CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the night of the homecoming dance and Beth's party, and Mark was, yet again, taking Meg home. All those years ago, he thought he'd never set foot on that property ever again. But there he was, making it almost routine going over to the Mitchells' house. He was oddly not surprised that Meg had never done drugs before... sure, even private schools were infested with them, but Meg had a glow about her, almost like an invisible, protective shield that surrounded her wherever she went. It was a freshness, a newness, an innocense that encased her, and would not seem to let go, he observed. He admired her for this, and he thought that he would always admire her for this.
"Just tell me one thing," he said, as he concentrated on the road. He was staring rather fixedly at the yellow lines in the center of the road that went by in blinding speed, one after the other. Bright lines of color in the middle of black pavement.
"Yes?" she said, in a mellow voice.
He realized that there was a dull ache of emotion beginning to form behind his eyes, and he almost croaked out his words. "Why are you being so nice to me?" He clenched the wheel tighter, glancing into the rear-view mirror. The sound of the engine and the turning of the wheels was monotonous, hypnotic.
He saw her head turn towards him out of the corner of his eye. He wished she weren't so sweet. So accepting. So validating. He had no room to hate her. She sighed sleepily and said, "Why wouldn't I?"
It was a simple enough answer, he thought. And it sounded only natural coming from Meg. But how could she say that so easily? How could she be... so... forgiving?
"I saw you at the football field that day," she said, continuing to speak softly, "and I knew that I wanted to be your friend again. What does time have to do with anything?" She looked at the hands which were folded in her lap. "Sure, we've both grown a lot, and we're probably both very different people now..."
"Meg, you're not that different from what I remember..." he interrupted.
She stopped mid-sentence and gave him a thoughtful, probing look. "How do you remember me, Mark?" she asked. It was a loaded question, and she had a knack for asking loaded questions.
He paused, still concentrating hard on the road. If he were really honest with the both of them, he would say that he remembered her as clearly as he remembered his own name... that the memory of her face never left him, even with her extended absence. But he wanted to choose his words very carefully. "You were cheerful," he said. "But also very quiet at times. You were a very shy little girl," he said.
She gave a look of surprise. "I always thought that you were the shy one," she noted.
"Perhaps we both were." His mind flicked back, almost like a hallucination, to a young Megan wearing a crisp, new, white pinafore, shyly showing off her new frock to an equally hesitant nine-year-old Mark, as Cory played with a pogo stick around them. He remembered the dark shine of her hair, the bounce in her knees, the squealing sound of the pogo stick bouncing up and down, and the smell of wood burning in the air as Mark pushed his glasses up higher on his nose with his index finger, and gave her a slight, crooked smile.
"Do you think I'm still as shy as I was when I was a little girl?" Meg asked.
"Wouldn't you know if you were?" he asked.
"What do you think?" she questioned.
He considered for a moment. "No," he said, shaking his head. "not as much, I don't think. You have boldness in you now... something that I didn't see when you were younger."
She smiled enigmatically. "Boldness." She considered the word. "Like deciding to approach you on the second day of school."
"Yeah. Kind of like that."
"I was cheerful?"
"Yes, always that way. You were always wanting to do some fun activity to pass the time, and you had a special way of suggesting ideas to us. You'd run up to us and say, 'I know! I know!' And you hardly ever complained, but you cried, you cried a lot."
"I don't cry as much now," she said, and then added, "Only when I'm very anxious."
"Your mother was always the one to comfort you," he said.
"But not anymore," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"A good way to describe my parents is that they're like silicone mannequins with computer implants. They have pleasant things to say, but mostly, they just sit silently in front of the television eating their dinners completely oblivious to each other and me."
"I thought you had a wonderful relationship with your father." He remembered sitting in his car, watching Meg and her father talk in front of their house, but didn't want to mention it to her.
"No," she said. "I love both my parents dearly, but honestly, they don't have a clue as to what my inner world is. They couldn't give you any kind of an answer if you were to ask them what their daugher's emotional life was like. They ask nice questions, and I give them nice answers, but that's mostly as deep as it goes."
"You should spend a week at my house," he said. "By Tuesday morning you'll be bound for the store to get a pair of earplugs to block out all the screaming."
"From your mother?"
"Yes," he said. "She won't stop. Nothing I do is good enough for her. Something's always worth fighting over."
"And what about Cory?"
Mark stopped, but didn't turn to look at her. "What about Cory?" he said.
"Doesn't he affect you, I mean, still? I mean, we've been talking about our lives, and honestly, both our lives are linked by this one person. My brother. And we've hardly talked about him."
"I know," Mark managed, and it came out as little more than a whisper.
"You said I remind you of him. You also said it didn't bother you all that much. But yet the first time I ever tried to speak with you again, eight years after the incident, you cursed me out. Every day of my life I have a constant reminder of his absence: his empty room is right next to mine. His death is still such a deep part of my inner world, and how can you possibly say that it's not part of yours?"
"It is." Mark's voice was more forceful this time.
She looked at him gently. "So let's talk about it."
He felt he was in no position to decline. "Okay. What's on your mind? Your heart?" By then, they had arrived at Meg's house and were parked along the curb. All the lights were out in the house.
She leaned over him, and looked out the window and up. "My parents have gone to bed. They won't notice if I step in a little late," she said. She smelled nice. Her hair was floral and musky.
"Let's get out," he said. "It's stuffy in the car." The darkness in the shadows was almost tangible. A short shadow was cast at the side of the house, and it was almost scary placing a foot in such darkness, not knowing if you were stepping on a stone, or a slippery leaf, or even a snake. They walked to the back of the house, back to where they had walked before, into woods that were bathed in moonlight. "Are you dizzy?" he asked.
"I had about one drink," she said, whispering. "But I think it's worn off now."
He nodded. "I'm not particularly dizzy myself." The breeze was cool, but not cold, in his opinion. But Meg had not brought a sweater with her, and she was shivering. "Would you like my jacket?" he offered.
She turned, rubbing her arms. She smiled, and accepted the offer. "Thank you," she said. She wrapped the tattered, leather article around herself. As she warmed herself up, they stood together for a few moments not saying anything to each other. Then she said, "You and Cory used to play here. Do you remember?"
Mark could not have forgotten. "I do."
Her teeth chattered slightly. "Sometimes I joined in, but a lot of the time, Cory wouldn't let me," she said. "He said, no girls allowed."
"He was afraid of cooties," he said. "But I often stuck up for you."
"I remember that," she said. "That was nice of you. You said, 'C'mon, letter play.' But he was a bully, Mark."
"I know."
"You were best friends with him because you wanted to get on his good side."
"I know."
"When you first met him, he stole all your lunch money and he made you cry your eyes out."
"I know, Meg. But I was happy that he decided to be my friend. Not just my friend but my best friend."
"He not only bullied you, but he also bullied me."
"I know, I know. And I hated him for that."
"He was popular, Mark, but only because he befriended the kids he bullied, did you know that?"
"Yes. He shouldn't have done it, but what was I to do? I was only a little kid. I didn't like to go against the grain. He was a pushy little boy at times, but we all have faults, don't we?"
She faced him. "Tell me. Do you think of him often? Does he haunt your dreams the way he haunts mine?" She was close to him now.
He thought of the dream he'd had recently where he was looking for Cory but found Meg, instead. He looked at her face again, and was aghast. In the shadows, it could well have been Cory himself, peering up at him, at the very spot where they used to play. "All the time," he said, in a whisper.
"He used to hit me and shove me around and call me names," she said. "and yet I still loved him."
"I hated him for what he did to you," he said.
"So much that you would kill him?"
She knew the answer as well as he did. He shook his head. "No." This last was barely managed. Before he could realize what was happening, Meg reached up to him, and brushed the side of his face. Mark, startled, grabbed her wrist just as her face was nearing his, and he backed away. She was planning on kissing him. His voice was only a raspy whisper. "You're supposed to hate me," he said, and backed away completely. He grabbed his box of Marlboros, which had dropped to the ground, and began to walk away. But Meg stopped him, her voice wavery.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice broken.
He looked at his watch, which he could not read in just the moonlight. "I was going to go home."
He couldn't tell if she was crying or not. "Mark, you shouldn't be driving," she said.
"I'm perfectly fine," he said.
"You're on pot," she said, then added, "and probably alcohol, too. They have laws about driving under the influence these days."
"I've done it many times before."
By now, Mark knew that Meg was sobbing. "Does it hurt you that much, to think about him?" Mark asked.
Meg didn't respond to the question. Instead, she said, "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Did you ever forgive yourself for shooting him that day? I mean, really." She took a step forward and he could see the tears on her face reflecting the moonlight.
He was too tired to lie to her. He said, simply, "No."
She was standing about two feet away from him. "Because I'll tell you the reason why I think your drug use is selfish."
"Why?"
"Because there's nothing to forgive. I know the whole story, Mark. Cory bullied you into playing with the gun and firing it. There's nothing to forgive because it's not your fault."
Mark hesitated. "How could you know the story?"
"It's common sense, Mark. I know Cory and I know you."
"Your parents said nothing?"
"Just that you killed him."
Mark was taken aback. "And why do you think I'm selfish?"
She paused, and took in a long breath. "Because you think you're in so much pain because of the fact that you killed your best friend all those years ago, but it's senseless. All this time has gone by and everyone has deserted you, and so you turn to drugs." More tears slipped down her face. "It's wrong, Mark. You're not thinking of anyone but yourself, and you're hurting everyone. It's wrong!" Meg turned partways around and started running.
Mark became suddenly confused. It was like déja vû with the dream he'd had. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she had started running. She had dropped the leather jacket and he quickly picked it up, then started running after her. He dashed through the woods, dodging trees, with the wind whipping his hair back behind his face. About a hundred yards later she collapsed onto the soft earth, panting and wheezing. Mark was just behind.
"You think you're in so much pain, and I'm not?" she asked, in between pants.
"No, Meg, I don't," he said. Mark was panting, too.
Meg grabbed a jagged rock from the ground and lifted it into the air. "Then watch this."
Before Mark could stop her, Meg quickly carved a vertical line into both arms with the sharpest edge of the rock. Mark immediately grabbed it from her, then pinned her to the ground. The cuts were deep, and bleeding. Meg let out a soft moan, and then passed out, probably from exhaustion and pain.
During the several minutes that Meg was passed out, Mark tore up his shirt and wrapped it around her bleeding arms. When she came to, he was holding her. By then, he was sorry he hadn't kissed her back. "It's okay, Meg. Just me," he said, as he wiped her hair from her face, and then when she was ready, he led her back to her house. No more words were spoken that night, and it was just as well. Enough excitement had taken place already that evening. He silently opened the front door for her, and left.
"Beth, we have to talk." Mark was at his father's house in Maine. He was sitting on his bed, with the receiver of the telephone pressed to his ear. It was long-distance, but his father had given him permission to make the call.
Beth's voice sang out. "Does it have something to do with your father?" she asked, inquisitively.
"No," he said. "It has to do with you and me."
"I'm in my nightgown..." she said, seductively. "...nothing else on..."
He sighed into the receiver. "Be serious, Beth. Now is not the time for that. My dad's in the next room."
"Well, alright. It's just that I'm so lonely right now..."
"Where's your sister?"
"She's spending the night at a friend's house. The place is empty. Just little ole' me."
"What about some of your friends? Could you hang out with them?"
"No. I stayed late after practice talking with the coach, and they all disappeared to go downtown. They deserted me!"
Mark paused. "Beth, there's something I want... well, I need to talk with you about, and it can't wait."
"Mark, you sound pissed off about something."
He caught his breath. "No, Beth, that's not it." He relaxed a little bit, realizing that he was gripping the phone very tightly.
She waited a few moments. "So what is it?"
"How have you been feeling lately?" he asked, with out-of-place concern in his voice.
She had noticed the strangeness of it. "What kind of a question is that?"
"I was just wondering how you were doing, because you seemed really stressed out lately, and I was worried about you. I also wanted to know what's been on your heart."
"My heart? Mark, what have you been sniffing lately? This isn't like you."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "We never talk about things," he said. "Maybe we should start."
She seemed to be considering. "You know, you're right. I've been meaning to ask you about that new cheerleader we have on our squad who's friends with the dogface."
"No, Beth, not like that. I mean, what are you feeling?"
Beth sounded impatient. "Like a million bucks, what do you want to hear? I'm really dying to know, Mark, what's up with the new girl you've been hanging around?"
Mark heard the television come on in the next room. "There's not much to tell, Beth. I took her home a couple of times, and that's all."
"You wanted to talk, so talk," she said. "Meg says you guys were chummy a long time ago. Any of that old spark left?"
"You're joking. We were just kids."
"She seems to take a liking to you, I think. I see the way she looks at you."
"You were probably drunk when you thought you saw it," he noted, although he knew she was right.
"But I'm afraid... well, I think, my dear, that she's another loser..."
Mark sat up straight. "What do you mean by that?"
"She was practically coughing up her drink at my party last week. I'm thinking she just decided to take one in order to try and fit in, and that was all." Beth laughed. "Did you see the date she brought? I'm amazed he didn't bring in the cavalry to try and break us up."
"And?"
"And she's friends with the dogface, too. Amanda Hanfield. How low can you go?"
These insults angered Mark. "Beth, she's not a bad person. You just have to get to know her."
"Well, I suppose she's better than an empty slot on the cheerleading squad, anyway," she said.
"We're not talking," he said. "That's the thing about you. You're always wanting to complain about things instead of talking about what's really going on."
"So what are you getting at, Mark?"
He took in a deep breath. "I think we should take some time off, you and me."
Beth didn't sound upset. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, I'm quite serious," he said.
She stayed silent for a moment. "What made you decide?"
She deserved to know. "It's someone else."