The night of Sophie's homecoming dance arrives. Before her art class, Mom drops her off at my apartment.
I have been flip-flopping on the plan I have made. I try to believe in true love finding me, but I discover I no longer believe in it. He took my belief in beautiful things like that. I am no longer naive. But does that mean I want to go through with my plan?
Its shortly after Sophie arrives that I make a decision. I won't go through with my plan. I won't just date and break up with random people. I am an adult. I will behave like one.
I have resolve. My mother survived, so can I. She didn't resort to sleeping around. Of course, wasn't betrayed by my father, but that is beside the point.
I am okay. Until a knock at the door.
Through the peephole I see that its David. I knew it would be. Sophie asks if she should answer the door. I shush her and have her go to the bedroom to do her make-up.
I open the door, cautiously. He smiles at me. He has such a beautiful smile.
"What do you need David?" I ask.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
Against my better judgment I open the door and step aside. I catch a whiff of his cologne and I begin to melt.
He comes in and sits on the couch. He motions for me to sit with him. I go to sit and he pulls me into his lap. He begins kissing me. An insistent kiss, full of desire. He pulls at my tank top and I don't resist.
I have missed him so much. I want him. My body is reacting, against all sense. God, I am in love with him. I can feel him begin to react. It sends a thrill through me like nothing else. I want him. I want this.
My sister is in my bedroom.
That thought somehow bubbles up through the lust and loneliness I've been feeling ever since he left me. I am such a slut.
I pull away. Some reason coming back to me. Some bitterness as well.
"What's wrong?" He asks. As if he doesn't know.
"You love Alice now, remember? Why are you here? What do you want?"
"I want you." he says.
"Liar. What do you really want?" I demand. I stand up and look down at him, his slowly wilting erection at the bottom edge of my vision. He is starting to look angry. He is acting as if I am slow or something. Like I should know exactly what is going on right now.
"I want to sleep with you. I want you. Isn't that obvious?" He makes a slight gesture down. I don't look.
"I don't want you."
"Now who is the liar?" he says sarcastically. "You miss me. I know you do."
"Of course I do. But you made your choice. You've already hurt me enough. Get out." I go to the door.
"I want the engagement ring back."
I stop. A knife just slit my throat. It just stabbed into my back, through my heart and then slit my throat. A pain I didn't know was possible punches the air out of my chest. I can't breathe. I turn toward him. He has stood up from the couch, no sign of love or lust anymore. He has the audacity to look a little guilty.
"That was your master plan? Seduce me to get the ring back? Am I a whore? You think I'd even want to sleep with you, after everything you've done to me? You think I'll be so grateful for the attention I'll give you back the ring? Are you wanting it so you don't have to buy another for her?" I tug at the simple silver band with one white sapphire surrounded by tiny pink diamonds.
"I just want it back. What does it matter what I do with it?" he shouts.
"Then take it!" I cry, throwing it at him. "Take it and get the fuck out of my house!"
"This isn't what I wanted, Abra." he says, softly. "Let's just talk a moment."
"No," I say, the tears streaming down my cheeks. "you made your choice and we are done talking. Please, leave."
I open the door. Tears still streaming down my face. He shakes his head, picks up the ring and walks out. I slam the door behind him and scream.
Sophie runs out as I collapse in front of the door. Being a perfect little sister, she holds me while I cry. Again. And, just like that, the little piece of my heart that my mother had put back in place splinters.
"We don't have to go, Abe." says Sophie. She holds me and croons, like a mother to her baby.
"That's sweet, So." I say. "But I want to go. I have to get out of this apartment for a little while. Let's finish getting ready."
Though she looks unsure, my sister trusts me. We stand up and head toward the bathroom.
While Sophie finishes her make-up in the bathroom, I slip into a blood red strapless gown. I curl my hair and put on mascara. I have a bit of a natural flush from crying so the only other make-up I use is a dab of lipstick. Sitting at my vanity, I wipe away another tear.
He thought, nay believed, I would sleep with him. Believed I would then turn around and give him my engagement ring. The one we scrimped and saved for. The one he slipped on my finger under the white Christmas lights draped over a gazebo in the park.
And I almost fell for it. I almost believed he still loved me. Foolishly, I mistook lust and greed for love. How could I have loved someone for so long and still know nothing about him? Worst of all, I almost went through with this while my younger sister hid in my room. Waiting for me to take her to her homecoming dance.
I feel so guilty right now. I truly am a brazen hussy. My self-worth just hit an all time low. No one could bring it any lower. I am beating myself like I stole something.
Sophie comes in behind me. She is wearing a glittery blue satin gown. She looks beautiful and perfect. I don't want anyone to hurt her, ever. Not like I've been hurt. Not like I'm hurting now. It hurts to realize I can't protect her from heartbreak anymore than I can give her the moon. I wish I could.
"Are you ready, Abe?" Sophie sweeps a stray curl back into place.
Wiping away one more stray tear, I smile and nod.
Upon our arrival at the high school, Sophie looks around expectantly. I realize she has a date meeting her here. Even though I don’t know what he looks like, I glance around as well. I don’t find her date, but I see someone I’d like to have as mine.
Noticing that I’m staring, Sophie leans in to whisper.
“That’s Mr. Reed. He’s my History teacher. All of the girls in my class think he is dreamy. What do you think, Abe?”
I think he is gorgeous, if a little nerdy looking. He has longer red hair, tied back in a ponytail. He has magnificent green eyes, at least what I can see of them from here. His glasses don’t help me see them either. He is tall. Taller than David. He is thinner than I generally like, but I can deal with that. Its not like this is going to be a long relationship.
“He is okay,” I say. I brush off any further comments by taking Sophie’s hand and leading her into the school gymnasium.
The gym is decorated with ribbons in the school colors, orange and blue. A few strobe lights dance around creating a make-shift disco effect. There is punch and cookies donated by the Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) organization as well as tea sandwiches donated by the Historical Society.
The music isn’t exactly amazing, but they do play some current pop and hip-hop. The kids seem to be enjoying themselves at least. The teachers are scattered around the room, including Mr. Reid who has come in from supervising the entrance.
At first I pretend to sip my punch and watch my sister dancing with her girl-friends. Secretly, I’m watching Mr. Reid. He looks to be about thirty, maybe a little younger than that. That’s when I notice another handsome gentleman, this one probably almost forty. He looks a little like a mixture of Clark Gable and Sam Eliot. Not bad looking at all and not entirely out of my age range. I decide to go and talk to him. I don’t know why.
When I come near, I realize he is talking to another teacher. His voice is gravelly, like Sam Eliot’s. I hear the other teacher call him Mr. Samson. That intrigues me. Samson, huh? Handsome, sexy voice and a strong name. I like this Mr. Samson already.
I politely wait until he and the female teacher, Ms. Emery as he called her, are finished talking and she has walked away. He looks at me and smiles. He has a great smile too.
“I’m Abra,” I say, extending my hand.
“Clark Samson.” He replies. He has a firm handshake and some beautifully rugged hands. I feel heat filling up my cheeks. I feel like I’m on fire. I try to remember that I am a brazen hussy and this is the norm for me. I act cool, removed. At least I try to.
“What subject do you teach, Mr. Samson?” I frantically think of every movie where a girl seduces a man. They always use their eyes. Or their breasts, but that is currently out of the question.
“Latin, as well as the history of the Roman Empire.” What a sexy topic.
“Really? That’s very interesting. I took Latin when I was in school. Admittedly the only thing I can clearly remember is ‘Veni Vidi Vici’.” I laugh inwardly when I see the sparkle in his eyes at my brash attitude. I have come and I have seen, though I have yet to conquer. That may change in a moment, however.
Clearly won over by my insanity, or my low cut strapless dress, Mr. Samson asks if I’d like to go for a drink after the dance. I acquiesce, saying that I would be willing to meet him somewhere if he’d like. We agree to meet at “The Wilford and Brimley” at one o’ clock. I give him my name and number on a paper napkin, give a saucy wink and go back toward my sister.
Sophie seems to have the time of her life. Though, every now and then, I’ll catch her looking around for someone that she never seems to find. She doesn’t dance with any of the boys there. I begin to feel angry for her. What jerk wouldn’t show up to a homecoming dance that he promised to attend with his girlfriend?
Except, this seems oddly familiar. David never showed up to our homecoming dance either. I waited all night for him. And Alice.
Sick to my stomach, I lurch into the bathroom. I spit in the toilet and hold my breath for a moment. This pushes some of the nausea down, but not enough. I try to be quiet as I get sick. Not that anyone can hear me with the music blaring in the gym.
They have been doing this for years. I have been with David since we were twelve. Alice has been my best friend (well, ex-best friend now) since we were ten. Have they been together behind my back for that long? I can’t even begin to comprehend this. Why continue to lead me on, if they were in love with each other? Why even propose? Why go through with the planning when he knew all along that he wasn’t actually in love with me?
I can’t make sense of this. I get sick again trying to. In the mean time, I’m sure my sister is looking for me, as well as this mysterious date. I’m supposed to be chaperoning, making sure nothing goes horrifically wrong. Except everything is going horrifically wrong in my stomach and my heart.
When I gain some composure I go back to the gym. Everyone is starting to wrap things up. Sophie’s friends are asking her to go with them to the bowling alley for a homecoming party. She declines politely. She looks like she might cry.
In the car she tells me that Nathan, a boy she has a crush on, promised to come to homecoming with her. They said they’d meet in front of the school, but he never showed up. She cries, softly, as I take her home. There is nothing I can do to ease the pain. I felt the same way as my mother drove me home from homecoming.
We are quiet on the way to Mom’s house. I have nothing to say to make it better. Kate Bush sings on my radio. We never really stop running up that hill, do we? I look over at my beautiful sister. She is still crying. Her mascara is running down her cheeks in inky trails. I hate myself right now. I hate this Nathan person for causing her to cry like I have for so many days now. I hate the whole world.
When we get to Mom’s house, Sophie gets out of the car and runs straight to her room. I go and sit in the living room. Mom will be home any moment from her art class at the community college. I don’t want to leave Sophie to Mom, but at the same time I remember Mr. Samson and “The Wilford and Brimley”. I look at the clock. It is ten-thirty. It isn’t even close to time.
Feeling extremely guilty for even considering leaving my sister in her time of need, I resign myself to staying here. I go upstairs and knock on Sophie’s door.
“Sophie, honey? Can I come in?”
“Go home, Abe. I don’t want to talk right now.” She sounds like she is sobbing out the words rather than saying them.
“Sweetie, let me in. At least to give you a hug.” What can I do, if she won’t open the door? Downstairs I can hear my mother coming in. Just as I almost give up and go back downstairs, Sophie opens the door. She flies into my arms and cries like the world will end. I stroke her hair and tell her everything will be all right. Everything will be okay. She asks me when and I have no answer to give.
My mother comes upstairs at the sound of crying. She sees me holding my sobbing sister and she doesn’t have to ask. She remembers this scene. As do I. Except it was Anna and I, five years ago. Without a word she goes back downstairs and makes some cups of cocoa and a plate of cookies. I coax Sophie downstairs. Once we are downstairs Mom gives her a hug and they go sit on the couch. I follow, unsure of what to do.
We sit with her for a couple of hours. She cries herself out and eventually just falls asleep in my mother’s lap. Its two AM when my mother sends me home.
“There is nothing else to do for a broken heart,” she says.
I don’t want to go home, though I am sure that Mr. Samson is no longer at “The Wilford and Brimley.” Even though I’m sure he isn’t there any longer I decide to go for a drink anyway. I could use one after everything that has been happening recently.
On the drive I listen to a mixed CD that a friend made me. It is a list of break-up songs. Angry songs, sad songs, wish I could die songs. Her heart was in the right place, but I wish she hadn’t made it. I do enjoy some of them. Some of them fit David and I. And when I hear it I think about everything and I get teary. Like the one playing now. It is by a Korean artist.
“I’m drowning myself in the memories of love…” That sounds about right.
When I arrive at the bar Rihanna is singing about the theatrics of an ex. I don’t hesitate to turn it off. I can’t handle any more sad songs. Right now I couldn’t handle a love song either. I need angry music. Maybe when I get home I’ll listen to Apocalyptica, they are usually what I need for angry cello music.
Without paying attention, still musing on break-up songs and other such topics, I almost walk right by Mr. Samson. I look up and am met with his lavender eyes, sparkling like they were in the gymnasium.
“I am surprised you are still here,” I say, looking down at my watch. It’s a quarter to three. Almost two hours after we were supposed to meet.
“A beautiful lady is worth waiting for.” He says.
