Chasing Tail Lights Page 22

  "You're early to school. Full circle, no?" she says.

  I pause for a second to collect myself, before I unload. "What do you mean?"

  "When I first met you, you slept through first period. Three years later and your last week of school no less, and you're here before first period. Full circle. Must be the track!" she says.

  "I'm done running," I tell her, taking tiny steps toward her.

  "No, you're not quitting on me again, not this late in the game. I—" she says testily.

  But I cut her off. "That's not what I mean," I say, taking two more steps into the room.

  "Then what?" she says, taking a sip of coffee.

  "That book, Speak, remember?" I say, reaching the edge of the desk now.

  "Sophomore English, you really enjoyed it. That kind of got us started," she says with a smile, then motions for me to sit down. She doesn't see the abyss I'm ready to reveal.

  Instead, I kneel down next to the desk, then grab hold of her strong, athletic legs, and whisper through welling tears: "How did you know?"

  "Know what?" She doesn't push me away, as a look of horror dawns on her face.

  I hold on for dear life and I start: "I am eleven years old . . ."

  As I speak, Ms. Chapman ignores the sounds of students banging on the door. After I finish telling her my story, not about Bree, but my story, I break into tears. She waves the students away, then makes a quick call to the school office to tell them that first-period tenth-grade Honors English will be canceled today at Flint Southwestern High School due to life.

  With tears now in her eyes as well, Ms. Chapman says, "I need to report this, you know that, right?"

  "I know," I tell her.

  "But I want you to call first. You need to say the words, not me," she says, then reaches in the desk for her cell phone.

  It takes a lot less time than I thought it would. I phone Officer Kay and take the first step in getting myself out of this prison, and starting Ryan on his way there as I start to tell her my story.

  "Could we get a statement in person? Can you do that, Christy?" Officer Kay says.

  I look over at Ms. Chapman, and know I can do anything. "Yes, I can."

  "Good, we can send a squad car by to—"

  "No, that's okay, I can get a ride in a friend's Jeep," I say, and Ms. Chapman nods.

  After I hang up the phone, Ms. Chapman picks up her bag and we start out. "Ride? Are you sure you don't want to run?" she says opening the door.

  "No, like I told you, I'm done running," I say as we walk from her room.

  Ms. Chapman squeezes my hand as we sit in her Jeep in front of the police station, but I shake my head. She's offered to come in with me, but I'll go it alone, as I always have. "I can do this," I say.

  She pulls out her cell phone. "Let me at least call for your mother to be here with you."

  "No!" I say loudly.

  "But she should know that—"

  Then I say the words, harder in some way than any others before. "She knows."

  Ms. Chapman's head snaps back so fast and hard, it looks painful. "What?"

  "She knows," I repeat, telling what I swear to myself is my last lie. I can't say if my mother knows or doesn't know. That's not what matters. What matters is that either way, she doesn't care and didn't protect me.

  "Oh, Christy, why didn't you tell me about any of this earlier?" Ms. Chapman says.

  "I couldn't," I say after a long pause. Not "I wouldn't" because it was never about wanting to tell, because I always wanted to tell someone. I just wasn't able. It wasn't Ryan's threats that silenced me; it was my own shame and illusion of powerlessness.

  "I know a therapist." She doesn't get that I'm no longer helpless or hopeless.

  "I know somebody," I interrupt her, wondering where I put Mrs. Grayson's card. I could have told her, too, and I probably will now. I guess that I'll have to learn how to tell other people, too, especially Terrell. I'm graduating from high school, but my real learning is just starting.

  I tell Officer Kay everything I can, and I answer almost every question she puts to me about Ryan. She explains what comes next, and I ask a lot of questions. She tells me that while this is the hardest part, more hard stuff is to come. The trial, things at home, my whole life is going to be different. I say thank God for that. The ordeal sounds horrible, but I have one last lie to tell and one life I promised to protect. When Officer Kay's finished talking with me, I finally leave the room and find Ms. Chapman still waiting for me. She's my teacher, my coach, my reading buddy, my mentor, and my friend. As I move toward her, I realize this: she didn't teach me how to run; she showed me how to walk tall.

  37

  late afternoon, may 16,

  senior year

  "Answer your phone!"

  I'm standing at the parking lot pay phone outside of Angelo's diner. Ms. Chapman is inside, waiting for me to return. I told her I wanted to be alone, but she knew when I said that, I was telling my last lie. I was too exhausted to speak with her, so we sat in the noisy, chaotic restaurant that once mirrored my chaotic mind. I told the police everything about Ryan, not just his crimes against me. But now I'm screaming into the message service on Terrell's cell, as spring rain pelts down on me. Mama's working as they've come for Ryan, and I can't imagine ever going home again once she finds out. I think about all the times I considered running away, but now that I've stopped running, I know I have no place to stand or sleep. I've seen it so deep in Mama's eyes so many times that I'm a stranger in her house, while Ryan is the welcome guest. His eviction won't bring me closer to her, but instead will invite more rejection. She won't kick me out: she'll make me stay and stew in her rejection and rage.

  Unable to reach Terrell, I drop two more quarters into the pay phone and dial another number.

  "Summit School," some woman answers.

  "I need to speak to my son, Terrell Bennett," I say, trying to sound mature. "It's an emergency."

  "One moment, Ms. Bennett," the now slightly panicked voice responds to my deceit. They don't put me on hold, so instead I get to hear the muffled and muddled sounds of a school office. "We'll get him out of class. Do you want to hold or have him call you?"

  "I'll hold," I say, and the answer feels right. I need Terrell to hold me.

  "We'll hurry," the voice says before gentle jazz starts playing through the receiver. The soothing sounds can't calm this unleashed savage beast whose heart is fully beating. I'm thinking of everything that waits at home, and at school if and when word gets out, and what I'll tell Terrell. I've spent seven years with a shadow over me. No wonder he's never been able to find the real me. I need to tell him, to trust him, and to be prepared for his rejection.

  "Mom, what's wrong?" His voice is frantic, like the tornado that awaits him.

  "Terrell, I need you!" I cry out.

  "Christy, what's going on—"

  "Terrell, I need you!" I repeat the words, for there are no others.

  "Where are you?" he asks after a short pause. I tell him, then there's more silence on the phone, but I hear voices in the background matching the sounds of the street.

  "Stay there," he says, and I feel my heart stop, or has it finally really started?

  I wipe the tears from my eyes, and I go inside, quickly slipping into the back corner booth. As regular customers talk over huge platters of hot dogs and fries with gravy, I sip nasty black coffee.

  As Terrell is driving here, I remember the first time we kissed in the snow outside of the planetarium. I reached out to him and helped him up; I wonder if he knows he did the same for me. No, I don't need a knight in shining armor; I just need a helping hand to hold. The waitress brings me refills even though I've never been more awake as the minutes pass. I've never been happier than when I see Terrell walk in the door.

  "He's here," I tell Ms. Chapman, pointing at Terrell walking toward us.

  She turns, looks, and then touches my hand. My eyes tell her what my words cannot.

  "I'm a
lways here too," she says as she leaves the table, whispering something to Terrell as she passes by him. He smiles at her, then comes toward the table. He's got a puzzled look on his face, but as I rise, then hold him, the worry recedes and a smile, like a sunrise, spreads from my face to his.

  "What's going on?" he asks, but I'm holding him too tight for him to say much more. Each cell in my body seems to be soaking in comfort from his returning embrace.

  "Let's go," I whisper in his ear.

  The waitress slowly comes toward us and hands me the bill for the coffee, but Terrell snatches it from her hand. "Do you want anything else?" she asks casually, like she says to ninety people a day, but today, the question matters to me.

  I look at Terrell, as our hands intertwine, just like our lives have intersected, not forever, just for now. But if not now, then when? I take a deep breath, then answer her question. "No, I have everything I need."

  38

  june 11, senior year

  "Christy Monique Mallory"

  As I take the diploma from Principal Morgan's hand, I look into the audience. I hear a small cheer, and I spot Mitchell, Bree, Aunt Dee, and Tommy—all of them standing and clapping wildly. Mitchell's whistling, Aunt Dee is crying, and Bree is all smiles. I quickly look over and see Ms. Chapman in the faculty section applauding. I'd like to think I'm the only student she cheered for, but I know better. Even though I never won a single race, I still earned my letter, but Ms. Chapman was right about running track: it's about the mind, not the body.

  There's applause from Anne and Glen, but none from Seth when our eyes meet. I spot Terrell, who stands out in the crowd of well-dressed parents with his leather jacket on his left arm, his long hair on his shoulders, and a picture of me in his wallet. He's taking pictures and teaching me something I learned too late into school: beauty supplies.

  As I head back toward my seat, I realize that I won't hear any applause from Mama, since she didn't come to my graduation. Just like I won't hear any words from her at home, since she's not talking to me. I realize a high school diploma doesn't make me a genius, but I wonder what she's thinking. I imagine she doesn't hate me, but she hates herself for letting it happen. Mrs. Grayson has tried to talk with Mama, but she doesn't want any help, or need any more hurt.

  Other people are going across the stage, and I'll make sure to cheer for Anne and Glen, but my thoughts are already past high school and on going to Central Michigan in the fall. I won one of the Michigan Honor Scholarships, and with some other financial aid, I'll be able to follow in Ms. Chapman's large footsteps at Central. I didn't win any of the end-of-school honors, but the last few days saw me take that first step toward getting free, even as Ryan's about to be caged.

  He's still in county lockup. Mama doesn't have enough money for bail, and all of his so-called friends have suddenly disappeared. I didn't tell the police, Mrs. Grayson, or even Ms. Chapman about Bree; that information is also my power. I've learned that when they arrested Ryan, he was in his room. They probably found lots of stolen merchandise, not to mention a fair amount of unsold weed, other drugs, and a couple of stolen guns. They're threatening to charge him with raping me, although there's no way I could face a trial. Maybe he has the same fear, and will take a plea. That would mean he won't be labeled as a sex offender. It also means I won't be labeled as a victim. In return for my naming names of some of Ryan's dealers, I pleaded for the sake of our family that Ryan gets sentenced to Jackson so we can visit both of my brothers in one trip. The lawyers agreed, and it will all be worked out by the end of next month. While it will be a month late, knowing Ryan's rotting in Jackson is my graduation gift to myself.

  I watch when Anne gets her diploma, and Tommy applauds louder than anyone—those big paws of his can make some noise. As he's pounding away in praise, Anne's parents and relatives are busy taping, photographing, and holding up video phones to transmit the great news across the land. They'd better get used to these graduations, since Anne has four years of college at Northwestern to get through, then med school, probably at MSU. She's ready, since she's already performed her first surgery: cutting out a little piece of Tommy's heart. But it's like Tommy told me on the way over, he's tough, he's survived worse, he'll get along.

  "Christy, you looked great up there!" I hear Terrell shout. I run to him, then kiss him, gently and slowly. And tentatively: it's still the only way I know how.

  "Where to?" he says, taking my hand in his.

  "No place we have to drive," I say. We walk from the auditorium, out the school doors, then through the parking lot, and eventually across the pedestrian bridge over the highway. We don't talk a lot as we walk.

  "What are you looking for?" he asks, as we stand on the bridge, traffic roaring under us.

  "Nothing, nothing at all," I say, my finger running along his smooth face, then against the rough wire mesh. I run my smooth if studded tongue along the surface of my soft bottom lip: I've lost the groove etched in my mouth; I've found a good groove in my life for the first time. Cars pass under the bridge leaving Flint, and very soon, I'll be in one of them too.

  39

  august 23, before college

  "Ryan Aaron Mallory"

  As soon as the judge pronounces Ryan's plea-bargained sentence of a year at Jackson State Prison, I feel freer than I ever have or could imagine. Terrell, who I finally told most everything to, holds my hand as the judge speaks and Ryan scowls. When I think about Terrell in Ohio at Oberlin, and me at Central Michigan, I think about how I found the right person, but like Tommy and Anne, it's another case of wrong time and wrong place. I'll plan to see Terrell during breaks, on weekends, and over holidays, but mostly I'll dream we'll somehow stay connected forever, despite being broken apart by distance and direction.

  "Just take me home," I tell Terrell. If I see Mama's car is in the driveway, I'll find someplace else to go. My mother doesn't speak to me; she doesn't see me, and still she doesn't hear me. She stomps around the house, drinking more, and slamming doors. I sleep now with my door open, and wonder when, where, and how I'll open up to her and ask, "why didn't you protect me?"

  Instead, I avoid her. I spend most of my time working at the library, driving around town with Terrell, visiting with Aunt Dee, taking care of Breezy when she's at home, talking with Mrs. Grayson, or attending the support groups she's put me in touch with. You have to talk about it. And read about it, as Mrs. Grayson has taken over for Ms. Chapman, recommending books to me. The books describe the healing process. Some books say you have to forgive in order to move on, while other books say some people never forgive.

  "Later, Christy," Terrell says with a kiss, then drops me in front of my house.

  "Later," I reply, kissing him back, even if that's still all we've ever done.

  Once inside, I call Anne and invite her to the bridge. She's headed to Chicago in a few days, so this might be our last time together before we both exit Flint. Like the cars below, we're headed in different directions. We'll stay in touch, but it won't be the same.

  No one's home, not that it matters. Mitchell's working, while Bree is spending most of the summer with Aunt Dee. Bree's bed is empty, and it doesn't make me sad at all. In the welcome silence, I think about what the books say about forgiveness and healing, and then I put pen to paper. But even as I clutch the pen in my hand, I wrestle with the dark shadows of my former self and my future life.

  After more crying than writing, I put the paper in an envelope, then scribble out the address. On my way walking over to the bridge, I detour by the post office on Atherton Road, buy a stamp, and drop the letter in the mailbox. I walk rather than run over to the bridge to meet Anne, enjoying the sunshine on my skin, uncovered in a tight dark brown tank top.

  "Hey, Doctor!" I yell from a distance. Anne's unmistakable with her newly dyed-blond hair, uncovered by any hat. It's been almost a month since we've been up here. She's been traveling with her parents, visiting relatives in California, while I've been in Flint falling in love with Terr
ell.

  "How'd it go in court?" she asks as I stand next to her. We're looking west, waiting for the burning orange sunset to bring out bright stars. The Flint sky doesn't seem as gray as usual.

  "He got a year," I say softly, figuring I'll get it out in the open, which is new for me.

  "A year?" Anne asks in shock. I briefly explain plea bargains, crowded prisons, his future years of probation, and the injustice system. Prison time Ryan got; justice the courts can't deliver.

  "He deserves worse than that," she says. I nod my head, then sigh. She sounds angry, probably because I haven't talked with her about any of this or my decision not to press charges for what he did to me.

  "I didn't—" and then I stop, since there's nothing left to say about Ryan. To speak of it again, even to a jury or judge makes me relive it. And I don't want to relive it anymore; I just want to live. But the books are wrong: forgiving isn't the only way to rid yourself of the anger and the hate.

  "Doesn't it bother you that he'll be out again in a year?" Anne asks with shock in her voice.

  "He won't," is all I say after a long pause. We're silent then, no weed to smoke or gossip to share. We just enjoy the view from the bridge, as I'm waiting for one type of vehicle for my last tail light to chase. I finally see a U.S. mail truck driving down the 1-69 expressway. I imagine that this is the mail truck carrying letters from Flint to Jackson State Prison. I imagine this is the mail truck carrying the letter I wrote. A letter not to Ryan to forgive him, but the letter I wrote to Robert. I imagine this is the mail truck carrying the letter telling my brother Robert about the stains on his daughter, Bree's, sheets. I imagine this is the mail truck carrying the letter I wrote my convicted stone-cold killer brother Robert, describing what his future prison-mate Ryan did to his daughter.