Sunlight on My Shadow (6 page)

It was one of the usual times when I had told Dad I was going over to hang out with Jane, and then set off to meet Mick. As I walked over to the end of Brook Lane and crossed the grassy field, the weeping willows reached toward the earth, their threadlike branches softly swaying in the breeze. Jane and I used to swing on the willows when we were little. The branches hung like ropes and we’d grab a bunch of four or five. While holding tight, we’d walk as far as we could without letting go. Soon the branches were bent like a bow, and it felt like we couldn’t hold on. Then it was time to take a leaping run, pulling our feet off the ground and swinging like monkeys. The leaves came clean off the branches as our hands slipped, and our palms ended up green and sappy. I felt a longing for those carefree days. Now it was just a silhouette of brightness in the distant past. The branches were dangling there, but I had no desire to grab them and swing free: that was child’s play. I had more important things to do. I was on my way to meet Mick. Mistake Number One.

While I was out, Dad could not find the credit card he had loaned me, because it was in my purse. He had let me use it to buy clothes and I had forgotten to give it back. Mistake Number Two. Dad called over to Jane’s to see if I had the card. As fate would have it, I was nowhere to be found.

About three hours later, I walked in the house.

Dad was sitting in his chair by the window with a scotch and soda in his hand, reading the paper. He must have seen me walking down the street on my way home from Jane’s. He turned his head the minute the front door creaked open.

“Judy, where were you?”

I could tell something was wrong the way Dad forced the words through tight lips.

“Over at Jane’s?” I said it with a raised pitch like it was a question. I feigned innocence, but sensed its demise.

“Well, I called over there and Jane’s mom said she hadn’t seen you.”

Sweat droplets collected on my sides. I was busted, in hot water, totally screwed. I scrambled for another answer to my whereabouts.

“Oh,” I said. “I was going to go over there but I ran into my friend Mick in the parking lot and I was talking to him.”

“He just happened to be there?”

That didn’t seem feasible, so I said, “Well, no, I knew he would be there.”

“And you were just sitting there in the lot for three hours?”

I considered expanding the lie, but it was useless. I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching into a smirk. I was a poor actress and a bad liar.

“Well, we went for a little ride; but it isn’t fair, this rule about no dating.”

Dad put his drink down and got up from his chair so he could face me.

“Went for a ride? What do you mean, not fair? You know the rules. You don’t decide the rules.”

I took a step away from him.

“But some of my friends can go in boys’ cars. I don’t see why you have to be so strict.”

“I don’t care WHAT your friends are doing. We have our own rules in this house.”

His voice was getting louder and I started to shake. I knew when I should shut up and take the heat. I shouldn’t push Dad any further if I knew what was good for me.

“Okay, that’s enough. You’ve lied and broken the rules. I forbid you to ride in that boy’s car or talk on the phone to him. I don’t like the way you’ve been acting. That’s it! No more of this bullshit, do ya hear me?”

“Yeah, I get it. Sorry,” I said, with doubtful sincerity.

I went to my room, lay on the bed, and cried. I felt splattered in a million directions as the anger rose. It was so unfair that I had to lie about riding in Mick’s car. My dad’s stupid rules caused me to sneak around. Dad would never trust me again, but still there was no way I was going to give up Mick. Dad could spout all the rules he wanted, but I was in love and I wanted Mick. I hated this life Dad carved out for me. It was for babies. I was almost sixteen! It just wasn’t fair.

I turned the ringer off my pink Princess phone, so that instead of the loud ka-diiiing, ka-diiing, it just made this soft ping when someone called. Sometime that night, after dark and after I had fallen asleep, I heard it ping. I thought of letting it go, but I had to tell Mick what happened. I knew it was him because he was the only one who called that late at night. It was quiet in the house, so I picked up.

“Oh, Mick, I’m in a boatload a trouble. My dad found out.”

“Did he see us driving around?”

“No, he was looking for me and called over to Jane’s. When I got home I had to tell him. He knew something was up.”

“What happened?”

“It was awful. He blew up—said never to talk to you on the phone and to stay away from you.”

“Your dad must hate me.”

“He’d hate any boy I liked. He wants to keep me a baby for the rest of my life. I hate him. I gotta go, someone is up. Bye.”

I hung up before Mick could say good-bye. I rolled over in bed and closed my eyes, but I was too worked up to sleep. I was so mad that now Dad said I couldn’t even talk on the phone to Mick. What kinda life was this?

Around midnight, the phone pinged again. I heard Dad snoring in the room next to mine. Mom was in the hospital, so I didn’t have to worry about her. I picked up. Mistake Number Three.

I lay in bed in the dark, talking, the receiver touching my lips.

“My dad’s sleeping. I have to be really quiet. Mick, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you like me when you first met me at the Stone?”

“Yeah, I thought you were neat.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, hey, do you want to go over to Lennie’s tomorrow?”

“Oh, geez, I better cool it for a while.”

“Just for an hour. He’s havin’ a little get-together.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“I was so excited when you first asked me to dance.”

“You’re a good dancer,” Mick said. “I couldn’t wait for a slow song to come on.”

“Me too.”

My bedroom door flew open.

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

I hung up.

I lay there, silent.

Dad knew who I was talking to.

“Didn’t I tell you the phone is off-limits? What do I have to do to get you to listen? What’s the matter with you?”

I started to cry. The fury in his voice made me scared of what might happen next.

“You wanna talk on the phone to that boy? I’ll fix your talking on the phone.”

He bolted over to the desk and grabbed the Princess phone with his big hands. He gave a yank to pull the cord from the wall. The phone was hard wired; when the cord didn’t pull loose, he threw the phone on the floor and grabbed the wire closer to the wall. Using both hands, he pulled. Plaster and the phone plate flew, leaving a gaping hole.

“I guess that’s what I have to do to get you to listen. Go to sleep now. I’m warning you. Don’t you ever let me catch you talking to that idiot kid. Do I have to pull the phone out of the wall in the kitchen, too?”

“No, Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said.

He slammed the door as he walked out.

I pulled the covers over my head and cried until my pillow was wet. I turned it over and wished I could talk to Mick more than ever. My dad was nuts, crazy, insane. All I wanted was to be in Mick’s arms.

Two weeks after the bust, I could use the phone again. Dad didn’t know who I was talking to because I did that in private, running up to my bedroom before I picked up. Mick and I made arrangements to meet elsewhere and I stayed out of his car, but even Dad couldn’t legislate morality. Eventually, I hopped back in the white Chevy, resumed the ducking at stoplights, and lived with a sickening angst about lying and the sexual exploration. The feeling of doing wrong nagged at me and sooted my spirit even though I told myself that church stuff didn’t matter anymore.

Finally, I turned sixteen and expected the dating ban to be lifted. I passed my driver’s license test, and Dad let me use Mom’s yellow Chevy because she couldn’t drive on her own anymore. The new freedom made it easier to maneuver my whereabouts without having to come up with lies. Dad had cooled down and the phone in my bedroom was repaired. I mustered up the courage to point out that I was sixteen now and should be able to date. I added that I was still friends with Mick and wanted to go out with him. Dad said he’d consider it, but that he would like to talk to this boy first.

This worried me. Dad already had a bad impression of Mick because I had snuck around with him. I was pretty sure Dad wouldn’t like him. But it would be good to get the task done. Mick came over.

“Hello, young man. I hear you want to take my daughter out on a date.”

“Well, yes, Mr. Liautaud.”

“And where do you live?”

“Over on the west side of Glenview, kind of near the Naval Air Base.” I could sense Dad’s mind working overtime to size up this kid—it was already clouded with negativity.

“And what does your father do?”

“He’s in the tool and die business.” Mick was standing next to my dad’s chair as he talked to him. I thought he looked like a tin soldier, short and stiff.

“I see. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister, Mr. Liautaud.”

Dad took a sip of his drink. “You go to school, I take it?”

“Yes, sir. Glenbrook South.” I was embarrassed that Mick was calling my dad “sir.” Dad thought that was an unnecessary formality. It occurs to me now that perhaps this reminded Dad of where he came from, and the days in New Orleans when the family was always saying “Yes, sir,” and “Yes, ma’am.”

“What grade?”

“I’m a senior.”

“Going to college?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Dad’s face fell. Dad thought college was a given for young people.

I offered a consoling tidbit. “Mick takes calculus, Dad.”

“I see,” was all he said. I didn’t like the way Dad glossed over that fact. It was hard to get into calculus and most kids didn’t take it until they got to college. He should know Mick was smart.

“Now you know Judy has a curfew at 11:00; I expect you to get her home by then. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Liautaud. I need to be home a little after that anyway, so it won’t be any problem.” Bonus point for Mick. He added a few words to his response, letting Dad know that he had good parents who also set a curfew.

Dad turned to pick up the newspaper, opened it, and said, “Okay, you’re free to go. Be sure to be home on time.”

After Dad’s interview, my impression of Mick lowered a notch. He stood up too straight, like he was trying to be taller than his true five feet, six inches. He didn’t talk enough—just gave one-word responses. Dad dispensed disapproval, and at the end he had that look that seemed to say, “Okay, I’m done with you, get along.” My dad’s opinion mattered to me more than I wanted to admit.

Still, I was relieved that Dad finally met Mick and had waived the Cars with Boys Prohibition. After that, when Mick came over to get me, he would pull into the driveway and honk. I’d run out lickety split before Dad said anything. Once in a while he’d say, “Tell that boy to come in here. I want to talk to him.”

And then I would run out and tell Mick to come in. We’d answer a few questions and then be dismissed, Dad saying, “Okay, you’re free to leave.” We loved getting out of the house then, relieved that we passed inspection. I finally had Dad’s blessing to drive in Mick’s car. Well, I wouldn’t call it a blessing, but Dad was reluctantly allowing it.

Mick and I weren’t comfortable hanging around at Mick’s house, either. When I met his parents, I acted the same way; I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t think they liked me. Later I learned that they said to Mick, “She’s awfully young, isn’t she?” Mick was only one year older than I was. But it was true that people were often shocked when they heard I was sixteen. They said I looked like I was thirteen. This was highly insulting and I heard it often, but I remember Mom saying that it was a good thing and I would come to relish it later on in life.

I don’t remember my mom being there when Dad met Mick. I think she must have been in the hospital. She was in and out often. One time she contracted a staph infection and we thought we would lose her. We had to visit the hospital with masks on our faces and couldn’t touch her. Then when she got better and came home, she was pretty sick and had to have an around-the-clock nurse. Thelma was hired and turned out to be an angel, staying at Mom’s side, giving her back rubs and sponge baths, and putting lotion on Mom’s fragile skin. Mom loved Thelma. Her skin was black as night and she had large teeth that took up a third of her face when she smiled. She had an infectious laugh and was sweet as caramel. When Thelma came on the scene, it freed me up from my nightly duties.

Parking on the end of a dark street was good for first and second base, but it wasn’t conducive to a home run. One day, Mick suggested we go over to his friend Kurt’s house. It was a school holiday. We sat downstairs and watched TV with Kurt, then went up to the kitchen to get a Coke.

I was a bit nervous and thirsty, so I chugged my drink. Mick grabbed my hand and said, “Come on, let’s check out the upstairs.” My innards tightened with fright and excitement. He walked me up the carpeted steps to the bedroom. Soft light seeped through the drawn curtains. The double bed loomed like a drug dealer in a school yard, advertising its goods. It was dressed in navy-blue fringe pillows and a powder-blue spread. Mick quietly closed the door behind us, turned to me, and started kissing my lips and neck. His kisses lessened my anxiety and brought me to a dreamy place void of coherent brain function. I kissed back. He pulled back the covers and we fell on the bed. He undid my bra. His hands on my bare body felt cold at first but warmed with the excitement of his touch.

He unbuckled his pants. When they slid down he kicked them off. It seemed too fast that we were already naked. I could hear the wind whistling through the window frames, making it cool and drafty in our dark space. We got under the covers. We continued kissing until my should-list went up in smoke with the fire that was gaining momentum.

He got on top of me and took it in his hand to point it toward my opening. The tip was all that seemed to fit. What on earth? How did this work? I had put Tampax inside that hole, but this cylinder was worth a dozen of those, kind of like the wicked stepsister forcing her foot into Cinderella’s shoe. He pushed harder. I was frazzled with sensation, scared now because the stretching burned. Then I heard someone come in the front door.

“Who’s here?” I asked.

“Kurt’s sister.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. His parents are at work.”

“We should get up,” I said.

“She doesn’t care.”

“What if she tells her parents?”

“She won’t.”

We started kissing again and he pushed harder now. It felt like something was tearing in my tender area. It went all the way in. I wanted it back out of there, but I wasn’t going to make him do that now.

“How do I keep from getting pregnant?”

“I’ll pull it out just before.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Won’t some get in?”

“No, I’ll pull it out.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

It seemed strange to me, this in-out action like the dogs I’d seen humping in the park. I felt numb and wooden as I lay there, wishing it would be over. All of a sudden he pulled out and lay facedown on the bed, still for a minute, and then he emptied his lungs with a heavy sigh.

He rolled over and said, “I told you I could do it.”

I lay there in a smear of bloody fluid and dark feelings. So this was it. He had sexed me. I felt no love at this moment, just fright for how I let myself get carried away like a log in a river. I felt pain from the bruise between my legs. I felt remorse for my loss of virginity, the death of my innocence and purity.

“Let’s get dressed before someone else comes home,” I said.

“Good idea,” he said in a dreamy, satisfied tone.

I didn’t get what I expected. Sex didn’t feel good. I wasn’t expecting an orgasm, because I had never heard of it. I didn’t know that was what made it so sparky and ecstatic. I didn’t experience anything close to pleasure.

The next morning, I woke with a sick feeling of dread, like I had lost my head and murdered someone. It would have been different if it had felt good. All the lightness of heart, joy, and sweetness of my fresh youth were snuffed out of me at the moment of penetration. And the worst part was, there was no going back. If it really was a mortal sin, I had one on my soul. But there was no way I was going to tell this one in confession. My spirit felt limp and blackened. I didn’t like the feeling of the sex, after all. It was harsh and it hurt.

I got my period that month, so I guessed his pulling out worked.