A/N: Hmm....here 'tis is. So long as they don't know I was considering putting this on haitus all will be good...
Thanks to the reviewers:
RavenForever: You should have that infection looked at...not being able to cry is like...um...okay, so it's more like going to war without France, big deal, infections are bad!
PureEvilOne: one: I don't care.I took a wild guess, and hey...two: IF IT WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OVBVIOUS I WOULD HAVE STATED IT. three: I thought that was monkman...four: thank you. ROCK ON!
DAGL: MEOW!
iluvdanbyrd: Yes...so sad...you think I'd go into more about Mikey being in love with her, but I don't know if I will...
TNPD: Yeah, those sexual tension moments were...yup...fun to write. I laughed my arse off reading over them, but, as modesty would have it, I'm sure they could have been funnier...somehow...
Soul-of-Camida: I used to update sooner...but then school, work, and the fact I'm working on two stories at once, got in the way. My favorite chapter, I maintain, is chapter four (TJ and Spin's first date, yay!). Though coming in for a close second was chapter 6...er...chapter 7 in world. Oh, you spelled spectacular correctly. Your long reviews rock, make more.
SteffieWitter96: I've got a lot of surprises in store, the chapter after this one for instance...oops, never mind, scratch that...hehe...bad SD!
Chellyburger(YAY, new reviewer!): Thank you, ever so much (hey arnold! moment...I watch too many cartoons), for your wonderful praise. I can't even begin to tell you how flattering it is that you feel that way about my fic, and I'm glad you decided to read and review it, which makes me incredibly happy!
Sarah: Another name change? Mmm...not quite so drastic, I give my approval (AHAHAHAHA, don't ask...) It's alright, I posted the chapter probably ten days late...ahah...more like I posted the chapter of WSL ten days late...oi....
I used to write both this story and WSL at the same time. I would have both files opened, and switch from both of them depending on how I felt at the time...but, yeah, now I'm alternating by chapter, which makes for longer update periods. I felt I should explain that to all of you.
NOTE (WARNING, more like it...): The way I set up the story, TJ and Spin were in an inter-religious marriage, which some people frown on (most people, actually...I don't see why...) but, anyways, that's discussed in this chapter slightly. I don't know if anyone would find the discussion offensive, however, I feel it's better to be safe and warn you.
You can't hurt me with the things that you do...I'll pick up dandelions and give them to you...ENJOY!
Chapter 9: Like Dirt For Soil
I stared up at that foreboding house with a wary eye; afraid to advance, but knowing I couldn't turn back. I'd played in that house as a child, raced across that lawn, split my head open on that mailbox, stood on that doorstep with tentative motions, ringing that doorbell and waiting nervously for my date. Etched in every fiber of my being was memory after memory of that house and only one stood out vividly, so incredibly clear, in my mind at that moment. The night I'd stood there, in that house, in that living room, and told my wife's parents that I would cut them out of her life.
And now I was back to give them this little piece of grief so that, perhaps, I didn't have to suffer alone. She'd been pregnant. My wife, my love, Spinelli had been pregnant. Inside of her had been a piece of the both of us, a true testament of our love. A little boy or girl who would have called me "daddy", would have fallen asleep in my arms, would have smiled up at me, would have kissed my cheek at night, would have relied on me to keep the monsters at bay, would have...
I closed his eyes, took a deep breath and fought the lump choking his throat. It didn't help, those "would have's". I could stand there for years listing all the "would have's" and still be left with nothing save for that empty ache where my heart should be. I wanted to leave, to lie down and give up. To go into the sky so I could rest on the clouds and sleep forever. I moved, fidgeted slightly and the porch light, with its motion sensor, flickered on. It caught me, in its dimly lit hold. I felt like an intruder, and that light was pointing at me viciously, accusingly. You shouldn't be here. You don't belong here. Leave.
There was nothing else to do. I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets. I didn't know what to do with them anymore. Those damn hands. They let her slip out of them too often. They didn't hold her tight enough, didn't keep her safe. What use were they?
The door was large, massive to say the least. A deep chocolate brown with a golden brass knocker nailed on under the peephole. The doorknob was circular, golden brass as well. I eyed the doorbell, a glossy plastic white button. I would press it, and it would glow red beneath, and I would be able to hear the ringing inside. A prolonged ding, followed by a less enthusiastic dong.
I already had a past history of hating the telephone. But I hated it more, earlier the other night, when I'd had to pick it up and dial a number I thought I'd forgotten long ago. A gruff voice had filled my ear, with a gruffer "hello?" I'd been startled at how unfamiliar the voice sounded, yet, familiar at the same time. I hadn't heard it in a long while.
"Bob," I had greeted, a bit tersely. My father-in-law had not gained a warm place in my heart over the past several years, "It's...it's me, um...Theodore Dettweiler," I hadn't been certain Bob would recognize who I was. But Bob did, he'd recognized my voice immediately. The following conversation had ensued.
"What do you want?"
"I need to speak to you and your wife."
"Really."
"About...about...things...Ashley..." Silence. "Sir?"
"Lest you've forgotten, we don't get along when it comes to my daughter."
"It's important, sir." Silence, again. "I need to..."
"What do you need to talk about? What is so important that you need to bother both my wife and myself over? Why can't you just tell me?"
"Can I come over for dinner? I'd invite you over here...but...I don't cook...so..." More silence, the truly uncomfortable kind.
"Tomorrow, at six. I'll speak to Flo. Vitto will be home." It was meant to be a threat, but I had taken it as good news. Vitto and myself had gotten along over the course of his marriage to Spinelli, the same with Joey. It had seemed odd, that they were so supportive of the marriage, where their parents weren't. It probably helped that they had been so much closer to her, and yet, so distant. They'd been buddies, more than siblings. And because of that, I had hung around them often as well. Their overprotective brother sense didn't kick in quite so heavily towards me.
So I stood there, in front of that foreboding house, on that dark stoop, with the motion-sensor activated porch light glowering down on me, wishing I were anywhere else, and glancing at my watch. 5:58, plenty of time to throw up, right?
With a sigh of finality, I rang the doorbell, and then promptly shoved my hand back into my pocket. As though they'd been waiting, the door swung open in mere seconds. Bob stood in front, frowning down on me. Even as we were both roughly the same height, Bob had a way of making himself appear taller than he really was. Flo was directly behind Bob, her hand placed lightly on her husband's shoulder, peering out at me with a scouring stare. Vitto stood a ways behind them, hands behind his head, towering over his parents and the only one meeting me directly in the eye.
"You're late," Bob informed me roughly.
"Um...okay. Sorry," I shuffled forward, the Spinellis backing up and letting me in. I didn't feel like arguing with Bob, even as I knew I was early. I didn't want to fight. This wasn't going to turn into a fight if I could help it. Vitto extended his hand and with a reluctant movement, I took it.
"How's it going?" Vitto asked, "How are ya' holding up?"
"Haven't killed myself, yet," I shrugged. It wasn't an uplifting comment, but it expressed how I was feeling at that moment.
"Won't be going to hell then," Bob snarled with a snort. I frowned at the carpet. They were catholic. To Catholics suicide meant one-way ticket to hell.
"He's Jewish," Flo spoke up, her first words that evening. Us three men stared at her blankly, expecting more of an explanation at the seemingly random comment, which she somewhat obliged to give, "Jews don't go to hell." I lowered his eyes, biting my tongue until I drew blood. This was not going to be a pleasant nor easy evening to get through.
"Dinner's ready. It might be a little cold. It would have been hot if you weren't late," Bob growled, making his way to the kitchen, his wife following closely behind. Vitto patted my shoulder, offering a wry smile.
"They're just upset...because you remind them of her," he told me, attempting to ease the atmosphere. It didn't really help. "Ma's been crying all day, too...ever since dad brought it up...that you were coming for dinner, to talk about...well, you know," he stopped trying to make things better and simply frowned at the dining room entryway, "It's good to see you."
-0-0-0-0----------------April 1999-------------------0-0-0-0-
The students of Washington High shuffled towards the school that early Monday morning groggily. A few nodded their heads in the direction of the small group huddled around the school parking lot, receiving equally acknowledging nods. TJ leaned against the light pole, trying to pay attention as Gus regaled the gang with another tale of warfare, Griswold family style. Gus had another bout with his father, something about a barely passing grade in Gym class. Mikey and Vince seemed enthralled with the story, but Gretchen was sitting on the curb reviewing the rest of the gangs' homework. Every now and then she would give a disappointed click of her tongue and make a slight correction, writing a little comment on a sheet of paper for the homework owner to read later about what they'd done wrong and how not to do it next time. Of course, that paper was always thrown away, thought not out of unappreciative annoyance rather than not really caring. TJ frowned, staring down the walkway of the school. Spinelli had yet to show up. She couldn't be sick; he knew that. He'd spoken to her on the phone the night before, offered her a ride to school. She'd turned him down, said she had a surprise for the gang and that included TJ.
There was a commotion at the entrance of the parking lot and the gang looked in that direction. It was an old clunker. A smooth older car, from the 1950's, 1960's obviously from the curved humps of headlights and rear lights. It appeared to have rusted over; the paint was almost completely peeled off leaving behind a reddish silver hue. It was a convertible and the top was rolled back, the Chevrolet symbol emblazoned on the hood of the car. A few people were commenting on the vehicle, and TJ grinned, recognizing the driver immediately and stepping forward into the parking lot. The rest of the gang followed. The car pulled into a parking space, and the engine was killed. TJ crossed his arms in front of his chest, shaking his head, standing behind the vehicle and watching the driver hop out and turn with a wide grin.
"What do you think?" Spinelli exclaimed. TJ frowned slightly, raising an eyebrow as the rest of the gang came up behind him.
"What is it?"
"It's a car, Teej," Spinelli teased, shaking her head, and closing the space between them, "Jeez, I knew you weren't on the up and up with this stuff...but come on..."
"You know what I mean," TJ hissed, rolling his eyes.
"A corvette...1958, she's not much to look at now, but it's got the original V-8 engine, original frame, all original inner workings, all the numbers match...she's a babe, huh? Tell me this car does not turn you on," her smile broadened.
"I have to tell you, Spin, the car doesn't turn me on," TJ replied.
"Turns me on," Vince spoke up, whistling, "Nice piece of metal you've got here."
"Nice rust bucket," Gus muttered.
"Hey, hey," Spinelli seethed, "She's a rust bucket, but she's my rust bucket. She purrs like a kitten, and my brothers gave her the complete Spinelli rundown...gave her thumbs up. We're gonna completely restore her, I'm so excited! Ever since Joey's been back we've been looking for a project to occupy our time with, and, I mean, our wrestling around the house is driving mom up the wall." TJ frowned.
"And how much of our time is this project going to take up?" he asked quietly. Spinelli slipped her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
"We've got a few minutes before class starts, wanna go for a ride?"
"Oh, I do!" Vince cried.
"Sorry, Vince, she's a two-seater," Spinelli shrugged, taking TJ's hand and leading him to the car.
"That's not fair...that is favoritism, right there," Vince argued, "I thought we agreed, no boyfriend benefits."
"First of all, I never agreed to anything, and second, when you start dragging me into janitor's closets for make-out sessions, then you'll get benefits too," Spinelli grinned, and TJ shook his head at Vince with a glower.
"Don't take her up on that offer," he stated threateningly, before slipping into the car. The interior was a deep crimson red, nice, clean. "Where are we going?" TJ asked, looking to his girlfriend, who looked ecstatic. She'd gotten her driver's license almost a year ago, but this would be her first car.
"Just a quick spin," she answered, pulling out of the parking lot as TJ quickly buckled his seat belt.
"Why didn't you tell me you bought a car on the phone last night?"
"Because I wanted to surprise you," she said softly. She hadn't lied. The car drove smooth, and the engine sounded, well, as far as TJ could tell, like an engine.
"How come I didn't see it, in front of your house or something?"
"Because my brothers brought it back with them last night," Spinelli leaned back, cruising along down the street, frowning slightly, "And before you ask, it cost me a good amount, but Vitto and Joey and my parents pitched in, an early birthday gift." TJ sank into the seat. He'd almost forgotten her birthday was soon.
"Are you sure, that it's completely safe...? That we should be driving around like this? I mean, and why do you need a car? I have a car, and I'm more than willing to drive you anywhere you want to go."
"I'm psyched about this, Teej, why you acting so...so...weird about it?" Spinelli glanced at him evenly, trying to read his emotions. He shrugged, tapping the dashboard.
"I don't know. Something about my girlfriend having a race car bothers me," TJ said, staring out at the road, "It's you, Spin, and I know I shouldn't have to say anything...but...tell me you don't plan on racing this thing."
"I don't plan on racing her," Spinelli muttered, "Sheesh, Teej, you sound like my mom."
"Well, I care about you," TJ mumbled, fidgeting with the belt buckle, "And I've seen the way you drive in regular old non-racing cars. Besides, I wish you would have told me..."
"I love this car, TJ," Spinelli said flatly, "It's something for me and my brothers to work on together...I never get to work on things with them...or do anything with them since they been old enough to leave the house. Please, don't ruin this for me." TJ sighed, taking her hand in his own.
"I'm sorry," he told her, "I like the car, it's nice. And I'm happy you'll be spending more time with your brothers."
"You can come around and watch, you know," Spinelli suggested, "You can be our hot rod babe." She grinned.
"Yeah, I'll wear my bikini," he laughed. They chuckled together, before Spinelli fell silent, pulling back into the parking lot.
"There was something else I needed to talk to you about," she mumbled, parking the car once more. TJ frowned, watching the students moving towards the school in a forward shuffle of dismay. The first bell had rung. "My parents want dinner."
"Okay, don't they eat dinner every night?" TJ looked to her with confusion.
"They want you to come to dinner," she continued, forcing a smile, "To...um...get to know you as my...well...boyfriend."
"But they've already met me," TJ stammered, "They've known me my whole life, practically."
"I know, Teej, but...I don't know, they want to have you over for dinner," Spinelli tapped the steering wheel nervously, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
"I don't know, Spin..."
"I can make up some excuse...I'll tell them the food needs to be kosher, something like that, or made by someone who's kosher...what is kosher, anyways?" Spinelli shrugged and TJ shook his head at her, slipping his arm over her shoulders.
"A dinner won't be so bad," TJ conceded, "I'll go. When?"
"You don't have to, Teej. I can make up some lame excuse."
"I don't mind. Why? You ashamed of me?" he looked to her, only half-joking. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, smiling.
"I'll find out what time from my parents," she finally said, kissing his cheek and climbing out of the car. They walked hand in hand up to the school.
-0-0-
TJ joined Vince at their usual lunchroom table, frowning and following Vince's gaze. He was glowering, really, at what seemed nothing at all. TJ shifted slightly, opening his milk and clearing his throat in an attempt to gain Vince's attention.
"If I get in a fight, you have my back, right?" Vince finally spoke up, not looking to TJ.
"I suppose, depends. You know, why you would start the fight...how big the guy is...that sort of thing. Though, I feel I should inform you, I'm not the best of fighters."
"I know," Vince mumbled distractedly, "But if you're in a fight, Spinelli will jump in."
"Using me to get to my girlfriend?" TJ clucked, mock scolding, then, in a more serious note, "Why? Who would you want to start a fight with?"
"Lawson," Vince replied, steadily.
"Lawson, Lawson?"
"You know who Lawson is, so don't play like that," Vince snarled. TJ frowned, following Vince's gaze once more and noting the well-built young man sitting around with several other "jock" buddies chatting, laughing, and generally making a great deal of ruckus.
"Okay," TJ said with a deep inhale, "What did he do? Outshoot you at basketball practice today? Make a jerk of himself in the halls, again? Run into you unintentionally and forget to apologize?"
"Asked Gretchen out on a date," Vince mumbled. TJ frowned, turning a glower on in the same direction as Vince. Lawson didn't ask girls out because they had great personalities, and he didn't like to chat on dates. For once, TJ had to agree with Vince; Gretchen shouldn't be dating this guy.
"So how are we going to approach this? You hold him down, I punch?" Vince shook his head, looking to the entrance of the cafeteria where Mikey and Spinelli were making their ways over. TJ glanced over his shoulder after a moment's hesitation, a smile replacing the glare.
"She turned him down, anyways," Vince whispered to TJ.
"But Lawson doesn't give up. To him 'no' just means she hasn't said 'yes', yet," TJ muttered, turning to meet Vince's eyes, "He isn't harassing her, is he?"
"Not that I know of," Vince shrugged, pushing the food around on his tray with his plastic fork.
"Then we leave him alone and keep an eye on Gretch," TJ said decisively. Vince nodded as Mikey and Spinelli took seats, extending greetings. Spinelli wrapped her arms around TJ, brushing her lips against his. Mikey frowned, looking around at the two young men.
"What's the matter?" he asked, "You all look so somber."
"I just missed my girl is all," TJ answered, slipping his arm over Spinelli's shoulders and brushing her hair from her face, grinning down at her.
"And we all know when TJ isn't happy, nobody is," Vince murmured, shooting one last glower in Lawson's direction before turning his attention completely to the gang, "Where's Gus and Gretch?"
"Gretchen is working on her science project during lunch," Spinelli answered, sticking her tongue out, disgusted by the idea of giving up food for schoolwork.
"And Gus is assuming the role of Don Juan of the halls," Mikey put in, exchanging food from his brown bagged lunch with things on Vince's platter.
"Flirting with the prospective ladies?" TJ snickered, "How's he fairing?"
"He's up the creek without a paddle, if you understand my meaning," Mikey chuckled, "He's had his eye on a particularly attractive brunette since the beginning of the month, but has yet to even procure her name."
"What about you?" Vince questioned, scowling, "I wanted that fruit bowl. I can't eat pudding, it's baseball season."
"I've given up on women," Mikey sulked. Vince glanced at him, and scooted about a foot away, "I mean, I'm giving up on love," Mikey hissed, and Vince shrugged, resuming eating, "I've decided to focus my entire time on the theatre."
"He got the lead role in the next drama club production," Spinelli beamed, and Mikey blushed slightly, smiling at his lunch, "I told him if he just auditioned..."
"That's great, Mikey. What's the play?" TJ interrupted.
"Westside Story," Mikey mumbled, "You're helping me with my lines, right Spinelli?"
"Yeah, sure." They were startled when a chair scraped nearby and Gus took a seat at the table, frowning. His cheek was red.
"I don't understand girls," Gus muttered.
"Understatement of the year," Spinelli chuckled, receiving a hurt glance from Gus. She frowned, "What'd you do this time, kid?"
"What did I do? I just tried to start a conversation with the girl, and she slapped me," Gus cried incredulously, "Aren't there school rules against slapping people?"
"Well, how did you go about starting this conversation?" Mikey pressed.
"I said 'hello'," Gus shrugged, "And maybe I made a comment about her dress..."
"What kind of comment?" Vince asked, raising an eyebrow. Gus fidgeted with his backpack on the ground, frowning at the table.
"You know how I am when I'm nervous. Things come out wrong...I try and say what I mean, but I jumble things up, and they can sort of mean something else...and sometimes I mix words up..."
"What did you say, Gus?" Spinelli groaned.
"I meant to say eyes..." he mumbled, focusing on the food in front of him, "But I may have said thighs..."
"Yeah, I think you can cross her off your list of potential girlfriends," TJ chuckled. Spinelli frowned, turning her head slightly, eying two girls walking by, sending particularly sour glances her way.
"Who does she think she is?" the first girl was saying, "Hanging all over him like that."
"Yeah. He's probably only dating her because she puts out..." the other girl said. Spinelli turned back to the table, picking at her sandwich before pushing it away; willing her muscles to loosen, feeling sick.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, real quick," she excused herself quietly, pushing away from the table on to her feet.
"You okay?" TJ asked, the boys turning to look at her with concern evident on their faces.
"Yeah, sure," she smirked, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? I just have to use the restroom."
"Alright..." TJ frowned, watching as she made her way through the cafeteria.
"What's with her?" Vince asked, clearing his throat slightly. TJ glanced back to the table, shrugging.
"I don't know, she was fine this morning," he said, "You know, on cloud nine, loving her car, loving me..."
"It's Spinelli, guys," Gus spoke up, "She's probably just having one of her mood swings."
"That's great, Gus, and you wonder why you get slapped all the time," TJ commented. The others laughed as Gus simply looked to the table, shrugging and grinning sheepishly.
-0-0-
Spinelli frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She ran cold water in the faucet; let it fall over her hands, waking her up. She thought to splash some on her face, decided against it. She tried to convince herself she didn't care what they thought, tried to figure out how they saw a slut under all that unattractive, unappealing sexually grunge look she'd taken on, tried to remind herself that she was already facing possible expulsion and getting in another fight would lead to just that, as well as groundment until she was eighteen courtesy of her parents. She leaned against the wall, watched a few girls shuffle in. They smelled strongly of perfume, powder, and hairspray. Spinelli stuck her tongue out at the mirror. They gave her dirty looks, before chatting as though she weren't there.
"Why does it seem like cute guys travel in packs?" one of the girls, Maritza, Spinelli thought her name was, said.
"Makes them harder to approach," another girl, Valeria, commented. Spinelli rolled her eyes, slipping into one of the bathroom stalls. Hiding, kind of, though it didn't matter, either way she was invisible to them.
"You mean like all the football players?" Nina, that was the girl's name, that spoke up.
"Sort of," Maritza retorted, then after a moment's pause, "What do you guys think of TJ Dettweiler?" Spinelli felt her heart nearly skip a beat. She chewed her lower lip, leaning against the door of the stall, tracing her fingers over one of the names carved into the paint. It had a heart around it. They had fallen silent and for a moment Spinelli thought they'd left.
"Do you really think we should talk about him here?" one of the girl's said; Spinelli didn't recognize the voice.
"Who's TJ Dettweiler anyways?" Nina asked, and Spinelli could almost picture the short girl bouncing on the balls of her feet as she asked the question.
"Remember the guy who sent the principle's boxers up the flagpole?" Maritza was saying, and Nina must have nodded or done something to demonstrate that she did, indeed, remember, "That's TJ Dettweiler."
"Oh, he's cute," Nina giggled, "But isn't he dating someone named Lynne, or Nelly, something like that?"
"Spinelli," Valeria corrected, almost pointedly at the stall Spinelli was standing in, then in a whisper that she must have assumed the girl in the stall wouldn't be able to hear, "But everyone knows their relationship is a joke."
"On her, no doubt. I mean, what could he possibly see in her? Nothing, right? She's a bitch," Maritza spat, obviously forgetting that Spinelli, the 'her', was right there in the bathroom stall, probably thinking she couldn't hear the quiet whisper echoing off the tile walls, "They're old friends, probably started dating when they were younger, back when she hadn't the chance to grow into the...she's not that pretty."
"I don't know," Nina mumbled, "I think she's kind of pretty."
"But you're not a guy," Maritza argued, "No guy thinks she's pretty. She hangs around TJ like...like a lost puppy dog, that and his friends, Vince LaSalle, who everyone knows is the local athlete hottie. And what about Mikey, she trails around him like some groupie." Spinelli frowned. Did it really appear that way to everyone else, that she was pestering the more popular and attractive people in an attempt to be more popular and attractive herself?
"Isn't he gay...?" Valeria interjected.
"No," Maritza snapped, "He asked me out once...wrote me a poem."
"Biggest mistake of his life," Spinelli muttered under her breath. She was beginning to recall where she knew Maritza from, and that she hated the prissy, stuck-up, witch.
"What I'm trying to say is that she's pathetic," Maritza continued, and Spinelli, in a flare up of her dangerous temper, slammed the stall door open. The girls jumped, turning to watch her as she made her way out, pounding the faucet on and squirting some soap in her hands. They tried to resume some sort of dignified action of fixing their make-up or hair.
"No doubt you're wondering," Spinelli spoke up, and Maritza narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, pausing from reapplying her lipstick, "And I figure, it wouldn't be fair that you lie awake every night for the rest of your high school careers wondering, so I guess I'll tell you," the water stopped, and Spinelli grabbed a few paper towels, turning a threatening smile towards Maritza, "He's a great kisser." She threw the towels in the trashcan, heading towards the door, "And, he thinks I'm beautiful, whether you believe it or not," she swung the door open, strutting out, and making her way back to the boys. She picked her backpack up off the ground, and they looked to her with startled confusion.
"Where are you going?" Vince demanded, a little terser than he'd probably intended, he didn't like being surprised, and he probably didn't like the looks of the mood Spinelli was undoubtedly in.
"I forgot I'd told Gretchen I'd meet her in the library so she wouldn't have to work on that stupid project alone," Spinelli lied. TJ grabbed for his backpack, on his feet.
"I'll come with you," he said.
"No, that's alright," she forced a smile, seeing the group of girls making their way out of the bathroom and pausing to glower at her from the corners of their eyes, "Kick it with the guys, Teej, I'll see ya' later." He nodded, moving in for a kiss, she pulled back, motioning over his shoulder. He followed her gaze to the hall monitor, a pudgy little man that went by Roy, standing, glaring at them, "Big brother's watching." TJ frowned, waiting as the hall monitor lost interest, before turning a grin on Spinelli. "What?" He brushed his lips against hers, until she finally pushed him away, "You're gonna get me in trouble!" she whispered harshly.
"Oh what's the worst they could do? Put you in detention with me after school? I could use the company, and I could definitely use more time with you," TJ said with his usual cheekiness.
"I really don't think my parents will be too happy if you got me in trouble for hallway PDA's! I'm out of here," Spinelli muttered, shaking her head as she turned to leave. TJ touched her elbow, pulling her back to him in another quick kiss. He shrugged.
"Just in case I don't see you later," he explained.
"Why did I fall in love with such a troublemaker?" she sighed, shaking her head and making her way out of the cafeteria.
"Bye Spinelli!" Gus cried goofily.
"See ya, Spin," Vince called, giving a slight wave.
"Spinelli, you'll call me after school, right? You're going to..." Mikey shouted.
"Yes, Mikey," Spinelli called over her shoulder, leaving the cafeteria. TJ sank back to his seat with a heavy sigh.
"What's with you?" Vince asked.
"I miss my girlfriend," TJ groaned, then shielded himself as the others threw food particles his direction, laughing.
-0-0-
TJ was surprised to say the least when he found Gus standing, waiting at his locker between fifth and sixth period. They had classes on opposite ends of the school, which usually meant they didn't have any run-ins at this time of day. Immediately, TJ picked up that something was wrong. Gus stood there frowning, leaning against the locker, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed and focused on the tile. TJ stopped in front of him.
"What's up, Gus?"
"What took you so long? I've been waiting here for a long time," Gus said, lifting his eyes to meet TJ's, "It's Gretchen." TJ frowned, and wordlessly followed Gus in a march through the halls. They headed to the library, slipping in and nodding to the librarian before making their ways through the stacks of books and shelves to the back. Gretchen was sitting at one of the tables, sobbing silently, Spinelli attempting to comfort her. Vince stood back, glowering at the entrance with death in his eyes, leaning against a shelf, his arms crossed. Mikey was sitting across from Gretchen, patting her arm, but not saying much.
"What's going on?" TJ demanded, coming to Gretchen's side, "What happened?" Spinelli shrugged.
"I found her at lunch like this...her project was...she'd been working for weeks on it, and...she won't say who, but I think she knows," she explained, "I don't think that's all they did." TJ frowned, looking to Vince. They met eyes for a moment, a silent agreement passing between them. Gretchen wasn't the only one that knew who was behind this.
"Stay with her," TJ told Spinelli, heading for the exit, Vince behind him.
"What?" she stammered, moving to follow him. Gretchen grabbed her shirt, looking to her with pleading eyes, and she stopped. "Teej, what's going on?"
"Nothing," TJ snapped, he paused, taking a deep breath before turning to meet her eyes, "I don't want you anywhere near this. It'll be fine, we'll take care of things."
"Take care of what?" Spinelli pressed, "What are you talking about?"
"I'll tell you later," TJ insisted, turning back towards the door. Mikey looked to Gus and they were on their feet following them as well.
"Where are you guys going?" Gus cried as the library door slammed shut behind them. The halls were empty save for a few stray students, and possibly a hall monitor somewhere. TJ and Vince paused, turning to them.
"Lawson did this, there's not a doubt in my mind," TJ explained, "Lawson or some of his jerk football buddies; either way, Lawson's behind it, and he's not gonna let up."
"So, what do you plan to do?" Gus asked, but Mikey was shaking his head, already having guessed.
"Teach the bastard a lesson," Vince growled.
"We're just gonna warn him," TJ said in an insistent hiss, "I don't want this to come to violence if we can help it," he turned a dangerous eye on Mikey and Gus, "And you guys don't tell Spinelli about this."
"Why? She'll want to know..." Gus argued.
"Because if she knows, she'll go down there and beat the crap out of him, and I don't want her getting expelled over Lawson's stupidity and her hotheadedness," TJ snapped, "Let's go, Vince."
"We're coming too," Mikey spoke up solemnly.
"Yeah," Gus joined in.
"No," Vince protested, "You guys stay with Gretchen."
"She's our friend, too," Gus argued, "I want to punch Lawson's lights out as much as you."
"Nobody is punching anyone's lights out," TJ cried, "You don't have to come."
"We've got your back, TJ," Gus assured him, "I'm coming."
"You don't have to go, Mikey," TJ said, "As much as I hate to admit it, chances are things will get violent. You can stay with Gretchen and Spinelli and still be doing just as much."
"I'm going, as well, TJ, if only to try and ensure, to some extent, that things don't turn violent," Mikey stated. TJ nodded, looking to his friends with silent nods of their own, they turned down the hall.
Lawson was a senior, which meant he didn't have sixth period. Most seniors left after their last classes of the day, but Lawson and his friends liked to stick around out under the football bleachers. They would drink, usually, and joke around, harassing younger students on their ways to class. Generally, they would just be the obnoxious jerks they'd always been.
Vince took the lead, knowing exactly where to find Lawson and his cronies. TJ was beside Vince, Gus and Mikey trailing behind. They spotted Lawson easily, laughing with his friends, chatting uproariously. Lawson and his friends stopped, when they noticed the gang quickly advancing on them.
"Well, well, if it isn't Loser LaSalle and his good buddy, Dirtweiler," Lawson chuckled, "What do you two want?"
"You to leave Gretchen alone," TJ spat. Lawson pursed his lips, looking to his buddies with a sly grin, then back to TJ, trying to put on an air of innocence.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" he questioned.
"You know what we mean, Lawson," Vince sneered, "Stay away from Gretchen, or...or..."
"What's the matter, Vince?" Lawson taunted, "Upset that I might steal your girl? Oops, I'm sorry; she's not your girl, is she? Though, could have fooled me, the way you're acting. Hate to break it to you, loser, but the overprotective boyfriend routine only works when you're the boyfriend."
"I would like to believe that you have a good heart, Lawson," Mikey spoke up, "And that deep down inside you understand that what you have done and the way you've chosen to act has hurt a very kind and sweet young woman, and that you feel guilty or..."
"Shut up, fag," Lawson spat.
"Pardon me?" Mikey stammered, taken aback by the choice of word.
"You're a real jerk, Lawson," TJ said, "But it's low, even for you, to do this to Gretch. Just leave her alone, Lawson, and we won't have any problems." Lawson scoffed, shaking his head to his friends. "Let's go, guys." TJ turned, patting Vince's shoulder, and motioning for the others to follow.
"Yeah, alright, I'll leave her alone," Lawson called after them, a bit too smugly for the gang's comfort, "Didn't really want to date her, anyways. Just, you know, adding names to my bedpost. I guess you win, this time, Dirtweiler. Hmm...let's see now, who's next on my list of girls...huh? Looks like it would be...Spinelli." TJ stopped dead in his tracks.
"He's just trying to get you to fight him, TJ," Mikey mumbled, "Don't let him get to you."
"I suppose she is somewhat better looking then Grundler," Lawson went on, his friends snickering behind him, "She does have a better body, bigger boobs..."
"Don't talk about my girlfriend, Lawson," TJ whispered under his breath, his hands clenching into tight fists.
"Nice body, but what about the face?" one of Lawson's friends chuckled.
"Good question," Lawson mused, as best his simple brain allowed, "I could always put a bag over her head...you really don't need to see the face when you're..."
"I said," TJ turned, glowering, "Don't talk about my girlfriend."
-0-0-
Spinelli sat on the tabletop, her feet planted on the plastic chair in front of her. She was examining one of the scuffmarks on her boots, frowning at it. Gretchen sat with her head resting on the desk, she wasn't crying anymore, but Spinelli wasn't certain what to say or do. She sighed, laying back on the table, and rolling her head to look at Gretchen.
"Think of it this way," she forced a smile, "This is an opportunity to do two whole projects at once. You always say doing the work is half the fun." Gretchen offered a crooked smirk.
"It's not the project, Spinelli," Gretchen mumbled, "I just...I knew what he was doing when he asked me on that date. Is it my fault that I'm not stupid enough to believe that a guy like him would want to go out with a girl like me? So I turned him down, rejected him humiliatingly in front of his friends. He was the stupid one, right? Stupid enough to have the confidence to ask me out in front of all his jock jerk friends in the first place. Did he really expect me to say yes? Then he has the nerve to act like I had no right to say 'no', like I was in the wrong," the tears were starting to fall again, and Spinelli sat up, her brow furrowed in concern, "It wasn't enough that they had to trash my project, but they had to...they pushed me around, teased me, called me names...I thought we were above such immaturities..."
"Who, Gretch? Who did this?" Spinelli demanded. Gretchen ran her fingers along her cheeks, tracing the tears errantly.
"Lawson..."
"Lawson?" Spinelli was on her feet in a moment, eyes boring into Gretchen, "He asked you on a date? Did you tell anyone? Does anyone know?"
"Vince." Spinelli shook her head, groaning.
"Vince knows, then TJ on," Spinelli moaned, making her way to the exit, Gretchen staring after her, unmoving and uncomprehending.
"What?"
"Let's go, Gretch," Spinelli commanded, turning slightly, and pausing, "You can't speak up for yourself and not expect a fight."
"But...I'm not strong like you, Spinelli...I don't know how to fight," Gretchen protested.
"Don't sell yourself short, Gretch, Lawson ain't hitting a girl anytime soon, and there's more than one way to fight someone," Spinelli snapped, "Now get your ass over here, we're going. Our boys have their hearts in the right place, their just gonna get themselves in a shit load of trouble."
"You don't think they went to Lawson to..."
"Lawson made you cry, Gretch," Spinelli sighed, "Those boys'll kill him if we don't get out there, and I'm sorry to say my Teej is leading the pack."
-0-0-
They stood facing one another, fists clenched, waiting for the other to move. Their friends watched, helpless; knowing that one sound could start the inevitable. TJ was scrawny for his age, average height, kind of skinny, and lacking anything that could possibly be mistaken for muscle. But he had learned to fight from Spinelli, which gave him a fearsome advantage. Lawson was tall, well toned. He spent hours in the gym, pumping weights, and probably popping steroid pills. But such accusations were unfounded. He had acne scars across his face, giving him more of a menacing scowl, topped with his malicious facsimile of a smile; he had an almost impish disposition. Now, TJ had fought Lawson before, and it really hadn't been pretty. From the looks of both boys it would have been hard to tell who the winner was if it weren't for the fact TJ's insignia Señor Fusion decoder ring was still in Lawson's possession. But that was a long time ago, and the boys had only recently had time to hit their growth spurts.
"TJ, let's go," Mikey pleaded, "He isn't worth it."
"Shut up, doughboy," Lawson snapped, "This is between me and him."
"Doughboy?" Mikey cried, flabbergasted, "Where does he come up with these insults? They're hurtful. Since when did his vocabulary expand?"
"Who let his vocabulary expand is a better question?" Gus muttered.
"Harassing Gretch was bad enough," TJ sneered, "But saying things about Spin...that's going too far..."
"You gonna talk me to death, Dirtweiler?" Lawson retorted.
It wasn't really about who started it, or who swung first, which is infinitely the better question. All that really matters is that the fight began with TJ and Lawson exchanging swings, ripping and kicking, in a messy heap on the ground; the others watched, some considering breaking it up, others giving cries of encouragement. Fights are never graceful when amateurs are involved, and this was certainly an amateurish event. There were grunts of pain, and fists slamming against exposed vulnerable spots. TJ felt a strike against his face, while he sunk his fist into what he hoped was Lawson's stomach. It was a blind fight, punctuated by rage, so neither boy was quite certain of the actions they were taking, or more importantly, the hits they were taking. They couldn't see anything around them, and all their instincts said, push forward, swing, thrust, kick, shove, beat. So, of course, they didn't see the girls running over, a short black-haired woman in the lead. She grabbed at the first available cloth, shoving the wearer to the ground.
"Stop it, now," she screamed, shoving the second fighter in the opposite direction. TJ paused, the voice one he'd recognize anywhere, and Lawson took that as an opportunity to get an even hit in, swinging all his strength behind one punch, connecting with the side of TJ's face. "Teej!"
And then, they were all silent, save for the gasping breath from the two fighters, and the shuffling of the ashamed onlookers. The two boys pulled themselves up, eyeing the ground, bashful now that there were two young women glowering down at them. Spinelli was at TJ's side, tracing her fingers along his cheek worriedly. She pushed down on the now colorful spot and he grimaced.
"Ow, that hurts," he cried out.
"Good, then you won't do this again," Spinelli spat, then turning to Lawson, "And you..." But before she could finish whatever thought was on her tongue, Gretchen stepped forward, slapping the older boy across the cheek.
"Irwin Lawson, how dare you..." she seethed, "It was some fancy joke, wasn't it, asking me out on a date? But then...then, you have the nerve to bother me because I ruined your childish prank! Now, you're dragging my friends into a mess...and...I would have thought better of you, though I don't know why. You are a senior this year, Lawson, grow up!" she turned sharply on her heel, "I would thank you to leave me alone from now on, and also, I demand that since you have destroyed a project I spent a great deal of time on, you go and explain to my teacher what you have caused and I pray, for your sake, that I receive a deadline extension."
"But..." Lawson began.
"Or perhaps I should have a chat with your parents. Or maybe, just maybe, next time you need assistance on your homework assignments, I will take from this experience and simply follow suit by turning you down, yet again," Gretchen snapped, "Perhaps, I shall make a habit of saying 'no' whenever you approach me." He faltered.
"Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled.
"Let's go," Gretchen commanded of the gang, storming back to the school. Mikey and Gus were quick to skip into motion, and Vince smirked at Lawson.
"Get that through your thick head? Don't mess with Gretch," he chuckled, before making his way after the others.
"That's all you're gonna do to him?" Spinelli demanded, shaking her head, and advancing on Lawson. Before anyone could make a move to hinder the attack, her fist connected in a powerful cross-punch that sent Lawson reeling, backwards, his hand coming quickly to his nose, flowing blood, "That's for my boyfriend, you son of a..."
"Spinelli," TJ cried, wrapping his arms around her and attempting to pull her back.
"Hey, you little..." one of Lawson's friends stepped forward menacingly and Spinelli turned a glare on him, growling loudly. He stepped back, his hands raised in front of him defensively, whimpering, "Never mind..." Spinelli finally relinquished her anger, letting TJ lead her away.
"He's a jerk," she muttered, "I hope he learned a lesson from this..."
"It's Lawson, babe, he probably did, but he'll forget it eventually," TJ told her.
"Well, I hope you learned a lesson from this..." TJ gingerly ran his fingers along his bruised cheek.
"Yeah, don't come to you to kiss my ow-ies better," he mumbled. Spinelli stopped as the school doors slammed behind them, her hands resting neatly on her hips.
"What were you thinking anyways, getting in a fight with Lawson like that?"
"Hey, I was defending your honor..." TJ started, but fell short, noting the glower across Spinelli's face.
"When my honor's in trouble, I can defend it perfectly fine myself," she said, "Now how'm I supposed to have you over for dinner with you looking like that? It's bad enough I get in fights all the time, now what'll my parents think when they find out my boyfriend was in a fight recently?"
"Thank God he was there, so that it wasn't our daughter?"
-0-0-
TJ stood at the edge of the Spinellis' lawn, staring up at the house. He coughed slightly, moving his hand to loosen the tie his mother insisted he had to wear. It was a light spring night, a Friday that TJ would rather be spending out with his girlfriend, rather than in with her family. He liked her parents well enough. They were odd, more so than most parents, but friendly and always kind to him. They embarrassed their daughter to no end. He hadn't noticed her until she moved to her feet. Spinelli had been waiting on the porch, sitting quietly in the dark. The porch light flickered on. Her hair was down, a rare look, and brushed out, a rarer look. She was wearing a skirt, that fell down slightly past her feet, it was either too large for her, or meant to be worn with shoes, which she wasn't wearing. She was barefoot, another rare treat. She had on her leather jacket, smiling somewhat at him, half-heartedly, her arms wrapped about herself.
"I'm not late, am I?" he asked, climbing up the porch steps to her.
"Nope," she replied silently, as he kissed her gently. Her lips were cold to the touch, and she was shivering. She'd been sitting out there a while.
"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling her towards him in an awkward attempt to transfer his warmth.
"Can't stand my parents," she explained, "They're gonna ruin this, I just know it. This time tomorrow, our relationship is over..."
"Don't say that," TJ cried, aghast at the thought, "It'll be fine." She brought her fingers to trail along the bruised cheek, tracing over the scar just below his lip, courtesy of a rock on the ground that Lawson kindly shoved him into, and pausing tenderly along the scrape beneath his chin.
"I guess it's not so bad...it kind of looks like you fell or you're extremely klutzy" she mumbled, "My parents had me set the table, which means this evenings gonna be big and awkward. We usually eat in the living room in front of the TV."
"That's no big deal, I know how to eat at a dining room table," TJ joked, "That's what we eat at in my house. I know how to chat with family members, too, we have these family talks at dinner time, that, while they are a huge pain, they kind of prepare you for these kinds of evenings." Spinelli frowned, obviously not amused.
"I've never had a boyfriend over for dinner," she went on, "My other boyfriends always took me up on the offer of my making lame excuses as to why they couldn't come. Which is fine, you're the only one I ever really wanted to come."
"Thanks...I think," TJ took her hand, leading them up to the door; he paused, held her back, "I love you, Spinelli. It's not the first time I've ever said it, and it's not going to be the last. Whatever happens in there, whatever they say, I love you."
"I love you too, Teej," Spinelli replied, kissing him carefully, "Thanks for not chickening out."
"The night's not over, yet," TJ reminded her, as they entered the Spinelli household.
-0-0-0-0----------------Present Time--------------------0-0-0-0-
We sat around the Spinelli dinner table, them chewing their meal thoughtfully in silence. I pushed my own serving about on the plate in front of me. I had yet to eat any.
"My wife's food not good enough for you?" Bob spoke up, eyeing my dangerously.
"It's fine, I'm just not really hungry," I mumbled my response. Flo was a great cook, I recalled, though Spinelli had never picked up on it.
"He probably just had a big lunch," Vitto suggested silently, and I was glad to have him in my corner, "Right?"
"Yeah," I confirmed in a low whisper. It was a lie, of course. I couldn't really remember if I'd even had anything for lunch. I was fairly certain I hadn't eaten anything at all that day. I really hadn't had much of an appetite for a long while. Not to mention, the past few days were something of a haze. I spent most of the time sleeping. Day and night were kind of blurred, and I wasn't even sure what day it was, let alone what month. My call to Bob had been a spur of the moment thing. I wasn't quite sure why I'd called, at least, not then.
"Why are we wasting time here, if you're not gonna eat anything?" Bob snarled. He wanted to get this over with and I sympathized with his feelings. I didn't want to be there, either, dredging up memories that they obviously felt were better left forgotten. They had stopped eating, Flo putting her fork down and occupying herself with folding her napkin.
"I wanted to...to maybe...I had something to..." I struggled with the words, not sure what to say. They were glowering at me, Bob and Flo. Did I have to say it? They knew I was here to talk about her; did I really have to say it?
"My daughter is gone," Flo finally interrupted, her voice a rigid quaver, "I have come to terms with this. Why...why did you come here to bring this all up again? To hurt us all over again? What is there for us to possibly talk about? There was so much I missed, so much time I lost with my daughter because of you..."
"You can't blame me for that," I interjected, trying as hard as I could to bottle my anger threatening to boil over, "You pushed her away, it was your own choice, I had nothing..."
"You two never should have been married," Flo snapped and I bit into my tongue, forcing my frustrations elsewhere, "You weren't right for each other, you didn't belong together..."
"Ma," Vitto began, but found nothing worth saying. I understood his silence. They were still his parents, he still loved them, and the last thing he wanted to do was get in a fight with them over something he wasn't a part of, no matter how much he disagreed with them about it.
"We were in love," I stated simply, the best argument I could come up with, "We wanted to be married. We wanted to be together. How can you possibly argue that we weren't right for each other? I only ever felt right with her. How can you possibly say we didn't belong together? How can I not belong with the person I love, the person that loves me?"
"I can give you a few reasons," Bob growled, pulling himself onto his feet. I didn't flinch, refused to move, met his eyes with my own. I'd been afraid of Bob most of my life, but I'd never been afraid of standing up for myself. He'd struck me once, and I knew if I gave him the chance, if I just pushed him far enough, he'd do it again. And somehow, I knew it would be satisfying, because it would mean I was right. Bob was always angriest, most violent, when he was being proven wrong.
"I know all the reasons," I retorted, "I wasn't someone you could introduce to your relatives. I wasn't someone you could proudly accept into your family. I wasn't Italian, so I wasn't good enough. I would taint the family line...the pure blood of your ancestors..."
"That had nothing to do with it," Flo all but scoffed, sounding only slightly convinced herself, "She was too young to know what love was. You...you led her against us...you..."
"What?" I demanded, "What did I do? Get her in trouble? Because she did a fine job getting herself in trouble without me, I spent most of my time trying to get her out of trouble. Did I make her rebel? Because she was rebelling way before I came along. Did I..."
"She stopped going to church," Bob roared and I fell silent, meeting his dead glare, fiery stare by fiery stare, "You can't tell me that wasn't your doing." I narrowed my eyes at him, the frustration was too much, the anger, the realization that hit me harder than any fist could that night.
"This isn't just because I'm not Italian, is it? This is because I'm Jewish," I stated firmly. I wanted to think better of them, these people I had known and respected almost my entire life. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but as Bob turned away and Flo lowered her eyes shame-faced, I knew I couldn't. "I didn't make her stop going to church. Religion wasn't a part of our relationship. I don't know why she stopped going, I never asked. Like she never asked why I stopped going to the synagogue. It didn't matter, not to us, so why it should matter to you is beyond me." I lifted myself from the table, shaking my head in disgust, "I shouldn't have come here."
"No, you wanted to talk about my daughter, let's talk about her," Bob sneered, "You claim to have loved her, yet you forced her to give up her life for you."
"I didn't force her to do anything," I replied evenly, "You say you loved her, yet you didn't love her enough to let her be happy, to let her pursue what she wanted."
"Don't you ever accuse me of not loving my daughter," Bob hollered, "If you loved her so much, why don't you tell me why she was in San Diego in the first place." I fell back, looking to the table.
"I..."
"Was she running away from you?" Bob demanded, triumphant almost that he'd found his hitch, something to hold over me.
"No," I snapped.
"Dad," Vitto stepped in, "Will you cut this out?" It wasn't very effective.
"You were too young when you got married, that is without a doubt," Bob went on, "Maybe she started to realize you two were from different worlds. What was in San Diego that she had to go to? Huh? Why'd she go there?"
"I don't know," I flustered, "It's not important..."
"Maybe it is important," Bob pressed, "Maybe she was trying to get away from you. Was your relationship on the rocks? Was that it?"
"No," I protested, but I hardly sounded persuasive.
"We couldn't possibly know, though, because you dragged her away from us...you took her..." Bob went on. I slammed the table, and everyone fell silent.
"She was coming home, she was pregnant, and she was coming home," I yelled, looking away from them. Why had I come here? Why?
"We know," Flo murmured from where she sat. I looked to her, my brow drawn together.
"What?"
"She called us, that day," Flo explained, "She left a message, on our machine. I'm her mother. You didn't want her talking with me, but that didn't mean she didn't talk to me."
"She did a lot of things you aren't aware of," Bob muttered, looking up at me, almost gleefully awaiting my reaction to that statement. I didn't really have one. For three years, they all knew, everyone except me. I was the last one to know. Wasn't I supposed to be the first to know? I stared dully at the table. They knew already. That was why I was here, wasn't it? To tell them about her pregnancy? This pain I was feeling, wasn't it supposed to be their pain too. Wasn't I here to share in something with them, so that maybe we could reconnect, and remember Spinelli the way she was supposed to be remembered, together? "Are you done? Are you done reminding us of the things we lost? Done making our life hell, again, done making us relive that day? You've got a lot of nerve..."
"You didn't tell me," I finally breathed, "You could have told me."
"Hun...we figured you knew," Flo snorted, "But I guess it shouldn't surprise us. She did keep a lot of secrets from you."
"Now if you don't mind," Bob hissed, "My daughter's memory has been bothered enough by you..."
"You don't get it," I whispered, looking up to him, "I don't understand how you don't get it..."
"All I get is that you're here, hurting us again. Haven't you taken our daughter away from us enough?" Bob demanded, "She was our daughter, you have no right to be here talking to us about..."
"I have every right," I said, "You treat me as though I haven't felt this...as though it doesn't hurt me coming here and trying to tell you...like it shouldn't matter to me as much as it does you, because you lost you're daughter. You forget, we both lost something that day, maybe not the same thing..."
"What?" Bob cried, "I lost my child, I buried my child, pray tell me what is worse than having to bury your child?"
"I buried my wife and my unborn child," I answered steadily, "I lost them both that day. At first it was only her, at first I lost only her, and I couldn't even breathe without it hurting. But now, now I've lost this child as well, that I will never know...I've lost more than my love, I've lost my future...I have no life, now. You lost you're daughter, and I am very sorry for that, but you don't respect the fact that I lost everything."
"And you'll remember that," Bob replied snidely, "Until a beautiful woman comes by, and makes you forget. You'll find love again, maybe have children with that woman, maybe marry her...maybe she'll be Jewish and you're parents'll be proud and all will be right in your world. That's right, you lost a wife, but you can always remarry, always regain everything you lost. We lost a child, and that can never be replaced." I looked down to the table and they sat in silence for a long time. With slow, but unhesitant movements, I left the dining room. They didn't call after me, didn't attempt to stop me, they simply resumed eating. They wanted me to leave as much as I wanted to be gone.
I fought the urge to slam that door shut, to trek along that lawn, to pound my fist into that mailbox. Some things just weren't fair. They were allowed to stand there, sneering at me. Maybe they knew all along that this was the reason I was coming. So they could shoot it back down my throat. I stopped at the sidewalk, closed my eyes. I felt her here, the most, on this street. The wind was her breath, her voice whispering in my ear. The light dew in the atmosphere was her touch, against my skin. She was everywhere on this street, laughing, running, playing. This is where she lived. I could walk a little ways, and there would be the school that she had been most alive at, where we had both been most alive, and I would be able to almost make out her outline on that playground, swinging in the swings, kicking sand in the sandbox, climbing on the jungle gym, happy. But I couldn't go there. I refused.
"TJ," a voice called from behind me, and I turned slightly to see Vitto making his way down. He was holding something, a box it looked like, in his hand. He held it out to me, "My parents bought this when...well...it was hers, at least, it was going to be. I think you should have it." I took the box.
"Thanks," I mumbled. He squeezed my shoulder.
"I'm sorry that things turned out this way," he went on.
"You don't have to apologize for them, Vitto."
"I'm not. You know that they don't mean the things they say," he sighed, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, "You know that it isn't because you're not Italian, and it has nothing to do with you being Jewish. They like you, they really do, they just...they think that if she hadn't married you, then she would still be here. They think that if she'd married an Italian Catholic man, like she was supposed to, then she would never have been on a plane, that she would be in some apartment in downtown Chicago, popping out babies, like a good Italian Catholic woman's supposed to. Blaming you...it's their way of dealing with it..."
"Thanks," I said, it sounded wrong. He was trying to help, but he really wasn't. He patted my shoulder, looking to his feet.
"She was my little sister," he started, his voice shaky, "It's not fair. She was supposed to outlive us all. Ma, pop, Joey, me...we were supposed to go before her. But we're all still here, and she's gone. It just doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem fair." I nodded, turning to make my way down the walk. "I know that what he said was wrong," I paused, "What my dad said, about how you'll find someone else. I want you to, you know, move on...but I know that you can't. I know that it's not that easy for you, I'm sorry."
"Thanks," I kept moving. I wrapped my arms around myself; clutching the box Vitto had given me, hearing him reenter his home and close the door behind him. I passed by my parents' house, stopped momentarily, considering going to see my parents, maybe talking to them about Spinelli. I kept moving. I wasn't at that place, again, yet, where I could go see them and talk to them and find solace and sanctuary in their arms. Maybe I never would be.
-0-0-
Gus entered his apartment with a heavy sigh, kicking the door shut with his foot and turning the light on. He set the bag he carried, groceries, on the kitchen counter and grabbed the remote, flicking the television set on. He wasn't particular about the channel, it didn't matter; it was just a buzzing background noise to keep the silence out. He began unpacking the groceries, shoving the milk in the fridge, the cans of beans and soup into the cupboards, neatly stacking things, everything in its place.
There was a picture, of Gus's mother and father, magnetically stuck to the fridge. They were smiling out at him, arms wrapped about each other. It was, maybe, seven or eight years old; he could never remember. They'd gone on a cruise, sent him a postcard for every day they were gone, his mother's lacy handwriting drawn into the soft paper board, digressing all about their trip and the things they'd done that day. He would read each one carefully when it arrived, smiling at humorous moments that she talked about, frowning when something went wrong like rain, or illness. The last postcard had featured this picture. It depicted a happier time.
Gus thought about calling his mother. He hadn't spoken to her in nearly two weeks. He missed her voice. She always understood when there were long periods of time between his calls. You're in the army, she'd say, you have things to do on base, things to preoccupy your time. It's a job, she'd tell him, a full-time job. You're father would be proud. His hand brushed against a piece of paper, a letter with its black type print and U.S. insignia, and it floated to the ground. He didn't bother picking it up, he already knew what it said. He'd read it once, but he already had it memorized word for word. If this was a job, being an officer in the army, than that was his equivalent of a pink slip.
Medical discharge. It was a joke, really. Gus wasn't sick. It was just their way of letting him go, respectably, and, what's more, with benefits. His breakdown on the Crawl hadn't been his first, and it was far from his last. They didn't want to give him a Section 8 discharge because it would ruin him, crush his dignity. As if any discharge could leave him with that.
After reading the letter, Gus had continued as though it meant nothing. He'd done his work on base, filled up his gas tank, gone grocery shopping, come home. Now, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, sinking to the ground. He couldn't keep up the charade any more; tears finally breaking in a run down his cheeks.
"It's all I ever wanted," he sobbed, "I just wanted to make you proud...why? Why would they do this? It's all I ever wanted...how could they take that from me...why would they take that from me? It's all I had...dad...I'm so sorry..."
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I got home, tossed the box on the kitchen table and poured myself a drink from my half-empty bottle of gin. It wasn't that I drank more these days, more so, that I poured myself drinks more these days. I would stare at the glass, will the liquid to slip down my throat, but at the end of the night, dump the contents of the cup down the sink and turn in for bed having never had so much as a sip. I guess I felt I didn't deserve it, the pleasure of being drunk.
I sat down at the table in that chair. The chair I'd sat in that morning as that man on the other end of the line told me my wife was dead. I'd thought about throwing it out, but that didn't make sense. Don't kill the messenger, right? Don't shoot a perfectly good horse? I looked at that box Vitto had handed me. It was white, thin, and cheap, not meant to storage anything, so much, as to just hold it for a short and temporary point of time. I pushed my drink away, staring at the shaky clear liquid in the cup. I dragged the box towards me, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't want to open it, didn't want to see what was inside. I lifted the top off, frowning, still as death, my breathing haggard, and tears rimming my eyes. I lifted the first one, my hands shaking. It was a shirt, small, almost like doll clothes. I ran my fingers along the soft cotton collar, the puckered out sleeves, the design decaled on the front. I set it back into the box, put the lid back on, stood up, and emptied my glass in the sink. I slipped into the bathroom. A shower seemed practical at the moment.
I turned the water on, soothed by the sounds of droplets berating against the white porcelain. I removed my clothes, glancing once in the mirror at my bare skin. I could almost recall her fingers tracing along that skin, could almost feel it, like a ghost that's almost there, but not quite. It's my way of teasing myself, remembering these things, my own way of cutting into my flesh with a razor edge, drawing out the blood without ever leaving a mark. I stepped into the shower, closed the curtain and let the water fall over my body, hoping to wash away my tensions, angers, frustrations, and misery.
I leaned against the cool tile, closed my eyes, and pressed the chill touch into my skin, mixing it with the scalding warmth of the water. It doesn't seem fair. Vitto didn't know the half of it. I know it's not that easy for you. Living wasn't easy, moving on was impossible. For a moment, rage thrust through my veins, and I slammed my fist into the rack that held the shampoo bottles, the soap bottles, the razor...
I drew my arm back, startled by the stinging. My eyes were wide, and I examined the slice in my skin, the blood streaming down, bubbling out of the wound. I picked up the razor, stared blankly at the clean edge. I was afraid of the thoughts that holding this razor put in my mind. I pressed the edge against the flesh of my wrist where the blue veins were thick, tracks that my blood cells raced through.
It was cold, sharp, exacting against my skin. It flashed silver along pinkish tan. My breathing was quick, soft, heavy. I could almost see it slice through my vein, see the blood gushing out, spurting onto the bathtub bottom. I could almost feel the world slip away. I wanted to feel the world slip away. It would be so easy. The pain would be immense, wonderfully immense. I could watch it swirl away, stain the perfect white of the room, and then, I would stop feeling, I would drift to sleep. Sleep. I wanted to sleep. I closed my eyes, chewed my bottom lip, and placed the razor back where it belonged, there on the little rack shelf.
"I'm a coward...huh?" I whispered, laying my forehead against the tile of the shower, the droplets, like rain, biting into my back. I watched the blood trail down my arm, mingle with the bath water and slip through the drain, "You could have done it...in an instant, you would have...I'm not strong enough to live, and I'm not strong enough to kill myself, either. Why did you have to be so much stronger than me? Why did you have to go to San Diego? Why did you leave me?" I closed my eyes, slumping to the ground. The water was turning cold, and I was feeling lightheaded from the loss of blood. "I need you..." I told the empty air. I turned the water off, sitting there in the steam that had filled the bathroom. A shower accomplished nothing. Somehow, it only made things hurt more.
I could hear the phone ringing outside of the bathroom. The answering machine could take a message. I missed my wife.
END A/N: Well...well, well...anyone shocked? Appalled even? Dissapointed?
Originally, the flashback was going to focus on TJ's first dinner with the Spinellis as Spin's boyfriend, but then it became about something at school and then...yeah...and I liked it and I didn't want to get rid of it, or change it...so...I like this better...I think...
I thought maybe I would impart on you some of the songs I listen to while writing this story, songs that inspire me to write it, so that maybe you could listen to them while reading:
Sleep by The Dandy Warhols,
Let That Be Enough by Switchfoot
Broken Bridge by Daughter Darling
The Freshman by Verve Pipe
She's Always a Woman & She's Got A Way by Billy Joel
Angel of Mine by Monica
Boulevard of Broken Dream by Green Day
It Is You (I Have Loved) by Dana Glover (Shrek Soundtrack)
This Years Love by David Gray
Foolish Games & Pieces of You & Near You Always & Who Will Save Your Soul by Jewel
Don't Leave Home by Dido
I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis
That's it. Good songs, sad songs, sweet songs. I love all those songs.
Now that you've read the story, let me know what you've thought. It's not hard, just hit the little button on the bottom of the screen and type to your hearts desire. Maybe just ramble, I love rambling, let me know how you are, drop me a line. Basically, what I'm saying here is, REVIEW!
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and THANKS FOR READING.
You are dismissed. Cry if you need to. We won't think less of you...sniffle...