What really happened--Part 4
Monday, Jan. 20, 2003, 9:40 a.m.

Well, guess I'd better get on with the rest of my story, hadn't I? So that I can write that letter to my parents and Larry so they can reject it (Don't know why I'm so sure they'll reject it? Look here.) and I can know... that at least I tried. At least I did what I set out to do, apologized for what I did do wrong... and refused to let go the things that I didn't. And, onward with the show...Part 4...

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I went back to school the next day, exhausted beyond belief to find Alicia facing me with stony silence, refusing to speak to me for the whole morning, and, when she finally did speak to me...I wished she hadn't. She exploded at me, shouting, screaming, telling me I was a disappointment and that I was too much trouble, and didn't I know how many problems I'd caused in her house? How could I just run back to them, like a whipped puppy with my tail between my legs, when her mom had stood up for me, offered to keep me safe in spite of threats of the police? What kind of friend did I think I was?

And oh, how it cut...I knew she'd be angry at me, but I hadn't expected that. I really didn't...so, I turned to Liz, who was there for me, and understood why I'd gone home, and I could tell her what a coward I'd been about them asking me if I wanted Larry to leave. And she held me, and let me cry, and let me feel loved, unconditionally, and understood. Sometimes, Alicia wonders why she and I aren't as close as Liz and I are...and as much as I hate to say it, I think it really all goes back to this. There's a wall there that was started by the silence and built up by every word she screamed at me that day, and...I've forgiven her for it, but I will never trust her whole-heartedly, either. I love her, and I understand her, I know, too, why she reacted so badly. But...I also know that she will put herself first, in almost any given situation. It doesn't make me love her any less as a friend.

But that's not really relevant to the story of what happened, and the things I need to sort out with my parents.

A month or so later, and things had settled down with my family. Then, I found out, that there was going to be a ??social worker? or maybe it was the police...who was going to come talk to me at school. And I was plunged right back into the whole thing before: do I tell them the truth and shatter my life, and my brother's life, and my parents' lives to try to fix something that can't BE fixed, or do I lie and not rock the boat, keep things as they are where it is, now, relatively safe, relatively stable. I went home that night to talk to my mom, to tell her that I was supposed to talk to someone the next day.

"It's your decision," she told me. (And the cynical part of me whispers, "Boy, did she know you. If she told you to lie, you'd have rebelled, and spilled your guts. By making it your choice, though, she pretty much ensured you would do what she wanted.") I don't remember what else she said. I know it was something to the effect of outlining possible/probable consequences if I told everything that happened (Nick being taken away--and how no one else would really understand what he needs because of him being handicapped, and how much he hates change--me being taken away--so that my senior year and graduation would be apart from friends and family--Larry being taken to jail--and how the farm would fall apart--and just the whole family being torn to shreds). And reminding me of my promise not to tell other people about our family business. And so I told her I'd lie. I told her that I'd say pretty much the same thing I said when the police were at our house. And I despised myself, even while it was a relief not to have to face change and my family hating me. I barely remember the conversation with whoever it was. I lied, and I'm pretty sure they knew I was lying, but there wasn't anything they could do about it. And life went on as normal...except that there was a little more approval, a little more affection--or maybe that was just my perception, I don't know anymore--because I hadn't shattered the facade again.

So, fast forward about a 6 months. I'm actually in college, now. Wow. Amazing. I made it. And the freedom went to my head. You mean, no one really cares if I don't go to class? That's crazy! And I drank like nobody's business. My school was in Ft. Collins, but I spent an awful lot of time in Greeley. Free...finally free...and yet...I felt more trapped than ever before. I was so afraid that I would fail, that I would fall on my face, and have to go back home in disgrace.

I found myself unable to cope with the freedom that I'd been longing for so much. I considered suicide. I don't think I would have done it. I saw how it tore my family apart when my grandfather did. I wouldn't do that to the people I love. And somehow, that made me feel even more trapped. I felt like even that escape, awful as it was, was denied. I felt myself going round and round, down, and down, feeling sucked deeper within and pushing myself farther inside this whirlpool to the deep water, dark and inescapable. And I didn't think I could tell anyone, because Liz and I had drifted apart...and I still felt like I had to barricade my heart against Alicia, that I couldn't trust her.

Finally, one day, we were hanging out. Alicia and Mandy and I were going out...we went to the Waffle House on 34 in Ft. Collins, and as we drove up my car started smoking and sputtered to a stop. I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't know how to fix it. Mandy--ever practical!--went inside to call James who I was dating at the time. And I just couldn't take anymore. I sat down on the curb and let loose, sobbing. Alicia was a little bewildered. She's always been the strong one, and the maternal instincts are somewhat blunted for her. She'd rather make me laugh to stop me crying than hold me and find out what's wrong. "Hey, what's up? It can't be that bad. We'll get the car fixed. James will come out and help get everything straightened out. Hey, what's the worst it could turn out? The car can't be fixed and we'll have to come visit you in Ft. Collins instead of you coming to see us."

"I just...I just can't take it anymore. I can't deal with this." I heard the desperation in my voice and couldn't stop it, couldn't hide it.

"Hey, it's ok." Miracle of miracles, she sat down beside me, and just held me, rocked me as I cried. I mumbled things to her, about the hole, how dark it was and how alone I was. I don't know how much sense I made. I knew she had been in a similar place, because of all the things happening with her dad, somewhere around the end of our senior year. Only I hadn't known what was wrong at the time, thought she was still angry at me because of the whole Valentine's day incident. She told me later, and I've never felt like more of an ass in my life. She also told me that she tried to drive everyone away, that that's why she said such awful things to me.

I thought she might understand. And she did. She didn't try to placate me, she didn't give me platitudes and tell me that time would heal all wounds or that it would get better if I would just look at the positive side of things. She told me she loved me. That she knew where I was and what it felt like. That she knew it was hard. And that she knew I was strong and that I could come out the other side of this better for it. That she would be there for me, even at 4 am, to call, to talk to, to listen to me. And she held me and let me cry feeling safe and comforted for the first time in a long time. It got better after that, to know I wasn't alone, and to know that someone else really, truly understood. We got so close that semester.

I tried to fix what was wrong with me by going from boyfriend to boyfriend, most younger than me because I couldn't stand the thought of dating someone older--a few considerably older because I couldn't handle the immaturity anymore. But then I'd get scared and ruin it, back away, run away, something. One I thought might work out. Nate. Sure, he had an ex-wife and a child--adorable, adorable Dominic--but we could work things out. Long-distance relationship that hadn't worked out. He was in the military, and they'd just gotten married when he was sent overseas to the Gulf. They hadn't even been married a month and the posting was a surprise. She couldn't or wouldn't come with. Things like that happen, and they had an amicable divorce. I didn't think it would really matter. Later, I found out that he couldn't handle us not having sex and so he'd slept with someone else. It wouldn't have been so bad except he was so casual when he told me about it. It was a bad break up. I went back to school, trying to throw myself into the books, feeling more than ever like there must be something wrong with me that, without sex, I couldn't keep the attention of any guy.

Liz and I started drifting back together a little. Not much, but enough that we hung out once in a while. She'd run into Nate, who had just gotten a promotion and wanted to talk to me. "Nope, been there, done that. No second chances." Evidently, he'd really sweet-talked her, because she was pretty persistent in trying to get me to see him. I finally agreed. He could come meet us (Liz and me) at Bittersweet Park. (Ironic...) We talked. A lot. He tried to explain, he apologized, he said there really weren't any excuses. He read me and then played me like a piano. I fell for it. I agreed to go out with him one evening, to talk things out. I was supposed to go out with Alicia, James, Mandy, and Joseph. I called and told them I was going to try to fix an old friendship and that I wouldn't be there that night. Nate worked a late shift, but I didn't care. We went to Denny's and talked the night and morning away.

That night, Joseph died, in a stupid, senseless accident. Alicia was driving. I should have been there. I should have stopped it. Joseph got out of James' truck, hopped into the back of Alicia's at a stoplight, a simple prank, intended only to scare her. He succeeded, and it would have been fine, except... except when they got to a stoplight, he went to get back out of Alicia's truck to hop back into James' and no one knows if he jumped out or he tripped, but Alicia hadn't stopped entirely yet, and he hit his head, first on her bumper, and then on the concrete. Instead, I was up all night, talking and flirting with someone who had hurt me and would only continue to hurt me. They finally got a hold of me, somewhere around 6 in the morning. I called my voice mail to pick up messages. I don't remember what they said. All I remember is dropping to my knees, disbelieving, and yet...knowing it was true. Nate offered to help, to take me to the hospital because I was so...not there I would've probably crashed. He took me there, asked if I wanted him to go in, and I told him no, to please just drop me off. I’ll never forget James' face at the hospital. "Tess, I had to swerve to miss him. I watched my best friend bounce and I couldn't do anything." He didn't, couldn't cry, and he needed it so badly. We girls were so much luckier, didn't have to worry about our reputations if we broke down and cried. And Joseph didn't die quickly or cleanly. At least it was painless for him. He slipped into a coma from unconsciousness quietly, while they were waiting for the ambulance. By the time they got him to the hospital, everyone was frantic. He never woke up. The swelling in his brain increased to astronomical proportions. There were mistakes, in monitoring, in medication...we never really knew what exactly. Once they realized the mistakes that had been made, they took him for a scan, an EEG or something, I don't really remember. He was brain dead. There was nothing there anymore. But he was still breathing, and would twitch periodically. He wasn't really there but it was so hard to see that when his body looked fine except for a massive bruise on his head. His dad decided to pull the plug. There was no hope of him coming back. I can only imagine what it must have been like for him.

The funeral rolled around. I spent the morning with Nate because he was the only friend I had who wasn't immersed in his own grief about Joseph. Somehow, one thing led to another, from him holding me while I cried to him kissing me... it went too far. We didn't have sex, but...it went too far. I felt...dirty, wrong and as if I was defiling Joseph's memory. He was dead because I hadn't been there, because I'd been too busy with Nate, and now, here I was, on the day of his funeral...making out with a guy I wasn't even dating!

I went to the funeral in a fugue. Feeling guilty on so many levels. After the ceremony, which was mercifully brief, I was sitting on the lawn with some of my friends. Music has always been a huge part of my life. And we were talking, thinking about times that we'd spent with Joseph, good times, times filled with laughter and love and corny jokes. And one of the times we talked about was a night when we were all packed into my car, singing to the radio and Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" came on. We blasted it, and all the girls were singing along at the top of our lungs when all of a sudden, Joseph joined in. He was a total ham. It had us in hysterics. Somehow, it seemed natural for me to express my grief by singing. We started with that song, and sang others. I don't remember them all, now. But Alicia came up and told us to knock it off, that we were embarrassing. And I was so angry that she couldn't understand that this was my offering to Joseph. My apology for not being there, my love for him, my good memories of his kind heart... all rolled into my singing. And we fought. It was a terrible fight. Both of us feeling guilty and saying horrible things. We walked away, and I swore I wasn't going to talk to Alicia until she apologized for... for... not understanding. Almost 2 years later, we finally made up. I called her, but... she thought that I blamed her for Joseph's death. She couldn't call me because she thought... she thought I hated her and blamed the whole thing on her because she was driving the truck. And it hurt, it hurt to know that we'd wasted all that time out of foolish pride, and it hurt to know that I'd been torturing her with my silence because she took it for confirmation of the guilt she already placed on herself. We've worked things out a lot, since then.

(Hmmmm, yes, I know, I've been rambling severely, and none of this is really related to what happened with my parents. But it's part of everything, all the things I need to get out, to look at, examine and... put in the proper place and perspective.)

After the funeral, I...just went crazy. I'd been drinking before, and staying up all night once in a while, but it was nothing compared to this. Every night. I couldn't go to sleep, because all I could see was Joseph's sleeping face with the huge purple bruise, and all I could think was, I should have been there. I should have stopped it. I should have been with them instead of being a slut.

Liz and I became glued at the hip. She hadn't been there either, and they'd drifted apart. She felt guilty for what she hadn't said, hadn't done, too, and had nightmares as well. We'd drink ourselves stupid, or stay up all night in diners until we were so exhausted that we'd fall asleep the instant we hit the bed. I stopped going to class. I couldn't deal with it, couldn't face people and telling them why I kept falling apart, kept bursting into tears. The few friends I'd made didn't understand because I couldn't and wouldn't tell anyone. I failed that semester, miserably. I hadn't been doing all that well prior to Joseph's death, but...it was only about a month and a half before finals that it happened and I completely fell apart. I lost all my scholarships, the ones I'd gotten because I was, supposedly, so smart. I knew I'd just fulfilled my worst fear: I had failed, and so spectacularly that no one could doubt that that's what I'd done. I didn't want to face my family, and... to tell the truth, I think I just wanted to run away from it all. It was too new, too raw and everything was wrong. I went out to California to earn tuition money. I met Anthony. I hurt... and I told him about Joseph, and I told him about some of the stuff with Larry. And I hurt so bad... I felt like I was bleeding, and everyone should be able to see, but no one did, no one understood. Until I started exaggerating, embellishing, flat-out lying about what Larry had done to me, made it more horrible, more awful, until it sounded as disgusting as I felt. It was only with Anthony that I said all these things. I don't even remember what all I said. That's the really horrible part of it. I was just...groping for terrible things to say, to make my pain make sense, and I have no idea, now, what explanations I landed on. I realized I was falling in love with him. And that terrified me. I didn't want to hurt, and I was sure that's all me loving him would lead to. And...he was ten years older than me. That's just...wrong. Too close to the Larry thing... I think part of me lied about all of that, too, because I was sure that I would be found out, and that would be the perfect way to drive him away. There was no defense, no good reason for me lying, and... I could be safe. Except... I expected him to find out sooooo much sooner. And I never thought about what might happen if he told anyone else. Somewhere in there, I found God (I know that's a cheesy, clichéd phrase, but...) He healed me in so many ways, smoothed over the rough spots. I wrote it out so beautifully at the time. I'll hunt it up and put it in here later. My Christian education progressed, and I understood that I needed to be baptized, that I needed to declare my life for God publicly. And in doing that, I also realized that I needed to tell my family about what Larry had done. Because God healing those hurts and the self-hatred had been a HUGE part of me believing. I couldn't give my testimonial without bringing that into it, however briefly. I couldn't deny what God had done for me. I knew I had to talk to my family. I talked to my Aunt first, just told her the basics of what really happened...explained why I had to tell her. I thought...the lies that I'd told Anthony wouldn't get any farther than that. But it was harder to talk to my Grandmother, so...Anthony said he'd sit with me, help me... and I didn't think about it. I loved (and still do love) him and wanted his support. I started telling my grandmother what happened and...broke down in the middle of it. Anthony took up the tale...except he told the one that I'd told him, and all I did was watch in horror and sob harder and harder as every piece of filth that I'd told him was repeated to my grandmother.

I look back now, and think... I should have just talked with her after that. Gone back and explained... even if I didn't have the courage or strength to tell Anthony, my grandmother deserved better than that. But... I was paralyzed with fear. I realized that it had gone much too far and I didn't know how to stop it. I watched the snowball turn into an avalanche. I begged my grandmother not to talk to my parents yet, said I wasn't ready for a confrontation while I tried to figure out a way to get out of the tangle I'd put myself in. Tried to figure out how I could not lose Anthony and still not lie in dealing with my parents.

But my grandmother was so angry from the false information Anthony had given her that she couldn't deal with my parents, she couldn't even talk about my mom without going into a rage. So...she didn't return phone calls and she didn't talk to my mom, for about a month. Finally, my mom got through to her and, for me at least, WW III began.

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Oh, there's so much more. I need to post this, though... more coming soon.

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