I own the rights to none of the characters in this story, even the characters that I created. If Disney wants to film this story and show it every year at Christmas, they have my permission.
Final warning.
Rated R for language, violence and sexual situations.
Knight in Shining Armor
Chapter 6
They say that life is like a game of cards: The hand that is dealt you represents determinism; the way you play it is free will.
I called Miranda that night, after dinner, and explained my encounter at Kate's. "I'm at a loss, Miranda," I told her. "I can't understand why she wants to hang around them."
Miranda sighed dramatically. "Gordo, when it comes to Lizzie, you've never been able to see what's right in front of you."
"Hunh? What are you talking about?"
She paused, then said, "Never mind. Look, Daredevil, obviously, she doesn't want to hang around them."
"Then why doesn't she just walk away?" I protested. "Instead of pushing me out?"
"Well, that's the whole point, isn't it?" Miranda pounced on me. "Why is she insisting on doing stuff that's tearing her up, inside? That's what I've been trying to figure out by myself, since you took off for JPL."
"Miranda, I never..."
She gasped. "Oh, Gordo, I'm sorry. I don't mean it like that. I just...I went through the whole summer, by myself, trying to help Lizzie, trying to get her to tell me what the problem was, and I just.... I just thought that when you got back, she'd go back to being Lizzie. I was sure you could fix it."
"We will fix it, Miranda," I promised her. "We haven't given up yet."
She was right. The evidence had been in front of me, that Lizzie was, at best, a reluctant member of Kate's clique. The crying. The stress that she spoke of. The mortification that Lizzie seemed to feel when dealing with Kate and Miranda and I, all at the same time. And what of the "pod person Lizzie" behavior? The lies? Changing plans at the last minute? Preferring Kate's company to ours? Was "reluctant" truly the best word for Lizzie's newfound friendship with Kate? Or did "unwilling" seem to fit the bill better? And then something clicked in my mind, from the week before, something I'd been mentally turning over and over, like when you can't resist running your tongue over a cavity, even though you know it brings mind-popping pain, every time you do it.
"Miranda, why would Lizzie turn down Kate's invitation last Friday, in no uncertain terms, and then panic, when it looked like her parents wouldn't let her go to that same party?"
Miranda, who, truth be told, has always been the insightful one among us, paused for a moment, placing herself in Lizzie's mind. "Because she was afraid of what would happen, if she didn't go."
At that moment, there was a beep on the line, indicating another call coming through. I put Miranda on hold, and answered it. "Hello?"
"Gordo?" came that same breathless whisper that I'd heard three months earlier. "Do you hate me?"
"No, Lizzie, I--hey, I don't care anything about those guys."
There was a pause, then she said, "Gordo, the thing is...." and didn't finish.
"Listen, Miranda's on the other line. Do you mind if we three-way?"
Another pause, then, "Sure."
I pushed the switchhook, then said, "Miranda? Lizzie's on."
"Hey, doll," Miranda tried to sound perky.
"Hey," Lizzie returned, subdued. "Gordo, you shouldn't have come over to Kate's."
I got a little steamed that she would chastise me over that. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have lied to Miranda," I confronted her.
"Gordo!" Miranda scolded me. "You're outta line."
"I'm sorry," I responded. "I just--"
"No, Gordo," Lizzie interrupted me. "You're right. I'm sorry, Miranda. I.... You know what? We've been apologizing to each other way too much, lately. I...I know I've been...mistreating both of you. I'm going through some stuff right now. And I know you want to help me, but you can't."
"You say it like it's fate," I told her.
"It's not fate," she whispered. "I do the deed, I have to...accept the consequences."
"Lizzie, don't cry," Miranda pleaded. I hadn't realized Lizzie was crying, until Miranda brought it up.
"I'm trying," Lizzie continued, "but it's hard." I didn't know if she was talking about the crying, or something else.
"Lizzie," I said. "I'm not going to just sit around and watch somebody tear out your heart. Kate's just going to--"
"Gordo, you have to promise me that you'll stay away from Kate. I'm begging you."
"No, I promise to do whatever it takes to bring the real Lizzie McGuire back to us."
"But going to Kate won't do that," she cautioned me. "You'll just hurt me."
"Don't go there, Lizzie," I warned her. "Don't try to lay a guilt trip on me."
"Uh, guys?" Miranda chimed in, sensing the need for a peacemaker, but before she could continue, Lizzie barked out a laugh, which wasn't what I expected.
"You got a real super power for saying the right thing, don't you?" she sobbed. "When you get a clue, call me." And with that, she clicked off.
After a long moment, Miranda observed, "That went well."
"Kate has some kind of hold on her," I deduced.
"You think?"
"Miranda," I sighed. "Why don't we save a lot of time, and you just tell me what's going on?"
"I don't know. I think we can figure out the who, the what, the when and the where. But I don't think any of those matter. It's the how and the why that'll save Lizzie."
"Miranda?"
"Yeah?"
"What did you mean, when you said I've never been able to see what's in front of me, when it comes to Lizzie?"
"You're pretty smart," she told me. "You'll figure it out someday."
The next two days, Lizzie was...aloof. We talked, but we didn't connect. Two days of watching Lizzie spend lunch with Kate's horde hurt. But the thing is, I don't think she enjoyed it any more than Miranda or I. I never saw her say anything, and I watched pretty closely. It was like she was just a decoration, or a hood ornament. In fact, she looked miserable.
Miranda and I were at the Digital Bean after school Friday, and I told her my intentions to try to patch things up with Lizzie. She asked me if that meant I was giving up.
"I think it has something to do with respect," I tried to explain.
"I don't get it," she said, taking a sip from her latte.
"Lizzie has some kind of problem going on here. She says she needs to work it out by herself. Is it the job of a friend to insist on helping, even when we're asked to stand back?" I shook my head. "I don't think it is. I think it's our job to let her know that we're here for her, if she needs us, and then respect her wishes. I think the only things that friends have to offer for each other are love, support, and respect."
"I guess I'm selfish, then," Miranda confided. "Because I'm afraid if I stand back, I'll lose Lizzie."
"And I'm afraid if we don't, she's already lost."
I stopped by the house on the way to Lizzie's, expecting to only feed the fish, but when I saw the package leaning against the front door, I'm ashamed to say everything else slipped my mind. What had become my Holy Grail, the Sony nightshot, had arrived.
I ripped open the carton and glanced over the note attached from the eBay seller. There was a disclaimer that said sometimes the record button stuck, and you had to push the stop button a couple of times, and some of the onscreen indicators didn't work, but other than that, it worked like new when it went into the box.
There was still too much light out to make it anything other than a regular camera, but I entered the den, closed the curtains, powered up the Sony, and peered through the viewfinder.
It was amazing. It wasn't that it was lighter, or brighter, than the ambient light, but somehow, you could make out details that were impossible to discern, without the camera. I mean, without the camera, you could tell there was a Time magazine on the coffee table, but with it, you could read the copy on the cover. Everything had a green tint, and I imagine watching it over an extended time would give me a headache, but it was still...amazing.
I spent the next two hours trying it out on everything in the house. I had to replace the battery twice. My parents came home from work without my realizing it. When my mom called me down for dinner, I realized how much time had gotten away from me, and it was almost dark.
Almost Dark. A whole new world was ready for me. I was too excited to worry about eating. "Later, Mom," I called out to her, as I stepped out onto the porch, camera in hand. And as I walked across the porch, I was hit by an image. An image of Lizzie and me, sitting side by side on the top step, hugging each other. I could see the tears falling down her cheeks (although I couldn't have seen them that Sunday), as she heard me promise to be her rock. You'll never understand the guilt I felt then, realizing that I had forgotten about Lizzie's problem long enough to engage in my own pleasure.
I looked down at the camera in my hand. Maybe it could serve as a conversational opening, lead the way to my asking for forgiveness, and from there, offering my love, and support, and yes, respect, to my best friend.
I was pulling the car keys out of my pocket when I remembered. It was Friday night. Lizzie's family was in Colorado, and Lizzie was at home alone. It would hardly do to show up on her doorstep, in front of all the neighbors, when she had specifically asked me to lay low Friday night, for propriety's sake. But what I had to say, couldn't be said over the phone, and I wasn't waiting until the next day. If Lizzie didn't want the neighbors to talk, that problem could be solved. Lizzie's yard backed up to a wooded lot. I could enter from the block behind her house. And if a neighbor did happen to notice, well, we didn't have to go inside; we could talk on the deck.
I had to go out of my way to get there, walking around the block. It was a moonless night, and I almost missed the overgrown pathway that Lizzie and I had used countless times in third and fourth grade to get to and from the convenience store where we would buy comics and slurpies. She liked Betty and Veronica; I liked Iron Man. I hesitated to draw on the camera's battery, but it was the only way to make my way through the underbrush. The lot had grown over a lot more than I remembered.
I could make out muted music coming from Lizzie's before the house came into sight, and the glow from the backyard lights started to light my way, but I compulsively kept my eye to the viewfinder. Through the green and white lens, I noticed movement on the patio.
My heart plunged when I recognized the boy in the lawn chair: Ted McKeithen. Sitting in his lap was Lizzie. She had her back to him, but her face was tilted back over her shoulder, and they were kissing. He had his right hand on her hip, and his left rested on her knee, circling to the inside. Her hands lay serenely on her bare thighs. She was dressed in a Catholic school girl outfit with a shorter skirt than natural, something I never knew she owned. I recognized the song on the stereo: "Can I Touch You" by 112.
I didn't feel right recording this, so I stopped it, but I left the power on, I kept watching. The camera's zoom allowed me to see detail I couldn't otherwise. Miranda and I had already concluded she was an unwilling participant. So did I continue watching to make sure that it didn't get out of hand, or was I somehow...excited...by this previously private side of Lizzie? You'll have to reach your own conclusions. I can only tell you that I look back on this, this whole night, and I have no pride in *anything* I did, but I think you need to know. You need to know that I was never the hero that Lizzie liked to think of me as. I was just a...a scared-ass kid, I guess.
The hand that had been on Lizzie's hip snaked its way up to the buttons on her blouse, and began to unhook two, then three of the buttons in the middle. Then Ted slid his hand into that opening. Lizzie squirmed a little, and her hands gripped the hem of her skirt, but she never broke the kiss. I lowered the camera. I didn't need to see these details.
The sliding glass door leading into Lizzie's den opened, and Kate and another guy walked through, this one unfamiliar. But then again, I couldn't make out enough detail without the camera to know, and the camera had grown too heavy to lift. This new arrival reached out with one hand and tousled Lizzie's hair, saying, "Save some for me, Princess," and Kate chuckled.
Now the hand on Lizzie's knee began exploring, weaving its way higher up her thighs, then between them. When it reached the hem of her skirt, it stopped briefly, then continued. Lizzie moved her hands from atop her thighs to intercept him, struggling with her molester.
"Lizzieeee," Kate issued a warning, and Lizzie relented. Ted's hand disappeared under the skirt.
I was starting to get light-headed, and beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. This couldn't be happening. Not to Lizzie. It felt surreal, like a nightmare.
They stayed like that for several moments, with Ted groping her, until finally the song on the stereo came to an end. He ended the kiss, and Lizzie finally faced forward and hung her head, her hair falling over her face, hiding it. "Your kissing's gotten a lot better, Peachy," he told her.
Kate looked on. "Aren't you going to thank him, slut?" she prompted. If Lizzie replied, I couldn't hear it.
"Hey, man," the new guy spoke to Ted. "Why do you call her Peachy?"
I couldn't make out Ted's response, but both Kate and the guy laughed uproariously, while Lizzie buried her face in her hands and shuddered.
"Get up, Lizzie," Kate instructed her.
Lizzie brushed her face with her hands and lifted herself off of Ted's lap. Ted tossed his hands up in exasperation. "Aw, come on, Kate!"
"Oh, get a hooker," Kate chided him. "I want to see what Paul can cook up tonight." She looked back to Lizzie. "Ready to put on tonight's show, sweetie?"
Again, I couldn't make out Lizzie's reply, but it must have satisfied them, because the guy Kate had called Paul bent over and picked up Lizzie in a fireman's carry, tossing her over his shoulder. I don't think firemen were trained to carry people like that, though. He flipped up the back of her skirt, revealing her panties, and fondled her as he walked back through the sliding door, followed by Kate. Ted remained in the lawn chair briefly, sipping a beer, then rose and followed the others. A few moments later, I heard cheers, followed by the sound of the glass door closing.
I sunk down to my knees and threw up. After hacking and spitting the bad taste out of my mouth, I crawled several feet away, then finally climbed to my feet and ran home, tears burning my eyes.