When I was a senior in high school I was madly in love with the head cheerleader, and for a while it seemed she loved me. I thought we were the perfect couple and knew we were destined to be together for the rest of our lives. During the entire school year you couldn't put a sheet of paper between us, we were that close. Then one night in May I happened to drive past her car in the school parking lot; I couldn't understand why her car would be there, she should have been with the cheer squad at a baseball game that night.
As I approached the car it seemed to be shaking; looking in the window, my world collapsed. The love of my life was in the backseat on her back and some guy was pumping in and out of her, her legs kept pounding on his naked ass, just like a horseback rider urging a steed faster. Her fingers with those bright red nails digging into each side of his neck, maybe hard enough to draw blood, although I'd never know because I lit out of the parking lot as fast as my car could accelerate.
As I sped down the road, wandering without a destination, a part of me considered yanking the steering wheel hard to the right; there were plenty of trees I could smash into. I didn't though and started to head home; maybe my folks would have some good advice on how to handle a broken heart.
When I returned home, my parents weren't there; instead there was a note that they were going out for one of their 'date nights' and would be home late. It was as if a veil of sadness descended on me. I went into my dad's study and tried the door to his gun safe; I knew inside were his bird gun, a 12 gauge double barrel Barretta, and the service pistol from his days on the police force.
My father's precautions, locking up his firearms, probably saved my life that night; I was that distraught. Now as an adult looking back at that evening, I wonder why it affected me so hard, but the teenage brain isn't rational and what seems minor to an adult can be overwhelming to an eighteen-year-old. I laid down on my bed waiting for my parents to come home, but fell asleep.
I woke the next morning, still dressed and covered by a blanket. When I opened my window shade the morning sun came streaming into the room. It was a glorious spring day. Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, I found my mom fixing breakfast and my dad reading the paper with the ever-present cup of coffee in his hand. You could just tell by the looks and body language their date night had been a success. These two people still loved each other after twenty-five years of marriage. I was filled with shame thinking how hurt they would be if they came home to find one of their children's bloody, lifeless body.
The three of us spent the next hour talking; I'm fortunate to have that kind of relationship with my parents. I came away from the breakfast table with a better sense of self worth and my plans for the immediate future.
I never said another word to the girl again. Any attempt she made to talk to me was met with icy silence. I thought about it but didn't even ask her to return the expensive necklace I gave her the prior month for her eighteenth birthday; that necklace had set me back a month's pay working part time at the local grocery store.
After a week of this treatment, she stood at my front door with tears falling from her eyes, my grandmother was at the house that day and answered the door. After listening to the young girl's pleas, grandma simply said, "What do you expect young lady? You were caught having sex with another boy! My grandson is not going to stand by and be made a fool of. You better get on with your life, because Jeff has." With that she closed the door.
It was too late for me to get a date for the senior prom. My ex-girlfriend went with the creep she was fucking. I don't know if they had a good time at the dance; but their after-prom activities may have been interrupted by the four holes in the asshole's sidewalls. When he got those replaced I'm certain the sugar in his gas tank may have further delayed their fun. Maybe they just left the car in the parking lot and screwed in the back seat. Who knows, who cares?
The whole affair did have a long-term effect on me. I became a bit colder, less emotional - and I swore to never be the goat again. More than one blooming love interest was severed when I felt the girl could not be trusted to be faithful.
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Ten Years Later
"Jeff, what the hell is this?"
My wife, Emma, was standing over my chair holding a piece of notebook paper in one hand, a used book in the other. I hadn't gotten around to reading the book, recently purchased online from a second-hand bookseller, it had been sitting in the bookcase with the others on my 'to-read' shelf.
For some reason I ignored the piece of paper and focused on the book because that's what I thought she was asking about; but I was puzzled since Emma never got upset when I bought books. In fact, she usually reads and appreciates the books I choose.
"It's 'The Wrong Man', James Neff's comprehensive investigation of the Sam Shepard trial for the murder of his wife; you know, 'The Fugitive'."
Now it was Emma's turn to be puzzled. "Not the book, mister" she stuck the notebook paper under my nose, "this, this!" She was practically shouting now.
I went to grab the paper, Emma seemed reluctant to let it go; as if it was something important, but she finally released it. I sat up from my leather reading chair, put down Kafka's 'The Trial' I was reading and read the words on the paper. It was hand written in an obviously female cursive.
Jeff
What you need to do is divorce that witch you're married to before she drives you nuts enough to murder her one day.
I'll wait for you, but I won't wait forever.
Your love,
Teri
P.S. Just so you know, you've fucked me for the last time until I see those divorce papers - signed!
I read the note twice, trying to make some sense of all this. Was this someone's idea of a joke?
I looked up from the note and saw the fire in Emma's eyes.
"Emma, I have no idea who this came from or what it means. Where did you find this?"
Emma handed the book to me. "It was in your book, don't play stupid just because you were too damn dumb and left it in there."
I spent the next half hour trying to explain that the book was purchased on line and I hadn't had a chance to look through it. The note must have belonged to the previous owner, but what are the odds the owner's name was the same as mine? Talk about the perfect storm; the timing of this couldn't have been any worse.
Number one, last year I made the mistake of getting a little too close to one of the women at the office. Sharon Roberts and I did a bit of flirting and it ended one night when we went out to dinner; our first dinner together. Sharon cut to the chase and propositioned me. I was tempted; it was during a time when my marriage to Emma was at a low point, we both were spending too little time on our marriage and too much time at our respective jobs trying to gain favor with our bosses; plus Sharon is built like a wet dream come alive.
I didn't succumb to the temptation; if anything, Sharon's proposal threw a bolt of reality and conscience into my fuddled brain. I knew I had to get home and fix my marriage; I loved Emma.
When I arrived home that evening, I told Emma we needed to fix what I felt was broken, but I made the monumental mistake of confessing my near indiscretion. Things were rough for a few weeks, but I managed to convince Emma she was the only woman in my life - she seemed to believe me, until this evening when Emma found the note inside the book.
Number two, for the past three months I've been putting in longer hours at the office. This was legitimate; I was in line for a nice bonus and maybe a promotion if I could get my current project complete on time and under budget. I had a number of good reasons for wanting this promotion, but one of those reasons superseded all the others.
It was no secret that Emma's parents thought she married below her station. Emma's father was the CFO at the largest independent bank in the state. He was all Ivy League, Emma's mother was a Vassar grad, Emma went to Princeton, I graduated from Kent State. My MBA from Wharton barely made a ripple in her parents' world. With a promotion, I'd be on my way to the top. But the time away from home has been a point of contention lately.
