CHAPTER TWENTY
"Amanda, I don't know what to do," she said in exasperation. She was worried in two ways, hoping that Mark's history of indecision wouldn't swing back again, against her favor, and not ready yet to tell Jeff that she couldn't continue on with him.
She sprawled out on her bed, playing with Molly. Amanda sat on the floor, playing with her Etch-a-sketch. "Just forget him," Amanda warned, over her shoulder. "He's put you through enough misery, and besides, you don't want to get your hopes up if he just changes his mind again."
Meg felt irritation well up within her. "But I can't forget him," she said. "He's all I ever think about."
"What about Jeff?" Amanda persisted. "Don't forget, you're going steady with him."
Mark and Jeff were two totally different individuals. Mark was dangerous and exciting; Jeff was comfortable and predictable. How could she choose between two people who had both captured her heart, in very different ways?
"Why do you keep insisting on pursuing Mark? I have to admit, I never did understand why you ever wanted to be with him. From that very first day, all he ever did was make your life miserable.
"I told you he was trouble, you still wanted to be with him. Then he cursed you out, and you still wanted to be with him. He rejected you, time after time, and you still wanted to be with him. So what's the real story, Meg? Why so persistent about this person? And don't tell me it's just because you're in love with him, because I know there's more to it than that."
Meg sighed, feeling unnerved by Amanda's antagonistic mindset today. "When I told him I loved him, he said he loved me too."
Amanda shook out the Etch-a-sketch and began drawing a new picture. "You know, sometimes guys say that just to get something out of you."
Meg crossed her arms. "I can never imagine Mark doing a thing like that. That's completely out of his capabilities, in my opinion."
"I wouldn't be so sure. You'd be amazed at what some of the nicest guys have done, and Mark is not one of the nicest guys in the world, considering his past." She stayed quiet. "Meg, weren't you ever you the least bit upset at him for shooting your brother?"
She didn't say anything.
"All this time," Amanda said, "you've never shown the least bit of animosity towards him, the way your parents have. Are you sure you've been completely honest with yourself?"
"What are you saying, Amanda? That I have some hidden, suppressed anger towards him?"
"You tell me."
Meg was annoyed that Amanda was looking down at the toy, and not into her face, so she took the Etch-a-sketch and threw it across the room. "Hey!" Amanda protested.
Meg lay back against the pile of pillows at the head of her bed, crossing her arms. Amanda stumbled to her feet, climbed partways onto the bed, and rested her elbows onto the bottom of the mattress. "I'm sorry, Meg. It's just that you've got to look at the whole situation before diving into a decision."
"I've already made my decision," Meg said, averting her eyes to the window. "I just don't know how to carry it out."
Amanda sat down on the edge of the bed. "Have you made plans to see him soon?"
"Yes. I told him to meet me after practice on Friday, outside of the locker room."
Amanda looked at her with concern in her face. "What if he doesn't show up?"
The thought hadn't even occurred to Meg. She abruptly met eyes with Amanda, and was surprised to see that she was dead serious. "Why wouldn't he show up?"
She lowered her eyes to the bedspread, but said nothing. "Amanda, why wouldn't he show up?"
She shook her head. "He's changed his mind before, so why wouldn't he do it again?" she said.
Meg frowned. "I don't believe you."
Amanda was not being herself that night. Meg turned to her, filled with this new realization, and watched her friend. She had walked across the room, retrieved the Etch-a-sketch and started playing with it again. She looked heavily absorbed in what she was doing, and was totally oblivious to Meg's stare. She was acting...like she was hiding something. "Painting the Mona Lisa?" Meg asked wryly, as she climbed to the foot of the bed and looked over Amanda's shoulder.
"Quit it!" she yelled. Meg grabbed the toy and, instead of throwing it this time, she looked at the picture. An idyllic house, complete with a smoking chimney.
"What's with you tonight, huh?" Meg questioned, letting the toy drop onto the bed. "You've been acting strange all night."
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what you mean."
"For one thing," Meg began, "you used to be very supportive of my relationship with Mark. Now you're telling me to forget him...why?"
"I just don't want to see you get hurt."
Meg was unconvinced that this was the real reason and narrowed her eyes. "Tell me the truth. Why would you rather see me with Jeff than with Mark?"
In her eyes, there flickered two tiny flames of something Meg couldn't quite identify. "It's nothing that anything can be done about, now."
Meg was glad for her honesty. "Dan."
"Yes, Dan."
But Amanda was right; something in her was telling her that she wasn't being completely honest with herself. What she'd known, and what she'd deliberately kept from Amanda, was that she didn't understand herself why the incident with Mark and Cory eight years ago had actually drawn her to him.
Was she perverse? Did she actually like the thought that Mark had killed her brother? Maybe, just maybe, she had actually wanted Cory to die. After all, he had been cruel to her when they were children.
Sitting at her vanity table after Amanda had left, Meg shook her head violently from left to right. There was no escaping it. She had to face her feelings now, before she made the decision about what to do about Jeff.
She hated the thought of hurting him, even in a small way. They'd only been dating for a short time, but he already seemed very attached to her, and from what little she'd learned of him in these past couple of months, she'd learned that he was somewhat of a sensitive person.
But something was missing, of that she was certain. There was no passion in their relationship, no excitement.
With Mark, there was.
She closed her eyes tightly, no longer able to bear looking at her own reflection, which stared back coldly at her with minimal emotion. Her skin was deathly pale tonight, its healthy glow drained from her cheeks as though she were ill, and her eyes were large and hollow-looking. The two fiery hazels looked like a pair of unpolished opals, and the lids were heavy, droopy.
The question kept presenting itself in her mind: why did the tragedy of Cory's death draw her to Mark?
And then she knew.
With a clarity of mind that should never have accompanied her somber mood, she realized what she had been holding back all this time.
Lifting and looking at a picture of him which was framed in gold, she felt two tears slip down her cheeks. It was a picture that had been taken just months before the accident, and he was dressed in his baseball uniform, leaning on his bat. She had chosen that particular picture to keep in her room, on her vanity table because that was how she remembered him best: active, healthy, smiling.
She was surprised when her tears transformed into sobs, like a light rain suddenly becoming a downpour. Her limbs felt shaky, her muscles weak, as she shook and cried.
She cried for the boy that was lost so long ago. She cried for her mother's pain, her father's pain, and Mark's pain. She cried for all that could have been but that never was, but she did not cry for her own pain...why?
She knew the answer to that question now. She had never fully grieved for Cory. She had never looked it in the face, as her parents had, as Mark had. She had stuffed it down, deep down inside her where she didn't even try to deal with it for year after year.
As she cried, she felt like she was giving birth, there was so much inside of her. She briefly reflected, with irony, how she hadn't cried a single tear at his funeral. She remembered how so many others had been weeping, and she'd felt confused and scared at watching them--the grown-ups--express their grief. She'd only been seven, but old enough to feel guilty that she wasn't crying, too.
And Mark was the link. He had not been at the funeral, and yet, he had been deeply affected by what had happened. Sure, there were others around who had known and remembered Cory and were deeply moved by his passing, but there was a difference between how they related to Cory and how Mark related to Cory.
She and he were opposites.
Mark had been blamed for his death. Meg was seen as uninvolved. Mark's life was ripped apart by his death, changed forever by that single bullet, and yet Meg was virtually unaffected by it--outwardly, at least.
She had never fully grieved for Cory and Mark was the key that would unlock all of her pent-up frustrations, anxieties and sorrow, and somehow, she'd known it.
All these years, watching as those around her felt pain over his loss and not feeling it, too, she'd felt like an alien, impervious to any real emotion or sympathetic feeling.
And Mark, more alienated than she, was her last hope.
She'd known that he would make her feel what she had waited so long to feel--the reality of Cory's death; and so, she'd sought him out.
Her mother and father had long ago grieved for him, and though the pain of his loss still lingered achingly within them, the freshness of the wounds was no longer there, the shock, the poignant grief. It was something that had never taken place for Meg, and as people moved on and went about their lives, she found herself left behind in the dust, with no one to grieve with.
And the years rolled on.
Only for Mark, whose wounds were still deep and encompassing, did she somehow know that she would be able to unleash her pent-up feelings that had never been expressed.
But this realization brought up within her a new set of questions: if that was the only reason I wanted to be with him, is this all a sham? Should I turn on my heels now and run?
But nothing could make her doubt her love for Mark. No, nothing could tear her from the boy that her parents had despised, called a "deviant," worked endlessly to try to keep the two apart. The love was real, of that she had no doubt, no matter what had first drawn her to him.
She then faced the horrible, terrifying realization that she had used Mark. She was filled, at long last, with sweet sorrow, but at what price? Losing the boy she loved forever? And what if Amanda was right, and Mark wised up and decided she was sticking her nose somewhere where it didn't belong?
She didn't even want to think about it. What if he didn't show up on Friday? He would have had time to think about whether or not he wanted Meg to be a part of his life, and the thought scared her. He'd changed his mind before, just as Amanda had said, and he might do it yet again.
She felt certain that this was the test. Mark had told her he loved her during a particularly vulnerable time, and decisions made during such times can often be too hasty, she knew. If he showed up, then she would be glad; if he didn't, she knew she was going to have to accept the fact that Mark probably was not going to be in her life.
She slipped on the red, beaded bracelet that Jeff had gotten her for her November birthday. She watched as the prism-like beads caught the light and cast bands of color against the walls.
He was a sweet boy, but dull. She felt guilt for feeling that way, but knew that there was no getting around it. She had to go where her heart pounded inside of her chest, where the touch of her fingers against bare flesh felt tingly and electric, where her emotions seared with joy at the mere mention of the person's name. With Jeff, it was not there.
He picked her up at eight o'clock in his used Corolla. She'd taken extra care that night to pamper and ready herself for the date, using makeup to brighten her dull eyes and liven up her the skin on her face.
Jeff accompanied her to the car and opened the door for her. "Where are we going tonight?" she asked.
"We're going to see a Robin Williams movie," he announced, "unless you'd like to see something else."
Good. A movie was just what she was up for tonight. If they were going to talk all night, Meg didn't know how she could handle it.
They arrived at the theater in downtown Glenwood, called, "The Fenwood Seven," with ten minutes before previews. Jeff parked the car in a spot close to the entrance, and together they made their way inside.
Tickets paid for, they went to the concession stand and bought snacks. Soon they had found seats, and the movie was starting.
Meg went to sleep sometime during the film. When she woke up, her head was resting on Jeff's shoulder and he was gently stroking her hair. Shocked and displeased, she quickly got up.
This was the boy that she might soon be telling that her heart belonged to another; she didn't want to give him the wrong signal. Leaning her head against his shoulder was too cozy-comfy for what she might be about to reveal.
Sitting up straight in her seat, she continued watching the film as Jeff patted her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "You didn't miss much." She felt her muscles tense, feeling nervous about what she would soon have to talk about. She fixed her eyes on the screen until the end credits began to roll.
Jeff made a move to hold her hand as they walked out of the theater, but Meg quickly curled it around her drink cup.
"What shall we do now?" Jeff asked. "We've got some time."
Meg slurped up the remainder of her soda and threw it in the trash, along with the empty box of popcorn. "Coffee?"
He looked well tonight, Meg noted ironically. His clothes hung off his body in a way that accentuated his good physique: red shirt, khaki pants. He was actually quite attractive, in a very masculine, athletic sort of way, but that in particular was not the main reason why he was looking so well. The main reason was that his face had a natural glow to it that seemed to shine out from inside; he appeared very healthy and happy. Next to Meg, whose pallor was still ghostly pale, despite the make-up she'd used to try and improve upon it, he looked fully alive.
She regretted having to tell him what was going on, but she knew that she must.
Sitting down across from each other at the coffee shop, Meg sipped her latte.
"I love being with you," Jeff said, drinking from his mug. "I want to spend as much time as I possible can with my girlfriend."
She smiled weakly at Jeff, looking into his bright, emerald eyes. He was being sincere, but then again, she had never known him not to be sincere. "Jeff, there's something we need to discuss,"
He raised his eyebrows, cupping his mug in his hands. "Oh?" White curls of steam rose from the mug in his hands, brushing his cheeks.
She knew the risk she was taking. If she let Jeff go and Mark decided not to be with her, then she would have nobody. But she felt she was making the right decision, because she didn't want to lie to herself anymore. Being with Jeff simply wasn't working anymore. "I think we need to break up," she said, as gently as possible.
Jeff stared at her, his eyes not comprehending, at first, what she had just said. "What?"
"It's just not working out between the two of us."
His eyes lowered. "Why?"
She carefully reached over and grasped his hand. "I'm sorry, Jeff, but I'm in love with someone else. I know I may not ever have a chance with this person, but I have to at least try."
Jeff looked at her hand. "I know who it is, Meg. You don't even have to tell me."
"How...how did you know?" she stammered.
He looked into her eyes and his gaze was searing. "I saw you with him, of course."
She looked down nervously, pleadingly at her hands. "Are you angry?"
He shook his head gently. "No. I thought something like this might happen, I just didn't know how soon."
"Then you understand?" She felt a mixture of emotions--surprise, confusion, sadness--well up inside her.
He stayed very still, a stoic expression on his face. "You were with him before me, and from what I've seen, you have a lot of deep feelings for him." It seemed to vaguely answer the question.
She felt nervousness form inside her. "I didn't even know that you knew."
"Of course I knew. You didn't think I asked about you before we went steady?"
Despite her pale complexion, she felt her face flush. "I'm so sorry, Jeff."
He smiled slightly.
She waited for Mark outside of the girls' locker room after practice. The halls in the school were empty save a few custodians pushing mops around. She sat in the stairwell, her pom-poms in her lap.
Her watched revealed that it was almost time for Mark to show up.
She sighed, trying not to convince herself that he wasn't coming.
Five minutes passed. Seven. Ten. Meg sadly got up, lifting the bundle of pom-poms and decided that she was going to leave. As she began to leave, she told herself not to be bothered in the least. He didn't care about her, so why should she care about him?
But it wasn't so. She'd wanted him to be there just as much as she'd wanted her own mother to accept him...now, it looked like he could care less about any of it.
How could she have been so stupid? Caring for a boy, who, from the very beginning, had expressed his profound disinterest in her. His passionate disinterest in her.
She had been acting every bit the young, naïve, innocent girl that she was in expecting Mark to show up. And now, she was paying the price.
As she hopped down off the windowsill in the stairwell, she tripped and fell, dropping all of her books and important papers. As she reached down to pick them up, another hand reached down, too.
"Need some help?"
She looked up from where she crouched on the floor and saw a beautiful sight. "Mark!"
He smiled. "Sorry I'm late."
Meg stood up to greet him, and instead of saying anything, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a gigantic hug.
"I didn't think you'd come," she said.
He lowered his eyes to her. "I'm a new person now. I try to be more responsible."
She smiled at him and placed her hands on her hips. "That's a start."