Tuesday's Storm

It was a Tuesday when everything changed.

I always imagined, or at least hoped, that big things would one day happen in my life, but it seemed the day would never come. After spending a mundane youth in sharp contrast with the big-budget Hollywood movies I thrived on, I slowly became resigned to spending the rest of my life in the same fashion. But inside, deep inside where our wishes creep out only in the lonely quiet of night, I yearned for something, hell anything, to break the endless monotony.

I always hoped that sort of magic would come in college. Every adult I've known said it was the best time of their lives. The ones who didn’t go talk as if they have been cheated, that by missing college they missed great things that could never be recreated. But the ones who went, they spoke of their college days with fond remembrance. Faint smiles would form at their lips as their eyes gleamed. Then a sigh as they were brought back to reality, “Ah, the good ol’ days.” Implying, of course, that life only got worse, never better.

So I looked at college as the peak, my one chance to do something big, something that people would actually want to hear about, but life followed me, there was no way to escape its grasp. I wondered if there were people who never got better, if they were born high and sank lower each day, the dead weight of society.

I imagined when something big did happen, it would be with glory and fanfare, not after work on a Tuesday night. But I should have known, there was an ominous presence in the air that night.

There was a feeling of electricity, the kind that comes right before a big storm. I always loved storms. I remember watching them with awe when I was kid, amazed at their beauty and ferocity. I did the same that night in my small second floor apartment.

The wind groaned a lonely sigh, before giving a shrill scream through the branches of a lifeless oak. I watched the dry leaves dancing in the crisp air. Rising, then falling. Rising again. It was as if they were lost in the swirling wind, unsure of their purpose. Slowly, the rain began to fall. By the time the knock came on my door, the fat drops had turned into a thundering chorus on the roof.

I knew it was Sarah before I opened the door. She was the only one who ever knocked on my door. I found myself hoping for that knock more every day, even if only to exchange a few pointless words.

Her white sweater was soaked. Drops of water ran down her smooth skin from her drenched hair, dripping off the tip of her nose.

“Hey Sarah,” I said gesturing for her to come in. The heavy sweater stuck against her body, outlining her small figure. I closed the door behind her with an ominous feeling. The soft grumbling of thunder came from the distance, a premonition of things to come. She stood uncomfortably in front of me for several moments. I watched the water roll off her body, forming a circle of darkening drops on the dirty carpet below her.

“Go ahead and sit down. Don’t worry about the water.” I threw her a boyish smile. “It’s not like the furniture is top of the line.”

She echoed a nervous laugh. I could see in her eyes that something was wrong. I looked past her, out the window into the desolate streets. The rain was falling almost horizontal now, whipping around in the fierce wind. Maybe it was the rain, but it looked as if Sarah had been crying. Her body sagged as if physically weighed down.

She didn’t sit down, just stood on the carpet, droplets of water rolling down her arms and face.

I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Is something wrong?”

She stood with her arms at her sides, motionless, like a dutiful soldier, my little soldier. I wanted to reach out and wrap my arms around her, tell her that no matter what had happened everything would be okay. But I knew that I would just be telling lies. How could I possibly know?

Sarah pulled the metal chair out by the table, nearly falling into it. She buried her face in her hands. Oh my God, I thought as her body began to shake, something terrible has happened. When she pulled her hands away she was laughing.

“It’s raining,” she said through the soft chuckles. She paused as she sunk into her chair, as if contemplating a deep thought. I was going to say something to get her to continue, thinking that maybe I had somehow missed the joke, but the crack of thunder brought her back to me.

“When I was little I used to think that rain was God’s tears.” She let out another small laugh, and I forced a chuckle of my own. “Sort of like magic you know. Everything made so much sense. It was all so simple. But then one day,” she raised both of her fists, opening her empty hands in unison, “Poof! Some teacher explains that it’s only the evaporated water falling back to earth. There was no magic. It was easily explained by simple science. That was when I realized how stupid it all was. If science could explain rain, then who needed God any more.”

Sarah ran her hand through her dripping hair. “I remember that was in second grade.” She thought for a moment. “Mr. Watson.” A strangely sad smile of satisfaction came across her face.

“Don’t say that,” I forced out, despite feeling the same way. The last time I had gone to church was in junior high with my father, before he left us. Even then it had seemed as though I was out of place.

Sarah looked so small and frail sitting in the chair, like a child that needed to be protected from the harshness of the world. That was all I wanted, to let her know that it would all be okay.

“What’s wrong, Sarah?” I asked as I reached across the table and put her wet hands in mine. “We can talk it over, get everything figured out.” I waited for her eyes to meet mine. “Okay.”

The edges of a smile crept into her face. Her voice was still shaky. “It’s just . . .” she waited, perhaps gathering her strength. She looked at the floor’s cold tiles. “I’m pregnant.”

My breath caught in my throat. My hands pulled away from hers. Pregnant. That didn’t even make sense. How could that be possible?

“I . . . I thought that you were on the pill.”

The world around me began spinning as I tried to sort everything out. Pregnant. I didn’t see her body move back. I didn’t see her body cringe at those words as if I had tried to hit her.

I asked her louder this time. “I thought that you were taking birth control. You told me that you were on the pill.” How could she be pregnant?

“Don’t get mad,” Sarah whimpered, refusing to meet my eyes. “I don’t want you to get upset.”

My mind began racing, questions running through my head all at once. Sarah’s pregnant, kept repeating in my head like a deafening chorus.

How could this possibly be happening? She was on birth control. I had seen the bottle of pills. I watched her take the them. Sarah couldn’t be pregnant. It wasn‘t possible.

“Maybe it isn’t mine?” I wondered.

I ran my wet hands through my hair. The wind threw the heavy drops against the large window in loud splatters. It seemed like they were trying to break their way in. Everything was closing in on me at once.

Hot tears ran down Sarah’s wet cheeks. I reached out for her, but she pulled back like a scared animal. Her voice wavered as she talked. “How could you even say a thing like that?” She got up quickly, trying to hold back her tears.

She looked right at me. I could see the pain beneath the glossy surface. “I don’t know why I thought this might’ve worked. I knew that you wouldn’t care.” She ran out of the apartment, leaving me alone in the silence. Only the methodical drumming of the rain could be heard.

I stayed up all night trying to make sense of what was happening. I kept seeing the pain in her eyes as she ran off in tears. But why would she lie to me about the birth control? We didn’t have the money to raise a child. We were still in school. I’d have to drop out, become a deadbeat like my father. Even now I could smell the alcohol that constantly stayed by his side. I couldn’t let that happen to me, or to Sarah.

Tomorrow then. In the morning I would go and talk to her. Then she’d be feeling better.

I was awake half of the night, my mind still churning out questions in a high-speed frenzy. Sleep, it seemed, would never come.

But the sleep came, slowly at first, in agonizing bits between the worrying. Eventually, I could see light beginning to turn the world gray. Soon a kaleidoscope of dazzling lights was dancing on the wet droplets that clung to my window. The sun snuck out from behind the gray clouds, beginning to clear away the remnants of the storm. Somehow that thought made me feel better. The previous night was beginning to fade away like a bad dream, the edges wisped away like fog, leaving only the impression of a memory.

By 8:00 I was sitting in a small cafe sipping at hot chocolate and watching the clock tick by. I watched the people as they came and went. A young happy couple laughing as they left, fingers interlocked, oblivious of the world around them. A middle-aged man sat in a booth with the Wisconsin Journal, reading as he ate his eggs and sipped his coffee. I felt like I was invading in these people’s lives. As I watched him eat I imagined him coming in every day. Half running through the streets with his head down to avoid the windy cold, feeling the blast of warm air as he swung open the door and flexed his arthritic hands, trying to warm them. Then a look from the waitress with a smile that warmed his aching bones more than the heat. “Hello John,” she would tell him, getting him the same meal every morning.

I turned away from him to watch the door again. Just then Steve McClain came in, turning towards me as he saw me tucked away in the corner.

“Hey Jack,“ he said as he came towards me. “I’m gonna have to get me a pen so I can remember this moment.” He blew hot air into his hands through his playful smile. “This must be your first morning in years. I don’t think I’ve seen you up this early in . . . well, never I guess. I mean we’ve been up this late, but to actually get up and get here by, hell, what time is it.” He pulled out the chair across from mine and plopped down with all of his enthusiasm. “Before you know it you might get to see the sun rise.”

I actually smiled then. “Good to see you Steve.”

“Damn straight it is. I got a feeling that today’s gonna be your lucky day.”

“Really, why you say that.” I tried not to sound too eager for good news.

Steve threw one arm over his chair and gave me a sideways look. “Well hell, think about it. You started your day off by running into me. What more can you ask for?”

“In fact,” he proclaimed loudly slapping his hand on the table. “I know why you’re up so early. You gotta study for the big Chemistry exam this afternoon.”

“Don’t remind me about that,” I told him as the waitress came over and he ordered a cup of coffee. “There’s no chance that I’m going to pass that.”

“Oohh,” Steve groaned. “That bad huh. Well, hey man, don’t you worry about it. Tonight, me and the guys are going to go out and celebrate. You’ll get so wasted that you won’t even remember how terrible you did.”

“Not tonight,” I said peering out over the edge of my cup. “Got some other stuff I’ve gotta take care of.”

“Aw, don’t worry about Brian. He’s an ass to everyone. It’s just the way he is. I don’t know why he gives all the new guys such a hard time but . . .”

“It’s not that Steve.” I stopped for a moment, trying to make up some realistic excuse. “It’s just . . . Sarah, she’s . . .” My mind froze. Just tell the truth. “She’s pregnant,” I said quietly, feeling ashamed for saying it in a hushed tone, like it was a dirty secret I didn’t want anyone to hear.

I let out a sigh. Steve leaned back in his chair. “No shit. Pregnant.” He spoke in the same hushed tone.

Exiting customers made the bell over the door ring, and a sharp gust of cold autumn air rushed into the cafe. The waitress told them to please come again.

Steve finally broke the silence. “So how’s Sarah taking it?” He hunched over the table. I could see the steam rising from the coffee. I hated the smell of coffee.

“Sarah? She’s probably okay.” I remembered the haunted look in her eyes last night, wind screaming outside the window, rain pummeling the window, trying to get inside. For some reason that image stayed in my mind, the rest faded into a blurry memory of mixed emotions.

“We haven’t really talked about it.” I looked down at my drink as I swirled it slowly between my hands. “Didn’t go too well last night. I guess you could say I reacted the wrong way. At least not how she had hoped.”

“Go talk to her then.” He actually sounded concerned, but I didn’t realize then. I felt so alone.

“I was on my way before I realized how early it was. I guess I didn’t want to wake her up. But . . . hell, I don’t know. They say first impressions are everything. All she’s going to remember is how I first reacted.”

“Don’t say that man. Everything will probably work out for you two. But that’s something the two of you are gonna have to figure out together.”

I hoped that there would still be a two of us. I stood up to leave. “I better get going then.” I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Thanks . . .I . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.”

Five minutes later I was standing in front of Sarah’s door. I waited, unsure what I was going to say, how I was going to say it. I let out a breath, closed my eyes for a moment.

I knocked softly. I hoped she wasn’t still sleeping. My mind suddenly began to race again. I knocked again. I could picture the outlines of her face, her small figure, the way that she stood, leaning against a wall as she looked at me and smiled.

I heard the lock snap open. The door opened a few inches as she peered through. She stepped aside and let me in. I tried to collect my thoughts. I think that she already knew what I was going to say, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Hey Sarah.”

“Jack.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. It hung in the air like a thick fog, the kind that seemed to press against your skin.

“How you doing?”

She stood by the closed door, her hands buried in the back pockets of her pants, head cocked slightly to the side. “I’ll be all right.”

I waited, hoping that somehow she would say the words that I couldn’t bring myself to say. She returned the silence.

“Well . . . I think,” but I couldn’t say what I had come to say.

I stumbled searching for another word. My mind was blank. Our eyes remained locked as I desperately tried to think of something. The word had always seemed so hopeless, so intimidating. It symbolized the final act of desperation. I always had such disrespect for those people. Thinking that life had a reset button. But there I was, standing just inside the doorway, struggling to say the one word that I had always despised.

Sarah looked at me through her still red eyes, the same eyes that just a week ago had been so innocent and hopeful. Now there was a pain beneath the glossy surface. Looking back now, I think that was when the last of her hope was crushed. As we stared at each other in the silence, the chance of a fairy tale ending was slipping through our fingers.

“I think we should . . .”

She turned away, holding up a hand. I thought she couldn’t bear to hear the word, just like I couldn’t bear to say it. But it was probably more simple. I think that for a brief moment she couldn’t stand to see my face. I didn’t open the door with a warm smile, wrapping her in my arms, holding her tight as I whispered in her ear that “everything is going to be alright.”

She was a strong woman, but we both relied on each other too much. We needed each other too much. With my words she was watching her dream fade back into reality.

“Don’t,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “I know what you’re going to say.”

I was so relieved that I didn’t notice the disappointment in her voice. I waited, wondering when Sarah would continue.

I had no idea where a person would go to get that kind of thing done. I never thought I would.

I felt like I should say something, anything, to break the ominous silence, but everything that I thought of sounded so empty.

Sarah walked over to the large chair, sinking her small body into the cushions. The low sun shone through the window, casting a pale light on her. Her face seemed white in the sunlight, giving her an angelic quality. All I wanted to do was go over and hold her, tell her how much I loved her. I kept thinking how much I wished we could go back and have another try at things. All the good things in my life were beginning to unravel.

I moved closer to her. Sarah fidgeted in her seat. “I know a place,” she said. “About twenty minutes from here.” She played nervously with her fingers as she talked.

For some reason I almost demanded if she’d been there before, but I was able to hold my tongue. I knew I was the only one she’d ever been with.

“My friend, Jeanine . . .” she sounded distant, lost in a memory from long ago. Her face was blank for a second. “They take care of . . . that sort of thing.”

I buried my hands in my pockets, then let out a deep breath. “Okay.”

A few minutes later we were in the car. Sarah seemed anxious to get this over with. Her gaze drifted towards the lifeless fields that lined the highway, waiting for the snow that seemed as though it would never come.

I kept imagining a wide-eyed doctor sneaking us away into a dirty back room, reaching for a rusty scalpel as his worried eyes frantically searched for a witness. By the time we pulled up to the building, my high-speed imagination had the doctor with a toothless grin, limping down the flickering hallways after Sarah, screaming “let me finish you!” as he chased after her. His scalpel had turned into a bent hanger that twitched and jerked as he tried to grab her from behind.

I hoped everything would turn out all right.

The building helped to ease some of the tension. It was big enough to be reassuring while small enough to avoid the cold, sterile feeling that hospitals can never get rid of.

I pulled into a parking spot by the front door, killing the engine. I reached and unbuckled my seatbelt. Sarah didn’t move.

“You okay.”

She looked ahead at the dusty dashboard. “I just . . .” She picked at her nails, then ran a hand through her hair. She blew out a deep breath. “I’d like to do this alone.”

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought she pulled further away from me as she said it.

“Alone?” I mumbled

She kept staring forward at the empty space. “I mean . . . you could go home. I’ll call Jeanine and have her pick me up.”

“I guess.” I just wanted to get everything over with, get it behind us. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s just, I’d rather have her here. She’s been through this sort of thing. I don’t mean anything by it.”

But it did mean something. This was the biggest thing that we’d been through, and she didn’t want me there. “That’s fine,” I lied.

She unbuckled her seatbelt as I put mine back on. She stepped outside, closing the door. She paused for a moment. I thought she was going to turn around, tell me that she’d changed her mind about it all. Then she half jogged towards the building. I watched her slip inside. It seemed she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I started my car. Thank God it’s almost over.

Small droplets began to fall on the way home, distorting the headlights of oncoming traffic. In just minutes the rain began to fall harder, bringing with it the wet earthy smell that comes with all storms.

The wipers struggled to keep up with the storm. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Blurring, then clear. Blurring, then clear. The day’s events kept running through my head. I turned the radio loud to drown out my thoughts. The faint thumping of the wipers continued, barely audible under the noise, a tiny heartbeat in the tears of the heavens.

The storm had darkened the skies by the time I finally got home. I returned to the solitude of my small apartment, waiting in the silence. Wondering what was happening, what was going to happen.

There was something different about the apartment. It used to be my one place where I could hide from the world. Now, there was something about it. It seemed different, slightly uncomfortable. I just wanted everything to go back like it was. Even that was better than now.

Later that night a knock came at my door. It was Sarah. “Hey,” she said as I opened the door. There was a haunting look of desperation in her eyes.

“I was just wondering if I could stay with you.” She seemed uncomfortable, shifting her weight incessantly back and forth. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

I let her in of course, but for some reason I could not meet her eyes. I knew what I’d done. I knew that Sarah had secretly hoped that we would make it work, or at least give it a try.

We slept in the same bed that night, both turning gently as we restlessly traveled on the edge of consciousness, our wandering minds refusing to give in completely. It was then that she asked the question I would never forget.

“Jack.” She waited for my small grunt to make sure I was awake. Then she looked at me, directly at me with penetrating eyes that were yearning for approval. “I did . . . we did the right thing, didn’t we?”

I knew then that she could never forgive me for what I’d done to her. I could never forgive myself. Even now, after it was over, it would be a burden that would always hang over us, a nagging uncertainty that traversed throughout the back of our minds, always there, resurfacing on occasion.

“Of course we did,” I whispered to the silence, feeling ashamed for putting this burden on her. I turned away, dejected. “Go to sleep now Sarah. You need your rest.”

I couldn’t stand to hear her voice anymore. In my mind it had grown demanding, accusatory. I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from Sarah as possible.

I pretended that I had fallen asleep, and the whispers in the dark turned to the slow, hypnotic sound of breathing as the world grew gradually darker.

I tried to kill myself that night, just shortly after Sarah fell asleep. Looking back now, I find it hard to imagine how my life had gotten so low. I felt so alone.

Maybe it was Sarah’s groans as the nightmares made her toss in the bed. She had hoped that we could work it out. Deep down inside, I think I felt the same. Maybe it was the loss of control. Everything around me was beginning to unravel.

Mostly though, I think it was the guilt. The guilt that I had every time I looked at Sarah. Every time I heard her voice. Every time her small fingers brushed against my bare back, or her perfume would waft into the air and the indiscernible smell of familiarity crept into my nose.

Without Sarah there was nowhere to turn, nowhere to escape where I would be held in reassuring arms.

I remember feeling the pain in my stomach, like someone was inside, twisting it into knots. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, mouth agape in a silent grimace, hands clenched together in tight fists. At that moment I thought of my father, how he’d always push me away. As I set my head on the cold, dirty tiles to die, I realized that I had become him. Maybe I hadn’t used a belt on Sarah, but I had done far worse than he’d ever dreamed. I had done to my child what he only thought in his darkest fantasies.

I pictured Sarah standing over me. That was my last thought, my last desperate plea. I hoped that it wouldn’t be her who found my body lying on the floor, empty bottles of pills scattered across the tiles. Everything began to fade, the world turning black.

Steve told me I had died for three minutes. My heart had actually stopped by the time the ambulance arrived. Sarah had found me just as I feared.

I woke up in a hospital the next day. Sarah’s blurred figure came slowly into focus. She was sitting in a metal chair by my bed. It took a moment to remember how I got there.

Sarah must have sensed my movement. She turned to look at me, wiping away tears as they fell down her cheeks. She began to laugh as the tears came, wrapping her arms around me. “You’re all right. Thank God you’re all right.”

Shame overtook me as I saw the relief sink into her worried face. How could I be so stupid? I looked into her eyes, but was forced to turn away after a few seconds. They kept reaching out to me, reminding me how selfish I had been. God, I loved her.

“Why would you do that?” she asked.

“I . . .” but I couldn’t remember the pain and hopelessness that I felt the previous night. Already the events were fading into memory.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. My voice trailed off as I struggled for the feelings. “I just don’t know.”

I knew then that it was over. It had to be. I would never be able to look her in the eyes again.

When I got released from the hospital I transferred to another school, tried to start a new life. Sarah too, faded into memory. Some girl that I knew in college once. Sometimes I see the abortion signs hanging off the sides of the highway, and I remember how I once felt. I’m not sure how to feel anymore, but sometimes I think about how my life could have been.

Now as I grow older I tell people of my past. I get a distant look in my eye. “I used to know this girl in college,” I’d begin. Then a sigh, if only things had worked out differently.

Sometimes I wonder how Sarah’s doing