Becoming Sarah (11 page)

When the hour was up, I felt raw, miserable, weepy – and better. It wasn’t anything Dr. Riley said, though she said a few things that made sense, like how none of it was my fault. It was the talking that did it. I felt like I’d been carrying around this huge weight, and what Dr. Riley did was get underneath with me and help me carry it. It was going to take me a long time to put it down and walk away. I knew that. But this was a start.

I left Dr. Riley’s with a second appointment and a prescription to fill. She told me the pills wouldn’t start working right off, that it would take some time, but that in a few weeks I should start feeling better.

I believed her. What choice did I have?

Over the next few weeks, things actually did start look up.

I took baby steps. Matt and I hung out together, just as friends. We went out to lunch or dinner a couple of times a week, or had takeout at my place. We watched TV in his apartment or went to Golden Gate Park and played soccer on the grass.

He was a really nice guy. Not Ken-doll perfect, but that was a relief. It turned out he was kind of a slob. He liked watching weird sports, like table tennis and cricket. He had a nervous habit of drumming his fingers on the table, a habit that drove me crazy. But he was also a good listener. He could tell when I was upset, and knew how to make little jokes until I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He told me a lot about himself. He’d grown up in a small town in Idaho but always dreamed of living in San Francisco. He’d worked for a
start-up until it lost its funding
, and now he was a
computer
systems administrator for a big law firm. He was an only child and had always been quiet and shy; he was finally starting to relax with me, though.

I talked about my present but not about my past. If Matt thought that was strange, he didn’t bring it up. It was one of the things I liked most about him.

We were both too nervous – or too wary – to jump into a romance. Sometimes I wondered if we ever would. Sometimes I thought it was okay if we didn’t. Other times, he did something so adorable that I just wanted to lean over and kiss him. I didn’t, though; I didn’t have the guts.

I kept seeing Dr. Riley. After every session, I felt stronger. The dreams came less often. So did the panic attacks. I didn’t know if it was the pills, the talking, or both.

Sometimes I didn’t want to talk any more about that night in the alley, but then she made me and it did help, somehow. I got stronger. The dreams didn’t stop, but they changed. In one of them, I actually talked to Ricky – yelled, really. I was so angry with him. I wanted him to pay, but more than that I just wanted him to acknowledge what he’d done to me. I wondered if he ever thought about it. I wondered if he might one day do it again to some other girl.

I kept on watching the school, to see Maria but also to sort of pretend I had my own life back. I’d sit in my car and watch my old classmates stream by and imagine I was part of their world.

But a funny thing happened. After a while I couldn’t imagine it anymore. Oh, I wanted my mother’s hugs, Maria’s giggles, the warmth of their love. But I couldn’t imagine going back; not having money, not having choices, not having the freedom I had now as Sarah.

That freedom frightened me, but it also sometimes gave me a sense of possibility that took my breath away.

During those weeks, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do with my life. Once it had seemed crystal clear: go to college, get a high-paying job, and never have to worry about money ever again. I’d thought maybe law school, business school, it didn’t matter as long as I made a lot of cash.

Now that didn’t seem so important. I had Sarah’s money and Sarah’s trust fund. What did I really want to do with my time, day in and day out, for the rest of my life?

The answer sort of surprised me. One day I stopped by San Francisco State for an information session on becoming a teacher. It turned out that with Sarah’s transcript and a year of graduate school, I could teach English. It fit, actually. I could see myself doing that, and loving it. I decided to apply to the credential program for the next semester.

I did one other thing, too. Something I’d always wanted to do.

I went online and I bought myself a plane ticket to Paris.

I figured if I was careful with my money, if I stayed at a youth hostel and ate croissants for breakfast, I could do it and still have money left over for my mother, for rent, for my expenses. I figured if I didn’t do it, I’d be sorry.

It scared me half to death, the idea of traveling alone. My mother had never been out of the country and neither had I. But I could do it; I knew I could. I bought myself a Lonely Planet guide and read every word. I dug out Sarah’s passport, even though I had nearly a month to go before the trip. I told Matt about it, and he hugged me and promised me I’d have an amazing time.

It was a week before my trip that it happened. It was a quarter to three and I was sitting in the
car
, waiting for school to get out, and Ricky walked by.

Except this time, for some reason, I didn’t duck down in my seat. I didn’t adjust my glasses and pray I stayed invisible. This time anger surged up in my chest, anger so hot and molten I thought it might erupt out of me if I opened my mouth. And why not? Why shouldn’t I let it out?

I opened the car door, jumped out, and ran up to him. “How could you do that to me?” I yelled, at the top of my lungs.

Ricky froze in his tracks, a pole-axed expression on his face. He dropped his backpack, which he’d been carrying by one strap. “What? I ain’t done nothing to you, lady. I don’t even know you.”

Of course he didn’t, and I’d forgotten. But I stood my ground. “You know me, Ricky. It’s me, Jamie Lumley. The one you killed in that alley the other night. Remember me now?”

His face got very still, and then he glanced around like someone might hear me. There were a few other students walking by, kids who’d snuck away early. The looked at us curiously but kept on walking; they didn’t want to get involved.

“That’s right,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice. “You remember. You said, ‘Hey, girl, c’mere.’ And then you told me I was cute when I was nervous. You asked me about my job.”

His hand crept up to his neck. He stared at me like he’d seen a ghost, which he had. He was still seeing me. “Yes, and then you pulled me down and you put your hands around my neck to keep me quiet,” I said. “Like you’ve got your hand on your own neck right now, but hard.”

“You can’t know that,” Ricky said. His eyes were hollow, far away. “No one heard. No one but her.”

“That was me. You called me a fat bitch. You said I was lucky.”

I tried hard not to cry, but the tears came anyway. And then the most amazing thing happened. Ricky started crying too, really bawling. He shook his head and muttered “no, no, no” under his breath. “No one knows,” he said.

“I do. I know. And the thing is, it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault for being alone at night, for walking down that street, for going into the alley.” I’d said the same thing to Dr. Riley, but it meant more now; the words tasted right. I said them again. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Ricky said, but it was more of a chant than a statement. His eyes were glazed; he stared out toward the horizon. I stepped closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice.

“You had no right,” I told him.

“No one knows. I didn’t mean it.”

My fingers balled into fists. I pressed them into my thighs. “You won’t make me feel sorry for you. I know what you did.”

“No,” he shrieked. “No one knows” -- and he came flying at me, and was on me before I knew what happened.

Ricky knocked me to the ground; the weight of his body pushed me down and I thought I would die again, right there. His flailing arm hit my face, my che
ekbone. The pain shattered me. N
ot again, I thought. This can’t happen again.

But this time I wasn’t silent. I screamed and I screamed. This time I wasn’t alone, either. It was the middle of the day on a busy street.

It felt like Ricky was on me for an eternity, but really it was only seconds before two big guys – members of the football team – pulled him off. I was still dazed when the patrol car arrived. A student must have called 911 on a cell phone. It was two officers in uniform, a man and a woman, and the woman put her arm around me while the man handcuffed Ricky Jones.

The officer led him past me and I heard him muttering, “I didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t be quiet. I didn’t mean it.”

I looked at the woman officer and said, “Ask him who he means.”

Ricky heard me. He lifted his head and turned around. “Jamie Lumley,” he said, loud and clear as day. “Jamie Lumley, that fat bitch. I told her be quiet, but she kept on yelling. I had to make her stop yelling.”

After a bag of ice and a couple of Advil, my face was okay. I ended up with a bruise, but by the time it turned from red to black to brown and yellow, Detective Todd called me up at Sarah’s apartment.

“It’s over,” he said. “Ricky confessed and keeps right on confessing.”

“I know,” I said.

“We’re looking at his DNA just to make sure.”

“It was him.”

“How did you. . .never mind.” He let out a tired sigh. “I don’t want to know.”

“I told you, I’m – “

“I said, I don’t want to know.”

A silence. “What will happen to him?” I asked.

“It depends on whether he’s tried as an adult. It depends on what the court-appointed psychiatrist has to say. He. . .he’s not all that lucid right now.”

“You mean he’s crazy?”

“Guilt does funny things to people.”

“One more thing,” I said. “Will you tell my – will you tell Jamie’s mother about what happened at the school? How I was there?”

“I’ll tell her.” He paused. “It doesn’t mean -- ”

“I know. I’ll leave her alone. But maybe, maybe someday she’ll wonder how I knew, and want to talk. . . ”

And we let it go at that.

Knowing Ricky was caught didn’t solve all my problems. It didn’t even stop the nightmares. But it helped, knowing I’d done something. I’d confronted him. I’d screamed for help, even if it was a couple months too late.

By the time my Paris trip rolled around, I was glad to get away. I needed time to think, time to figure things out.

Matt drove me to the airport. I was excited, but also a bundle of nerves. “What if I can’t find my hotel?” I said. “What if I can’t figure out the Metro?”

Matt steered his way to the curb in front of the International Terminal. “You’ll be fine. You’ll do great. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you, Sarah.” He leaned over and put his hand on my arm. His eyes met mine with warmth and laughter. “You worry too much, but then you always figure things out in the end.”

“You’re right, you’re right. But –“

“So quit thinking and get on that plane,” Matt said, with mock fierceness.

“Yes, sir.” I laughed and got out. He helped me get my bag from the trunk. I was roughing it with just one big backpack, lots of jeans and Tshirts and none of Sarah’s dressy stuff. I shrugged on the backpack and stood there staring at Matt.

“So. . .” he began.

“I guess. . .” I said, interrupting him.

We laughed. “So I guess this is it,” Matt said.

“Yeah.”

But neither of us moved. I missed Matt already, and the way he made me feel. Good. Happy. Secure. And suddenly, looking at him, I realized there was more to it than that. Something in my stomach clenched and released, and I realized I was very much attracted to him. I hadn’t let myself see that before.

“Matt,” I said, but he leaned forward and stopped my words with a kiss.

It was a tentative kiss, with none of the force of Nick’s, none of the pyrotechnics, but nice. Very nice. The second kiss was even nicer. And the third. Finally, breathless, we pulled away from each other.

“I’d better go,” he said. “I’m not supposed to park here.”

“I should get in line,” I said. “Security might take a while.”

But neither of us moved. We just stood there and looked at each other, big smiles on our faces.

Later, on the plane, I leaned back in my seat and sighed. I didn’t know where things would go with Matt. Maybe he was the one I was meant to be with. Maybe not. I did know he was good for me, and that I was looking forward to finding out what happened next with us.

There were all kinds of things I needed to do, eventu
ally. I thought I might answer the phone
the next time Sarah’s mother called. I shouldn’t let her worry. Besides, she sounded like a pretty nice woman.

I needed to finish my application for the teaching credential program. It would give me something to work towards, something to give me direction.

I needed to keep on dealing with the memory of Ricky Jones and what he’d done to me. The pain might fade, but I knew it would never really go away, not completely.