I’m not particularly worried. Mark’s supporters seem to have thinned out, or at least become less vocal since Mark’s most recent arrest. Indeed, they’ve stopped writing notes and stuffing them in my locker. I’m sure Mark still has friends among our student population, but they don’t seem to want to draw attention to themselves. Mark isn’t nearly as popular as he used to be, and with good reason.

  With the most recent criminal charges that have been filed against him, Mark is now forced to wear an ankle monitoring bracelet until his next court date. I finally feel safe, but terrified too. I’m going to have to testify against him. I’ll have to tell my story to a room full of strangers. But I can do it. My parents and Morgan will be with me all the way. I have my family, my friends, and my faith to get me through this. That’s all I need.

  ***

  Each performance is easier than the last. And more difficult. Easy because the cast has gained more confidence with each performance. Harder—for me—because the more I touch and kiss Eddie, the more I want to tell him I’m still madly in love with him. Eddie is totally relaxed with me. After we broke up, he’d been stiff and formal with me. He wasn’t unkind, but he was guarded. Lately, he’s loosened up. He often includes me in his jokes, and is quick to talk to me.

  It’s Sunday afternoon. The final show. The cast is buzzing with excitement. This is it. The last time we perform Romeo and Juliet. The last time we perform together.

  It’s our first scene together, and Eddie and I are at our best. Is it my imagination, or is there a special gleam in his eyes tonight when he speaks his lines? Or is he only acting? He leans in to kiss me with a wink only I can see. His lips linger on mine, longer than necessary. Does anyone else notice? I’m dizzy when he pulls away, but recover in time to speak my next line.

  In our next scene together, I pour all my love, my yearning, my longing into my performance. Instead o
f allowing my angst over Eddie to ruin my performance, I use it to enhance it. As I stand on the rickety scaffolding that’s been magically transformed into a balcony, I stare into the darkness and yearn for Eddie, my Romeo.

  With the spotlights illuminating our performance, we can’t see the audience. We see nothing but each other. It’s like we’re alone up here on stage, just the two of us. Our own little world.

  Good night! Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow

  That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

  Sweet sorrow. After graduation, Eddie and I will probably never see each other again. Saying goodbye to him will be bittersweet. I don’t regret loving Eddie even though it didn't work out. Because of him, I’d been forced to confront the worst thing that ever happened to me, and even though I resented him for pushing me to that point, I can finally see I’ll be better off for it. Better off because Eddie has been a part of my life.

  When the show is over, the cast is treated to wild applause. Eddie takes my hand and raises it above my shoulder. The applause gets louder. Together, we take a bow and then gesture toward the rest of the cast. Two by two, or sometimes three by three, cast members step forward to take center stage. The spotlight shines on the sound crew. And finally, our backstage crew comes forth to gather their own well-deserved cheers from both cast and audience members.

  At last, Mr. Fredericks steps forth and everyone on stage goes crazy, clapping and whooping. He motions for everyone to quiet down as he takes the mic. His speech is heartfelt and draws tears from more than one cast member. He says he’ll miss each and every one of us, and from the reaction of my fellow cast members, I can tell they all feel the same way.

  “Let’s have a final round of applause for our seniors,” Mr. Fredericks says before placing the microphone on the stand in front of him.

  As the audience cheers, the cast begins to exchange hugs with Mr. Fredericks and with each other. Eddie loops his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a sideways hug. Then he turns toward me and I look up into his face.