The Knowing: Awake in the Dark (13 page)

“So, when do you think you’ll go back home?” She asked one afternoon in her room while I folded laundry.

“Oh, I doubt I’ll ever do that.” I said. “They don’t want me there.”

“Bummer,” she said. “Well, when do you think you’ll move out? I mean, you don’t have to, but you can’t stay here forever.” I realized I’d stayed too long. We’d tried to be better friends and hang out together, but we didn’t like the same things.

“I know. I’m sorry. You have been so cool. I’ll find somewhere to go” I finished.

I knew I couldn’t go home. I hadn’t had contact with my family other than occasionally seeing, Maggie at school, but we didn’t talk. I was desperately lonely and only felt loved when I was with Aaron.

School was nearly out and I had to find a place to go. What I’d discover next would mark a life changing decision and would resolve the question of where I would go.

The two women, Marcia and Sarah, sat sipping wine from bright red, plastic, cups in the front seat of Marcia’s car. They worked together and wanted a place to hang out and talk privately. Fighting crowds or shouting over loud music, did not appeal. The secluded area of the defunct mines was perfect. It was a place notorious for lovers, aptly dubbed “Sweethearts Lane.”

Both had a mild buzz, compliments of the sweet, white wine, when a bright light appeared through the driver’s side window followed by a tap, tap, tap. Marcia was sure it was a cop as she rolled the window down.

A gun inches from her face was the next thing she saw. “Get out of the car and don’t scream or I’ll blow your head off” the man in a mask ordered.  

Traumatized, the woman was hyperventilating and dizzy from a lack of air.
Calm, down, calm, down
, she told herself. The man in the mask forced her from the driver’s seat into the backseat of the car.

“Lay with your face down,” He directed.

He removed his mask and pulled it over her face- the eyeholes at the back of her head. She could smell the vile odor that was him in the stretchy fabric and she gagged. Sarah was in the front seat, her body scrunched in a fetal position, her face pushed against the seatback desperately sucking air through the tiny seat gap. The gun was pointed at her head, while the man drove their car into a spot hidden from view.

“Don’t look at me or I will have to shoot you,” the man said. “I’m going to join your friend in the backseat and if you so much as move, I will kill her first and you next.”

“Oh-o-ha, 0-kkay.” Marcia stammered in between sobs. She was stunned and in shock. She couldn’t get her thoughts together. Terror for her friend, suffocated her and she didn’t dare raise her head.

“Keep your head down and take your clothes off.” the man ordered as he climbed into the backseat.

Marcia knew there was nothing she could do. His voice and every word he spoke seared into her memory. She would never forget his smell, his voice or the inflection in his words - never.

Her skin crawled when he touched her. She tried to block out the smell and sensation when he forced his penis into her mouth, holding the gun to her head. She could hear Sarah’s hysterical sobs, but something died inside when he touched her and she couldn’t cry.

He finished by pushing himself inside her and she gritted her teeth as he tore the tender flesh, ripping deep into her very soul.

Afterwards, the man felt good but could not admit the reason to himself. He shoved the dark behavior away from his conscious mind and would not acknowledge it; instead he began to whistle as he drove to the store to pick up items from his to do list. He tucked the mask and gun under the front seat where he knew she would never look. Stupid bitch never questioned anything.

The room brightened by degrees. The sun burned through dark clouds and brought illumination one moment and muted softness in the next.  I swayed and twirled in sunlit circles. I held my arms around the swell of my belly and danced with childlike abandon. I tipped my head back and took a pull from the joint clutched tightly between my fingertips.

Just five months before, in the spring of 1978, I’d discovered I was pregnant. I was sixteen. I’d moved in with Aaron, who’d recently gotten his own tiny apartment, when I suspected my impending pregnancy. I was thrilled with the prospect.

At sixteen, I wasn’t concerned about the harm that smoking pot might bring to my precious unborn baby. A baby, I already loved and who I knew would love me more than anybody had ever dared.

I had no fear or worry about parenthood, only a single belief that no classes or instruction were needed for childbirth.  I was swollen with the bright, youthful, arrogance of a teenager. I gazed upward and blew smoke, reflecting on the well-meaning people who’d offered unsolicited advice on the best way to birth a child. Complete strangers approached me in the supermarket and asked, “Are you taking Lamaze?” Or, “Have you bought Dr. Spock yet? I couldn’t live without it.” They’d exclaim.

They must not know,
I thought,
that there are women in Africa, who squat and deliver their babies in fields every day and are just fine.
Really
! I wanted to scream,
what’s the big deal?  
I gave no thought to suggestions of attending Lamaze classes and the popular book “Baby and Child Care” by Dr. Spock, was never purchased.

I was oblivious of what lay ahead. All that mattered was my unbridled joy for the baby I carried.
My baby will prove once and for all that I am worthy and capable.

My baby will never suffer or go without and I will never make him/her feel like a piece of crap.
I will be the best mother in the world
. I never imagined that my child would suffer for my immaturity or that I couldn’t give what I didn’t have.

Aaron and I had begun spending time together after the day he’d picked me up. The past was never mentioned. It became clear I had to leave Denise’s house.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I said to Aaron one afternoon. “I have to find a place to go.”

“You can move in with me.” Aaron said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll take you to school on my way to work. It’ll work out.”

I was ecstatic!
He loves me! Finally, I can be happy.
I moved in immediately.

Revealing my pregnancy to Aaron brought anxiety and fear that he would reject us. I didn’t want him to feel trapped.  I sat on the couch in our darkened living room biting my fingernails and rehearsing what I’d say.

“I’m pregnant” I said. “And I understand if you don’t want to be involved, but I have decided to have this baby. Either way, I’m keeping it. I’ll take care of the baby myself.” I held my breath waiting for his reply.

“No,” Aaron replied, “You won’t have to do that. We’ll figure it out. I love you and we’ll be a family.”

It was the first time he’d exclaimed his love outright. Relief swept through me. I wanted this baby and I wanted Aaron to want it too. The pregnancy was an opportunity to have a family of my own.  I
knew
it was my destiny.

We found a small three-bedroom house to rent that was affordable and close to the high school I attended. Aaron’s mother agreed to loan us the deposit for first and last month’s rent for the house and Aaron’s job as an auto mechanic would cover the rent and other expenses. I’d found the rental ad in the morning paper and we went that afternoon to see it.

The house was in an old neighborhood where the sidewalks buckled and cracked under thick shade of giant trees whose roots lifted the concrete effortlessly. The front yard sprouted patches of green grass while bushes under the front windows were dried and brown with neglect. But it didn’t matter.  I was excited at the prospect of our very own home filled with the things we would choose. I felt like a grown up.

“Oh, Aaron, look at the three windows in front, it will let in so much light. And look! It has a laundry room!” I exclaimed happily touring the house. 
No more laundromats,
I thought. “I love the kitchen too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s a nice house, hopefully we can get it.” I felt Aaron’s excitement and I was proud that it was me who could make him happy again.

We walked into the backyard, a graveyard of broken cement dividers and scattered rocks that lay strewn across an expanse of dirt and dried weeds.

“It’s not too bad,” I said. “We can fix it up, right?”

“Maybe, let’s see if we can get it first.”

We did.  I began my senior year of high school four months pregnant, walking the two blocks to school from our house. Now that I had my own house and a new life, I was determined to make everything perfect. The
light-body
was still present and I sometimes talked to it out loud, sharing my newfound happiness.

“Isn’t this great? You must be happy now that I’m starting my family, right? This is what I’m supposed to do.” I said with hopeful conviction.

But, I heard no reply, no voice in my mind, no response whatsoever. I was disappointed. I’d come to rely on the imagined approval I told myself the
light-body
gave. I didn’t know what to expect but I’d hoped for something beyond silence.
I really am crazy
, I thought.

Daily retching started immediately in the mornings. I held my face inches from the toilet water, squeezing my eyes shut. Water from the bowl splashed my bloodless face as streams of yellow bile, shot from my lips. The uncontrollable heaving came in waves and lasted most of the day.

I scheduled an appointment with my gynecologist when the vomiting started early in my pregnancy. There were no handy pregnancy tests at the local drug store yet. Affirming pregnancy required a blood test and gynecological exam. The appointment would confirm why I had morning sickness.

I lay exhausted, my feet resting in cold metal stirrups while my doctor probed with gloved fingers. The paper beneath me crackled with every breath. She snapped back the latex glove dropping it into the built-in hole on the counter top and answered my complaint, “It should stop in the second trimester. It usually does.”

“Good. Because I’m sick all day. I’ve tried ginger ale and soda crackers before I get up and spearmint tea, but nothing works.”

My mind raced back to that morning, bent over the toilet helpless in my heaves when Aaron bellowed, “Jesus Christ! Are you puking again? Hurry up! I need to shower!”

I told myself;
he doesn’t mean it
,
he’s cranky in the mornings
. 

“I hope mine stops soon.” I said to the doctor.

“If not,” she replied, “we can prescribe some pills that may help. There are new ones on the market.” She almost smiled through her disapproval as she stepped out the door.

I got dressed beside the exam table and I thought,
please god, do this one thing and make it stop
. I looked for the
light-body
and spoke into the empty airless room, “Can’t you do something?” But there was nothing there.

My baby was due in January. My plan was to have the baby during Christmas break from school and return at the end of that month.
It will be easy
, I thought.
No problem and perfect timing
. That was what I believed. I was significantly unprepared and unrealistic about what lay ahead.

The reality - that living with Aaron was volatile and unpredictable - slowly emerged.  Aaron lost his temper at the slightest annoyance and smoked pot daily starting the moment he got out of bed.

“Where’s my pot?” He demanded in a harsh voice as he looked up at me accusingly one morning.

“I think it’s in our bedroom” I anxiously replied.

I hurried to retrieve the box to avoid his explosive temper.  I returned in seconds holding the box aloft in front of my jutting belly.  Before I reached him, I fumbled and dropped the box. Tiny seeds, loose pot and a packet of rolling papers skittered out across the hard surface of the floor. 

Aaron screamed, “You stupid cunt! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

Anxiety took hold and my heart began to pump in a hard rhythm. I hated the “c” word.

“Clean this shit up and you better fucking hope, there’s a joint in there!” He threatened.

“It was an accident, Aaron” I said, my tone sharp and defensive.

“You think money grows on trees? Fuck.” he retorted.

I scrambled to my knees and felt the cool, smooth wood floor as I scooped the scattered debris with the edges of my hands. In my mind’s eye I saw a flash of myself crawling on the floor and I felt ashamed.
How can I let him do this to me?
I agonized
.
Aaron got the whisk broom and dustpan and threw them at me.