November Surprise (23 page)

Then he started asking me out. Other girls would have been
thrilled with his requests, but I knew better. When he'd suggest that we meet
up after a game, or go for a drive together after school, I would just grin and
shake my head, and tell him I was busy. I do have standards, by the way, and my
refusal to simply answer a booty-call was finally rewarded when, after several
weeks, he asked me to the Valentine's Day dance. Such an invitation proves he
not only likes me, but respects me as well. Me, Melody Madsen is going out with
Axel Radcliffe, star basketball player and everyone's favorite guy. My stock
has gone way up.

Except now things have gotten a little out of control. So I
take a deep breath to compose myself, and turn away. I figure if I don't answer
but make it clear I'm walking down to the dance, he'll have to follow. Then
things will get back on track.

I hear him behind me as he catches up. Suddenly his hand is
on my arm and he yanks it, hard, forcing me to turn towards him.

"Ouch! Don't do that!"

His face contorts with aggression and flushes to a deeper
shade of red. "Then stop being such a goddamn tease! You know I only asked
you here because of those notes."

He captures my body and squashes his mouth into mine; this
time he isn't even a little bit gentle. "Come on," he mutters after
he comes up for air, "haven't you always wanted to do it here at school? I
sure have."

"No," I say.

He doesn't listen. Instead his mouth covers mine again, and
his hands cover my breasts. First they are above the fabric of my dress, but
soon they are beneath it. Then he pulls my dress completely down, leaving me
exposed due to the unfortunate ease of removing a strapless gown.

He stops kissing me and buries his face in my chest. I feel
bile rising from my stomach and tears squirting from my eyes. There are two
things I pride myself on never doing—crying and puking—and I'm
about to do both at once. But then I feel this push from inside me, and I
realize it's my own strength.

"I said no!" I yell, and kick him squarely in the
balls. He gasps in pain and I begin to run, pulling my dress back up as I go. I
don't run towards the dance, to the safety of a crowd. That would be the
obvious choice, the smart direction to choose. But instinct or my gut or some
unnamed force propels me the opposite way down the hall, and I have only
moments to escape.

Because he recovers quickly. "You bitch!" he
yells, and runs in my direction. Even in pain he's quite the athlete, and soon
he's close enough to tackle me, forcing me to the floor. His hand covers my
mouth, but I scream through it anyway, a muffled scream swallowed with fear and
nausea. He climbs on top of me, tugging my dress back down, and I think, This
is it. This is really going to happen.

Then, like magic, his weight is no longer pressed against
me. He's been lifted away, and I open my eyes to see light from a classroom
spilling out into the darkened hallway. Mr. Linden's classroom. We are in front
of Mr. Linden's classroom, and Mr. Linden has grabbed Axel and shoved him
against a wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" he cries, as he
shoves Axel again, banging his head and perhaps punching him in the stomach. I
can't quite tell. Then he lets go of Axel and comes over to me. Too late I grab
my torn dress to cover myself. Mr. Linden looks away but I know what he saw.
And I realize I don't care, because in the space of a moment I have discovered
what this night is actually about. Tonight is about destiny; it is destiny that
drove me towards Mr. Linden's door. I'll be tied to him forever.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Instantly a fresh batch of tears surface, and they are much
more passionate then any I have yet to cry. It's just - I can't remember the
last time anyone has cared enough to ask me if I'm okay.

2. Samantha

Early spring, 2006

When I was three years old, a miracle happened. It wasn't
quite on the level of seas parting or water turning to wine, but within my own
personal context, it was definitely epic. My dad took me to see my first movie,
Cinderella, and I discovered a more perfect and entertaining version of the
world, reflected off that giant silver screen. From that moment on, real life
just couldn't compete, and I began to watch whatever my parents would permit me
to see.

I'll admit it: occasionally I like to pretend that my life
is a movie, and that I'm the star. No problem feels insurmountable if I'm
humming a heart-rousing movie soundtrack in my mind. No conversation is too
painful or awkward if I can utter a truly quotable line. And no mistake is too
asinine if I can imagine an audience's sympathetic laughter at my ineptitude.
This used to work for me all the time, but lately, not so much.

You see, there are very few leading ladies over thirty-five.
I think it's quite unfair. There's such a double standard in Hollywood when it
comes to age and gender. Harrison Ford is almost twenty years older than Julia
Ormand in
Sabrina
, and it's a barely
mentionable plot point. Yet, in
Prime
,
nearly forty-year-old Uma Thurman falls for some guy in his twenties, and that's
what the movie is
about
.

Anyway, no, I've haven't been
preoccupied with this inequality for my whole life, and I realize there are far
more serious concerns to devote my energy to, like curing cancer, ending world
hunger, and stopping global warming. However, this particular issue hits close
to home since I myself married a man ten years my junior. That sort of thing
doesn't happen in movies, and neither does the following:

1. Peoples' eyes immediately
darting to my belly whenever I tell them about my sudden wedding. Since my
belly is naturally a little bloated, their eyes stay there slightly longer than
is comfortable or even decent, in an effort to ascertain whether my belly is in
fact, any larger than normal.

2. After deciding that it's
impossible to tell whether or not I'm pregnant just by looking at me, they are
left with a decision—are they going to be blunt, or indirect? Most people
take the latter route, and say things like, "Wow, that's great! You must
be so excited to start a family?" But I actually respect directness more,
like when my dad said, "Sam. Tell me you married him because you wanted
to, and not out of some false nobility that you've never even had."

3. Bad as these questions may
be, at the end of the day I'm haunted with another question that nobody has
been rude enough to ask—What does he see in you? Even I don't have the
answer to that one.

The only person I've shared this with is my best friend,
Jane.

"You need to trust him, Sam. That's what marriage is
about."

She says this to me as we're driving home from her
nineteen-year-old cousin's baby shower. It's 1:30 p.m. on a cloudy and cold
Monday afternoon, and Jane suspects she was only invited to this thing because
her aunt thought she'd be working and unable to come. Jane teaches film and
television production, full-time, at the local community college. However, Jane
has no classes on Mondays. Still, I don't understand why she went, even if she
does believe in the value of putting herself in uncomfortable situations to "appease
her fears and develop her ability to grow." I volunteered to go with her;
nobody should have to grow on their own.

"I do trust him," I say, focusing on what she just
said to me. "It's myself that I don't trust."

Jane cocks her head and tightens her mouth into a firm
little line. "I can't think why. You're certainly the most honest person I've
ever met."

"You are mad, aren't you?"

"Sam, I just think there's a time and a place…"

"I was standing up for you!"

"And I appreciate it. But was it worth it, after the
commotion you caused?"

Jane is referring to a comment I made at the shower. You
see, her cousin Brittany did not plan this pregnancy. So people were talking
about how it must be God's will for her to have gotten pregnant, because God
believes that Brittany will be a fantastic mother. After several minutes of
this conversation, I couldn't take it anymore, and I broke my silence with,
what I still maintain, was a very simple question.

All I said was: "Come on! Do you all
really
believe in this 'God's will'
stuff?"

I was faced with a bouquet of blank stares. There was that
awkward silent time that went on for a few seconds too long. I kept hoping
someone would answer me with laughter in her voice, but it was not to be. So I
continued.

"All I mean is, Jane would make a fantastic mother. And
God hasn't
willed her
to have a baby.
If it is God's fault that Jane hasn't had a baby yet, then I think she has
reason to be pissed off."

Jane's aunt answered me. "We can't rationalize God's
will. It's not for us to question, but to accept. God works in mysterious ways,
and we have to trust him."

All the other women, sans Jane, started nodding their heads
in agreement. I know I should have let it go, but the look on Jane's face
reminded me of a toddler in the school yard: the littlest one, left out of the
bigger kids' games, the one who is trying to be brave but is utterly
transparent.

I shook my head. "No. I won't accept that there's some
cosmic reason why Jane can't have a baby and Brittany can, not while every year
tons of babies are born to unfit mothers who won't love them. The minute I
accept that…" My voice trailed off. If I accepted that, then what? I wasn't
sure, and being glared at by everyone in the room wasn't making my thinking any
clearer. And it also didn't help that I was looking right at Brittany when I
said that "unfit mother" thing, because people got really worked up.

Jane and I left the party fairly quickly after that.

Now, I look over at Jane, who is gripping the steering wheel
as she speeds down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic. Jane drives like
someone who suffers from ADHD and a bladder problem at the same time. It's her
one habit that doesn't fit with the rest of her calm and nurturing personality.

"It wasn't that much of a commotion…" I say.

"We were asked to leave."

"So? You didn't want to go anyway."

She takes a deep breath. I can tell she's trying not to
yell, but her words sound like they're being forcefully pushed out of her mouth
anyway. "Not the point!"

"I'm sorry! Okay? Really."

She breathes again, and her death grip on the steering wheel
loosens just a little. "Sam. It's all right. It's just, are you sure it
was me you were sticking up for?"

"Who else would I have been sticking up for, if not
you?"

"Yourself."

"Yeah, right."

"No. Really. I was thinking at the time, maybe what
they were saying was pushing your buttons."

"Well, it wasn't. That was about you." I brush my
hair out of my eyes and turn my face away to look out the side window.

"Okay. Whatever." She speeds up, and honks at the
guy to her right as he tries to cut her off. "Where did he learn to drive?
Geez." Suddenly, her whole body relaxes. "Oh whatever. You were
right. Brittany is going to suck ass as a mother."

We both laugh and the tension in the car evaporates.

"Let me take you out for a late lunch," I say. "There's
a Don Pablos over there. On such a gray and icky day we need margaritas and
greasy Mexican food."

Jane smiles in answer as she exits off the highway.

Later, after two full size margaritas and way too many chips
with salsa, I head home. It's 4:00 in the afternoon when I open the door to our
apartment, and the first thing I see is Nathan, lying on the couch and reading
a book. He's changed out of his formal school clothes into jeans and his
college sweatshirt, so he looks like a frat boy.

"You're home early," I say.

Nathan smiles—the type of smile that changes the
entire shape of his face—the type of smile I worried I would never elicit
from anyone again. He gets up, and crosses the room to kiss me.

"I missed you," he says as he leans down and
kisses me. "Besides, I had no meetings, no after school activities, and I'm
even up-to-date on my grading. Figured I'd take advantage of my good fortune
and rush home to see my wife."

I giggle, as I've done every time he refers to me like that.
Wife! Even during our wedding vows the word made me giggle. Good thing the
witnesses were people we only met that day at the Wisconsin Dells.

"So what do you want to do? We could go for a bike
ride, or a walk, or out to eat for an early supper. You name it—I'm yours
for the entire afternoon and evening."

I wrap my arms around him, a gesture made partly to express
affection, but mostly to reassure myself that my good fortune is real. He is
not just a figment of my imagination.

"I thought you were mine forever," I say.

He hugs me back and kisses the top of my head. "That
too," he responds. "That too."

I close my eyes and revel in his warmth. Surely God didn't
will Nathan and me to be together. Yet, in his arms, I feel that I've finally
discovered what my fate is. It's to love Nathan Linden.

3. Melody

This morning when I get to school I find whore written on a
piece of paper, taped to my locker. I pretend I don't care while I rip it off
the hospital-green metal door. I hear someone laughing behind me, but I refuse
to turn around. I won't let them think they're affecting me.

It's been a month and a half since Mr. Linden saved me from
Axel and Axel got expelled. But the school hasn't forgiven me for it. The very
next weekend we played in our division championship basketball game and lost.
Lost—because Axel wasn't there to win the game for us. And whose fault
was that? According to popular opinion, it's mine. Mine and Mr. Linden's.