Magnet & Steele (7 page)

Nancy then turned another
page—pictures of her children when they were little. She softly
touched a photo of Paul, newly born. She remembered that awful day:
She was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth when she turned towards
the bathtub. She had made herself a nice little bed with a pillow
for her head by the faucet and a blanket covering her poorly
positioned body. She was sleeping in the bathroom when she first
got married, with the door conveniently locked when suddenly she
was woken up from pounding outside the door. “Nancy! Let me in” she
recalled hearing him demand, “Nancy, let me in!” Nancy didn’t, and
that seemed to anger Stephen even more. The next thing she knew she
braced herself from the door being broken down and Nancy tried to
get up, but she tripped over the blanket that was covering her and
Stephen held her body up from her fall and instead of allowing
Nancy to feel relief from nearly toppling over, Stephen began
ripping her nightgown away from her body until she felt what she
thought was a knife being pushed inside her, she later came to
realize, it was Stephen and his assault.

Nancy then brought her hands up to
her face. A tear rolled down her cheek and then some more as she
continued wiping them away. She sustained turning the pages and
went on to caress a photo of Suzy, age two. With her fingers spread
out, she covered the photo entirely: Nancy was putting Paul down
for a nap; Stephen was drunk just outside the door watching her
motherly deed and waited until Nancy dropped the baby into the crib
when he walked in towards her. By then, she knew what drinking a
bottle a day could do to a man and with Stephen, it was just plain
self-interest. Nancy begged and pleaded with Stephen to take her
somewhere else but he didn’t listen and pulled down her skirt at
the base of the crib.

Nancy now stood up from the bench
and walked over to the side of the gazebo and gasped for breath and
remembered…the two toddlers in their Sunday best. Nancy ran back
into the bedroom to get her hat when she bumped into Stephen
hogging the doorway. With a selfish grin and a sneer in his eye he
grabbed Nancy’s body and forced her down to the carpet. Nancy
recalled being so incredibly worried about her two babies left
alone in the front yard. They could have wandered into the street
and been hit by a car! They could of roamed into a neighbor’s
backyard and gotten bitten by the neighbor’s angry dog! Anything
could have happened, what the hell was he thinking?

Fully weeping now, Nancy fell to the
first step of the gazebo nearly tripping down to the next step as
she wrapped her arms around the white pole for balance. Looking up
at the stars she tried to take control of her emotions but they
took over like a typhoon rushing in and she collapsed in
agony.

She instantly brought to mind all
the wonderful memories she had up until her marriage to Stephen.
Those few, short glorious months wrapped inside the arms of someone
who adored her as well. Recalling that short-lived passion caused
her heart to swell up and hurt beyond recognition. God, she missed
him. To this very day, she still missed him and everything he had
to offer; security, warmth, passion, friendship, laughter and
undying love for her. She wondered where he was…still wondered
where he was or if he was even alive. No, he was alive; she could
feel so in her heart. But where was he? Was he married now? Where
did they live? Was he happy? Did he ever stop to think about her?
Has he ever once thought about her? Or did he just consider them
childhood sweethearts?

October, 1967

Francine’s senior year, her first
day in a new high school and she sat alone on the grass, reading a
book. She noticed no one and no one noticed her as she unraveled
her sandwich and looked up…hundreds of students gathered together
in small clumps, “clicks” they were calling them now and she was
suddenly envious of all their friendships: having fun, laughing,
talking about whatever.

“God, I miss my friends,” she said
under her breath. Francine then eyed a group of cheerleaders, every
other girl a blonde with a tan. “Look at that girl, she’s
disgustingly pretty. I hate girls who look like that. All the girls
here look like that. God I hate California!”

Sickened at the sight, Francine
glanced away in the opposite direction and observed a group of
jocks playfully tossing a football back and forth and instantly
recalled her sister’s boyfriend Ray. He was an awesome athlete and
she became envious of her sister as well, of their happy life
together, with a baby on the way. She then looked across the grass
again and unexpectedly noticed in the corner of her eye, a football
spearing towards her, but before she could react, one of the jocks
missed the catch and the ball landed right smack in her
lap!

Her milk exploded into a volcano of
cream sending liquid everywhere: her blouse, neck, face, hair, arms
and crossed legs! Francine didn’t mean to make herself the center
of attention, but she did and screamed out, “Oh God, look at my
books! Look at my skirt!” Frantically searching for something to
wipe off the goo, Francine quickly found her stance and bent back
down to thumb through her purse for a Kleenex, handkerchief,
something.

Just then, a lunch napkin was shoved
in front of her face—like that would really wipe everything
away—and Francine raised her eyes and then followed the lines of
the young man’s tanned arm up along to his athletic shape. The jolt
she received from his eyes alone leering down at her was
frightening, the fellow was really-really good-looking, but her
attraction for him however was instantly doused by the anger he
seemed to ignite by his apparent lack of sympathy.

The Jock shoved the napkin in her
face again, “Here, just take it, I feel bad.” He then stepped away
from her side for a moment and snatched the football back up. “To
the left you ditz-heads,” he yelled back to his fellow teammates.
“Will you listen to your quarterback for once? Look what you did to
this poor girl.”

Kids around them were laughing now
as the Jock unintentionally brought about more attention to her
plight. Still upset, Francine looked straight towards the back of
the Jock’s dark head and yelled, “Don’t do me any more
favors!”

The Jock doesn’t immediately turn
around, but when he does, he was about to say something in his
defense and instead slowly closed his mouth to look directly into
her eyes this was where it got interesting.

Francine had never experienced the
unexplained before and yet, extreme heat washed over her skin, it
was magnetic, it was magical and as soon as she tried to wiggle out
of the signs of intense physical chemistry she noticed the Jock
blink out of his gaze as well. “You could have broken my nose,” she
spat out, trying to ignore her heart pounding so fierce.

The Jock guffawed. “Never,” he said,
trying to ignore his heart pounding as well. “It wasn’t that close
to your head.”

Irritated now more than charmed,
Francine uttered, “If you’re supposed to be the quarterback, you
should have better aim.”

The Jock opened his mouth to
counter-attack, but then closed it again to study her face. He was
so attracted to her, but why? She wasn’t spectacular like his last
girlfriend; she was just evenly basic with reddish-brown hair
pulled back with a head-band, baby-blue over her brown eyes and
pink lips. Feeling embarrassed all of a sudden because he felt the
urge to chew on those pink lips, the Jock let go a cough instead
and gruffly conveyed, “It was an accident.”

Francine then turned around,
gathered up her things and headed off to her next class trying not
to take into account the kids around her pointing and laughing now
at her sopping attire as she came across them.

The Jock watched Francine as she ran
away. Feeling the yen to go after her, he stopped and remembered
where he was, who he was and pumped the football twice in his hands
before throwing it precisely into the arms of one of his teammates
a hundred yards away.

Francine managed to run into the
girls’ bathroom and locked herself in one of the stalls. Resting
the back of her head on the metal door, she wiped away the tears
that she had been holding back. She was mortified to say the least;
everyone at this new school would hereon in think of her as the
butt of their jokes. This was not the first impression she wanted
to leave—and the Jock? Who the heck was he? Stealing all her air,
she felt like she couldn’t even breathe, she had never been around
a boy who made her heart flutter as much as he did; he was so
handsome and rightfully so. With heavy lidded brown mysterious
eyes, heavenly sun-kissed skin, and his body? He was perfect, an
absolute hunk and she felt like a ditz ogling him as much as she
did. She would have to avoid him at all costs, steer clear of him
as much as she could in fear of the ridicule that she would forever
endure in the future from this new school, never mind the
sensations he made her feel. She couldn’t get passed that feeling
of wanting to touch him the next time she saw him in the hallways.
That wouldn’t look good—nope—and Francine smiled inwardly as she
made her way out of the stall imagining her body dragging at his
feet as she tried to hold onto him from behind.

Inside her Economic class, Mr.
Conner was in his early twenties, a hip young teacher trying to
make economics more interesting.

“All right class, pipe down. Pipe
down,” he said motioning for everyone to take their seats. “For the
next couple of weeks we’re going to create experimental marriages.”
The class then began to get unsettled again. “Now don’t get all
stupid on me, this project will be part of your final grade. So I
suggest that you pay attention.” The class then calmed down. “Each
union will have their own household and organize their own budgets.
I will provide you with a job and the amount of money you get to
spend each month. All you have to do is to figure out your monthly
budgets and income for the year.” He then gathered up some papers
from his desk and walked up and down the side of the chalkboard.
“Now, each marriage will be paired up by the luck of the draw. I
have two hats here,” he stated, picking up two large hats; one
pink, one blue. “One is for the girls and the other is for the
boys. Now, let’s get started. Write down your names for me on a
piece of paper and place it into one of the hats as it passes
by.”

Mr. Conner then handed the blue hat
to the corner row of students, while the other one, the pink hat
made its way to the opposite side of the room. The students all
pissed and moaned but began to write their names on pieces of paper
and threw them into the gender hats.

A few minutes passed when the two
hats finally reached the teacher. He then began to toss the pieces
of paper in each hat. “Nervous, aren’t you? I can tell,” he quipped
with an evil giggle.

The class was now in total silence,
in complete anticipation of this marriage lottery.

Francine sat in a corner biting her
fingernails, dreading the unknown and her equally nameless partner.
She gazed around the classroom, everyone, not just her were on pins
and needles.

Mr. Conner afterward placed his hand
into the pink hat and pulled out, “Jennifer Ostin,” and then placed
his hand into the blue hat, “Michael Rodgers.”

The class started to laugh. Jennifer
and Michael were a little overweight.

“Well, there goes their food
budget!” Some boy with long hair bellowed.

Then silence. Mr. Conner repeated
the operation; pink hat: “Marg Henry”…and then, blue: “Stuart
Billmen.”

“Divorce…” A boy with a clean shaven
head snickered.

More laughter, then a moment of
silence for the next pairing.

“Andrea Carson…and Sam
Duhatey.”

The students immediately started to
boo.

“That’s not fair teach!” One boy
protested.

“Yeah, they can’t be a couple,
they’re already going steady!” One girl complained as
well.

“Now listen folks,” Mr. Conner
explained, trying to calm everyone down. “This is the luck of the
draw, remember? There is no dictation here and no cheating…look,”
he said, displaying how he can’t see the names crumpled up in the
pieces of paper. “It must be fate,” he said simply, “They’re all
still folded, now let’s continue.”

The students all look at one another
and give in with grumpy attitudes now.

“Francine Steele…”

Francine stopped in
mid-chomp.

“…
Derek Magnet. Hmmm, magnet and
steal,” Mr. Conner realized out loud.

A hush overcame the room. Dead
silence, then giggling, then laughter.

“Hey Derrie…hide that milk buddy!”
One guy shouted.

“You’re gonna spend a lot of money
washing her clothes,” a girl in a pony-tail shrilled.