“What about you?” I ask.
We approach a four-way stop and slow down.
For a moment, from the corner of his eye, he looks at me. Then he returns his gaze to the road. “No, I don’t blame you.”
“But why you?” I ask. “Why did she give you the other set of tapes?”
“Let me drive you to the party house,” he says. “I’ll tell you there.”
“You can’t tell me now?”
His smile is weak. “I’m trying to keep us on the road.”
Soon after Clay left, the couple from the couch walked into the bedroom. Actually, stumbled into the bedroom is more accurate. Remember them? I thought she was acting drunk, bumping into me so we’d get up and leave. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an act. She was smashed.
I passed them in the hall. One of Jessica’s arms lay flopped over Justin’s shoulders. The other one groped for the wall to steady herself.
Of course, I didn’t actually see them come in. I was still on the floor, my back against the far side of the bed, and it was dark.
When I walked out of the room, I felt so frustrated. So confused. I leaned against the piano in the living room, almost needing it to hold myself up. What should I do? Stay? Leave? But where would I go?
Her sofa buddy kept her from stumbling too hard into the nightstand. And when she rolled off the bed… twice…he lifted her back on. Nice guy that he was, he kept the laughter to a minimum.
I thought he would tuck her in and shut the door behind him as he left. And that would be the perfect time for my getaway. End of story.
Hannah wasn’t my first kiss, but the first kiss that mattered; the first kiss with someone who mattered. And after talking with her for so long that night, I assumed it was just the beginning. Something was happening between us. Something right. I felt it.
But that’s not the end of the story. Because that wouldn’t make for a very interesting tape, now would it? And by now, I’m sure you knew it wasn’t the end.
Still, with no destination in mind, I left the party.
Instead of leaving, he started kissing her.
I know, some of you would have easily stayed for such an amazing voyeuristic opportunity. A close encounter of the sexual kind. Even if you never saw it, at least you’d hear it.
But two things kept me down on that floor. With my forehead pressed against my knees, I realized how much I must’ve drank that night. And with my balance not what it should’ve been, to run across the floor felt a little hazardous.
So that’s one excuse.
Excuse number two is that things seemed to be winding down up there. Not only was she drunk and clumsy, she seemed to be completely unresponsive. From what I could tell, it didn’t go much beyond kissing. And it seemed to be one-sided kissing at that.
Again, nice guy that he was, he didn’t take advantage of the situation. He wanted to. He tried for the longest time to get a reaction out of her. “Are you still awake? Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? Are you gonna puke?”
This girl wasn’t totally passed out. She grunted and groaned a bit.
It dawned on him-finally-that she wasn’t in a romantic mood and probably wouldn’t be for a while. So he tucked her in and said he’d check on her in a bit. Then he left.
At this point you might be wondering, Who are these people? Hannah, you forgot to tell us their names. But I didn’t forget. If there’s one thing I’ve still got, it’s my memory.
Which is too bad. Maybe if I forgot things once in a while, we’d all be a little bit happier.
The mist was heavy when I left the party. And as I walked through the neighborhood, it started to drizzle. Then rain. But when I first started walking it was just a thick mist that left everything sort of hazy.
No, you’ll have to wait for a name on this one. Though if you’ve been paying close attention, I gave you the answer a long time ago.
Before I say his name out loud, this guy needs to stew a bit…to remember everything that happened in that room.
And he remembers. I know he does.
I would love to see his face right now. His eyes shut tight. Jaw clenched. Fists pulling out his hair.
And to him I say, Deny it! Go on, deny that I was ever in that room. Deny that I know what you did. Or not what you did, but what you didn’t do. What you allowed to happen. Rationalize why this isn’t the tape you’re making a return appearance on. It must be a later tape. It has to be a later tape.
Oh, really? And you’d like that? A later tape would make things better?
Don’t bet on it.
God. What else could’ve gone wrong that night?
I know she wasn’t your girlfriend, that you hardly ever talked to her and barely even knew her, but is that your best excuse for what happened next? Or is that your only excuse?
Either way, there is no excuse.
I stood up, stabilizing myself with one hand on the bed.
Your shoes-the shadow of your shoes-were still visible in the light coming under the door. Because when you left that room, you took up post right outside. And I let go of the bed and started walking toward that sliver of light, not sure what I’d say to you when I opened the door.
But halfway there, two more shoes came into view…and I stopped.
When I left the party, I just walked. Several blocks. Not wanting to go home. Not wanting to go back.
The door opened, but you pulled it back and said, “No. Let her rest.”
In that tiny burst of light, I saw a closet-its accordion doors halfway open. Meanwhile, your friend was convincing you to let him in that room.
I waited, heart pounding, trapped in the middle of the floor.
The bedroom door opened again. But again, you pulled it shut. And you tried to make a joke of it. “Trust me,” you said, “she won’t move. She’ll just lay there.”
And what was his response? What was it? What was his reasoning for you to step aside and let him in that room? Do you remember? Because I do.
It was the night shift.
He told you he was working the night shift and had to leave in a few minutes.
A few minutes, that’s all he needed with her. So just relax and step aside.
And that’s all it took for you to let him open the door.
God.
Pathetic.
I couldn’t believe it. And your friend couldn’t believe it, either, because when he grabbed the doorknob again, he didn’t rush right in. He waited for you to protest.
In that brief moment-the moment you said nothing-I fell on my knees, sick, covering my mouth with both hands. I stumbled toward the closet, tears blurring the light from the hall. And when I collapsed into the closet, a pile of jackets on the floor caught me.
When the bedroom door opened, I pulled the closet doors shut. And I shut my eyes tight. Blood pounded in my ears. I rocked back and forth, back and forth, beating my forehead into the pile of jackets. But with the bass pumping throughout the house, no one heard me.
“Just relax.” Those words, he’s said it before. It’s what he always says to the people he’s taking advantage of. Girlfriends. Guys. Whoever.
It’s Bryce. It has to be. Bryce Walker was in that room.
And with the bass thumping, no one heard him walking across the room. Walking across the room. Getting on the bed. The bedsprings screaming under his weight. No one heard a thing.
And I could have stopped it. If I could have talked. If I could have seen. If I could have thought about anything, I would have opened those doors and stopped it.
