Tessie D

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written anything. I didn’t feel much like writing. It felt like I’d used up all my words last time, and I didn’t have any left. 

But, I might as well start back because everyone will know everything pretty soon anyways. 

Since I last wrote in this journal, I have finished my last semester of high school and graduated. I don’t really remember much of the last few weeks. I went through the motions: I took the tests that they expected me to take. I smiled when they expected me to smile. But, I can’t remember any of it. That is probably for the best.

Since I am not in school anymore, I can’t write this journal on the school computers during lunch. So, I am at our town’s library in the back corner at the end of a long table between the biographies and cookbooks. The librarian, Mrs. Swain, is nicer Mrs. Fine, and I can take my time now, not having to worry about someone reading over my shoulder or running out of time before the bell. 

It has been almost 4 months since I started my job. Three weeks since my last entry… since that night. 

I quit my job. I can’t go anymore, not after what had happened. I tried to pretend at first. It wasn’t so hard. I went to work and smiled when I needed to smile. I thought it might be hard to go back, but it actually wasn’t. Alex tried to talk to me. I’d be alone in the back, and he’d find me and try to engage me in a conversation. I just nodded along and every once in a while, responded, “Really?” He would just keep talking and I could disappear into the room. Into myself. 

I thought I could just go on like that until the summer was over, but I realize that’s not a possiblity now. 

And, I quit. I came into work on Sunday morning and started my shift. I’d made it about an hour into the shift when something broke. Nothing at the restaurant. Something broke… in me. My body felt heavy and standing upright seemed too difficult, so I leaned against the counter, surveying the dining room, looking at the customers. They were dressed in their Sunday best, most everyone having just come from church. Someone who doesn’t live here would think that they all look the same. But they don’t.

I can just tell by looking at them who lives in a brick house with a concrete driveway and who lives in a farmhouse at the end of a dusty road. I can tell the differences between the ranch owner and the ranch manager—their complexion and hair just a bit darker and corser. 

Then there were the people working in the restaurant, serving them who were neither ranch owners or managers. The fairest of us out front, smiling in our aprons, collecting crumpled dollar bills thrown at the table than lain on it. Still, the darkest of all, working in the back—soaking wet in either their sweat or dirty dishwater. 

I couldn’t do it any more. It felt like I was seeing everything different now and I couldn’t tell if it was because they were different or because I was. I walked back to the kitchen, punched out my timecard, and left through the back door. I got into my truck, never stopping to look back. I wasn’t mad or scared. I was just too tired to pretend anymore. 

I left. I drove home, listening to the radio and thinking about how lovely it all might seem to someone else. The grass along the side of the road is still green from May thunderstorms and hasn’t turned brown under the July and August Texas sun. Brown, faded cedar barns with sliver steel roofs stood underneath light blue skies. The cows grazed in the pastures, fat and healthy, unaware that in a few months, they’d be rounded up into corralls and driven away from the only place they’d ever known to a dark, metal building where a man, indifferent to their fear and suffering, would hold a numatic gun to their foreheads—firing a bolt right between their eyes—and instantly end their existence. 

Momma was asleep when I got home, and Daddy was sitting at the dining room table without a shirt, wearing only a pair of faded blue jeans, with his head cradled in his hands and a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. If he noticed when I came in, he didn’t say anything and I walked back to my room and crawled into bed, still in my uniform. I laid under the covers, staring at the popcorn ceiling and quickly fell asleep, waking up several hours later stiff and drowsy. 

I finally took off my work uniform and threw it into the small trashcan by my bed. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and walked into the kitchen. Daddy wasn’t sitting where I’d left him. The house was quiet. I was still feeling a bit too foggy to want to eat anything, so I slipped my feet into a pair of small white sneakers left by the front door and went outside. The truck was gone. 

I started walking down the dirt lane, toward the main road. I wasn’t sure where I was going but I wanted to move after laying so still for so long that afternoon. 

I’d been walking for a while when a car pulled up beside me and I could see Alex in the driver’s seat. 

He rolled down his window and I watched him reach across and turn down the music on the radio, “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m going for a walk,” I answered back flatly. 

“What I mean is, why aren’t you at the restaurant? And, why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?” He asked.

“I didn’t want to work there anymore, so I quit and went home. Now, I’m going for a walk.” 

“Get in the car so we can talk about this.”

I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do. Part of me wanted to yell, scream at him. But, I was too tired to do anything. So, I got in.  

I climbed into the passanger seat and pulled the door closed. But, I refused to look over at him. I just sat there, staring straight ahead. He pulled the car back onto the road and began driving away from my house. 

I wasn’t afraid. What could he possibly do to me that was as bad as what had already happened. The worst thing that could happen already had. 

We drove in silence for a few minutes. The radio played in the background, and I stared straight ahead. We drove down Patrick Street, past the two-story yellow house with blue shutters and the circle driveway out front. Everyday on my way to school, I look for that house, hoping I can see inside. Hoping that I will see someone coming out, walking to their car, taking out the trash. I never have. 

I know who lives there—a guy from my high school, Jack. He’s a decent guy, really good looking with dark brown hair. Like a young, country version of Clark Kent. We were in Accounting together last year. There were only four of us in the class and it wasn’t hard so we had plenty of time to talk and goof around after we’d finished our worksheets. He was always nice to me, and I gave him a ride home one night after a basketball game. I don’t remember why he needed a ride since he is very popular with plenty of friends. He asked me to pull over on the side of the road so that he could go to the bathroom. When he got back into the truck, he leaned over and tried to kiss me, moving his hand up beneath my sweater. I could feel his hands cupping my breast and pulling at my bra, trying to get beneath the fabric. I didn’t know what do to so I just sat there frozen, staring straight ahead. I don’t understand why boys do this. Why they think it’s okay. This wasn’t the first time a boy had tried something like that. Brett Bowman, my sophmore year, in the back seat of my friend’s car, when he thought noone was looking, went up my shirt. I sat there frozen then, too.

Eventually, Jack got the hint that nothing was going to happen on the side of the road in my dad’s dirty truck. He pulled away and moved back to the other side of the truck, and I dropped him off at home. 

I always so envious of him and his family, living in a big house, right out front for everyone to see. His father has an insurance agency in town so his mom doesn’t have to work. They go to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening at First Baptist. I bet his dad wears ties and dress pants to work. I bet their house always has running water and they don’t have to burn their trash in barrells in the front yard. 

But, when we drove by the hospital, the one where I was born, I felt pulled back into the moment and something inside of me dropped, as if we’d hit something in the road. All those times, with those boys groping and pawing. I never said anything. Did anything. But, it eventually stopped. They never went too far, so it was okay. 

Except this time. 

This time, it went too far because I didn’t stop it. I didn’t do anything. I just laid there waiting for it to be over. Why does it always seem to end up badly? It always ends the same.

“I wish I’d never been born,” I whispered.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Alex said, rolling his eyes. “People say that but they don’t ever really mean it.”

I looked over at him. He was so attractiv  I thought I might throw up. “You shouldn’t…” I trailed off, shaking my head. 

“Shouldn’t what?”

“You shouldn’t have done it,” I said, looking at him finally for the first time since getting into the car. 

“That’s what girls always say,” Alex snorted. “Besides, you didn’t say anything. How was I supposed to know what you wanted?” 

I just kept looking out the window, watching the houses float by. 

“Come back. I’ll give you better shifts. You won’t have to close any more, you can leave at slowdown, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Sunday morning, too. I can give you morning shifts, too, now that you’re out of school.”

“I’m never coming back. I don’t want anything from you. Ever.”

“Look, I get it. I wasn’t always the nicest guy. At work or… well, you know. I should’ve been better. I get it. I hear you. But, that’s all in the past. Let’s forget about it and move on. You’re really beautiful, and I can be better. You make me want to do better.” 

Seeing him sit there, he was so confident that he did not do anything wrong. He probably hasn’t done anything wrong in his life. He wanted me to forget what happened. To pretend that nothing happened. 

I felt nauseous. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe I gave in and didn’t stop it. Maybe I just let it happen. 

Still, something felt wrong about that. 

It’s a cliche but I had always imagined that my first time would be special. With someone special. Someone I loved. 

I didn’t know what to think about that night, but I knew this: I didn’t love Alex. 

I hated him.

“Stop the car. I want to get out,” I said.

“What are you talking about? We’re no where near your house.” 

“I don’t care. I’ll walk home.” I grabbed for the door handle. I would’ve thrown myself from the moving car if I had to. Alex must’ve realized the same thing because he quickly pulled over. I opened the passenger door and climbed out of the car, walking away from it as quickly as I could. Alex shifted the car into “Park” got out, too. With a few steps, he’d caught up to me. 

“Hold on, wait a minute.” He grabbed my arm and I stopped, but I didn’t look at him. I kept staring in the direction of home. I just wanted to go home. 

“What?” I said, flatly. 

“Look, I know you’re pissed at me. I don’t know why. But, it’s obvious that you are.” I took a deep breath and waited, my expression blank. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going out of town for a few weeks. I’m going to visit my dad’s family in Dallas. They have a huge house right on the lake and we go every year to party and relex. I’ll be taking a few weeks off from the restaurant, so you can come back to the restuarant. I won’t be there.  

“I’m not going back. I’m never going back. I quit, remember?” I said. I didn’t want to hear about any of this. I was already figuring up the time it would take to walk home and whether I could make it before the sun set. Even though it was late in the afternoon, it was still hot, and I could already feel sweat beading up in the small of my back and behind my ears. 

“Fine. Have it your way. But, at least tell me good-bye. After all that I’ve done for you, you owe me at least that much.” 

I was too stunned to respond. After all that he’d done for me? But, I was too tired to fight, so I just closed my eyes and angled my face toward the sun and stood there. I felt arms wrap around me and his body pressed against mine. I felt his lips and then his tongue, like a snake slithering past my teeth, jutting into my mouth. Still, I never moved. Not a hair or muscle. He could force himself on me, here in the street, but he couldn’t make me kiss him back. 

Alex must’ve realized that, too, and pulled his face away. I opened my eyes and even though the sun was bright still above us, I could still see his expression darken, and he unwrapped his arms around me and shoved me back. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” And, almost just as quickly, he realized how it must’ve looked if anyone were to have seen him shove me, he hissed, “Now look what you made me do.” 

The cool, calm collected Alex from the restaurant was gone. He seemed replaced by an entirely different person that I knew I’d recognized. I’d seen this version of him before in fleeting glimpses at the restaurant. I realized that the handsome charasmatic version that I everyone saw was just a mask, hiding a meaner, angrier, violent version that I’d seen standing outside the freezer at the restaurant. But, this time, I wasn’t trapped and I wasn’t scared, and it seemed to intesivify his rage. 

“Sure you’re pretty but so are lots of girls. And, they aren’t do damned depressing. They also know to feel grateful when I show them attention. You need to stop acting like an upity bitch before you’re old and as used up like your mother.” 

I heard what he said, I could even see the words come out of his mouth in little drops of spittle. But, they both landed awkwardly at my feet, and I just kept looking past him toward my house. Alex seemed, for a moment, to realize that he’d lost control of himself and the moment. He straighten himself up and smiled, his mask just as quickly fully restored. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” He smirked, “Don’t say that I didn’t try to help you.” And, he walked back around to the driver’s side door of his car, climbed in. I turned to start walking toward home and from behind me, I could hear the crunch of the gravel underneath his tires as he drove away. But I didn’t look back. I just kept walking foward. 

A few cars drove past me but there wasn’t anyone outside. Most everyone was already indoors during this time of day anyways, especially on Sunday, nappying and resting after being in church all morning before going to evening services later that night. 

When I got to the post office, I sat down on the concrete steps to rest in the shade. I was hot, thirsty, and growing more angry–I was going to have to walk more than four miles in the heat to get home.

I sat there for a few minutes wishing that I at least had some water when a man walked up from the side of the building and turned to walk toward me. It looked like he would be going the same direction that I would be headed, so if I didn’t stand up and waited, maybe he’d get a bit further down the way. I’d have to sit a little bit longer and wait for him to walk on ahead a bit before I could stand up to go. I was not in the mood for small talk with a stranger, especially an older man. I could tell that he was looking at me sitting there so I kept staring down at my hands, pretending not to see him. Men were always staring directly at me. They would smile and wink, and I didn’t really like it but most of the time it didn’t bother me. They were just being friendly. 

But, today, he didn’t seem so friendly, and I just wanted him to keep walking and leave me alone. 

I nodded at him and just a little to be friendly. But, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He was tall and skinny, in a button-up western shirt and long blue Wranglers. The toes of his boots were sharp and pointed, and he wore a cowboy hat with a duffle bag slung across his right shoulder. 

“Good afternoon. Hot ‘nough out here for you?” He stared straight at me, his intense eye contact making me uncomfortable. 

“Yea, and just going to keep gettin’ hotter.” I tried to smile and nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t keep talking and that he’d leave me alone.  

“I’m just headed through town. I was down here the weekend, at the rodeo, ministering and spreading the good word of Jesus Chris. I work for money during the week and for God on Sunday.” He handed me an index card and with four words written in slanted red ink, “Thy, damnation, slumbereth, not.” 

I didn’t understand what it meant, and I didn’t understand why he shared it with me, so I just kept looking down at the card, afraid to look up and make eye contact. 

But, he just keeps staring at me, smiling. Waiting for me to respond. 

“I don’t know what this means,” I said finally. 

“Someone has not been keeping up with her Bible studies. Peter 2:3, ‘Thy, damnation, slumbereth, not.’ Jesus sees everything. He knows everything. Everything you’ve ever done, and if you don’t repent your sins, you will face your damnation in Hell for all of eternity. And the Devil never rests.”   

The concrete steps felt uncomfortable, and it seemed like the air stopped moving.  I know that he couldn’t possibly know what had happened. But, he was looking at me with such intensity that it felt like he did. 

“Do you really believes this?” I asked. 

“Of course.” 

“But, what if the sin isn’t your fault?” 

He shrugged, “That is up to Jesus to decide. I only spread the word. Leavin’ this message everywhere I go—bulletin boards, bathroom stall walls, even spraying paintin’ on buildins’ and fences when I was a younger man.”

The heat was starting to feel oppressive and stifling, like I was sitting in the corner of an oven, and I was starting to lose patience. “It seems judgmental,” I said softly.

The stranger seemed energized by my comment, that I’d said exactly what he’d been hoping I would say.

“Well, that’s the point, youn’ lady. You feelin’ judged, then maybe you’re doin’ somethin’ sinful and you should repent because the devil is worse. Besides, this one isn’t even the meanest one I got. I save those for Dallas. 

“But, I best be gettin’ on my way. I need to buy more cards. Lots of sinnin’ goin’ on out there. I work for money on Monday and Jesus on Sunday.” 

I watched him walk and heard him muttering, “Thou shalt not commit,” but I stopped listening before I could hear him finish the sentence. What kind of God puts someone in danger, makes them think they are safe and then leaves them alone and vulnerable? And when something bad happens, punishes them for it? What kind of God does that?

——

It took me hours, but I made it home eventually. I was sunburned and soaked in sweat. My feet and head hurt. When I stood at the top of the hill looking down the lane, I could see Daddy’s truck parked out front. Daddy must’ve came back a while ago because he’d have seen me walking on the road. The lights were on in the house, and I could hear the television playing as I got closer. Daddy can’t hear good, which means that when the tv is on, it’s blaring. Still, if I had stepped back in time, five, ten years earlier, I’d have seen the same scene. I’d be a child, and it’d all be the same. Nothing would’ve changed, and I could be happy again. 

When I got into the house and walked to the kitchen, Momma was standing at the stove. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink, drinking it down as quickly as I could. 

“How was your day?” She looked over at me and took in my appearance. She must’ve realized that I couldn’t have been at work like she’d probably thought I was. “Where have you been? Weren’t you supposed to be at work today?” 

I didn’t respond. I just looked down at the empty glass. The rim was chipped, and the little painted daisies along the bottom were faded. None of our plates and dishes matched, and we’d had this one as long as I could remember. It was mine, the one I always used. 

“Were you on a date? With Alex?” She said, trying not to sound too hopeful.  

“I was walking. I quit and restaurant and won’t be going in, again. And, no, I’m not dating Alex, and I never will,” I said flatly. 

“But, why? What did you do?” She was angry. “You have to go back. Ask him for your job back. He likes you, I can tell. He’ll give it back to you.” 

I just shook my head.

“And why wouldn’t you date Alex. He’s good looking and has lots of money. What’s not to like about him?”

“He’s not a good person. I don’t care how much money he has.”

I could tell Momma was getting madder, but I just couldn’t muster the energy to care.

“Of course you could say something like that. You’ve had a few months of making a little bit of your own money and now you think that you know all about the world. That you can afford to be picky with who you date. You think you’re the only one that matters here? Of course you do. You never think of us or how our lives would be better if you just even dated him for a few months. You’re being selfish if your life and is the only one that gets better.” 

I just stood there. I was too tired to fight and I just wanted to go back in time. To a time when when I didn’t know what kind of danger existed out there. To a time when I didn’t know that people who would take and feel nothing for it. That people who would judge and feel righteous in it. 

“You didn’t try hard enough. Were you nice to him? Pay him enough attention? You didn’t act like you were smarter than him, did you? A man like that needs to feel like he can take care of a woman. That he is stronger and smarter.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d never wanted his attention. Yes, I’d noticed at the beginning that he was charming and attractive. But, he was beautiful like a tiger. Safe from far away but dangerous up close. When I was around him, I felt fear. I was afraid of him, avoided him. But, he got too close and took advantage of that proximity the first opportunity that he had. Now, I hated him. I despised him. 

I lashed out, “Why would he even want to date me? What could I possibly offer him?” I was exhausted—from the conversastion with Alex, from walking home, from the stranger and his judgmental God, and now from listening to Momma. “Besides, he’s already taken what he wanted.”

“Tess, you didn’t? Tell me that you weren’t so stupid, you weren’t so reckless to just give it away? You know better than that.” She was furious. 

“How? How would I know that? I was a child.” 

Momma recoiled. 

But, I pounced on her. I’d never spoken to her like that before. Even when all my friends would yell and scream at their mothers, I never did. Until now. I just couldn’t keep it all inside. 

“Why didn’t you warn me? Everything I know about men I’ve learned on my own from romance novels. You didn’t tell me anything about what it’d be like out there. You’re my mother! How could you let me go out there like that? I was so stupid. You never helped me at all!” 

Momma exhaled and looked down. When she looked back up, her expression as blank as it always was. Any anger, any emotion was gone, and she shrugged. 

“You knew as much as I did when I was your age. Besides men are more interested in girls that they can mold and teach. If you knew too much and were too advanced, he’d never be interested in you,” and she turned and walked out of the room.