Page 65 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“You said hell in church.”

“So?”

“You’re so tough.” He stood so close that his hair flopped in my face and he removed the pencil from my grasp and broke it in two. “Now what’re you going to do?”

I set my books on the riser and got up. “Get out of my way.”

Jackson jumped backward, holding up his hands like he was terrified. I took the opportunity to push past him out into the hallway. The women’s restroom was a few paces away on the opposite side, and I ducked in there and locked myself in a stall.

God. I hated being scared, hated feeling so small and vulnerable and alone. I sat on the toilet and was halfway through my business when the door opened. I ducked a little, looking to see whose shoes were out there, but I saw nothing. What must have been half a second later, I heard the stall next to mine smack and Jackson’s head popped over the divider.

“Oooh, I see your pussy.”

Shame and anger engulfed me and I hit the wall between us so hard the entire structure rattled. Jackson disappeared from above me. I hoped he had fallen off the toilet and hit his head and he’d bleed out. Instead, the lights clicked off and the hallway door opened again.

Thank God. I didn’t care that I was in the dark; at least he was gone. I hurried to pull up my underpants and smooth my skirt, then flushed the toilet and unlocked the door, ready to feel my way toward the sinks. That was when a hand caught me by my throat and shoved me back against the divider.

I screamed, or at least I tried to. Jackson’s hand came tighter. “Shut up,” he said. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t care. I’ll scream again.”

“Don’t bother. Nobody’s down here. They won’t hear you.”

I knew he was right. Terror started in my toes and, like a merciless current, washed upward until I choked with it. “What are you doing?”

Jackson gave a smug little laugh but didn’t answer. His free hand touched my left breast and he pushed his face against me in a horrible, forceful kiss. Nobody had ever done that to me before but even within the panic, I felt indignantly that this didn’t count. It would never count. I shoved him away with all my might.

It didn’t move him far, and it made him double down on my neck. I couldn’t swallow now, could barely breathe. I tried with both hands to pry his grip away, but he was too strong. As a last ditch effort, I clawed him.

“Ow.” He let go for a moment and slapped me in the face. “Cut it out, you stupid bitch. Pull down your panties.”

“What?”

“Do it or I will.”

That was when my soul left my body. I remember yelling even though nobody heard and struggling even though he wouldn’t stop. It could have been two minutes, it could have been an hour. By the time Jackson left, his face and hand were bloody from my nails and I was huddled on the cold tile floor throwing up.

It took a long time to regain feeling in my brain and body and gather myself. It hurt in places I barely knew existed before that night. My nose was running and there was vomit on my sweater. I’d wadded up toilet paper in my ripped underpants to catch the blood.

I caught my glance in the sink mirror and looked away immediately. My eyes were swollen, my face was red where Jackson had slapped me. I washed my hands and face with soap, then took some paper towel and worked on my sweater. I knew that it was late.

I was right. I ran into my mother as I pushed open the bathroom door; she’d been about to come in. “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice came out raspy. “I’m sick.”

Mom’s expression softened just the slightest bit and she looked at me for a long time before touching my forehead. “You’re clammy. You need to get to bed.”

“My books are in the choir room.”

“I’ll get them.”

We walked very slowly up the stairs and to the car, but Mom didn’t speak until we started out of the parking lot. “It’s too quiet down there in the choir room. Next week I’ll give you my keys and you can sit in the office.”

2024

Mom was extra perky that evening. Dad had ordered Chinese because she had “so much to get ready” she hadn’t been able to cook. I was fine with the Chinese, but I didn’t understand what she had to get done. After dinner, while she was busy on the phone, I snuck into the hall closet and pulled out an armful of photo albums.

I had brought a smattering of old snapshots from home, mostly of Kevin and me when we were young, but this was the mother lode. I found photos from both my parents’ childhood, some from my father’s time in the military, and some from early in their relationship. I selected a few pictures from each era, scanned them onto my phone, and planned to edit on my computer the next day.