But being with John had changed all that. Now I wanted to get married—to him. I could even imagine having children with him, something I thought I’d never feel like doing.
One day while we were lying together quietly at the park, John told me he had something important to tell me. We both sat up and looked at each other. He stammered as he began to speak. “You know, we’ve talked about having children. But I need to tell you that I already have a daughter, her name is Rhonda. She lives with her mother.”
I felt like I was going to pass out. Was John telling me he was married?
“I had to marry her mother. I got her pregnant, and I had to marry her. Believe me, I didn’t want to. I barely knew her. But my mother made me. I tried to stay with her and Rhonda. I wanted to do the right thing. But she was such a bitch, I just couldn’t do it, and we got divorced right away.”
I could barely breathe. I was young and in love. I had imagined that John and I would experience all our firsts together—our wedding, our first child. Now, I was hearing that he’d already experienced these things with another woman. I was beyond disappointed. I’d experienced so much tragedy and depravity and disappointment in life already, but with John I’d let myself imagine a happy future together. Hearing this information took away some of the wonder our relationship held for me. It suddenly felt the way my whole life had felt. My mother’s words—“Don’t laugh too hard because you’ll just end up crying”—rang in my ears.
I got up and walked off to be alone for a while, to let it all sink in, to wrap my mind around it somehow. I tried to allow myself to feel my emotions but I didn’t really know how to put my own feelings first. Instead, I kept worrying about what John was feeling. So, just as I had done all my life, as my mother had taught me to do with her, I put myself aside and shored myself up in order to go back to tell John that of course I still loved him, of course I understood. John looked so worried and forlorn and then so relieved that I knew I’d done the right thing.
It was a hot day in July about two weeks after John told me about Rhonda. John and I had found a large shade tree to lie under and we’d been there for several hours, kissing, holding each other, and sometimes talking but mostly just being together quietly. We’d had more time than usual at the park since it was staying light out for so long, but John still needed to drive home, so we started packing up.
We were putting the blanket and cooler in John’s trunk when I noticed that his ring wasn’t on my finger. Mortified, I told him and we ran back to our spot under the tree and started searching for it in the grass. I don’t know how long we searched, but we kept looking until it started getting too dark for us to see anything. I wanted John to get a flashlight so we could continue looking but he said it was no use. We’d searched and searched to no avail. The ring was gone.
I’d done many bad things in my life up to that point. I’d hurt lots of people. I’d been careless with myself and others. But I felt worse about losing John’s ring than I felt about all the other bad things combined.
I knew John was devastated, but he didn’t let me see it on his face. He just said, “It wasn’t your fault. Shit happens.” And we walked back to his car.
chapter 41
In August, John’s parents were going out of town for a weekend so he invited me to come to San Luis Obispo. As I rode the Greyhound bus the 100 miles or so, my thoughts were full of John and what it would be like to spend the night with him. We had never had sex but I was more than ready. We loved each other so much, and I saw no reason why we shouldn’t show our love for each other in that way.
My mother hadn’t really spent much time with John but she liked him well enough, and she was fine with me going to see him. Of course, she didn’t know his parents weren’t going to be there.
The night I arrived, John let me know he had planned a party in order to introduce me to all his friends. I was a little disappointed because I wanted to spend all our time alone. But as John and I danced and held each other close, I was happy to be with him like this in front of his friends. He seemed to be proud of me.
As the night wore on, I drank more and more beer, and the more I drank the more turned on I became being close to John. I had never been aggressive with him before, but that night I was. I rubbed my body against his as we danced. He seemed surprised, and I think embarrassed, by how seductive I was being, especially because I was doing it in front of his friends.
After everyone had left the party, we went into his bedroom and began to kiss. We both tore off our clothes, in a mad frenzy to get at one another.
He tried to have sex with me; he tried all night long, in fact, but it wasn’t happening. He had an erection but he couldn’t get inside me. I was drunk and didn’t really know what was going on. All I knew was that I desperately wanted John inside me. I’d never had intercourse by choice before, and now I wanted it badly.
I could tell John was frustrated, but he didn’t say
