Going Under

by S. Walden

  I shook my head thinking back to Ryan’s picture on the news. It was the only one that wasn’t a mug shot. Someone had gotten a picture of him from somewhere, but it wasn’t from the police.

  “Well, then I guess his life’ll be ruined because of bad journalism,” I said. I didn’t know if I was pleased with that or heartbroken.

  “Don’t be flippant, Brooke,” Lucy said quietly.

  I looked at her oddly. “Why are you so forgiving?”

  Lucy smiled. “Because I am. And I wish you’d forgive him, too. He loves you, Brooke.”

  “Do not go there,” I warned.

  Lucy nodded.

  That evening I watched a large moving truck pass my house but thought nothing of it.

  ***

  “I was a terrible friend, Ms. Janie.” I hugged Beth’s pillow close to my chest. Beth’s mother and I were sitting in Beth’s old bedroom looking through boxes of pictures and other keepsakes.

  Ms. Janie sighed. “Baby, you made a mistake. You think there’s any one person in this world who hasn’t made a big mistake in their lives?”

  “I just wish my mistake would have only hurt me and not someone I loved,” I said.

  “Well, it seldom happens that way for anyone, Brooke.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “Beth would have been very proud of how brave you were,” Ms. Janie said.

  I snorted. “The police arrested those boys right after my hospital visit. I was so angry because I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through with testifying. That’s not brave. That’s weak.”

  “That’s not weak. That’s human,” Ms. Janie said. “And you did, anyway. You did it, Brooke. And look at what you did for those other girls. You made them brave, too.”

  I shook my head. “I should have told you. The minute Beth told me about her rape, I should have made her tell you.” A tear plopped on a vacation family picture I was holding, and I apologized.

  “Brooke, I don’t blame you in any way. I hope you know that.” She wrapped her arm around me and held me close.

  “I miss her,” I whispered.

  “I know. I do too. So much”

  A thought occurred to me. “Ms. Janie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you bury Beth with that half-heart necklace? You knew all about Finn and me. Weren’t you angry with me?”

  Ms. Janie kissed the top of my head. “Brooke, you were my daughter’s best friend.”

  I swallowed hard. “But she hated me.”

  “You think there’s no forgiveness in death?” Ms. Janie said. “I choose to believe that Beth would be very upset had she not gone to heaven with that necklace.”

  I smiled wearily. “I gave my half to a friend. Another victim. She wished she could have known Beth.”

  Ms. Janie squeezed me. “I think you did a good thing.”

  I spent the afternoon helping Ms. Janie sort through Beth’s belongings. The room had remained untouched until now because it was too hard for Beth’s parents to enter it. Now Ms. Janie was ready to let go of the past, and we started by making piles of clothes and accessories we planned to donate to Goodwill. I made a pile for myself of a few clothing pieces. I never planned to wear them though Beth and I were the same size. I just wanted to keep them in my closet to remember her by.

  “This feels good,” Ms. Janie said a few hours into our work. “This feels right.”

  And I thought I was beginning to feel what Ms. Janie felt, not because I was saying goodbye to Beth, but because I felt the guilt start melting away. A promise of healing.

  ***

  I sat on the front porch Saturday morning drinking coffee. Mom had since gone back to California and asked if I wanted to join her. It was a tempting thought, running away from everything here, but my partial scholarship to NC State and a very pushy Gretchen who would join me as my roommate there, kept me from getting on the plane.

  The rape stories eventually faded from the spotlight, and I discovered that I was starting to heal. My body—that resilient, God-breathed creation—felt healthy and strong again. My nightmares about the attack became less frequent. I actually woke up happy this morning. I felt a tiny glowing inside my chest. I thought it was hope sitting like a little ball of energy or a fully charged battery pushing me forward. I even thought I was ready to forgive the past, to start over entirely, but one bit of lingering pain kept me from forgiving everyone.

  I took another sip of my coffee and watched two moving trucks rumble down the street towards the neighborhood entrance. I glimpsed a familiar car being towed behind one truck. It was Ryan’s, and my heartbeat sped up. I jumped from my seat, dropping the paper cup, and sprinted to the mailbox, straining hard to see anyone in the vehicles. I couldn’t, and I panicked.

  Instinctively I ran to his house and banged on the door. No answer. I peered inside through a front window and saw the bare rooms that were once nicely furnished with couches and chairs, pictures and tables. My heart sank, and I walked back to my house.

  I reached for my cell phone sitting on the porch railing and pulled up Ryan’s number. My finger hovered over the green receiver icon, and I kept it there until my screen went black. I turned the screen on and hovered over the call icon again. And again I hesitated until the screen when black. I tried once more, my finger millimeters from touching that icon, millimeters from making the connection that could change everything. But I opted to close out the screen instead and wiped the tears from my phone, lying to myself that I’d made the right decision when it was only the fear holding me back.

  Twenty-Two

  Three years later . . .

  “And I’m really proud of your progress, Brooke,” Dr. Merryweather said over the phone.

  “Thanks, Doc,” I replied, swiveling in my computer chair. I was alone in my shared apartment with Leslie, my new roommate since transferring to UNC and moving to Chapel Hill.

  “Oh, Brooke. I hate when you call me that. It’s so flippant, like you’re not taking any of this seriously,” Dr. Merryweather said.

  I giggled and flipped open my laptop.

  The doctor ignored me and continued. “Are you dating anyone?”

  I tensed a little, and I swear she could feel it through the phone.

  “I don’t have time for boys,” I said lightly.

  “Yes you do.”

  I thought for a moment. “Well, there are none here I like.”

  “On the entire UNC campus, there are no boys you like?” Dr. Merryweather asked.

  I didn’t answer her but spun myself slowly in my chair.

  “Is there someone at another school you like instead?” the doctor prodded.

  I didn’t even know if he was in school, so I couldn’t answer that question anyway. Plus, even if I did, I’m sure Dr. Merryweather would drill me about unhealthy attachments or emotional damage or something like that.

  “Brooke? There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Ryan.”

  I could feel my face draining of all its color.

  “There isn’t?”

  “No, there isn’t. And I think that you think you’re not allowed to have feelings for him because his picture showed up on TV with those other boys,” the doctor said.

  This wasn’t the first time she explained it to me. She’d been doing it for three years. But I guess I still wasn’t convinced, or I was scared. Perhaps both.

  “He’s not those other boys, Brooke. And deep down you know it. That’s why you’re still in love with him and want to be with him. You just think it’ll discredit you as a true victim to date a boy who knew about a rape and didn’t report it.”

  “Won’t it?”

  “No.”

  I expelled the breath I didn’t know I was holding at the sound of that simple word.

  “You must forgive him, Brooke. If not for him, then for you,” Dr. Merryweather said. “But I suspect that you want to forgive him for the both of you because you love him.”

  I didn’t even think about it.
I just said it. “I do love him.”

  “I know. I’ve known it for three years,” the doctor replied.

  “I’m sure he’s moved on, though,” I said.

  The truth was that I hoped Ryan was able to move forward in some way, to find a kind of peace that allowed him to forgive himself. I wanted that for him despite my lingering anger. I think it was mostly anger for not wanting any of it to be true, not wanting to see him as a flawed individual, because for so much of my time at Charity Run, he was my savior. He was perfect in my very immature eyes, and now I had to confront Ryan as another ordinary human: good and bad and the fuzzy mixture of those things in between.

  I hung up with Dr. Merryweather and continued proofing my final paper for Dr. Hoskins’ Writing for Teachers course. I wasn’t getting a degree in education; rather my bachelor’s in criminal justice, but I took Dr. Hoskins’ course because I liked him. I had him for freshmen composition, loved his style, and took any class I could with him that fit into my schedule. I couldn’t concentrate, though, with Dr. Merryweather’s words repeating over and over in my head: “You must forgive him.”

  It was a split second decision on my part, and I’m glad I dialed his number before I lost my nerve.

  “I need a favor,” I said into the phone.

  “What is it, Wright? Don’t tell me you’ve discovered information about another sex club at school,” Terry replied.

  “Cute. And no. It’s not about a sex club,” I said.

  “Well, can you blame me for thinking it? I mean, here you are going to school for criminal justice. Can we say, ‘Clichéd’ by the way?” Terry asked.

  “Shut up!” I laughed.

  “What’s next, Erin Brockovich?”

  “First off, her big case had nothing to do with sexual violence. It was an environmental case. Second, I happen to be going on to law school.”

  Terry whistled long and low. “Jeez, Wright. You need to take it easy and go on a date or something.”

  I shrugged. “You think there’s something wrong with me that I haven’t dated in three years?”

  “Yes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s kind of why I called.”

  “Wright, you’re cute and all, but the age difference would just be too—”

  “Gross! I wouldn’t date you in a million years!” I exclaimed. “It’s Ryan. I’m calling about Ryan.”

  “Ryan? As in Ryan Foster?” Terry asked.

  “Yes.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Why do you want to know anything about Ryan?” He sounded defensive.

  “I just do. I have some things I need to tell him. Will you find out where he is? What he’s doing? I tried to search for him and came up empty-handed.”

  “You sure you wanna go there?” Terry asked. “I mean, after everything?”

  I took a deep breath. “Terry? I wanna go there. Will you just find him for me?”

  Another pause.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  ***

  It took me two and a half hours to make the drive from Chapel Hill to Wilmington. I had no idea Ryan was so close. The last I heard, his family moved up north to be near relatives in Pennsylvania. I figured he’d stay there for good, but he did always tell me he wanted to live by the ocean.

  I felt slightly guilty for ditching Gretchen. We had planned a girls’ weekend in Raleigh since I hadn’t seen her in a month, but she was insistent I go once I told her my plans to reconnect with Ryan.

  “Well, it’s about damn time!” she squealed over the phone.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked.

  “God, Brookey! Are you kidding me? Go. I command you to go. Go forth and fuck his brains out all weekend. And that’s an order,” Gretchen replied.

  I giggled. “I can’t promise you that. I don’t even know if he remembers me.”

  Gretchen burst out laughing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Trust me, Brooke. He remembers you.”

  I understood what Gretchen meant, but I think she misunderstood my statement. I knew Ryan would remember me, but I was unsure if he would remember the love he once had for me.

  “Thanks for being so sweet about it,” I said.

  “Of course,” Gretchen replied. “But you better tell me everything. And I mean everything, Brooklyn Wright, or I will be so pissed at you.”

  I grinned. “Okay.”

  My heartbeat sped up as I crossed the bridge to Wrightsville Beach. Ryan wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to live by the ocean. This wasn’t a ten-minute drive to the water. He lived on the water in a tiny oceanside apartment. It took me a few minutes to find. His apartment was actually one of several that made up a massive beach house. I imagined his rent was astronomical no matter the size of his home.

  The front door faced the ocean, I realized, and despite a stone pathway leading to the entrance, I decided to take off my flip flops and walk in the sand. It was soft and silky, worming its way between my toes. When I got to his front door, I froze. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I hadn’t seen Ryan in three years, refused to talk to him before his family moved up north. I regretted that decision ever since, but my heart still warred with my mind, refusing to forgive, believing he was a monster, ignoring Lucy’s pleas that he was anything but.

  I knocked on the door before I lost my nerve. It didn’t occur to me that he may not be home. It was five in the evening; perhaps he was still at work or in class. I had no idea if he was even attending college. I made Lucy promise to stop giving me updates about him after the first year. She talked to him weekly and tried to slip in information here and there during our conversations. It just became too painful for me, and I told her I didn’t want to know anymore.

  I jumped when the door opened. It was a woman. And she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Shiny black hair, dark eyes. Her blue shirt hung off of one shoulder to reveal a thin pink strap. She wore jean cut-offs—very short cut-offs that highlighted thin, tanned legs.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought someone else lived here,” I said.

  “Someone else does live here,” she replied with a smirk. “I’m just a visitor.”

  “Oh.”

  I felt strange—a little lightheaded and ridiculous. I show up after three years, and what? Expect him to be single? To be pining for me? I had a lot of fucking nerve.

  I turned to leave.

  “Hey, wait!” the woman called. “You looking for Ryan?”

  I stopped cold. I didn’t want to tell her “yes.” I didn’t want her telling me that she was his girlfriend now and that I could piss off. But I turned around to face her anyway, head bobbing up and down in a desperate nod. I must have looked on the verge of tears because she closed the door softly and darted my way.

  “It’s okay,” she said, wrapping me in a hug.

  I had no idea who this chick was, and I’m pretty sure I was supposed to hate her if she was Ryan’s girlfriend, but I was so emotionally exhausted and drained of adrenaline that I didn’t care. I let her hug me as I cried into her shoulder.

  “I’m a total lesbian,” she said into my ear. “It’s okay.”

  I drew back and wiped awkwardly at my face. “Huh?”

  “I’m not Ryan’s girlfriend. I’m Alyssa. One hundred percent gay,” she clarified.

  “Okay,” I said. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me down to the beach.

  “Oh my God. Are you serious? It’s obvious you’re in love with him and you thought I was his girlfriend,” she said, walking me along the water’s edge.

  “Why are we down here?” I asked.

  “Because you need to get your shit together,” Alyssa said. “Now breathe deeply and stop crying.”

  I didn’t realize I was still crying. But I think my tears transformed from shock and pain to elation. I had never cried tears of joy before. It felt weird, and I
didn’t like it.

  “Seriously, girl. Straighten the fuck up! You come all the way to see Ryan after how many years? And you’re gonna give him—” She paused, looking me up and down. “—this?”

  “How do you—”

  “Oh my God, Brooke. Get a clue! You’re all he ever talks about. It’s getting so fucking old, too. You know, the second I opened that door, I knew it was you. He described everything about you, right down to your fucking nose.”

  “My nose?” I asked, instinctively touching it.

  Alyssa nodded. “Now calm down and wipe your face. Get yourself together before you go back to that door.”

  I swiped my fingers underneath my eyes and asked Alyssa if I wiped the runny eyeliner clean. She nodded.

  “He still talks about me?” I asked, my voice quavering slightly.

  “For three loooong years,” Alyssa replied.

  “But he never called,” I said.

  “You changed your number.”

  “But he never came to see me at school.”

  “You transferred schools. Remember?”

  How did she know all of this?

  “If he really missed me, why didn’t he try to find me?” I asked.

  Alyssa sighed patiently. “He did, Brooke. He did find you. And he wanted to make things right. But then he thought he shouldn’t bother you. If you never tried to find him or talk to him, he wanted to respect your space.”

  “I was scared,” I said quietly. I felt defensive, like I needed to justify my behavior to this stranger. “Do you know what he did?”

  “He told me everything,” Alyssa said.

  “How can I still love a person who did that? What does that say about me?” I felt the fresh tears pooling fast inside my eyes.

  “It’s not what he did, Brooke. It’s what he didn’t do. And he was young and scared. He made a terrible mistake. And he paid for it. He lost you.”

  I wiped awkwardly at my face.

  “Brooke, why did you come here?” Alyssa asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”