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THE PHONE NEXT TO ROSE’S bed vibrated and then played a soft melody. Rose stirred in the dimness of the room. Reaching for the phone, she tapped the snooze icon, turned over, and shut her eyes tight against the rays of sun streaming through her curtains. Going to school, facing the students and teachers, people in general was not something she was ready for this Monday morning. Five minutes later the alarm engaged the soft music melody again. She tapped snooze once more. The door creaked open.
“Rose, are you up?” Faith tipped in.
“No, I’m staying home. I can’t go.” She rolled over to her side and drew the sheet over her head.
“You have to, Rose. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him take away your life. You have to move on. You can do this.” Faith slid the sheet off Rose. “Come on, get up.”
Rose twisted the sheet in her hands and pulled it up to her chin. “Five more minutes. I’ll get up. I promise.”
The melody played again as Faith tipped out. Rose turned the alarm off and began to gather her courage to face the school day, the people. She sat on the side of the bed, peering at the closet, wondering what she should wear. Suddenly her outfit choice for the day seemed like a major decision. Should she dress as usual in her youthful, body defining clothing, or should she wear a cryptic outfit—dark and unrevealing like a lamp shade over a busted light bulb? She sat, hands braced on the mattress, feet planted on the floor waiting for movement, waiting for her body to separate from the bedding. Nothing moved.
The door drifted slowly—opening. “Rose, you up?”
“Yes, Faith, I’m up.” Rose’s voice was stronger, resigned to her fate of going to school.
“What are you doing?” Faith asked.
“I don’t know what to wear. People will be staring at me, judging me.”
Faith opened the closet door wider. “Here, let me find something for you.” Her fingers jogged through the hangers of clothes. She held up a pair of blue jeans and a navy button-front blouse. “Now, no one can say a word about this.” She laid the jeans and shirt next to Rose. “I’m going to finish dressing. I’ll be back to see if you need anything.”
Rose peered up at her sister. “Thanks, Faith.”
“I love you, girl. You’re my sister.”
After Faith left, Rose took a shower, a hot one. She stood under the shower head, water crashing over her body like the churning waves of a hurricane. The fog kicked up and spiraled around, clouding her vision, pressing down on her, forcing out the memories lurking behind and inside the film of steam.
Her eyes closed—water pulsating, prickling her skin, siphoning out five horrific months. She was thinking. Thinking how much she hated him. Hated what he had done to her. How much she wished him to suffer; wished him dead. Her tears merged with the water. She scrubbed her skin, scrubbed until it burned. She was removing his touch, trying to remove the memory.
Rose stood at the mirror appraising her reflection for acceptance amongst her schoolmates, the public. She decided her slender shape looked demure enough in her nondescript jeans and shirt, and her blonde hair swept tightly back into a ponytail. No makeup—not even her favorite matte, red devil lipstick. Rose was sure she would go unnoticed, just blend into the background like a chameleon. She breathed in deep, and let out a sigh, claimed her backpack from the chair, threw it over her shoulder, and removed her purse from the doorknob. Rose inhaled another deep breath, put on her brave face, and headed for the stairs. Faith was waiting in the hallway.
“I was just about to come and get you.” She looked Rose up and down. “You look nice.”
“That’s not the look I was going for. Reticent, that’s the look I wanted.”
“Reti what?”
“Reticent, inconspicuous, reserved. I don’t want to be noticed.”
“Oh, I think you succeeded, but you still look nice.”
As they entered the kitchen, Agnes quickly clicked the remote, turning the television off.
Faith said, “Hey, Mom, why’d you turn off the television? We always watch while we eat.”
Agnes looked miserable. She didn’t want the girls to know every station had an opinion about the case. They were all talking about the innocence of Coach Jackson. They were patting him on the back for proving his guiltlessness. Raving on his climb to the top. It was disgusting, shameful, even criminal, she thought.
“Goodness, girls, I have a headache. The droning of the T.V. was making it worse.” She glanced over her daughters for any signs of aftershocks from the trial. Outwardly, they seemed fine. “Breakfast?” she asked the girls.
“I’m not hungry,” said Rose.
“I’ll take a bagel to go,” answered Faith.
“Rose, honey, you have to eat. You’re looking thin.”
“I will. Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m okay.”
Faith plucked her bagel from the toaster and put it in a napkin. “See you after school, Mom.”
Agnes’ face was creased with worry. Her eyes were shadowed from sleepless nights.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Rose said again. “Don’t worry.”
Faith and Rose headed out, waving back at Agnes. They strolled down the block in silence. An old muscle car blew past with its horn tooting, music blaring, guys hanging out the window, yelling and whistling cat calls.
Rose slowed. “I can’t go. I can’t do it.”
Faith looped her arm, urging her forward. “We’re in this together.”
A block from the school, the girls could hear commotion—party like, celebratory. As they neared the school grounds, they saw what all the hoopla was about. Boys from the football team held a large banner—Welcome back Coach. The cheerleaders were cheering and dancing. The banner pulsated in the air as the spring breeze whipped through it. The welcome back party was in full swing.
“Let’s enter through the side door,” Rose suggested.
Faith took in the disconsolate expression riding Rose’s face, the drooping of her shoulders like an old woman.
“You know he’s an asshole. Don’t let it get you down, Rose.”
They entered the school through a side door and headed for their lockers. Outside the party continued. A classic candy apple red stingray pulled up, its paint glinting like glass. Coach Jackson disembarked. The cheers grew louder.
A police car slid in next to the Stingray, driver side. A pretty blonde stepped out on the passenger side of the Stingray, smiled and waved at the students as if she was Miss America about to accept her crown. Detective Romero hung his head through the open window of the police cruiser.
“Hey, Coach, I see you like ‘em pretty... blonde, and young.”
“This is harassment, Detective.” His face was stony.
The detective smiled, friendliness in his words. “No, sir, Coach. We were just passing by. Stopped to see what all the commotion was about.” A toothpick dangled between his lips. He took it out, pointed it at the coach, tone mocking. “You’re a loved man, but nothing lasts forever.”
“Harassment, Detective. My complaint will be on your boss’ desk first thing—”
“I’m scared big man.” Romero pointed his index finger to his eye and then at the coach. “Watching you, big man.”
The pretty blonde scooted into the driver’s seat. The coach approached the crowd of cheering students, smiling, hands up. “Thank you, thank you. Now this, I appreciate.”
********************
FAITH WALKED ROSE TO her locker. Their rubber-soled tennis filled the sedate corridor, resonating a quiet swish, swish, swish. They strolled aimlessly, talking in hushed voices, passing classrooms and student lockers—gray rectangles recessed in the bland tan walls. The girls stopped short as if their path was barred by some invisible wall. Sharp intakes of breath by both girls reverberated through the air.
“I can’t believe this,” Rose said. Her vision began to blur as if the corridor had filled with the thick smog of San Francisco. “Why? Why would anyone do this?”
Graffiti marred Rose’s locker—liar, whore, skank. A stick figure hung from a noose. Rose backed away. Faith grasped for Rose’s arm, but she ripped it from Faith’s reach and began to run—down the hall, through the side door, down the block, her arms flailing back and forth, back and forth, her legs pumping up and down, up and down, shoes pounding the ground over and over.
Faith followed in hot pursuit. Rose kept going, feet hammering the cement all the way into the woods. She slowed. Came to a halt with her chest heaving and breath ragged. She leaned against a tree, slid down the trunk to the dirt, face wet with tears.
“I feel as if it’s happening all over again. He’s raping me again and again.” The words were moist, agonizing. Her hands went to her face, covering it like a shield of armor.
Faith plopped down next to Rose in the dirt. Her tears came fast, hot, and furious. “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry,” she whimpered embracing her sister, squeezing her close. Rose was crying silent tears into her sister’s neck.
“You see, Faith, he’s a hero. I’m a slut, a liar, a skank.”
Faith threw an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “Don’t say that, ever! You’re none of those things.”
Her head drooped in defeat. “Faith help me, please. I need help.”
Faith dipped her head down to her sister’s. “Talk to me. Tell me anything. I’m here for you, always.”
Rose reached into her shirt, freed her crucifix, and rubbed it between her fingers as her gaze drifted skyward. “Faith, I’m pregnant.”