21. Cuff Check List #2
One hour. The green digital clock on my microwave reads five p.m. At six we leave for Jackie’s bachelorette party. I slide the metal fold-out chair from between my bed and the small table I use as my desk and sit down. The cold seat chills my skin even through my jeans.
Opening my laptop, I stare at the blank page. The white screen has never before looked so daunting. And as a writer, that says something.
It’s now or never.
Since the bridesmaid dress fitting, I’ve been mulling over what sort of explanation to give my friends for leaving.
The truth, of course. But how much of it?
I don’t want them getting involved, thinking they could somehow help, so the fewer the details, the better. But I also need them to know that my leaving is necessary and in no way their fault.
I settle for telling a story. It’s what I do best.
Once upon a time there was a girl.
An ordinary girl. A poor girl.
She wasn’t particularly beautiful or talented. She was smart, but not ridiculously so.
She grew up both abandoned and loved, never knowing which was more common.
Until one day, the girl met a boy. A boy who had everything she did not. A boy who was loved by many. And this boy said he loved her.
They met at college. A local community college, the only school the girl could afford—and that was after scholarships and cashing in stacks of dollar bills from the nearby strip club where she worked.
The boy was there because he’d flunked English 101 at his Ivy League school and didn’t want his rich friends to know he needed to retake the course.
“You’re Patty, right?”
The girl nodded, too shocked that the popular boy was talking to her to speak.
“Could you help me with my paper? You seem to be the star student here.” He winked.
The girl had never been winked at before.
Before she knew it, they were meeting after class in the quad. It was like every college romance she had ever read. And by that time, she had read a lot. Even tried penning a few herself.
The more time they spent together that summer, the more the girl lost herself in love. She’d never held hands with a boy before. Never had a boyfriend before. Never made love before.
So many nevers became firsts that summer.
The girl thought she was lucky that the boy never asked to come to her house, never asked where she worked. She could keep the shame of her double wide and pole dancing to herself. Keep the cliché hidden.
It wasn’t that she hated her job. As far as strip clubs went it was a decent place. She danced in a bikini and men threw money on the stage. She liked to dance, and she needed money. It seemed the perfect job.
But she knew. She knew it wasn’t a normal job. It wasn’t something you admitted to people. So she didn’t.
They went on dates to places she normally couldn’t afford to go. He introduced her to his friends who were home for the summer. She caught others giving her envious glances as the boy and she passed by, hand in hand.
When the boy told her his mother passed away years earlier, she told him the same, though she knew being left and dying were two different things. It was still something that they had in common, no mother.
The boy said his father was an important man, rarely ever home. She told him her father was rarely home as well, even though she knew rarely and never were two different things.
And then one day the boy introduced her to his father.
The boy’s father smiled at the girl. He hugged her. He invited her for dinner.
But something about him made her nervous.
She ignored it. She was too busy living her happily ever after to worry.
Until she came to dinner and found the boy solemn and angry.
“You’re a stripper?” His expression was one she’d never seen before.
“I…”
“A stripper who lives in a trailer park.” He laughed and the sound broke the girl’s heart. “What other secrets are you hiding?”
“Nothing!”
“I can’t believe you strip. I mean, how many men have seen you naked? How many men have you given private lap dances to? How many men have you fucked, while trying to make me believe you were a virgin?”
His words stabbed at her, spearing her pride, piercing her self-worth. “It’s just a job. The best paying job I could find where I could still go to school. And I’m never fully naked.”
The boy snorted, as if that small distinction mattered. “I can’t believe I actually thought of marrying you. Thank God my father told me before I asked.” He shook his head in disgust.
“I love you.” She grabbed his hand. The hand that had once held her tightly against him at night.
The hand that had played with her hair as he told her he loved her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry.
I was just embarrassed.” Her words were stuttered, broken by sobs.
“I was so worried you’d be ashamed. That you wouldn’t want me. ”
Slowly, as her tears continued to fall, the boy reached out with his other hand as if to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her heart beat with hope, hope that he’d forgive her. That he’d still love her. But before he could touch her, the boy’s father came downstairs.
“It’s gone. Your mother’s ring is gone.”
Confusion over the interruption eased her sobs and the girl concentrated on calming her breath. When she recovered, she noticed both men staring at her.
The boy reached out his hand, palm up. “Give it back, Patty.”
“Give what back?” She looked between the two men, one sad, the other angry.
“Don’t try that with us, young lady. I don’t know what my son ever saw in you, but I promise you, you won’t get him now.” He looked hard at his son, until the weight of his stare crushed the boy and his shoulders dropped. “I’m calling the police.”
The broken pieces of the girl’s heart fluttered madly against her ribs. “Police?”
Her answer was the quick and heavy footsteps of the boy’s father walking into the other room.
“If you give the ring back, I’ll forget this happened.” The boy looked weary.
“I don’t have any ring.”
The boy sighed. “Did you sell it already? Pawn it?”
“ No . I didn’t steal it. I didn’t steal anything . I don’t even know what ring you’re talking about.” The vehemence of her voice had the boy looking at her. But not with understanding or love.
“You expect me to believe that after you lied about being a stripper?”
“I—”
“After you just told me you need money for school?”
The girl heard the father in the other room, talking to the police. Panic sucked the breath from her lungs.
“Chad… I swear… I didn’t take anything.” She stepped forward to take his hand again, but this time the boy backed away. “Please,” the girl begged. She begged for him to believe her. She begged for forgiveness. She begged for him to love her.
“Leave.”
“What?”
“Just go. It’s too late now anyway.”
“But I ? —“
“The police are on their way!” the boy’s father called out.
This time the boy begged her . “Please go. Run.”
And so she ran.
And she has never stopped running.
“Move your ass!” Jules’ shout is followed by several large thumps against the side of the trailer, making me jump in my chair. I take a deep breath and delete the few keystrokes I’d made in surprise.
Clearing my throat, I wipe my damp eyes. “Hold your horses!” I smile, knowing that telling Julie Starr to wait is as useful as tits on a boar.
As expected, I’m answered by two more thumps and a threat to leave my short-ass self behind.
I hit print and stand, stretching out as only a short person can do in an Airstream. It’s been a while since I wrote anything in my trailer. I got too used to the sunshine and open air of Ian’s backyard.
After the four copies of my explanation letter print, I grab the addressed envelopes off my tiny desk and stuff a letter in each.
Jackie, Jules, Rose. I seal them each closed.
Ian.
I pause after folding the paper inside, my story not seeming like enough. Not for Ian. Not after everything we… well, after everything.
Rose’s guffaw and Jackie’s lighter laugh sound outside, pressuring me to hurry.
I take a second, then give in, sitting down and grabbing another piece of paper and a pen.
Thank you for showing me that love doesn’t only exist in romance novels. I hope now you understand why I can’t stay. It was never you. Always me.
Follow your dreams, Ian… from the confines of closets to the vastness of space.
I’ll always believe in you. Love, Trish.
I have enough time to stuff the note inside the envelope and seal it shut before my trailer door bursts open.
Shooting off the chair, I hide the letters in my purse before Jules’ motorcycle boots clomp inside.
“Shortstack, time to go. Stop all your primping.” Hands on her hips, Jules’ five-foot-eight-inch frame looks twice as large in my small mobile home. “You coming or what?”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” I grab a pair of heels from a kitchen cabinet and slide them on. “Calm down.”
“I’m always calm. Part of my badass nature.” She assesses my footwear, which hike me up to her chin level. “How the hell do you walk in those? I mean, do they need to be that high?”
I fuss with my hair in the mirror, waiting for Jules to leave so I can hide the letters somewhere other than the purse I’m taking tonight, but she just stands there waiting.
Sighing, I shoo her through the door and follow her out to where Rose and Jackie are waiting. “Every inch counts.”
“That’s what she said,” Jules and Rose say simultaneously.