Life Interrupted

by Kehoe, Kristen

  “You’re a good guy, Dean.”

  “Yeah, yeah, save it. Good guys get the break up, bad guys get the girl.”

  I laugh but in my head I’m thinking how true it is.

  ~

  My sophomore year we read a story about a young Mexican-American girl who wanted to escape the place she lived, to run as far away from Mango Street as she could and become someone. Our teacher then asked us what we would escape in our lives. Most people said their parents, their siblings, the expectations society had put on them.

  My life was simple, uncomplicated at this point. I hadn’t yet hooked up with Tripp or slept with Marcus and gotten pregnant, and I remember thinking I would escape the legend of Stacy, mostly because she had been a bitch to me when I had called her that morning to complain that mom had grounded me for a C on my English project. (To which I promptly responded by telling her it was actually an impressive grade as I hadn’t even read the book and still received an average mark. This did not go in my favor.) I put no more thought into my answer than that; that I would escape the shadow of my perfect older sister, not because I wanted to be her, but because I wanted to stop fucking hearing about her (and for her to get off her damn high horse and agree with me when I got mad at our mom). Then the girl who sat behind me spoke, and I’ve never forgotten what she said, mainly because she sounded so broken when she said it.

  She looked up at the teacher and said she would escape him. None of us knew who him was, but she continued as if we did, reading straight from her paper to thirty-five sixteen-year-olds, baring herself for everyone to see. She would escape him and what he had done, escape the person she was with him, the person she didn’t know with him, and run. She would run as far and as fast as she could until she reached the water and then she would stand there with her feet in the sand and look out at the ocean, and in it she would see the beginning of her life, not the end.

  Thinking of Tripp, I wonder if this is how I’m going to feel one day. Will I run from him? Will I want to? I’ve run to him, no matter how hard I’ve tried to be my own person, the person in charge, I’ve run to him when I’ve really needed something because I’ve always known he would be there. Like when I needed to tell someone about Gracie.

  I was so sick, so scared, so overwhelmed that all I wanted was someone to share that with, someone to tell. I knew I could talk to my mother or my sister, even Katie when it really came down to it. But I went to Tripp because he’s my rock, the person that I’ve always needed. Honestly, that’s what scares me more than anything. More than the desire I feel for him every time we are near one another, more than the pleasure I find when I see him, when we talk, or the comfort that I know will be there when we’re together. I need him and I’ve spent my whole life trying to never need anyone.

  The day Gracie was born, before I closed myself off, my father came into the room (under my mother’s prodding and Stacy’s demands, I’m sure) with a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. He said something beautiful about the beginning of life, then ended with a terrible cliché about doors and windows, to which my mother whispered that all endings of his were pretty cliché, even the bedroom ones. After he left, my mom and Stacy and I had a great laugh over him and I remember trying to convince myself just how strong I was. I was, after all, my mother’s daughter. I didn’t need a husband, a man, a father for my daughter because I hadn’t had one and I was fine. I was bolstered by this thought until Tripp came and sat with me, bringing me a pair of sweats and my WOLVERINE t-shirt. That small gesture made me realize that even if I didn’t need any man, I needed Tripp, if only because he always reminded me what it felt like to have someone know what you needed before you did.

  I don’t know if this instigated the depression I suffered from, but I do know that Tripp was also there to put me in that shower a month later and wait for me to come back to myself, and back to him. Just like Stacy, he never left me, even when I didn’t want him there.

  He still knows me, still makes me feel as no one else ever has, ever will, and yet, now I don’t want the reminder. Now I understand the girl in class who was running and I wonder if that’s my chosen path; running from Marcus, running from Tripp and my feelings, running from everything I can’t fight and win.

  I put Gracie to sleep with that image in my head, the one of the running girl, only it’s not the nameless girl from my English class two years ago, it’s me, and I’m not running, I’m standing at the edge of Gracie’s crib like I am now, looking at her and trying to see the beginning of my life, not the end.

  Fourteen

  Tripp is waiting for me in the parking lot Monday morning and it shames me to say that I almost keep driving, that I want to keep avoiding him because I don’t want to hear what he has to say, or even if I know what I want him to say.

  But I don’t keep going because I’ve learned that emotional shit doesn’t disappear like people do, it waits for you, no matter how long you ignore it. I stop, park, get out and stand there facing him. Neither of us says anything for a minute, both of us studying the other as people walk past us. It isn’t abnormal for us to be together so no one pays much attention, but every now and then I see someone who was witness to our outburst at the party glance over at us and stare, some smiling, some with nervous expressions on their faces like I’m going to haul off and beat his ass again. Though to be fair, I just might, so I guess their looks aren’t unwarranted if you want to get picky.

  “You didn’t go to the park yesterday.”

  Since this is not what I was expecting him to say, I blink a few times to adjust. But then I’m fine and I’m cocking my head to the side, putting on my hardass look to let him know this isn’t crybaby Rachel—I drowned her on Saturday, so she won’t be making an appearance today.

  “I went to see Dean instead.”

  The fact that his face actually darkens at the mere mention of Dean’s name has a warm glow of satisfaction running through me.

  “I waited for you at Starbucks, and then at the park. I almost came by your house.”

  “I wasn’t there, I was out—”

  “With Dean,” he finishes and nods. “So you said. Tell me, Rachel, did you tell Dean you slept with me a few hours before you went running to him, or did you just omit that? Act like it didn’t happen?”

  “Isn’t that what we do?” I yell back, both relieved and offended that he thinks I was with Dean. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been together, Tripp, and if I remember correctly, it was you who snuck out the last time. I’m just following protocol.”

  I shove by him, my anger pushing away any fatigue that had been there when I woke up this morning. Asswipe, acting like I was the one who left him.

  I come to an abrupt halt when he closes his hand around my arm and jerks me back. My already hot temper spikes dangerously and I whip my head around to show him exactly how close he is to being decked again. Even for us, this often in this few number of days will be a record.

  But he doesn’t cringe or let me go—he never has and I hate that I love that about him. Instead, his eyes burn into mine as he steps closer until I’m forced to inch back and look up. I hate when he does that and he knows it. “I let you go Saturday, Rachel, because I didn’t want to yell at you after…after. But I can’t let you go now, I just can’t,” he says, and for a second I see something different in him, that same something that I saw when he was pushing inside of me, when he held my eyes like I was the only thing he’d ever need, the look that I didn’t want to see because it was all I’ve ever wanted to see. I blame that for the reason that I follow him when it’s the last thing I want to do. When we’re seated in the home bleachers of the football stadium (cliché much?), I shove my hands into my pockets and sink lower into my North Face.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about with the last time this happened? You should have been waiting at my car two years ago when we hooked up Tripp. You’re too late now.” All righty, looks like now is as good a time as any
to open every wound I carry and make sure I’m a total bleeding mess before I head to class. Super-duper.

  Apparently Tripp is thinking the same thing because his eyebrows raise and his mouth opens slightly. But no words come out, and for some reason that incenses me more than any argument or denial he could have offered up.

  “You were right, Tripp, this is enlightening shit you’re telling me. I’m glad we had this talk.” Ripping my hands from my pockets, I stand to leave and he puts his hand on my arm again. “For fuck’s sake, quit grabbing at me. Say something or leave me the hell alone. I can’t take any more of this.”

  “Rachel, I love you.”

  The air leaves my lungs and I’m left staring at him as he stands up and turns me to face him. Jesus Christ, we’re like Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny in a constant game of strategy; pursuing, retreating, fighting, and just when one of us thinks we’ve won, the other brings out the bat and beats their opponent bloody before running off. I’m not sure who’s Elmer and who’s Bugs, but I know for damn sure I want to control the bat from now on.

  “I know you don’t understand, and after the things you said Saturday and the way you left, I realized I have a lot to tell you, but I think that’s the most important thing. I love you, Rachel, I’ve always loved you.”

  “You sure have a funny way of showing it, Tripp, what with the girlfriend you’ve been harboring these past few years. Unless you’re going to tell me she was just a way to make me jealous. Bang up job of that, b-t-dubs.”

  “I broke up with Lauren at the party on Saturday night, before I came to see you.”

  Something inside of me freezes and then jolts back to life, but before I can decipher it or his words he’s turning me, cupping my face in his hands and looking at me in that way again, the one that says I’m all he needs. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper because I do know what’s happening inside of me and it’s too much. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought I could have, not since that night, and now after everything that’s happened since then I’m not sure we belong together.

  When I tell him this he listens, but the entire time he shakes his head until he eventually cuts me off, stops me with the softest kiss I’ve ever had, his lips a whisper on mine as they hold me. “I was afraid of you, of us, Rachel, because you mean everything to me and I don’t want to fuck this up. But I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I want to be with you.” He takes a breath and rests his forehead against mine. “Let me be with you and Gracie. Let me finally love you, Rachel.”

  It’s Gracie’s name that reminds me not everything is black and white, and not every whim should be followed. I push away from him and watch the confusion cross his face. “Stop. Please stop.”

  “Rachel,” he says but I shake my head.

  “I can’t do this right now, Tripp. It’s too much.”

  This time he lets me go when I walk away.

  Fifteen

  Ms. Flynn sits across from me, her desk between us, her hands linked together and resting under her chin as her elbows rest on the arms of her chair as she stares at me. I want to laugh at her and make a joke like I do at the beginning of most of our talks, but we both know I won’t. This isn’t a scheduled visit. Though we don’t acknowledge it, this is the first time I’ve willingly come into her office and sought her out. Usually, I just wait for her to make the move.

  “How are you, Rae?”

  “Scared shitless.” There, I said it. I don’t know if I feel better or worse, or if I feel anything at all anymore, but I do know I have to keep going now. That’s the fucking problem with talking: once you start, it’s goddamned hard to stop.

  “Oh? Why?”

  I gotta give it to Ms. Flynn, not much rattles her; but then, I’m hardly through my story so we can wait and see how calm she is after the load I’m about to dump on her.

  “Well, Marcus has decided to show his disapproval of the fact that Gracie looks just like him by threatening me. When I told him to get fucked—that’s a quote—he threatened to file custody papers and now I’m waiting to be served with a notice, while trying to figure out if it’s better to just let him see her or to battle him if it happens.”

  Every part of me wants to battle. I want to be the girl who is fearless, in control, unafraid of conflict and its consequence. But it isn’t just me anymore—Gracie is mine, and if I fight I risk losing her in some form. Somewhere during this rant it registers with me that I’ve grown in the past year. Instead of just jumping in and telling Marcus to bring it (though some might argue telling him to shove his head up his ass was doing just that), I thought about Gracie first, of what it would do to her, to us, if I did that.

  After I unload all of this on Ms. Flynn, I sit there breathing heavily, the gap in my chest making it difficult to suck in air. Grown or not, I’m still scared and it pisses me off.

  “Rae, breathe.”

  Suddenly, Ms. Flynn is next to me and I can feel her hand at my wrist, comforting me, taking my pulse, bringing me back from the edge.

  “I’m okay,” I say, but the air still feels thin and I am certain that I am anything but.

  She leaves her hand on my wrist, probably for some psychobabble voodoo reason, but it does the trick in helping me get my shit together so I don’t tease her, even in my head.

  “Is there more?”

  I look over and find Ms. Flynn’s eyes are steady and direct on mine as she continues taking my pulse and soothing me. Fancy footwork, Flynn, I think, but keep it to myself. She always knows. It’s as annoying as it is helpful at this moment. I nod at her.

  “Do you want to get it out?”

  And yet another reason to like this reformed slut of a woman: she doesn’t pry. When it matters, she’s direct and unbending in her pursuit to help. She asks, not demands, and she does her best to bring you back, to bring you out of the dark hole that can threaten to swallow you. When I came back to school the fall following Gracie’s birth, I stopped seeing my counselor outside and began my weeklies with Ms. Flynn again. As much as my counselor outside helped, I think I’m finally realizing just how much Flynn does for me, and how much I trust her.

  I sit there for what seems like hours. The bell to end class signals. Five minutes later, the same one rings to begin class. Not long after that I take a deep breath and plunge ahead.

  “I slept with Tripp. On Saturday.” No reaction. Impressive.

  “How did that make you feel?”

  Orgasmic. Since I know this isn’t what she’s asking, I hold it back. She smiles like she knows what I’ve just accomplished.

  “At first, horrified. I mean we’ve done this before and then he left me, acted like I was a nobody. Isn’t that why Gracie’s here?”

  Ms. Flynn shrugs. “Gracie’s here because you had a baby. No decision you make now is going to change that.”

  “But it could. Being with Tripp, really being with him means that he has to take me and Gracie, that he has to be ready for a relationship that isn’t normal for a senior in high school or a kid in college. What if he finds out how hard it is?”

  “Is that what you think?” she asks. “That being intimate with Tripp is going to cause more pain? Do you not think he cares for you?”

  Now the tears do come and because it’s Ms. Flynn, I don’t try to hide them. She knows my baggage, my heartache, my failure, and she knows I won’t break even if I cry. Just to be sure, I remind her of that.

  She nods her head in acknowledgment. “Have you spoken with Tripp since Saturday?” I nod my head. “What did he say?”

  I think back to the parking lot this morning when he looked at me and told me it had always been me, when he took my face in his hands and told me that I had always been his girl, that he had just been too afraid of losing me to really be with me. Of how he wanted to be with me and Gracie, to help me have my dream. To love me.

  Ms. Flynn waits for me to tell her, to explain how he wants us to be together, and when I’m done, she stares at me and cocks
her head. “Rae, from everything you’ve just said, it appears that Tripp not only cares for you, but wants to be with you.” I nod. “Since you’re here, I have to ask, do you not feel the same way about him?”

  That has my head snapping up so I can meet her gaze head on. “Didn’t I just tell you I slept with him?” My voice is hard, like I’ve chewed glass and am doing everything I can to get it out, but Ms. Flynn doesn’t cower, she doesn’t stammer and apologize all over herself when I release the look that says I have five inches and ten pounds on you, don’t fuck with me. She simply nods again, like it’s the fucking answer to everything.

  “Yes, you told me you slept with him, but that doesn’t answer my question. Tripp said he loves you, Rachel. Did you respond the same?”

  “No.” The words rip out of me and suddenly I’m out of my chair and pacing around—stalking, really, as I feel like there’s enough energy inside of me to fuel Tripp’s gas hog of a truck for months. “No, I didn’t tell him the same because he can’t love me, he can’t be with me and help take care of me and Gracie. It’s not his job.”

  “Who said anything about jobs?”

  I ignore her and keep going, the words that were so closed off thirty minutes ago when I was with him now spewing out of me like water from a fountain, only it’s not relief I feel but anger, burning bright and hot with something unfamiliar beneath the surface fueling all of it.

  “Gracie is mine. She’s my baby, my choice. I didn’t have to have her. No one forced me to, no one asked me to, no one even knew I was pregnant until I made my decision. And I don’t even know why I made it, I mean, it’s not like I was attached to Marcus and the thought of giving his baby away or not having it was the deciding factor.”

  “What was?” Ms. Flynn asks and I stop because suddenly, I know the answer and it’s not one I like.