The Eyelined Heart
Chapter 1: The Girl in the Mirror
I’m exhausted socially after this seven hour struggle. And, now, where can I sit on the bus? At the front sit the nerds; at the back sit the emos and outcasts. The middle is the only acceptable place, occupied by the few normal people who ride the bus. I’m glad to see that the seat beside Megan is not taken. I thrust my back pack off my shoulders and up onto the overhead rack. I brush past her and sit by the window. Our eyes meet and then she looks away. I know she has somewhat of an affinity for me though I have not figured out why. This makes me feel uncomfortable with her because I think that to her I am but a cardboard poster and if I turn too much to show her another aspect of myself, she may be displeased and abandon me altogether.
“I guess football practice starts today?” I say, looking toward her again.
“Yes, I’ll be riding the bus much more now,” responds Megan, “and, soon, instead of Friday night dates, there will be Friday night games.”
“That’s disappointing?”
“No, I’m proud of Zack.”
I smile. Anyone with a boyfriend on the football team deserves to be proud, even if the guy is, like Zack, not a star player. But Zack’s popularity rests mainly in his personality rather than his looks or athletic abilities. He has a comical way about him and is mysteriously capable of making people feel comfortable around him. Just that he would choose Megan makes her popular. She’s pretty too, though, with a dashing white smile. Her brown eyes are ordinary but bright. Her brownish black hair is more ordinary, being unnaturally straight. She and I both fall into the lot of millions of high school girls who get up an hour early in the morning to perfect hair and makeup before school; this has paid off for her, but I still await its supposed reward of popularity.
“But anyway,” says Megan, “just three months of riding this bus and I can get my driver's license. I can't wait.”
“Augh, I don't turn sixteen until May,” I complain, but I don't tell her that even then I probably won't be getting my license due to the cost of insurance.
This is my stop. “See you tomorrow,” I tell Megan, brushing past her knees and taking my backpack. As I get off the bus and head toward my house in the warm, early fall weather, only one person follows in my direction. I know without looking that it is Betha, my next-door neighbor.
“Are you busy tonight?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer, not looking back as she catches up to me.
“Because you know you're always welcome to come to church with me...”
“I know,” I say, still looking ahead. Betha makes me shiver when she comes near me. Her deliberate effort not to get caught up in the striving for popularity grates at me. I think she talks to me simply to keep me from becoming popular. At least her house comes before mine.
“Bye, Karalynn,” she says, turning at her driveway.
“Bye,” I mutter, looking straight ahead. As I turn into my driveway beside hers and take the key from my purse, the strain of the social world changes into a much more difficult period in which I must be alone. I hate meeting myself here in the afternoon and knowing what I am, what I do, and what I want but cannot attain. Yes, the afternoon has come for me again.
Inside, as I bolt lock the door, my mind still replays Betha's nagging, faithful voice. In an eerie way, she reminds me of my grandmother who I went to church with as a little girl. My grandmother was always telling me things like how special I was to God. As a little girl, I believed her, but I believed everything back then. My grandmother was a great friend to me in those days; I always loved it when my mom took me to spend the weekend with the old woman who lived some forty-five minutes away. But as I grew up, truth became more complex to me and to my grandmother it was always very defined. She always told me that I should save my body and keep myself pure for God until my wedding night. But no one else in my life held this view and I began to wonder if it really mattered as much as she thought it did. During my middle school years especially, my grandmother and I grew apart. It wasn't cool anymore to spend much time with her. Then, last year, while I was in ninth grade, she got cancer and died. I haven't yet forgiven myself for the way I treated her the last few years. I wonder if I ever can.
I enter the bathroom in my small house and gaze into the face in the mirror. I would like to think the girl there is someone beautiful, but I strongly doubt it. My grandmother used to marvel over me when I was young and beauty was a simple thing not striven for or doubted but just accepted. But beauty has changed to me. Beauty is something desirable to guys and I won't believe I'm beautiful until someone takes my hand, kisses me, tells me he loves me, holds me close. But this hasn't happened and my greatest fear is that it never will. Really, I see nothing to live for aside from love; my grandmother said she lived for God, but that thought sometimes appears to me as boring and other times as terrifying. I only have one life to live and I might as well make the most of it and live for what I care about. But now I go to the kitchen to get a snack and then I try to turn my attention to homework, but my mind keeps haunting me with questions: “Am I beautiful? Am I worthy of love?” Even in the middle of a geometry problem or a reading for history, my mind wanders off into these unanswerable questions.
When my mom comes home tonight, we'll eat dinner on the couch and watch television with our minds a million miles apart. I don't know whether she ever thinks beyond the surface, beyond her job, beyond the soup in our hands, beyond the people in the shows we watch. Everything that is not superficial is not real to her. Does she know how lonely I am? If she did, would she care or just laugh? Sometimes, though, when I'm laying in bed at night, I think maybe she's right, and only what I can see is real, but that is when I'm in a half-conscious state and I've forgotten who I am.
* * *
Now, is it my imagination or is Jay is starring at me? I can feel it, and even when I turn back to glance at him, he does not turn away. Think Spanish, Karalynn, before you make a fool of yourself. I can't stop thinking about Jay though. He's a junior and a quarterback on the football team. He's much better looking and has a better build than Zack. He's altogether too good for me. He takes a different girl out almost every week. I know he uses girls, but doesn't a guy like him have a right to? How could it be that his magnificent, dark, piercing eyes are focused on me?
The teacher calls on him: “Jay, how do you say: 'What's your name?'”
“Jay,” he responds in a careless tone, evoking laughter from the other students.
“No, translate the question,” says the teacher in an agitated tone.
“Que es su nombre?”
“Jay, for the last half hour we've been talking about the other way to ask the question. You're not paying attention. It's 'Como se llama?'”
When the attention is off him, I feel hi.m touch my arm. I feel it in the depths of my veins. It's awkward and weird. “Como se llama?” he whispers.
I look forward into the granules of my desk, excited but terrified. After a moment, I realize that my silence is speaking harsh words that I don't mean. But I don't know how to fix things since I feel like everyone is starring at me and my tongue seems suddenly glued to the roof of my mouth and locked within the cages of my teeth. But surely he doesn't feel rejected; guys like him are never rejected. The class seems everlasting and I can't think of Spanish. I can only think of Jay.
Oddly, when the class dismisses, Jay is the first one out the classroom door and he's instantly down the hall, packed in the surging crowd and exerting much effort to keep on his way. I fight hard through the crowd to catch up. “Jay,” I say when I'm near him. He looks my way, surprised. “It's Karalynn,” I tell him. He stares at me again, but I can't tell what he's thinking.
“Oh, okay,” he says, and he finally looks away and makes his way off somewhere. I stop, stare after him, and then stare out everywhere and nowhere with my heart in a muddle and my mind confused and overwhelmed.
At lunch, I sit with Megan and Zack. Jays sits down the table with several guys and girls around him. He glances at me from time to time. It's unsettling but exciting. I can't even think about eating.
Through the rest of the school day, my mind cannot stray from him. His name appears everywhere to me. I hear it in every sound. When I close my mind, his face is there and his eyes are piercing me still. Yet, somehow, simultaneously, I fear him.
And now I see him on my way out of school. It feels like he sees me more. “Karalynn,” he says; my name sounds beautiful coming from his lips, different than it sounds on anyone else's lips. His glance is hesitant, but he says, “Are you doing anything... tomorrow night?”
Our eyes lock momentarily and then I look away without meaning to. “No.” Even if I did have something to do before, I don't anymore.
When I return my gaze to him, despite the difficulty, he looks a little disconcerted as if my looking away may foreshadow rejection. I try to look deep into his eyes in an effort to restore his courage, but they are too powerful and overwhelming for me to concentrate on without losing myself to everything else. I have no idea what I'm doing.
“Well, would you... want to go out with me?”
“Yeah...”
“Okay, cool. Look, I've got to get to practice.”
“I'm about to miss the bus.”
“Alright, well, can I call you? What's your number?”
I write it down in shaky handwriting and present to him. As he takes it, his hand touches mine, and I still feel his touch in the depths of my veins, in the marrow of my bones as our eyes meet in a deep, nearly intimate way. I still feel it, though he's gone and I'm gone; I'm out the door, boarding the bus just in time. I'm ecstatic, exhilarated. I haven't been this happy in a long time, maybe ever. All that has been weighing down on me for so long is seemingly lifted under Jay's gaze.
The seat next to Megan is taken by Haley so I sit behind them, trying to hold everything in. They're talking about absolutely nothing... a class that's boring, a teacher that's mean. I'm so glad when the bus stops and Haley gets off. I put my head forward and say, “Megan, Jay asked me out!”
“Are you serious?” she whispers. “I thought he had a thing for you. Zack wouldn't believe me. But the way he was looking you at lunch today, I think every girl at the table was jealous.”
“No way.”
“Karalynn, do you have any idea what this means?”
“Honestly, I'm still trying to figure it out.”
“You're going to be the envy of every girl at school. You're life will never be the same.”
“Stop it, Megan. This happens to girls all the time. You've told me so yourself.”
“But you're different. He's going to see and he's going to keep you.”
“Whatever. I'm no one.”
“You're about to be someone. But you'll need something to wear on this date. Come home with me and we'll figure something out.”
“I have clothes,” I say, feeling insulted by her suggestion.
“Not the kinds that will really impress him. I know what I'm doing, okay?”
She does know how these things work, I guess. I know nothing. I have no idea what to expect or how to act toward Jay. “Alright,” I tell her.
“Aren't you excited?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I'm terrified. My stomach feels like it's in knots, maybe because I haven't eaten all day. I wonder if I'll ever be able to eat again. All I can think of is Jay. All I can see are his piercing dark eyes starring into me.
* * *
In Megan's room, I look at the girl in the mirror before me. Something deep and childish in me says that too much of me is showing. What would my grandmother think? But maybe that doesn't matter anymore.
“You look hot in that,” Megan asserts.
“I... don't know.” It seems, in these clothes, I'm boasting of a body that is still so undeveloped.
“Well, if you want change to happen, you've got to be willing to change a little,” Megan says. “If you really want to be Jay's girl, you've got to let him know it. I mean, do you really just want things to be the way they've always been? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
“Yeah,” I sigh. I sit down against her bed. “I just don't get it. I don't see why he would go for me. And I really don't see why he would be timid about it. He seemed to fear I would reject him. Was that some kind of show? How could any girl ever consider turning him down, anyway?”
“Well, like I told you, you are different. You seem kind of pure and innocent. I guess that sort of appeals to him, but maybe it kind of makes him hesitant, too.”
“But if he likes me the way I am, why should I wear these clothes?”
“He likes you the way you are, but he wants to know more of you. And this is the way you can show him you want that, too.”
Do I want that?
“Trust me, Karalynn,” she says at length.
I look at the girl in the mirror again, still uncomfortable with all I see of her. “Okay, whatever.”
* * *
Jay never called me yesterday. That confused me. But as he apologizes in Spanish today, I readily forgive him. I'm overjoyed that he remembers that he had said he would call. I feel wonderful, like the richest girl in the world, though I have only five dollars in my purse.
At lunch, Jay wants me to sit with him. So I do, and Megan and Zack are further down the table. I don't know the people at this part of the table. The girls all flirt, particularly with Jay. But I am so taken back by my present situation that I don't compete with them. I'm utterly silent. The other girls pretend I'm not there as if they resent my very presence.
Jays looks aside to me and speaks gently. “Aren't you going to eat?”
I am hungry, I guess. I haven't eaten in a day in a half, but the girls all around make me feel nervous and I don't feel like eating. But I tell Jay, “Yeah,” and I take a few bites.
Jay seems very busy talking to other guys and girls, but when he does turn back to me, he says softly, “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.” What else can I say?
I don't see Jay for the rest of the school day, but I see no shortage of “his girls.” I can't bear the way they look at me or avoid looking at me. I feel a ting of pride in it, but I mostly dislike the feeling. How costly it is to be popular with a single person. But through it all, I can hold to Jay's promise of “tonight at six.”
At the end of the school day, when I get off the bus to go home, Betha is near me, as if she still likes me, as if she's oblivious to my evolution. How could she have ever liked me? What have I ever done for her? Will she never leave me alone?
“How do you feel about the geometry test tomorrow?” she asks me.
“I don't know. I don't care. I should get at least a B.” I think for a moment. Maybe I will tell her. Maybe that will drive her to the edge and she will become so disgusted with me that she will finally leave me alone. “I'm not studying tonight,” I say; “I've got a date with Jay Robins.” I look directly in her face for the first time in a while, trying to catch a reaction.
“Oh,” she says with a look of pity, like I am a prisoner and she is free and she wishes she could break me out. I hate that look. It makes me think she will never give up on me, that she will forever cherish the hope of me coming to her religion. Doesn't she see that she's the one in bondage? I'm free... free from her rules and her childish ways. She turns at her driveway now. That's right, Betha, go play with your numbers and shapes and get a perfect score on the math test tomorrow. “Bye, Karalynn,” she smiles like a prisoner insane, unaware of her chains.
* * *
My hands are shaky as I attempt to perfect my make-up, my hair, my body, everything. What if Jay isn't pleased? This becomes my all-consuming desire—to please Jay. And if that is done, there is nothing too great to have sacrificed. I still can't believe he would choose me.
When my mom comes home, she tells me I look nice. This sets me at ease with myself somewhat. “This Jay,” she says, “is he somebody special?”
“Yeah,” I say. My mom is totally in the dark. This is my first date; if it were anyone, he would be special. But this is Jay Robins.
“He's lucky,” my mom says.
Whatever. If only she knew...
The doorbell rings eight minutes after six. I open it to a perfect-looking man. He probably spent two minutes getting ready, but that doesn't matter. His dark eyes are piercing me through. Though I've just opened the door, I feel he has studied me entirely and seen more of me than I've exposed.
“Mom, this is Jay,” I say with my mind a million miles away from the formality of the statement.
“It's good to meet you, Jay,” my mom responds. I can tell she's taken back by him. “You two have fun.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans. It's good to meet you.” He looks at me anxiously.
“Bye, Mom,” I say, and we're outside.
Jay opens the car door for me. This totally overwhelms me. I'm trying to remember if anyone has ever done that for me before. When he comes around the other side and turns the key in the ignition, I try to act natural, as if I've done this hundreds of times before. Does he sense how frightened I am?
We go to a fairly nice restaurant nearby.
“They've got everything here,” Jay tells me as we look at the menu. “You're sure to like it more than the cafeteria food.”
“I'll eating anything, really,” I say, knowing he's referring to how little I ate at lunch. I'm afraid that I won't be able to eat much and I hope this doesn't offend him. I look up at him. He seems so mature compared to me. His brown hair is combed to the side a little and his eyes are steady before him. I wonder how I compare to the other girls he takes out.
I end up ordering something small and I force myself to eat almost all of it, but my stomach feels sick when he looks at me. I don't think I'm doing a good job at carrying the conversation either.
“What kind of movies do you like?” he asks.
“I like pretty much everything.”
“Everything?”
“I mean most things.”
“Horror movies? War movies? Or just the typical chick-flick?”
“I... I don't know.”
“So, you'll eat anything, watch anything... Come on, who are you? What do you like? What do you care about?”
Suddenly, I have no idea. I guess I'm an extremely boring person and a pathetic date.
“You're quiet,” he says. Now he has said it. That's what everyone says about me. Why does no one tell me what to say?
“I'm sorry...,” I say feeling helplessly unfit to be going out with Jay.
“It's okay,” he smiles. “It makes you different.”
I look up at him. I guess he just gave me a compliment. “What do you like?” I ask.
“I like football a lot. I like steak and war movies and blood and gore. But I don't know. I'm beginning to think... I really like you.”
I look away. He doesn't know me. How could he know he likes me? “I like you, too,” I say.
After dinner, we go to the movie theater. Jay says that tonight is not about him but about me, so we watch a chick-flick. I never actually told him I like them, but I do. I don't like horror or war movies.
Now Jay touches my arm, but I don't flinch, though I am intensely aware of it. He moves down my arm to my hand. I open it. His hand fills it. Now he brings my hand to him and I see and feel his lips on it. He looks at me, his eyes asking whether I want my hand back out of his grasp. But I just look back to the screen. I'm not sure what I want.
In the car he tells me, “You know, you're not like other girls, Karalynn. And I don't really want this to end.”
What does he mean? What could he possibly see in me? How could he possibly have a more boring date than I have been?
“I don't want this to end,” I say. And I think I'm being honest. I'm scared for this to end and I'm scared for this to continue, too.
We get to my house and he walks me to my door. He looks at me and I'm lost in his gaze. He takes my hand and I feel powerless. His lips are on mine. It's like I can feel him inside of me. Maybe I am flinching. I don't know because I'm so scared. He releases, looks away, and bites his lip.
“Let's do it again sometime,” he says.
“I'd like that,” I tell him.
He lets go of my hand.
“Thanks for everything,” I say.
He just smiles and says, “Goodnight.”
Chapter 2: Beauty for Sale
I lay in bed half awake. I feel better about who I am than I have in a long time. Maybe I am beautiful after all. Maybe I really mean something to Jay. Maybe I'm worth something. I can still feel his lips on mine even as I lay here debating whether I should get up. It's Saturday.
In the kitchen, my mom asks if I had a good time last night.
“I had an incredible time,” I answer, pouring a bowl of cereal.
“Did he?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Mom...”
She laughs and sits down at the table with her pop-tarts in her hands.
“Did my dad kiss you on your first date?” I ask, sitting down beside her, knowing the question is almost cruel.
“Karalynn, don't...,” she responds coldly.
“Alright, well I'm not telling either.”
We sit there silently eating in a harsh sort of truce, with half-smiles, half-scowls across our faces. I guess this is what is to be a woman. But for now I'll just focus on last night and replay it over and over in my mind.
Later, Megan calls and she wants to know how last night went. Suddenly, I guess my whole identity is who I am in Jay. Nothing else matters. By myself I am no one. I tell Megan everything, how he told me I was different and that he liked me, how he touched me in the theater and kissed me at the door, and how he said we should do it again. Replaying the night, it seems much better than how it had actually felt as it happened. I was terrified as it played out, fearing I would make some horrible mistake, but it ended well with a sweet promise of a continuing relationship. I feel pride in this. Megan seems pleased with the outcome, too.
In the late afternoon, I get a call from Jay. He says he's on his way home from football practice and he wanted to hear my voice. I swallow hard at this. I don't have much to say, of course. My life is dreadfully boring. But he finds all kinds of things to say about school and football... and us. He has a way of talking that makes me feel like the most important person in the world. It's like magic. A group of people (Jay's kind of people) are going bowling tonight and Jay asks if I want to come with him. Tonight? That seems so soon. My heart beats hard. What will I wear? And what if all the other people make me feel awkward? And what if I make a fool of myself because I don't really know how to bowl? “I'd love to,” I say, and that settles it. It's 4:30 now and he's going to pick me up at 6:30.
I shuffle through my closet anxiously and come out with something that seems almost suitable. It's not a good brand and it doesn't reveal as much as what I borrowed from Megan, but it's the best I have. It's 6:25 and I'm ready. I curled my hair and I think it looks alright. “He must really like you,” my mom says, watching television.
When he comes and we're in the car on the way to the bowling alley he tells me, “You're so pretty, you know?”
“Really?” I say, and look away, thrilled and also embarrassed.
“Yeah,” he laughs, “hasn't anyone ever told you that?”
“Um, I guess it's not the kind of thing people say everyday, you know?”
“I don't see how they can help it.”
“Thanks...” After a while I ask, “Are Megan and Zack coming?”
“No, there are other people in the world, you know.”
“Well, yeah, but...”
“You can meet some new people, okay?”
I don't like the idea of it. I don't like the idea of people who hate me simply because I'm with Jay.
“It'll be okay,” he tells me as we get out of the car. But when we go inside and meet his friends I see that they are the same people or at least the same kind of people that always sit with him at lunch. I close up involuntarily. I wish I wasn't here.
“They're not going to bite you, Karalynn,” Jay whispers to me as we put on bowling shoes. “At least try to be nice for me, okay?”
I'm trying, but they're making it impossible. They don't look at me; they don't talk to me; they don't include me. Doesn't Jay see? Doesn't Jay care? I'm not like him and I can't handle this. I'm the girl they've always looked down on, one of the normal people, and they can't stand that I've risen beyond them and won the attention of Jay Robins.
Jay bowls better than anyone else. The guys compete and have fun. The girls are simply cruel. They're not competing for bowling points; they're competing for Jay. He helps me with my positioning in the game and he puts his arm around me a lot when we're both sitting down. This is getting to be too much for the other girls.
“So, where did you get that shirt?” Kimberly asks me. “Let me guess: Wal-Mart in the clearance section?”
I look away. I don't know how to respond. This isn't fair.
Jay hesitates, but then says to Kimberly, “What does it matter? She looks better than you in your hundred dollar outfits.”
“You jerk,” she responds defiantly. “Why don't you start shopping at Wal-Mart if it doesn't matter?”
“Why don't you shut up and let me make my own decisions?” Jay bites his lip. Everyone grows rather quiet at this. We watch Peyton bowl like it is the most entertaining thing we had seen in years, but I don't think anyone except me notices his gutter ball.
Jay leans over to me when Kimberly goes to bowl. “Yeah, I went out with her a few times a couple months ago...”
“Yeah, I remember... Everyone seems to think they're you're girl.”
“But they're not. You're the only one I care about anymore.” He gets up and bowls a strike.
On the way home, I tell Jay, “At least understand, this is hard on me.”
“Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry. I didn't realize it would be that way. Those girls... they're really stupid, you know? You're totally different than them.”
I sigh. What does this mean? Are these just words?
“I don't even know why I hang out with them anymore,” he says.
“Because they're like your fan club; they're all in love with you.”
“Yeah, but... I'm not going to do this to you anymore. I promise, okay?”
“Okay...”
We arrive at my house. “Do you mind,” Jays says, “if I call you my girlfriend?”
Do I mind? What kind of a question is that? “I'd love that,” I tell him.
“That's worth it all,then,” he says.
He kisses me by the door again, but this time it's longer and I feel even more caught up in him. I don't think I will ever get loose of this, but why would I want to?
* * *
On Monday, I have a new life. I am not the girl in the shadows. I am Jay Robin's girl—his only girl, and everyone knows. Those girls like Kimberly, Lauren, Jennifer all fall back now like phantoms. If they hate me, what does it matter? I am not like them; I am beyond them. I am supreme. They are dirt beneath my feet and merely representations of past days or shells of long-gone locusts. They are nothing.
At lunch Jay and I sit with Megan and Zack, Haley and Damian. The guys make fools of themselves simply because they can, I suppose, and no one thinks anything of it. They act like little boys, carrying on about stupid things, playing with their food. Zack leads in this as he is the chief of clowns. It's alright because Jay, Zack, and Damian set the rules. Megan laughs a little; Haley seems annoyed; I'm just trying to figure out what's going on and I suppose it comes across as indifference.
The events and overarching feelings of Tuesday and Wednesday follow the same pattern. I'm beginning to get used to this, to feed on this, to so deeply associate myself with Megan and Haley that I'm not even sure who I was a week ago. All I know is that I am now in the thrill of this high life. Even though I'm uneasy with Jay, I'm getting good at pretending I'm at ease. I'm getting good at playing this new role.
“See,” Jay tells me on the phone Wednesday night, “I told you we would work out.”
“Yeah, of course, you make everything work out.”
He laughs. “So, you want to go to the party Friday night at Damian's house?”
I hesitate. “Um, I've never been to anything quite like... you know.”
“There has to be a first for everything.”
“Yeah, but... I've heard stories.”
“Just stay with me and everything will be alright. I promise.”
* * *
On Friday, Megan comes over. She helps me decide what to wear and we do our hair and nails together.
“Jay is so crazy about you,” Megan says. “I can tell by the way he looks at you. I mean, I've never seen him quite this way over a girl.”
I just smile and spread the second coat over my nails. I don't talk about how nervous I am about tonight, how scared I am that everyone will get drunk and do things they wouldn't consider in their right minds. Jay's promise has not helped me because, deep down, I fear him more than anyone. I'm scared of what I would do for him. But even at the height to which I have risen, I cannot tell Megan these things. I am still a cardboard poster to her, though this becomes harder the more time we spend together.
I guess that's what scares me about this whole rising to popularity. I don't think it can last long. When people see who I really am, how could they accept me? Even Jay—he thinks he knows me, but there's so much he hasn't discovered, so much that no one knows, that even I try to forget.
So we change our clothes, we paint our nails thick, we make our hair unnaturally straight, we conceal our faces with thick makeup, we cloak our eyes with eyeliner. No one must know what I am.
“So, tonight, don't be scared to drink a little,” Megan tells me. “I'm not saying you need to get drunk or anything, but everyone will have a better time if you're loosened up a little.” I clam up inside and I'm not sure how to respond.
Jay and Zack both come to my house for us. I get that sickening feeling again that I'm revealing too much of my body. Jay drives us. Everyone else seems excited, but I am quiet. What am I getting into?
Damian's house is crowded with people. A lot of them I don't know; some of them go to Damian's old school. I stay with Jay simply because everyone else is moving around in unpredictable fashions and I need a constant to stay sane. I cling to his hand. As Jay moves around talking to different people and introducing me, I forget most of their names.
At last Jay says to me, “Is something wrong?”
“I don't know.”
“You're tense.”
I hate that that shows.
“Why don't we get something to drink?” he asks.
I look at him, earnestly searching his eyes.
“You've never had a drink, have you?” he says.
I don't answer. I just look around.
“Well, come on. Try a little bit and it'll make you have a better time. If it's too much, you can stop, alright? Does that sound good?”
I nod.
He puts his arm around me and leads me to the drinks. “Beer is gross. What you need is some wine.” He pours a little for me and for himself. I take a sip; the stuff is strong and distasteful to me, but I finish what he poured. “What do you think?” he asks.
“I like Dr. Pepper better,” I say.
“Alright, have it your way,” he laughs. “I better stop, too, if I'm going to drive home later.”
At this, I feel relieved. Everything is going to be alright tonight, after all. Jay is not even pressuring me or mocking my innocence. Slowly, I can tell I'm more relaxed. I'm more talkative and I can have conversations with people I don't know well. I think Jay likes this.
Later, when most everyone is inside, the music is loud, and the people are shouting over each other, Jay and I go out front. We sit against the pillar. His arms are both around me; I'm leaning against his chest. I feel somehow ignited. My body is going crazy. But I'm not sure exactly what this means.
Much later, as I lie in bed, I think over the night's occurrences. I see Jay's eyes in my mind and feel beautiful and desired. What if he wants all of me? What if I'm not ready for that?
* * *
The next week is like a long, slow march toward the weekend. There is the monotony of papers and tests, seeing Jay at Spanish and lunch, the normal people with which I used to associate becoming more and more distant. It is alright though; it is part of the plan; it is worth it. We are approaching the weekend and I long to spend time with Jay. During the week, between school and practice, he does not have time, except to call. I'm almost scaring myself with how much I desire to be with him. I'm scared of what I'll do.
All the while, Betha acts as if nothing has changed. She trails me home from the bus stop like a pet dog I can't get rid of. And I know I'll never change into what she is. Why would I want to? I have everything right now. I am what every girl wants to be... every girl, I guess, except for Betha.
Friday night, Jay and I go to Megan's house and watched a movie with her and Zack. On the coach, Jay's arm is around me and I'm leaning securely into him. When he takes me home, he kisses me several lengthy times until I feel I'm losing all control.
“I better go in,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip and looking down in the darkness. Then, “Karalynn,” he says slowly. I meet his deep, consuming eyes as he says, “I think I'm in love with you.”
“I know I'm in love with you.” This must be love—this being caught up in someone and feeling beautiful just by looking into his eyes. This must be love.
“Let's do something tomorrow after football practice. You want to?”
“Yeah, I'd like that.”
As I lay in bed, I cannot sleep tonight. I'm replaying his words in my mind, his strong, defined voice, saying, “I think I'm in love with you.” I keep imagining unintentionally that the blankets are his arms wrapped around me.
* * *
So, late on Saturday night, we go to a park. The weather is still nice as it has not quite lost summer's warmth and yet experiments with indulging in colder temperatures. We walk in the park's seemingly enchanted forest, our fingers interlocked, as the sun sets on us.
“I think it's going to be a great football season;” he says, “the new coach is so much better and some of the freshmen seem really promising... and I've got you to cheer me on.”
I laugh, “And that makes a lot of difference.”
“That makes all the difference,” he says, looking down at me, seriously.
“This place is kind of empty now,” I note, looking around.
“Is that bad?”
I don't answer.
“Come on; let's go back to the car,” he decides, and we make our way through the quickly dimming forest.
In the car, he pulls out a bottle of wine. “We should celebrate,” he says.
“Celebrate what?”
“You know... us.” So I drink with him even though I still don't like the taste. I kind of like the way it makes me feel. But my heart is beating quickly, anyway, for fear of what the drink is doing to me, for fear of what it's doing to him.
“If we both love each other and we always want to be together, then what are we waiting on?” he asks after awhile. “I mean, I know I could never love another girl the way I love you.”
I swallow hard. I don't know whether I'm ready for this, but to refuse him would be to say I don't really love him, wouldn't it? To refuse him would be to say that all he has done for me means nothing.
“Trust me,” he says, touching me—my neck, my lips, and everything that once was only mine. I relax beneath his touch. I don't know what else to do. As he overtakes me, I begin to lose focus. I don't know what is happening anymore. Everything turns soft and gray and hard and black.
Chapter 3: Beyond Hope
I'm awake as from a nightmare. I'm in my room, in my bed. It's still dark and my clock says 5:53. These images in my mind, these feelings inside of me... are they real? Was I was with Jay last night, intimately? I cringe. Surely that was a dream; surely he dropped me off after our date at ten or so. But I don't remember that. I just begin to remember what he was telling me in the car, how I started drinking, how he began to touch me.
But I'm a sensible girl and I knew before I wasn't ready for that, didn't I? I'm just fifteen and Jay has only acted like he cares about me. Why would he force me to do something I'm not ready for? As the nightmare becomes a reality in my mind, I remember how easily I folded to him.
I want to go back to sleep and have a good dream, letting that become my reality, but now that I remember what happened, I know I can't go back. It's all too late. A tear drips down my face, my cheek, my chin, my neck. It's followed by another and another. They drip slowly down my body, which has turned meaningless. Fifteen days ago, I had never been kissed. Now I am thoroughly defiled.
And all those things he said to me, that I was different, that I was beautiful, that he loved me... those were just lies to coerce me. He must have said those exact things to each girl he used to find for every weekend. He told me I wasn't like them, but now I think I'm just as stupid and shallow. All of that time, Jay must have cared nothing for me, only for himself. Now he can boast to his friends of his newest feat. He can pin all that was precious to me on the bulletin board of his mind next to Kimberly, Jennifer, Lauren, Leah, Jessica, Renee.
And Megan used me, too. She encouraged me in the relationship, helped me change my appearance, and sent me out to him looking like a whore so that he could treat me like one. My mom didn't even care. She told me I looked nice and watched me walk out the door time after time with that self-obsessed user.
Fifteen days ago I had something wonderful and beautiful and I didn't even know. I had my body and it was mine. It was my own, untouched, unknown, sacred. I had my heart locked up in my chest. And I sold it all to him for some cheap words that I throw away now like the receipts for my purchase of death. What am I now? What good am I? I feel these tears will never cease.
I'm quiet this weekend. I stay in my room most of the time with my door locked. Jay calls me three times, but I don't answer, and he doesn't leave any messages. I tell my mom I'm doing homework and she inquires no further. That's how much she cares.
* * *
At school on Monday, a lot of girls are staring at me. Some of them say things to me about Saturday night, but I turn cold at the subject. If I went through with the conversation, it would increase my popularity I guess, but I can't make myself do it. They laugh at how uncomfortable I am with the subject.
With increasing intensity, I hate Jay. I hate him like I've never hated anyone. He has told everyone what we did. I'm certain now that he cares nothing about me. I'm less than human to him. I'm at his disposal. Tears are slipping past the cages of my eyes, escaping down my cheeks, blackening my face with eyeliner and mascara. I thought I would be stronger than this; I guess I forgot who I am.
I can't go to Spanish today. I can't face Jay. I go into the bathroom, lock myself in the stall and let those tears dirty my whole face with the message of truth they carry. Everyone I held onto has turned on me. I am utterly alone. But now, I no longer care about popularity. Everything is a lie. I've gotten my sample of popularity and it is utterly bitter. Who am I trying to impress, anyway? The popular crowd, I guess, but they're not at all what I imagined. They're disappointingly like everyone else except even more self-absorbed. I skip lunch, too.
Before leaving the bathroom, I wash my face. I take off all the make-up, everything. Of course people won't like what they see, but what does it matter? They know who I am, what I've done. All that dark stuff falls through drain, but the darkness, the uncleanness I feel inside, it cannot be washed away.
After school, on my way out, Jay, with his terrifying, unsatisfiable, piercing, dark eyes, stops me. “Karalynn,” he says smoothly.
Fury ceases me. “Please leave me alone,” I tell him, looking away at the ground.
“What is it, baby? We can work things out.”
My eyes are fogged over with tears again by now. “No,” I tell him, crossing my arms tightly and walking away. Maybe I've hurt him; maybe I've made our relationship unrepairable, but I don't care. He is like a vicious beast, incapable of repentance and unworthy of forgiveness. The school door slams shut behind me.
On the bus, I sit by in the middle by the window, simply out of habit. For a companion, my backpack sits beside me. Megan sits by herself in the seat behind me.
“So, things are going well with you and Jay?” she says.
I guess she hasn't looked me in the face today. “Stay out of my life,” I mumble.
“What are you talking about? What are you throwing me of for? I'm the one who helped you get where you are.”
“Just shut up.”
“You're the one who agreed to go out with him. If you weren't ready for it, if you were already enjoying your previous state of unpopularity, you should have turned him down at the beginning.”
Everyone on the bus is listening now. Why won't she be quiet?
“You knew what he would do before you ever went out with him,” she reminds me.
The left side of my face is now pressed against the vibrating window and the right side is covered by my hair. I am cut off from Megan. I am cut off from the world. I am forevermore an outcast.
* * *
The rain streaks down the kitchen window remind me of this ongoing life—or death, which ever it is. I cannot escape it. It is my existence. Surely the skies are tired of raining by now. They've been at it for three days.
I'm tired of that dull face in the mirror. It is lifeless and desperate but sees no hope. No one knows me anymore. In fact, though I used to talk to people and they used to talk to me, I don't think anyone ever really knew me. I've always said the things I was supposed to say and done the things I was supposed to do, but no more. I am a rebel of the system. I have graced the highest social sphere and slammed the door in its face. It was all a lie anyway. There was no joy there.
No one wants to know me. I don't straighten my hair anymore; I just brush it and let it do its thing. When I do wear make-up, I just put on heavy, black eyeliner; that's it. I wear clothes that don't draw attention to me but allow me to be just another face in the crowd. I have become like someone I would have avoided a month ago. I feel like a widow, but the one who died was never real, just an imaginary person all along. Now I've come to terms with the fact that the man I dreamed of since I was a little girl could not really exist. Guys are users. Guys are liars. They don't love or cherish. A gentleman is a mirage of the female heart. And I am the widow of my dream.
I wonder what my grandmother would think of me now. After all she tried to convince me of, surely she would be ashamed. She was always telling me that I could be accepted and loved of God. But I don't think it matters. I guess it was all a lie, anyway, like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
My mom knows that something has changed in me, that Jay and I aren't together anymore. But I can't think of telling her what is going on inside of me. I can't think of asking her why she never warned me against this, why she only encouraged me, when surely she's experienced the pain that comes with this kind of intimacy. She wouldn't understand if I talked to her about it, though. Day by day, we just talk about meaningless things. What's the point of talking at all?
I'm making soup and corn bread for dinner. I'm stirring, stirring monotonously like the dripping of the rain today. I don't cry anymore. It's like I've used up all my tears. Now I face the facts and realize that life has nothing for me. All I really want is to end this. Is there an end, though? Or is that, too, eternal punishment for all the sins I carry? Is there rest in death for one so defiled? Maybe I should find out. Suicide becomes more appealing with each passing day. I open the knife drawer and stare bleakly in, debating and figuring in my mind. But I'm scaring myself. Death looks painful. I close the drawer and stir the soup again.
* * *
Getting off the bus, I breathe deeply and say, “Betha.” The girl turns to me, surprised at my addressing her. “I missed English class last week,” I say slowly, “when the teacher gave out the word list that we have a test on tomorrow...”
“We have a copy machine at my house. Do you want me to make you a copy?” she asks, as if she knows no resentment.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
I probably haven't been in Betha's house since second grade. But I go in now. The air inside is warm and welcoming. Betha's mother comes to greet us. “Karalynn, I've just made cookies. Would you like to come in and have some?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Russell,” I say without thinking. Honestly, I do want to sit down and enjoy the company of these two. I just don't deserve it after ignoring Betha for all of these years. I don't deserve the friendship she still seems to offer. And I know I never will. But as Betha makes the copies and I stand here in the entryway smelling the cookies in the kitchen, I have to wonder how my life might have been different if I had been friends with Betha all these years instead of going through my long and torturous struggle for popularity. It's painful to wonder how much hurt I might have avoided, how I might have hope even now.
“Thank you,” I tell Betha as she hands me the paper still warm from the copier.
“Anytime,” she says, smiling. She even touches me near my shoulder to show that she means it.
I smile like I wish it could be so. But it can't, not after all I've put her through.
* * *
I feel strange. I'm sick at my stomach at certain times of the day, but otherwise I'm well. And I've missed my monthly cycle. What does this mean? I fear the worst. My mom won't be home for a couple more hours and a trip to the convenience store might set my mind at ease... or alert me to my deep fear.
So I set out from my house in a panic. This won't seem real until I know, so why am I doing this again? Because this isn't going to be real. I'm going to find out that everything is normal and my cycle is just late.
As I set the pregnancy tester on the checkout stand with the money, the elderly clerk looks into my face, probably trying to guess my age. I look down inescapable embarrassment and try to act as if I'm oblivious as to what I'm purchasing. He hands me the plastic shopping bag and tells me to have a good day. Does he really mean it or is he inwardly asking God to bring a curse on me for my many sins?
At home, I follow the instructions on the box. It must be lying. This can't be real. I'm only fifteen; this is impossible. But it's message is still: positive. Now I can cry again. There is no going back, no changing the past. Whatever has begun inside of me has begun. It cannot be reversed. What am I going to do?
I bring my hand against my stomach in awe of the activity beneath the skin. How could God do this to me? I didn't even know what I was doing that night. No one told me it would mean all of this. But, even though I want to keep blaming everyone else, I knew what Jay was like; I knew what could happen. This is my fault. I guess God is just, and that's what makes me most afraid of Him.
I don't want anyone to know about this. So I make dinner like usual even though I don't feel like it. I try to act normal and my mom doesn't ask questions. But for some reason, she wants to watch a reality show about babies while we eat. Why would she want to do that? We usually don't watch reality television. I'm scared that if we watch this, I'm going to break.
“No, Mom,” I say, “let's watch something else.”
“Oh, come on, Karalynn. We haven't seen this show in a while. You like it; you've just forgotten.”
“If you watch this, I'm going to my room.”
“Why?”
I feel a tear slipping down my cheek, blowing my cover.
“Is something wrong?” my mom asks.
“Mom... I'm pregnant,” I say, though I can't believe I'm telling her this, even as the words leave my mouth.
“Oh, Sweety,” she says. She hugs me and my tears soak her blouse. She holds me for a long time. I don't care if she never lets go. I just want to fall asleep and never wake up because no dream could be worse than reality. “It will be okay,” my mom tells me as she releases her grasp. How can she say that? How could this be described as okay? “I'll get off work early tomorrow and we can go up the abortion clinic. In a couple days, this won't matter anymore.”
I stare into her confident-seeming eyes with my own doubts. “Have you had an abortion before?” The question has spilled out of my mouth before I had time to think it over.
“No, no. My only pregnancy was with you.”
I look away, staring into the pattern of the carpet. I've always thought my mom loved my father once. I wish I knew more about him. I wish she would tell me.
Now I think of what she has said. If she has never had an abortion, though, how does she know it won't matter in a couple days? “If we go to the abortion clinic,” I say, “what will they do to me?”
“I don't know exactly, but it will be quick and easy. It won't hurt.”
“You mean, they would perform the operation tomorrow?”
“It's only a minor operation. Trust me, Karalynn. You're going to be alright.” Megan told me to trust her. Jay told me to trust him. What if my mom is just saying this to keep life easy? The fact that I was with Jay will matter for the rest of my life, even though others acted as if it was no big deal. What if this is the same? What if I can never forget the events of tomorrow? What if it will bring more death to my existence? Tomorrow seems so close and I need more time to think.
* * *
Here I sit with this helpless infant in my arms. He is safe, comfortable, and happy here with his eyes closed in a deep sleep. But I begin to dislike this, his dependence on me. I'm not ready for this and I grow angry with him. I take a knife out of a drawer nearby and, in a fit of self-absorption, without thinking, I plunge the knife into the child's heart. His eyes open instantly and he shrieks.
Suddenly, I wake up, sweaty with my heart beating hard, to a shrieking siren in the distance. It was just a dream. I haven't killed him. I breathe a sigh of relief, staring into the darkness of night.
If I go through with this abortion, will I be killing a person who is already alive? How could I be so cold-hearted? But on the other hand, how can I explain to my mom that I feel I need to have the baby? And what would it be like when I get really big? How will it feel? Will it hurt to give birth? What will people think?
This is terrifying—that I have but these two options: abortion or pregnancy and labor. I am unprepared for either.
* * *
I cannot concentrate at school today, knowing what I have scheduled for this afternoon, knowing what I have going on inside of me. What if I'm getting worked up over nothing? What if it's no big deal, like my mom told me? What if this inside of me is not yet a life? But I can't know that. And if I can't know that and I go through with this, it will torture me forever.
Of all the people I could see in my distress as I gather things from my locker, here comes Jay on his way to practice. Maybe he will not notice me or maybe he will ignore me.
But, no. “Karalynn.” I hate the way my name sounds on his lips. I cringe inside as an invisible shield suddenly grows over me. “Are you coming to the game tonight?” he asks. He touches me.
I pull back from his hand in a sudden fearful emotion. “Please don't touch me.”
He folds his arms. “Calm down, now; we got off to a bad start, but there's still hope. Come tonight.”
I fold my arms as a tear slips down my cheek. “Don't mock me, Jay.” I'm not who I used to be. I don't dress the way I used to dress. I don't act like I used to act or associate with the people I used to associate with. How does he not see how much everything has changed? How does he dare still speak to me?
“Why would you think I'm mocking you?” he asks.
“Because you only care about yourself.” I'm not thinking now, just talking. “You're a liar. And you do whatever you want and don't have to accept any of the consequences.” I pause, but not to think. He is still here, so I say, “I'm pregnant.”
“What?” he responds. “Oh. Wow. I'm... I'm sorry.”
I shake my head. “Never mind. I'm getting an abortion.” My eyes are filled with tears by now.
“How can you do that?” he asks. “Wouldn't you feel guilty? I mean, what if what's inside of you is really... alive and human?”
“Shut up, Jay, okay? Just stay out of my life from now on. You don't understand.
You're not the one going through this.” He is silent now. I have what I need from my locker. I walk past him and reach where the bus would be. But the bus is already gone. My mom's going to be mad.
I sit down on the curb, my face in my arms, red with tears. I am so alone.
“Karalynn.” I hear my name spoken again, this time by a soft, familiar voice.
I look up, disclosing my tear-stained face. Betha looks back at me, her blue eyes seemingly filled with compassion. “What can I do for you?” she asks.
I speak in a low tone, like someone on death row. “I don't think anyone can do anything for me now, Betha.”
“I can listen.”
Now I study her eyes. She did not condemn me for struggling for popularity. She did not condemn me for going out with Jay. She has never given up on me. Chills go up my spine as I come to the decision that, if I can trust anyone, it is her.
“You're too innocent to listen to this story,” I tell her.
“Go ahead,” she reassures.
“You know, I started going out with Jay a month or so ago. And, looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. Surely you've heard the stories about his way with girls. He robs you of everything and then he's on to the next girl. I totally played into it. I guess I thought I was different somehow. I guess I thought he could change. But after a couple weeks, he just...” I'm struggling, crying again now, “he just used me up.” Betha is perfectly silent in her attentiveness, but she is starting to cry, too. How is it that she, spotless as she is, would shed tears for someone as terrible as myself?
“That would have been enough,” I say. “That would have been enough for me to go on in agony forever. But then, I just found out yesterday, I'm pregnant.” Now we're really crying. I don't think anyone has ever wept over me before. My speech is mostly sobs by now and probably difficult to understand. “My mom wants me to get an abortion. And I'm so terrified. I don't know what to do.”
Betha looks away and she keeps crying. She can't seem to talk for a while, but when she can, she fixes her eyes to mine again. “Karalynn, my birth mother was fourteen when she had me. I don't know a lot about her. I'm sure she thought about abortion. I probably won't ever meet her, but if I do, I will thank her because even though she must have made some bad decisions, she had the courage and the compassion to give birth to me, despite what she must have gone through physically and socially. And she had the love to let me be adopted by the best parents I can imagine.”
“I... I never knew,” I say, completely taken back. But then, after a while I say, “You really forgive her?”
Betha nods.
“But you forgive everyone,” I say, casually.
“Just because I've been forgiven for so much by God.”
I almost laugh. “What have you been forgiven for? You've never done anything wrong in your life.”
“I'm human. I've made mistakes.”
I smile, almost bitterly. “Still, you forgive what even God does not forgive.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, me, for example. You're always forgiving me. It doesn't make sense.”
“Karalynn, God would forgive you, too.”
I laugh. “No, that's impossible. I'm going to hell for what I've done.”
“You would,” she says. “You would have to go to hell, just like I would have to go to hell for my sins. But when the perfect Son of God died on the cross, He was taking our sins on Himself. He even prayed to God for the people that had crucified Him. He said, 'Father, forgive them. They don't know what they're doing.' And even when the criminal dying beside him asked Jesus to remember him when he entered His kingdom, Jesus told him, 'Today you will be with me in paradise.'”
I look into her crystal-like eyes and I know she's really sincere. She really thinks God would forgive me.
“If you just ask him, if you just put your trust in Him, He will save you from hell and from guilt and from all these things. He will change you. And you will never, ever be alone again. Believe me, I know.”
A car drives up near us. It's Betha's mom's. “Come home with me,” says Betha.
“No thanks. I don't want to go home. I'll walk when I'm ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, mom's going to be mad anyway.”
“I'll see you around, Karalynn.” Her eyes are begging me to remember all her words.
As she turns to leave, I say, “Hey, Betha.” When she looks back, I still have to gather the courage to tell her what I intended. “Thank you.”
“I'm praying for you,” are her last words before she gets in the car and soon disappears from the parking lot.
Alone again, I stare out into nowhere, the wind against my burning eyes, my face marred with black eyeliner from the shedding of so many tears.
