A Date With Fate (34 page)

As far back as I can remember, Candy has gone to extreme lengths to get whatever I have. If she can take it from me while doing so, even better.

She’s three years older, so this caused some problems for me when we were kids. It was no fun having my G.I. Joe go disappearing from my room, only to later show up at her house, in her room. She vehemently denied taking it, of course. Since her parents bought her anything she even remotely desired; Candy had some wiggle room to smugly squirm out of trouble with the adults.

Not with me, though. I knew every inch of that G.I. Joe. I’d paid for that man doll out of my hard earned Chore Chart money. He was mine.

After seeing her smile of evil satisfaction at the look on my face when first seeing her completely redecorated bedroom, I had Candy’s measure. It was crammed with the entire collection of the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bedroom set I’d drooled over endlessly.

When I woke up from a kitten nap in my room after a big, Sunday dinner to the sight of my nuttier-than-a-fruitcake cousin about to snip off my waist-length braid, it was all out warfare.

My age, or size, has never stopped me from scrapping when necessary. Jumping up with a shout that day, I’d tripped her to the floor and sat on her. I was planning on shearing her like a sheep in retribution. The scissors were a hairsbreadth away from taking the first hunk off her scalp when NanaBel burst into my room in response to Candy’s hysterical screams of terror. Biting her lip, our Grandmother coaxed me down from my heights of nap-groggy furor. It was later that same day NanaBel exacted my first begrudging, disgruntled promise to go easy on Candy.

Since I gave my word not to physically take her down, Anna and I spent many constructive hours on the serviceable bunk beds in my room devising ways to watch Candy dance on our strings like a Tasmanian Devil puppet.

The formula was laughably simple and almost always worked. I’d allow Candy to eavesdrop on Anna’s and mine private conversations. I would profess to desire something like a certain person, or a really cool sweatshirt with bejeweled cat eyes. Then we’d sit back and watch the fun. My kook of a cousin moved heaven and earth to obtain any objects of my supposed affection.

Were Anna and I wrong to believe Candy had a moral choice? If she didn’t spy then she wouldn’t know what I wanted, and it wouldn’t work for us to be puppet masters extraordinaire.

That’s what we thought as well.

Candy dressed very strangely for years. We felt kind of bad for siccing the seventeen-year-old Candy on the thirteen-year-old boy with the terrible acne problem. Bur he actually dumped her first and moved on to become quite the stud.

As we got older, I learned to virtually ignore Candy. I was busy with my own life and friends. We hung with different people, and our paths crossed only occasionally at family functions. There were enough people at these gatherings to easily avoid her, and I grew unconsciously adept at being wherever Candy wasn’t. I almost forgot she was demonic.

Until I was nineteen.

I was working long hours at Bel’s while my one and only boyfriend, Mike McClain, was going to school his sophomore year at the U of M. Mike and I’d been hot and heavy for over two years, wildly in love. I visited him on campus as much as I could get away, and he drove the hour commute to be with me several times a week. As far as I knew, we had no issues. Our relationship together was as close to perfection as I could imagine, and we’ve all ready established the status of my imagination.

Mike and I were spending the upcoming weekend at a friend’s cabin up north. Our friend was leaving to spend the year in Europe and this was his big blowout of a send off. I was excited to spend three full days with Mike and really looking forward to partying with our friends.

The day we were due to leave, NanaBel and several others of the bookstore staff came down violently ill with a nasty stomach virus. It was impossible for me to take off the time to go to the cabin. Totally bumming, I encouraged Mike to go ahead and have fun with his friends since I’d now be working all the time that weekend.

Busy and oblivious to what was taking place three hours to the north; I was only amused on Sunday at the reports starting to trickle in from concerned friends before Bel’s closed late that afternoon. Nobody knew details, but several people I knew called or came into the store to exclaim over my break-up with Mike. Candy was boasting she had been with Mike up north for the weekend and the grapevine was working at top speed. Casual friends assumed we’d broken up and they hadn’t heard.

It was news to me, too. Mike and I had talked briefly on Saturday afternoon and there was no talk of breaking up. It was the opposite. I had to laughingly beg him to hang up and let me get back to work while he continued to say sweet things to me. He hadn’t even mentioned Candy and my sister Kenna were up at the cabin party.

I checked my cell repeatedly and had no calls from Mike, but I still blew off what I was hearing. I was sure he’d come over the minute he got back in town. He’d tell me what was up, if anything, in regards to Candy’s gossip. There was no way Mike would ever be seduced by Candy.

Not too long after I was up in the apartment, my sister Kenna came over.

“Yes, it is true.” Kenna uncomfortably confirmed for the second time. She was miserably sticking to her guns even as I accused her of bullshitting me; despite the swear to God I’d hotly demanded from her at the start of the conversation.

I’ll always give her credit for facing me and telling me what she knew to be true regarding that weekend. She understood I’d be hearing stories and came immediately to the apartment after the store closed. I was sure Kenna wasn’t lying. There were no circumstances I could come up with that could mitigate what my sister saw with her own two eyes. Believe me, I tried.

Yes, it was true. Mike McClain, the love of my life, screwed my cousin. The moment Kenna appeared at the top of the stairs and I saw her guilty, evasive expression, my brain knew Mike McClain was not worth another moment of my time.

It just took a couple of years for my broken heart to catch up to my brain.

Other than briefly telling Anna what Kenna divulged to me that night, and telling my family we broke up, I never said his name again. I never spoke to him again. What was done could never be undone.

I learned I was not a forgiving soul that bleak, Sunday evening.

Maybe some people can truly forgive, or forget, such a personal smackdown. I’m not one of them. I’m not forgiving, but I will forget you until you cease to exist. Not like I never knew you or what you did. More like you are now a nothing to me. When Mike called several times, or came to the apartment and the store, I ignored him and walked away. He was dead to me.

There’s a whole world out there of people willing to treat you decently, so why stay with anyone willing to betray you?

Stay out of love? Love yourself enough to deserve better. People that love you do not betray you the first time. Unfortunately, if you stick with them the odds are they will do it again.

Stay out of friendship? Adults that are your true friends do not betray you, or throw you under the bus. Your true friends like, even love, you enough to never want to bash you around with words or actions.

Stay out of fear of being alone? Accept it and get over it. We are all ultimately alone.

Stay out of pity? Don’t get me going on pity again.

I look at the people I love in my inner circle as beautiful gifts on loan while I trek through my life. I want to treat them with affection, respect, humor, interest and understanding. They need to return the honor, or else why are they in my inner circle?

Sure, nobody’s perfect and you don’t dump someone for quirks or minor faults if you care about them. You want to be understanding of their issues, too. The level of betrayal I was dealt from Mike McClain went far beyond a minor flaw or quirk. I proved I could forget over time he ever existed, but I’d never forgive him for having to learn that terrible lesson of personal betrayal.

When push came to shove, Kenna came to the apartment to tell me what she knew out of loyalty as my sister, and to clear herself of any wrongdoing or involvement in my eyes. She may be buds with Candy, but she has no problems always looking out for number one.

According to her, this is what went down. Kenna sheepishly admitted she’d noticed Candy was flirting quite a lot with Mike, but he didn’t seem interested so she didn’t think anything, it was just Candy being Candy. She observed Mike spent his days boating on the lake and his nights hanging with a group of boys.

Everyone spent Saturday night drinking around a bonfire after a long day boating on the lake. After her second beer, Kenna started feeling really wasted and tired, probably from all the exercise and sunshine. She went to the tent she was sharing with Candy and passed out.

When Kenna woke up early the next morning at dawn to go pee, she looked over and was shocked speechless to see a nude Candy atop an obviously naked Mike. They were going at it. She realized then it was his moaning and groaning that woke her up. She said it was like he was being tortured.

Not knowing what to do, she’d crept out of the tent. She ended up in their car. She slept in the backseat until Candy found her a few hours later. Candy assured my sister on their drive home that Mike had come on strong after Kenna took off for bed. He had informed Candy he was planning on breaking up with me and had always wanted her.

After my initial burst of enraged disbelief, I never asked a question during this recital. Once I knew Mike had fucked Candy, none of the story registered past my numb misery. Except maybe the bizarrely odd detail of Mike’s tortuous moaning and groaning. I never knew him to be a moaner but if I was a dude; I’d find it tortuous to screw her, too. They’d have to draw and quarter me first.

My unpleasant jaunt down memory lane was cut short when a light tap sounded on the back door window of the car. It was Tre J’s signal to cover the dome light. Jazy slipped into the back seat.

I couldn’t see her shadowed face in the darkness, but her voice said it all. “It’s not platonic. You want details?”

“No.” I turned and faced the front. “Let’s go.”

I sensed Tre J’s concerned glance, but she put the car in reverse without commenting.

“Wait!” I whispered, fiercely. Tre took her foot off the gas immediately. I swung around to Jazy. “One detail.”

Jazy didn’t hesitate. “She was sitting bare-assed on his lap with his face buried in her tits.”

Tre J whispered in abhorrence, “I’m scarred for life.”

I didn’t say anything, but sat forward again and made a curt motion for Tre J to drive.

We were carefully, slowly bouncing back down the rutted lane. The headlights were still off. Tre J wasn’t using the brake so no indicators of our presence would be visible out in the open as we were. Keeping my mind a blank, I flipped back on the radio to fill the silence until we pulled into Reggie’s a few minutes later.

There were several cars and big trucks in his lot. He has an outdoor light mounted high on a pole overlooking the parking area, so the side closest to the house was well-lit. Tre J parked near the porch and turned off the engine. None of us made any immediate moves to open our doors.

From their expectant air, it must be customary to say something in closing to your classic move, triad partners. After all, they couldn’t help but notice you were still in the car due to your target having his face buried in your almost dead cousin’s balloon breasts.

I felt cold with rage. Not a very pleasant emotion I particularly wanted to share with anyone. Luckily, I’m an old expert at hiding these types of feelings.

Reflected in the yellow light shining down from outdoor light, I smiled at their serious expressions. “I don’t think classic moves are such a good idea for me; they are stressful.”

While Jazy and Tre J were laughing in relief at my quip, I reached for my purse and opened the car door. “Come on, ladies. Don’t we have something like nine men with incredible biceps waiting for us a few feet away?”

They climbed out on their side. Jaz called over the Honda’s roof, “Nine? Are you including our brother in the total? Gross!”

“I’m gross? Au contraire, Miss Lucrezia. You are the one with the incestuous thoughts tonight. First it was Jack, and now Reg. Where does your sick mind dwell?”

Tre hooted, slapping Jaz on the back and sending her forward a few steps. “Her mind’s in the gutter, like always.”

“We can’t all be Vested Virgins like some woman I could name.” Jaz sniped back. “Tell me again, how is it fun holding back from the buffet of life?”

Meeting them at the front of the car, I teased my word challenged sister. “Try Vestal Virgin, not vested. Unless you meant Tre’s a western-style, cowgirl virgin?”

Tre shouted with laughter and Jazy grinned, taking my correction in stride after years of such abuse.

I went on speaking to Jaz. “Do you really think Tre holds back at the buffet of life? I’m thinking she may not partake in a full plate of happiness, but she sure gobbles up the appetizers and desserts!”

We hung on each other in our laughter as our guilty, blushing friend Tre demanded, “Stop! It’s no fair being Axelrod tag teamed!”

Ignoring Tre’s cry for fairness, Jazy said to me, “I know, right? If I hadn’t known Tre J since we wore pull-ups, I’d believe she was one of those females that’s raised very strictly to be a virgin until they are safely pawned off and married. You know, the girls who pretend to be goodie two-shoes, but are actually rabid sluts? They perform every sex act known to man, except vag penetration.” Jazy posed angelically, her hands together in prayer. “Then they get married a shy, innocent virgin.”

“What! You bitch!” Tre J shouted in outraged laughter.

“Do you remember Lydia Lee in my class?” Jazy asked us. She was wiping her eyes and barely able to speak over her laughter.

I nodded vigorously up and down. “Who could forget Lydia Chlamydia? Good god, she was having anal sex with any boy who had a car in our high school. Whew, that wild chick was something else.”