by J. A. Wright
At that point, Sarah Lizbeth and her friends tried to talk me into going home, but I didn’t want to go home. I was having fun and wanted to stay. But everyone complained that I was too loud and too drunk, so Sarah Lizbeth called Robbie to come and get me.
I should have just gone with him—should have kept my mouth shut—but he arrived with his bad attitude and gave me the “look,” and after kissing Sarah and saying hi to everyone else, he pulled me off my barstool and tried to twist my arm so I’d go with him. That’s when the words started spilling out.
“Hey Sarah, did you know Robbie likes to fuck boys? He does, he really does. I’ve seen it. Many times.”
Sarah screamed, “You’re lying, shut up!”
Robbie said something about the fact that he was going to kill me, and he twisted my arm so hard as he pushed me through the small crowd to get me out to the parking lot that I thought I heard something snap.
He drove me home and left me on the front lawn. I remember lying on the lawn and thinking I should get up and go into the house, but I must have decided to sleep instead, because that’s what I did—until Mom came out and practically dragged me all the way to my room. The next day, I was officially uninvited to be a bridesmaid and demoted to guest book attendant via a long message Robbie left on our answering machine.
That was the biggest fight Mom and I ever had. “I can’t believe you made up such a vicious lie about your brother. You’ve probably ruined his chances for a happy marriage!”
I knew I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t been so drunk, and I was sorry for upsetting Mom, but inside I felt vindicated. Robbie had it coming, and I’d been waiting for years to let him have it. Mom made me call Sarah Lizbeth and all the bridesmaids to tell them I was a compulsive liar and would be getting help for it soon.
After that, I was on my best behavior, and even helped Mom make the groom’s cake, which was just a basic fruitcake cut up into little pieces and wrapped in light green foil and pink netting. I didn’t get to go to the rehearsal dinner because Robbie said I didn’t need to rehearse how to be a fuckup.
Mom went to the rehearsal dinner with Olive and brought home a plate of food and a piece of chocolate cake for me. I sat at the kitchen table with her and listened to her talk about how everyone looked so beautiful and happy, and how Sarah Lizbeth had given her, and her own mother, a bouquet of pink and white roses and identical gold and silver bracelets with an inscription on the inside: “We couldn’t have done it without you.” Mom thought it was the sweetest thing.
Cory showed up the day before the wedding at the Hangout bar to apologize for calling me nasty. I couldn’t face going to the wedding alone, so when he asked if I’d consider going to a movie with him, I said, “Sure, I’ll go to a movie with you next Saturday if you go with me to my brother’s wedding tomorrow.”
“Deal!” he replied.
I was happy that Cory was coming with me, because I knew he wouldn’t let me get too drunk. I also thought he’d defend me if Robbie started yelling at me.
We didn’t actually see the wedding, because there wasn’t enough room in the little chapel, so we went to the reception hall, next to the chapel, early and helped get things ready. As the guests made their way from the chapel to the hall, Cory took their coats and I sat behind a little table asking people to sign the guest book and stacked their wedding gifts neatly on a table behind me. When four people from Cory’s high school arrived, including a girl who seemed to know him pretty well, he helped them find their table. Turns out Cory and Sarah Lizbeth had gone to the same high school. As the night went on, Cory continued to spend time dancing with his friend, and I continued to sit at the guest book table watching them and getting pretty drunk off the bottle of Johnnie Walker Red someone had given Robbie and Sarah for a wedding present.
I was a third of the way through the bottle when I decided I couldn’t take it any longer. I went into the reception hall and tried my best to persuade Cory to leave with me, but he said he’d rather stay and hang out with his friends. I kept at him until he finally excused himself and walked me to my car. When we got there he said he wasn’t going anywhere with me. “You’re such a lush these days. And there was no reason to be so rude to my friend,” he said.
That sobered me up. And pissed me off. After he walked back to the reception hall I drove home and called Nick to see if he wanted to meet up at the condo. He was there before I arrived. I let him do whatever he wanted, on the condition that this time I got to go into the pharmacy afterward and pick out my own drugs.
CHAPTER 18
A week later, Nick showed up at the Hangout to drive me home and asked me to move back into his condo and come back to work at his store. “I’ll give you all the hours, and all the pills, you want,” he said. “Besides, you shouldn’t be at your mom’s. What if she finds out about us?”
I agreed to go back to work at his store, but I refused to move back into his condo because I’d noticed the new bed and dining table at the condo the night of Robbie’s wedding, when I went to meet Nick there. They used to be at Nick and Sharon’s house. When I asked Nick about it he only said, “Sharon had them delivered here because she bought new things for the house. I didn’t know she had a key to the condo.”
“Does she know about us?!” I screamed.
“She does not. I know that for a fact,” he replied.
I hated the thought that Sharon could open the door to the condo at any time and find Nick and me there, but I did think that moving out of Mom’s was a good idea. We’d been getting on each other’s nerves since before Robbie’s wedding. “You’re twenty-two, too old to be living at home,” she’d said to me one night after I walked in on her and her new boyfriend making out on the living room couch.
I wasn’t too thrilled with Mom’s new “downunder” boyfriend Gavin. I could barely understand a word he said, and I was pretty sure he had a stutter, but it was hard to tell. A few weeks after I interrupted them, I found him in the kitchen one night wearing Mom’s bathrobe and making toast and boiling water for tea.
“Hey, I had to park my car behind Mom’s because there’s a tractor out there. Is it yours?” I asked.
“Right as rain,” he replied.
“It’s not raining,” I said.
“Good as gold, mate,” he replied.
I went to bed and the next morning I started looking for my own place.
Nick lent me the deposit money for a small apartment not too far from his condo. It was perfect and even had a small garage, just big enough for my Fiesta. I moved in on March 23rd, 1998, and started full time at Nick’s store a few days later.
I was pretty happy for the next couple of months, and while I still took a few pills every day, I’d almost quit drinking by the time my twenty-third birthday rolled around.
When Nick arrived at my apartment the morning of my birthday with a dozen yellow roses and bottle of Percocet I was in the bathroom throwing up.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he yelled out from the bedroom.
“I might be,” I managed between gags.
“You’re on your own with this one. I’ve already got a six-year-old and a four-year-old. I’m done having kids!”
“But I want it,” I cried out as I pulled myself up from the bathroom floor and made my way to my bed.
Nick threw my only lamp against the wall and yelled, “Get rid of the fucking thing!” before he stomped out and slammed the door.
I knew he meant it, and I was pretty sure we were done until he showed up at my apartment a couple of nights later with a bottle of wine and three bottles of chloral hydrate capsules. We had sex, and it wasn’t rough at all. Actually, he was kind of nice about it, and held me for a long time afterward. Before he gave me a card with a phone number on it, he said, “I’ve arranged everything with an old friend of mine who’s a doctor. He’s expecting you to call. I want you to take care of your little problem before it becomes my problem, okay?”
It took me a few hou
rs to decide it was okay to have the abortion, but only about two minutes to convince myself it was okay to use the chloral hydrate. For the next two weeks I stayed home and I stayed stoned.
Throughout the rest of June and July, every time Nick came over, which was just about every morning, he’d ask me if I’d taken care of my problem and I’d tell him I was planning to make an appointment and it would be over soon. But I didn’t get around to calling his doctor friend until August 8th, after Nick noticed how tight my smock was at work one day and followed me out to my car to tell me off.
“Will you make the goddamn appointment?” he grumbled.
“Yes, I’ll make the fucking appointment!” I said before I drove off.
I knew I shouldn’t have missed my first appointment on August 14th, but I was too scared and too stoned to go, and I was hoping Nick would call and beg me to keep our baby. When I finally got to the doctor’s office on August 20th, his nurse questioned me about the date of my last period and took a large vial of blood from my arm. I had to stay alone in an exam room for almost two hours while I waited for the test results. I was tempted to leave, but I didn’t because I knew Nick would hate me if I didn’t go through with it. Besides, I had nothing left at home to make me feel better, and I knew they’d give me something after the abortion.
The doctor I had for this abortion wasn’t nice like the one I’d had the last time. He was mean and had a serious look about him. He didn’t even say “hi” when he came into the room.
“Any special reason for not coming in during the first trimester?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sure if I was pregnant,” I replied.
“Really? You don’t look that dumb,” he said.
“But I am,” I heard myself reply as I felt the twilight anesthetic start to flow through my arm and to my head.
It didn’t put me out like I hoped it would, but it felt pretty good. It made me feel like I was floating on a nice fluffy cloud somewhere far away. I didn’t moan or move an inch as the doctor did what I’d come for. And I didn’t open my eyes when he told me it was over and offered me free birth control.
“No thanks, I have some,” I said.
“Then use it,” he said as he left the room.
It only took a few minutes for the twilight to start wearing off, and when it did all I wanted to do was get out of there and get high.
After what seemed like a week, the nurse brought me a glass of orange juice and handed me two white envelopes, one with six painkillers in it and the other with antibiotics and a folder of information about taking care of myself post-surgery.
“Is someone coming to get you?” she asked.
“My fiancé is supposed to be here any minute,” I said.
“That’s good, because we close at 6 p.m. and it’s almost 6 p.m. now,” she said.
When I’d called Nick earlier that day and told him what I was doing, he’d said “It’s about time” and promised to pick me from the clinic when he got off work. At 6 p.m. I walked across the road, made myself comfortable on the bus stop bench, and waited.
Nick didn’t show up until after 7 p.m., but I didn’t care because I’d taken all the painkillers the nurse had given me and was feeling pretty relaxed. He drove me to my mom’s house because he wasn’t willing to spend the night with me at my apartment.
“It’s a fucking circus at my house, both the girls are sick,” he said. “I can’t stay with you. In fact, I think we should cool it for a while.”
“I don’t care about your bratty kids, and if you want to cool it that’s fine with me. In fact, I’m thrilled about it!” I looked out the window so Nick wouldn’t see me cry.
He stopped his car about a block from my mom’s house, then reached around to his backseat and grabbed a bag. “Here, these should keep you happy for a while,” he said.
Two pharmacy-size bottles of Percocet and Xanax is what I got for aborting Nick’s baby. I opened the bottle of Xanax and swallowed one dry before putting both bottles in my bag. I was glad he gave me so many pills; it made me feel good to know I could stay high for a month or two.
Mom and Gavin were eating dinner when I arrived. “You might want to knock first instead of just walking in, huh?” Mom said. Her tone let me know that she hadn’t forgiven me for what I’d said about Robbie to Lizbeth and her bridesmaids months ago.
“For the millionth time, I’m sorry for what I said. Can you just forgive me, please?” I snapped.
“I’m thinking about it,” she replied in her nice voice. “Do you want to join us for dinner? Gavin’s made something he’s calling a cottage pie. It looks pretty good.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “Think I’ve got the flu. Can I stay in my old room for a few days?”
Mom looked at Gavin and then at me. “We’ve made your room into an office, and I got rid of the sofa bed in the den, so there’s nowhere for you to sleep,” she said.
“Really?” I said, my voice rising. “You just got rid of my stuff without even asking? I just moved out five months ago!”
“I’m sorry, honey. I was planning to call you and to bring some of the bedroom furniture to your apartment this weekend.”
“How about a ride to my apartment, then?” I asked.
“My car is in the shop; I’ve been taking the bus back and forth to work all week. And Gavin hasn’t bought a car yet. Has to learn to drive American-style first.” Mom laughed.
I took a few things from my bedroom closet, mostly stuffed animals, and walked to the bus stop. The bus shelter was empty, so I spread my things out on the bench and lay down. By the time the bus arrived I was almost asleep and had to scramble to get my things together. I was just about to step up and onto the bus when I heard someone yell my name. When I turned around I saw the good-looking twin walking toward me. I hadn’t seen him for five years, since the summer after graduation. He looked better than ever. He yelled for me to wait, so I told the bus driver I’d catch the next one.
I felt like I had to give the twin a reason for my scruffy appearance and slurry speech. “Sorry, I just had surgery—a girl thing. That’s why I look like shit,” I said.
“That’s cool. We’ve all had surgery.” He laughed.
I got a ride to my apartment and an invite to his big birthday party on September 18th. He even helped me into my apartment and told me he was glad I was okay.
I slept for two days before I felt good enough to take a bath and wash my hair. It took me a while, but I talked myself out of being sad and started to get excited about the idea of going to the twins’ birthday party. I even thought about what I might wear and who might be there and if the good-looking twin and I might make out.
I went back to work at Nick’s store five days after the abortion and worked there for three days before I asked the bartender at the Hangout for my old job back.
“You can have it back if you agree to stay away from creepy old guys,” he said, laughing.
I’d read the post-surgery instructions they gave me at the doctor’s office, so I knew I was supposed to take extra-good care of myself, finish the antibiotics, and not have sex for at least six weeks. I did take good care of myself for the month after the abortion, and I promised myself I wouldn’t get wasted and I wouldn’t have sex at the twins’ party.
I phoned the good-looking twin a few days beforehand and told him I wanted to go but needed a ride.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll pick you up. I’ll just honk a couple of times, okay?”
I guess I shouldn’t have drunk so much of the power punch or taken the ecstasy some guy handed me when I arrived at the party, because I was out of it when I fell down and hurt my leg. I tried to find the twins’ car but I got lost and passed out and didn’t wake up until I felt someone slap me and heard a man’s voice yelling at me to relax. That’s when I realized I was in some stranger’s car, and that I was having sex with some guy I’d never seen before. I tried to get him to stop but he told me to shut up and hold still or he’d make it hurt.
So I did what he said. I was scared because there were two other guys in the front seat yelling at him to hurry up and finish because it was their turn. As soon as the guy finished I rolled to my side, pulled up my pants, and sat up.
“I want out, let me out!” I screamed.
The guys just laughed, but as soon as the driver slowed to turn a corner, I grabbed my purse, opened the door, and stepped out.
It’s baffling to me that I thought it would be okay for me to get out of a car while it was moving. That’s how I remember it, anyway: I thought I could just step out and onto the street and walk away. After I finished rolling and slammed into the curb I just stayed there, too scared to move and too weak to even try. A biker found me and called for help, and the state patrolman figured I was either pushed or fell out of a car. I let him think I was pushed.
CHAPTER 19
An ambulance took me to the hospital around 1 a.m. A doctor examined me and put a bandage on my nose and twelve stitches in the cut above my left eye, and then I was moved from the ER to a room on another floor that was very quiet and almost empty. It was scary and I wanted to leave, but I could hardly see with the eye patch they’d put on me, and the IV tube someone had taped to the back of my hand was on so tight I didn’t think I could rip it off without the needle tearing my vein.
I hadn’t said a word to anyone, not even the police, about being raped in the car. I didn’t want to explain how I’d gotten into the car in the first place, and I didn’t want an examination because then I’d have to explain my abortion. What could I say for myself?
When the night nurse came to give me a couple of Tylenol and one Ativan, I told her one Ativan wasn’t going to be enough to put me to sleep.
“Why not? Do you take them often?” she asked.