AUGUST
August 1, 2008, 2:01am
I ended up going in and taking over for Margaret at dinner. She looked tired, so I’m glad that I did. Howard wasn’t there. Very weird. Hopefully one of his “ladies” from church decided that he needed a home-cooked meal or something. I wish he’d been there, though. I could’ve really used a friendly face.
I just can’t get that dream out of my head. Every time I close my eyes I see it again. I look down at my hands and I swear I see blood underneath my fingernails. I think I've scrubbed my hands dozens of times today. Margaret must think I'm developing OCD.
It’s 2am. I have to be up in three hours in order to get up to work breakfast, and I still haven’t slept. I just can’t. I can’t see that again.
I need to force other images into my head. Force myself to think of good things, like Mom used to tell me when I was little and had a bad dream. Roses and butterflies… kittens and Christmas presents… and chocolate… and Aidan…
I can’t sleep. I just can’t. I have to do something. I have to do something to get this out of my head. I go to bed, because I know if I stayed downstairs all night that Margaret would worry. But I don’t sleep. I’m still trying to get rid of the blood. Maybe once the blood is gone I’ll be able to sleep again.
August 4, 2008, 3:12pm
It took a few nights for me to be able to go to sleep without being scared. I'm all right now. I haven't had any more nightmares, at least. I watched an awful lot of late-night television over the past couple of days, though. I don't ever want to have that happen again.
Howard hasn’t been into the restaurant in four days now. I don’t understand. I’m getting worried now. He’s eaten almost every meal there for ten years. I'm worried that something has happened to him, but no one else seems to be worried.
Maybe he went to visit one of his kids? Or even one of his grandkids? Maybe he’s a great-granddad again and forgot to tell me.
I never thought I'd be so concerned about someone I barely know. I shouldn't worry so much, I guess. Maybe I’ll just stop by his place and check on him, anyway.
August 5, 2008, 2:56pm
I’m crying so hard that I can barely even write this. Not again. It’s not fair. What did I do to deserve this? What is the matter with me? Why can't anything ever go right?
Part of me never wanted to leave. It was so nice there. People liked me. There was no “grown-up” stress. I didn’t have to worry about bills, or food or grocery shopping. I cleaned, but because I wanted to help, not because I had to. I liked working in the restaurant. I liked being part of a community.
Maybe I never would have left on my own. Maybe this is what I needed, but I never EVER wanted to leave like this. I’m so embarrassed. Humiliated.
I’m sitting at a rest stop off the highway again. I’m not going to spend money on a bus ticket just right now. I have enough, probably, but I don’t want to waste it. I want to know that I can eat. If it takes a long time, if it’s taking too long, I’ll reconsider a bus ticket, but for now this will have to do. I’ll go over and start hitching in a few minutes.
It was so humiliating. As soon as the breakfast rush ended, Margaret closed up the restaurant. She NEVER does that. I was freaking out as soon as she turned the sign.
She sat down at one of the tables, and motioned that I should do the same. I could see Brian lurking around in the kitchen, not really doing anything, but trying to seem like he was. My heart was pounding and it was hard to catch my breath. I nearly ran out right then. Maybe I should have.
I started running through all kinds of scenarios in my mind: that Travis had made up something and told his parents, or that Steve had found me, or that someone told the INS that I was in the country illegally, even though I'm not working, really, or anything, but I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I KNEW I hadn’t. I had nothing to be worried about. Maybe that was why I was so scared. I couldn’t imagine anything that could warrant that awful look on her face.
“Tara,” she said. “You know you’ve been just such a big help around here. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you some days.” I managed to murmur out a thank you, but somehow it didn’t feel like a compliment.
“I think maybe it’s time you moved on,” she said. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for, stuck here in this little town.”
“I love it here!” I protested, but the way that her jaw was set, I knew I had already lost the battle, before I even knew why the troops had been sent in.
“I know you do,” she said quietly, “and honestly, we’ve loved having you here, but really, I don’t think you should stay anymore. That is, I don’t think we can let you stay anymore.”
I could feel tears threatening, but I forced them back. I couldn't bear to let her see me cry. “Why not?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”
I could see Brian looking out over the pass-thru from the kitchen, watching as if he was going to have to come out and jump to his wife’s defense. She looked back at him and shook her head. He didn’t move, though. He just looked concerned; whether the concern was for me or Margaret, or himself, I didn't know.
“Wellll...” she said the word slowly. “No, you didn’t really, but we just think… that is… we were…” She was stumbling over her words, trying to figure out what to say, I knew. I still couldn’t understand. It had to be something big. The one thing that I knew about Margaret was that she was never at a loss for words. Ever. Again, I thought about just getting up and running out before she could say anything more.
Margaret took a deep breath and then looked me straight in the eye. “Howard came to talk to me,” she said. “He came in during the dinner shift last night, when you weren’t here.”
“He’s okay?” I asked quickly, breathing in a sigh of relief, despite any fear I was harbouring for myself. “I’ve been worried. He hasn’t been in for days!”
Margaret bit her lip. It was then that I noticed she had been tearing paper napkins into shreds in front of her. There was quite a little pile already, in the few minutes that we'd been sitting there. “He was coming in, but only for the dinner shifts that I was working.”
“Why?” I asked. I wanted to cry. I knew I was going to cry if this conversation was going to go on much longer. I didn’t know what connection Howard had to all of this. I liked Howard so much; I couldn't bear the idea that he'd been purposely avoiding me.
“He said that the two of you had a conversation a few days ago… and he found it a little disturbing. He said that it led him to believe you might not be everything that you told us, especially after he did a little bit of digging into the story – he always had a bug to be a reporter, I don't know if you knew that, but he loves his research. You wouldn't expect someone his age to be as into the internet as he is...” She paused and took a deep breath before starting again. “The thing is: I don’t know if he’s right or not. Maybe you told him the truth, but it certainly does sound awfully far-fetched. It sounds pretty out there, actually. I just don’t think… Brian and I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay with us anymore. We think maybe, just in case, that it would be better for you to move on.” The napkins were being shredded faster and faster now, and despite her attempt to stay calm and collected, she looked close to tears, too. I'd never seen Margaret so upset.
But now I wasn't sure if I cared; at all, whether she was upset or not. I was too upset myself to care what she thought. That she could think that I was some kind of nutcase, after all of the time that we'd spent together, was devastating. My face was burning, and my threatened tears were turning to anger. I had really believed that in Howard, I had finally someone that I could trust; someone who would believe me no matter how “out there” my story sounded. I guess I was wrong. My heart is broken right now. Who knew an eighty-year-old man could break the heart of a 32-year-old runaway?
I knew there was nothing that I could do at that moment to change her mind, and I don't think I would have stayed, even if she did. She had already decided that I was some kind of loon, without even asking for my side of the story. It was the universe telling me to get moving, I guess; to get going and find my way to where I'm supposed to be.
“I’ll just go and get my things,” I told her. I looked down at the familiar green linoleum on the table, and thought of how many times I had wiped it down. I thought of the pies I had helped to bake, and so proudly served. I thought of all of the smiles I had given, and all of the smiles that had been returned to me in this place. I thought of how I had felt that I finally belonged somewhere, and how wrong I had been.
I started to head for the door. Once I was outside I could break down, I thought; then I could allow myself to cry. Margaret called to me, though. “Brian is just going to come with you,” she said hesitantly. “To just…” she stopped.
“To make sure that your psycho houseguest doesn’t steal or destroy anything. I understand,” I told her, and then walked out without looking back.
Brian didn’t say anything while we walked back to the house. I went upstairs, got my things and left. Behind me I heard Brian locking the front door. In all the time I’d been staying there, I’d NEVER known them to lock the front door. I think that may have been the biggest insult of all.
I didn't say goodbye to either of them.
I saw a customer from the restaurant. He ate there occasionally, but not that often. I asked, and he agreed to give me a ride this far. I had to get out of that town as fast as I could. I felt like just about everyone was staring at me. My face was burning, and I was “feeling my neck” as my grandfather used to say. I was so glad to be away from everyone. So now I’m here, writing this out, hoping that I’ll feel better soon. I need to get myself together before I go to the road. I think no one’s going to want to pick up a chick with snot and tears running down her face. I know I wouldn’t.
But then again, I guess I wouldn’t want to pick up a psycho, either, and apparently that’s what I am. Hopefully it's not tattooed on my forehead or anything.
August 6, 2008, 7:42pm
It’s all been short distances today. Nothing exciting. An hour here and there. One was only about 30 minutes, but at least it was something, I guess. I’m so tired now I’m not even sure where I am. I suppose in the morning I’d better figure it out and make sure I’m even going in the right direction. I’m just glad to be away from Rocklake.
At least the weather is good, so sleeping outside won’t be a problem. Thank God I’ve still got my sleeping bag.
I was off-track for a while, but I’m okay now. That’s all that matters.
August 6, 2008, 9:54pm
I wonder if anyone at home misses me. I wonder if they’re concerned. I know Mom is okay, but she’s probably so worried. She must be. I shouldn't have done this to her. I should never have stayed so long in Rocklake. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. I need to get to Aidan’s so that I can finally let her know where I am, and that I’m okay.
I wonder what Steve is thinking now. I wonder if he’s more upset about me, or the television. Probably the television. Although the TV wouldn’t give him blowjobs. Not that I would anymore, even if I were back. Hell, I'd bite it off before I'd suck him ever again.
I never used to be this crude, did I? I need to stop that. It’s not a very attractive quality.
The longer I’m gone, though, the more I see just how badly I fucked up my life. Then again, it’s not as if the changes I’ve made have helped, so far. All I can do is just hope I’m doing the right thing, and that I’ll finally be fixing all of the mistakes I made. As much as I can anyway. This is all just a momentary bump in the road, which will help to smooth it out in the end. Nice metaphor mixing there, Tara.
Then again, the longer I’m gone, the more I worry that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ll get there only to find out that he didn’t really mean it. If that’s the case, I might as well just jump off a cliff at this point; I have nothing to go back to if this doesn't work out.
All of those people who say, “If you have a fall-back plan, you're just planning to fall back”? They'd better be right.
August 7, 2008, 3:23pm
It was partway through the first semester of my last year in high school when I turned 18. Initially, my mother pretty much refused to let me go see Aidan. She was worried I wouldn’t come back, I think, but I finally convinced her to let me spend a long weekend with him, out on tour. They’d been on tour for nearly two years straight, by that point. The agreement was that as long as I promised to come back, finish my last year, and get my diploma, she wouldn’t give me a hard time about taking a couple of days off from school. Looking back, I realize that really there was nothing she could have done to stop me if I’d really insisted on going. That just goes to show who I was back then: the consummate “good girl,” who even after she reached the age of majority wouldn’t outright go against her mother’s wishes.
I flew out on a Thursday night. They were in Denver. I went straight to the hotel, accompanied by one of their lesser-known bodyguards. I say “lesser-known” because the fans were so obsessive that even the bodyguards were famous. They got mothers offering blowjobs, or offering to sleep with them, just to get their daughters to the guys. And they took them up on the offers, quite often. That still grosses me out. Anyway, he got me there, gave me the room number and a key, and I did my thing, going upstairs as unobtrusively as I could. It wasn't easy. Fans were everywhere. It was claustrophobia-inducing.
And then, I waited. I knew it would be a late night. I watched TV for a bit, dozed off for a little while and then I just plain got so impatient that I could barely stand it. I thought about changing my clothes, but that seemed pointless. It was just before 2am when the door finally opened (an early night for him – he must've been impatient, too!) I had been half in and out of sleep for a while when I heard the door click shut and there he was.
“You’re here,” he said. I nodded. “And you’re eighteen.” I nodded again. I lay there on the bed, just waiting, my heart pounding in my chest.
He bounded across the room, in only a few steps, and leapt on to the bed. He crushed his lips to mine and pushed off the denim shirt that I wore over a yellow t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands touching the bare skin under my shirt. That shirt was soon stripped off, too, as I fumbled with his shirt.
We wrestled our way out of the clothing that stood between us, his lips never leaving mine, except for a split second as shirts went over heads. Then, as the clothing disappeared, his lips moved down my body.
It was so amazing to realize that there would be no, “We’d better stop.” We didn’t have to keep in the back of our minds “how far is too far”? The fact that we’d managed for so long, as it was, was a bloody miracle. Damn, I resented those people around him, telling him to keep his hands off, when “hands on” was all that I wanted. I loved him more than I’d ever thought it was possible to love another human being. I loved him with all of the passion that my teenage heart could muster. He knew everything about me, and loved me still.
As the last of our clothing came off, I suddenly felt shy. In all of our time together, I had never been this vulnerable. I had never felt this unsure of myself. I knew I wanted to go ahead, but I didn’t REALLY know what “ahead” meant. Aidan kissed my forehead, sensing my uncertainty, his hands slowly stroking my skin, his legs twisted together with mine. I could feel him, pressed against me, for the first time without clothing acting as a barrier.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I love you… you know that.”
“I love you, too,” I told him.
He stroked my hair. His breathing was heavy, and I sensed it was taking everything in his power to slow down long enough to reassure me like this. My heart was racing. “I promise I’ll go slow,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I tensed up hearing that. I’d heard so many different stories from friends about losing their virginity (I was beginning to feel like the last virgin on earth); some said it hurt, some said it was no big deal. Some bled, some didn’t. I just knew I wanted it to be with Aidan. “I just want to be with you,” I told him. “I’m okay.”
He pulled back from me for a second. “Shit… just let me get a condom…”
I pulled him back towards me. “I went on the pill two months ago,” I said. “I wanted to be ready.”
He leaned back down and kissed me again. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” he asked. I nodded and he lowered his lips to mine as he gently nudged my legs apart, fitting himself between them. I tried not to tense up. I felt his hand touch me and I gasped. He rubbed gently over a sensitive spot, and I nearly hit the ceiling. With my head spinning from the feeling of his touch, he slowly and gently pushed himself inside of me.
I felt it; it was like trying to squeeze a tube into a cylinder that just was the teeniest bit too small, but it didn’t REALLY hurt. My body wanted to accommodate him, wanted to wrap itself around him.
Afterwards, he collapsed on top of me, both of us sweaty and warm. My skin tingled all over. He nuzzled his face into my neck. I never wanted to move; I just wanted to lay like that forever. I wanted to keep him a part of me, to never have to give him back to the world again.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms. A few hours later we woke up, seemingly at the same time, and repeated the whole process. When I woke up it was late morning. Aidan was awake and staring at me. He smiled when I looked over at him. “Good morning, Angel,” he said, kissing me.
“Mmm… good morning to you,” I answered, laughing. I looked over at the clock again. “Are you sure that you don’t have to be anywhere this morning?” I asked. Almost every morning there was some kind of publicity that they had to do.
“I have just the slightest touch of a sore throat,” he said, mock-clearing his throat. “It’s better that I rest up for tonight’s show.” He winked at me. “Don’t worry – it won’t kill them to do one interview without me. Sean never lets me have a word in edgewise, anyway.”
He pulled the blankets back from me, leaving me naked and shivering. “You’re really here,” he said, tracing a hand down the side of my body.
“I’m really here,” I affirmed. “And now I’m really cold!”
He didn’t move to put the blankets back over me. “I’ve waited this long to be with you like this, I‘m not about to let you hide from me. I want to know every inch of you.” I shivered again, but from his words, this time, instead of the room temperature.
We made love again and again over those four days – every conceivable second that we could be together, although it could never have been enough. I knew it was going to kill me to leave him again. I had promised my mother, and I knew I’d see him again at Christmas, but I just couldn’t take any more of being apart. I couldn’t take finally getting all of him, only to be ripped away from him again. I couldn’t take being all alone, with no one to gush to about my wonderful boyfriend. I couldn’t tell anyone at all what I was feeling or thinking, except for Aidan himself, and I knew that after that weekend the phone just wouldn’t be enough anymore.
And it wasn’t. I went back to my “life”, but it was never the same again.