beating! This was no blob of cells gone wild, no mere wart. Warts don't have hearts, and neither do cancerous growths. He had a HEART, and I'd stopped it! ME. I had killed him!
I put my hands over my eyes and began to sob like a moronic baby. "You sure you're all right?" called out one of the old dudes behind me stupidly. I didn't answer, since if he had any brains he'd know the answer. I just dropped to my knees, sinking partway into the water of the pond, and balled and sobbed like I'd never balled and sobbed before. You'd think another flood was on the way, with the amount of water that gushed out of my eyes.
"I don't think she's all right," I heard one of the old dudes behind me say.
"What do we do about it?" asked his companion.
"Beats me," came the response. "I've been married almost 50 years, and I never HAVE figured out how to make 'em stop crying once they get started."
His statement was so utterly ridiculous, the bizarre part of my personality was strongly tempted to start laughing. But the horror of what I had done to Jonathon was still too great. I continued to sob and blubber, falling flat on the grass next to the pond. I must have looked like I was dying.
"Think we should call a paramedic?" asked the second man.
"There's nothin' they could do," answered the first man. "They'd probably just sit here and stare at her like we're doin.'"
I suddenly knew I had to get out of here. The comments of those two men were getting to be too much for me. With tremendous effort I staggered to my feet. As I did so I caught a glimpse of myself in the pond. The sight was shocking. My eyes were even more puffy and bulged now and my make-up was so smeared it looked like a kindergartner's finger painting. In fact, my whole face looked like it had just been kicked by a mule.
"You SURE you're all right, young lady?" asked the first old gentlemen for the third time.
"Of course," I blubbered in a barely intelligible voice as I staggered away. "Why wouldn't I be?"
I quickly (and gratefully) left the two staring men behind me. But as I staggered along I found myself wondering just where I was supposed to go now. After all, if you can't go home, where can you go? My overloaded brain had a hard time puzzling that one out, but I just kept putting one foot in front of the other and kept going just the same. And after 5 minutes my brain finally realized where my feet were taking me. I was going to Bob's house.
Bob. I grimaced suddenly, making my face look even worse (if that was possible). He was the cause of all this! If it wasn't for him, none of this would have ever happened! It was him and his stupid antics on dates, and his insistence that I have an abortion! Yet even as these angry words spat across my mind, I knew they were only partially true. Bob could never have caused any of this without my consent. I'd knowingly gone along with him every step of the way. It made me feel better to put all the blame on him, but deep down inside I knew it wasn't true.
Before I knew it, I found myself on Bob's front doorstep. My mind was too far gone to consider what his Mom or Dad would say when they caught sight of me. Fortunately I never found out. Bob himself answered the door.
"Kate!" he cried in alarm the instant he saw me. "What's happened to you?" I stared at him helplessly for a minute, then found myself dissolving into tears once more. Drat those tears! I couldn't seem to make them stop! I felt like an idiot standing on his doorstep crying like a two-year-old. Bob must have realized his neighbors might think it odd, so he quickly pulled me inside and shut the door.
"My parents aren't home right now, thank heavens," he said as he led me over to the couch. "You've got to get a grip on yourself. What's wrong? What's happened?" The concern in his voice touched my heart, which unfortunately caused a new flood of tears. Why had I ever doubted Bob would comfort me? He may be thickheaded at times, but he truly cared about me. So of course I should turn to him, since he surely would understand what I was going through.
"My parents know," I blubbered in a whiny sort of voice that probably sounded very irritating. "They know!"
Bob was off the couch as if his pants were on fire. "THEY KNOW!" he blared. "Why did you tell them? Don't you have any sense at all? Now they'll tell MY parents!"
Anger suddenly took the place of tears, as my face twisted into a nasty grimace. "I did NOT tell them, you idiot! They found out! And my Mom had a breakdown and probably died right there in the hall! And my Dad looked like he was going to hit me, and then he just looked old and half dead!"
Bob stared at me with a frenzied look in his eyes, apparently not having heard a word I said. "They'll tell my parents!" he repeated dumbly, as if that was the only thing that mattered in the world. "They'll tell MY PARENTS!"
"Well, so what?" I bellowed. "You can't always have what you want, and you can't always keep secrets. Especially about something like this. So LIVE WITH IT!"
He apparently still hadn't heard me. He was just wandering stupidly around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists (which must be a 'guy' thing), muttering, "They'll tell my parents! THEY'LL TELL MY PARENTS!"
I suddenly realized that any notion Bob could comfort me was seriously mistaken. At the moment, he looked more like he was about to jump out the window, or start hitting me, or do something else insane and stupid. It was only too obvious the last thing he was capable of doing right now was comforting anyone.
"Why did this happen?" he suddenly yelled, slamming his fist into the fireplace, which must have hurt. "Now the whole world is going to know! Why did you have to go and get pregnant? Why? If you had any sense, you'd have done something to prevent it! Like most girls I've dated in the past who have brains! They all were on the pill or used the patch, or something. They never got pregnant! But NO! You have to go and do NOTHING and then get pregnant. How's a guy supposed to have any fun with a stupid girl like that? An idiot girl who doesn't even have enough sense to--"
"STOP IT!!" I suddenly shrieked at the top of my voice, surprising even myself. What he was saying was so sick and disgusting that it took a supreme effort of willpower to not lash out and slap him in the face. I saw for the first time where his mind was, what he truly thought of me, and what the whole thing had really been all about. Other girls! He had done this to other girls! Just using them like toys, for his pleasure! I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up.
Bob was so startled by my unexpected scream that he took an involuntary step backward, tripping over the lamp table. Spinning around to catch his balance he smacked his nose onto the mantle of the fireplace, instantly spattering blood everywhere. It got all over the carpet and furniture, and also on the family pictures on the mantle. Bob staggered sideways in shock and tripped again, over a chair this time. He landed flat on his back. For a minute he made no sound, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. Then he started to whine and cry like a little two-year-old, tears mixing with the blood that was pouring out of his nose.
"You moron!" he wailed through his tears. "Look at what you did to me! How am I going to explain THIS to my folks when they come home? And my nose! It hurts! Because of you it's probably broken! JUST LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"
The sight of the blood had somehow sapped all of the intense emotion that had been surging through me only seconds before. Suddenly I felt very cold. I looked down at Bob, feeling no compassion at all. Indeed, for all the balling and emotion I'd just been through, I suddenly felt amazingly calm and clear headed. "Wrong, Bob," I said coolly. "Just look at what you did to yourself."
Then I turned and walked away, knowing it was over between him and me forever. And good riddance, too.
April 28
I spent the night at Clarice's house, since I couldn't bring myself to go home. I was so exhausted and confused and horrified and disgusted with everything that had happened, I just needed somewhere to try and recover. I didn't actually intend to spend the night there, and was thinking I might have to go to the homeless shelter or use a park bench. But things just sort of worked ou
t for me to stay there instead.
Not that Clarice was there, of course. She and her mother were still gone to Florida when I went there after leaving Bob's house. Her Dad answered the door as usual. It's incredible he didn't seem to notice my smeared, pudgy face with all of its tear streaks, or the spray of Bob's nose-blood that covered one of my pant legs.
"Sorry Kate," he blustered, throwing the door open for me, then instantly turning and racing off into the house. "But I've got a plane to catch in an hour! To Florida! I've had enough of my wife's dodgy answers about this mysterious relative who's supposed to be dying. So, I'm going down there myself to find out what's going on!" He disappeared into the kitchen where he yelled, "You can go on up to Clarice's room again if you want to, and stay as long as you want! Just lock the door when you leave!"
Five minutes later he was gone, gunning down the street in his old station wagon in an effort to make it to the airport on time.
And to tell you the truth, he wasn't the only one who hoped he'd make it. Like I said before, I was a basket case and just needed somewhere to crash, and Clarice's house fit the bill perfectly. If he DIDN'T make his plane he'd be back of course, and then I'd have to leave. I waited anxiously, watching the street from Clarice's upstairs window