chapter 4: a million thoughts

Trinity's Point of View

For now it's smooth sailing. We smiled at each other every time we passed in the halls. We sneaked lustful glances at each other during class when we were bored, and sometimes even when we weren't. If Donna felt neglected, she hid it incredibly well.

"Hey," Michael smiled and sat down across from me at lunch for the first time, but he acted as if it was the millionth.

"Hi," It was strange talking to him. I didn't know if I was supposed to go meet him at his locker between classes and walk around the school ground holding his hand at lunch, or if I was supposed to wait until after the date to do all of that stuff. I just know I'd rather date a guy before I start getting mushy with him. He's probably experienced with this enough to know how to do it, so I'm going to trust him.

"What's up?" he asked nonchalantly.

For the first time, I felt a feeling I'd never felt before. I felt like I was at the Grammy's, and had just won an award. I knew, as I walked up there with absolutely no speech prepared at all, that not one word would come out of my mouth. People in the audience would start to get restless.

I fidgeted with my hands, finally finding the breath to say, "Nothing much."

Michael nodded politely, clearly expecting for me to be more talkative. I was looking down, but I could almost feel Donna's stare. She knows that I'm usually very chatty. It's just that Michael is making me feel weak. I tried to send her ESP and tell her that, but as I looked up I could tell the message didn't get through. She asked me for a napkin.

"Oh, oh, sure," I stammered, handing her one of my blue ones.

My hand shook slightly as I reached for my Dr. Pepper. After popping it open, I sneaked a glance at Michael. He was carefully mixing up the salad and dressing in a section of his plate. Beside me, Donna was wiping ketchup off the corners of her mouth.

"So, how's school going?" Michael asked, shoving lettuce into his mouth with a cheap plastic fork.

"Um, fine," I tried not to stutter, but the words fell too quickly from my lips.

He could probably tell I was nervous. He swallowed and smiled with that don't-be-afraid kind of smile. "That's good," he replied.

I half-nodded and unwrapped a slice of cold pepperoni pizza. "How do you think you did on that Spanish quiz today?" I surprised myself with the words.

"I don't know. I forgot to study last night." he replied, polished off his salad, leaving only a small puddle of dressing, and moved on to his burrito.

"Bad boy!" Donna exclaimed, and I suddenly remembered that she was there listening to me make a fool of myself in front of Michael.

Michael shrugged. "I never study anyway. I procrastinate, then I just give up altogether."

As I laughed, I felt like I'd known this guy for my whole life, while in reality I had only known him personally for these last 3 minutes.

A smile cracked over his lips. "Can I have a drink of your soda?" he asked, his face close to mine.

I hoped my breath didn't smell bad. I noticed that he had chocolate milk. Obviously chocolate doesn't go well with a burrito. I wondered if he had gotten the milk on purpose.

"Sure," I smiled and handed the can to him.

Taking a long, but not greedy gulp, he seemed to savor every drop. Then he set the can back in front of me and resumed eating his burrito.

I looked at the top of the can. A thin trail of saliva lined the perimeter. That was probably completely normal, but it was the first time I realized that it did in fact, happen.

I took a long drink and pretended that I was kissing him, even though I do not know what kissing tastes like. As I put the pop down, Donna was done with her cheeseburger and had moved on to her fries.

It would have been the best day of my life had he not left so soon. He just stood up, as if it wasn't a big deal, and said, "See you later." My mouth almost dropped.

"Bye," I said weakly, waving my hand like an idiot.

He went, set his plate on the cart, and pushed through the cafeteria doors.

Donna burst out laughing.

ooo

I woke up and somehow knew my mom wasn't home. If she were, the smell of eggs frying, syrup heating in the microwave, and even of newly washed dishes would be coaxing me out of bed. Fortunately, I didn't need to be coaxed anyway. I already had promised myself to make this day perfect. In high spirits I sat up in bed and opened the curtains covering my window. I smiled as pale yellow light flooded my room. Even though I usually don't get dressed until after breakfast, I decided to shed my hot flannel skin and put on some jean shorts and a tight yellow tank top. A pair of red Nike socks sent me bounding down the stairs and straight to the dirty, but empty, kitchen.

I made a mental note to wash the dishes on Sunday, because they were piling up faster and faster, and popped some wheat bread into the toaster. Getting out a jug of orange juice, I poured it effortlessly into a clean glass straight from the dishwasher. Upon taking the top off our cow butter holder, I found only a little yellow slime, but no butter whatsoever. There was also no butter in the refrigerator. I grabbed a scrap of paper from behind the microwave and took a pencil out of an old rusty soup can.

I scribbled, "butter" and "white bread" on the paper and stuck it in my pocket. By that time the toast had popped up.

There was a thin layer of raspberry jam in the bottom of the jar. I was skilled enough to get most of it out with my knife and spread it on my toast. I then added "jam" to the list and put the slices of toast on a plate. I grabbed the last napkin out of the package, added "napkins," and sat down with my food.

I was starting to take the crust off my second piece of toast when my dad walked in.

"Why are you up?" he grunted, as if it was a crime to get out of bed on a Saturday morning.

I just shrugged.

He groaned and opened the breadbox, only to find crumbs. I was eating the last pieces of bread.

"Don't eat the last slices of bread unless you have enough money to buy more!" he growled, opening the refrigerator to look for milk that I knew wasn't there.

He cursed under his breath, and I knew it was because of the absent milk. Finally he decided to use the last coffee beans to brew some black coffee. Standing there, unshaven, a chipped white mug in hand, he looked more like a bum than my father.

Something told me to leave the kitchen, and since I was done eating, that wasn't a problem. I put my glass on the growing pile of dirty dishes and was turning to leave when he cleared his throat. I turned around.

"Wash those dishes," he ordered me, and at that point in the day it sounded like a death sentence.

"Can I do it later?" I whined, knowing I wasn't going to win the fight, but I was trying anyway.

"No! The dishes need to be done right now!" he roared, then crowned the stack with his coffee mug and left.

At first, the bright yellow gloves and thick green sponge looked offending. They were the enemy. But when I slipped my fingers into the large rubber hand and filled the sponge with water and soap I realized the real enemy was the dishes. Trying to think of a song to hum, I picked up my dad's mug and filled it with water. I scrubbed it until all the spots were gone, then placed it in the top rack of the dishwasher.

The dishes evaporated at the slowest rate I'd ever seen. I never thought the pile would end. Maybe it was the black hole, or perhaps the bottomless pit. I wasn't quite certain until I finally put the last spoon in the dishwasher. I threw it closed with a soapy hand and rid myself of the evil rubber devices. The sponge was also tossed aside.

Dad came out of the bathroom with one towel around his waist and another on the top of his head. He was drying his hair with the towel and both hands. He inspected my work carefully. I felt like he was going to check and see if my fingernails were dirty. Then he retreated to his army base - otherwise known as his room.

ooo

I was on cloud nine, so I didn't hear the phone ring. I probably wouldn't have anyway, since I was in the shower.

"Someone called for you when you were in the shower." Dad handed me a note that a normal person would not be able to read. I felt special knowing that all of Dad's N's looked like H's. The note read, "Dohha," but to me it was "Donna."

I hate busy signals. Oh well, I thought. I'll call her tomorrow morning. I then proceeded to pick out an outfit for the night.

It was a difficult task. I was going on my first date. Everything had to be perfect. As I admired the tight black jeans and low-cut, sparkly sky blue top, I wondered what kind of flower he would bring me. My mind swam with questions: What does his car look like? What will he wear? Where will we go? Will he pay? My dad was at the bar, so he would never know. Everything was wonderful. I was putting on the eighth coat of "Purple Haze" lipstick when there was a knock at the door.

I took a slow breath, smoothed my hair, and walked down the stairs. Hesitantly I opened the door.

I had never realized how much taller he was than me, nor had I noticed how black his hair was. Maybe it was the hair gel that made him look so stunning, but whatever it was, I liked it. What looked like a fake leather jacket hung around his shoulders, and his jeans were blue. We were almost complete opposites, except for he was holding a bouquet of daisies.

I was a little disappointed with his flower choice, but far from unhappy. I assured myself that everything would be all right and greeted him with a simple 'Hello.'

"Hey," he smiled a little and handed the bouquet to me.

"Thank you! Let me put these in a vase." I knew better than to smell the stinky flowers. "Come in," I pulled at his arm slightly and directed him to the kitchen, where I opened a cabinet and found a dusty, but fairly large vase. Filling it with water, I took the rubber band off the stems and slipped the flowers into the vase. I tensed, feeling Michael's arms around my waist.

It felt good, but it felt wrong. I pushed his hands away from me and picked up the vase. "Excuse me," I told him, and quickly went up to my room.

I set the vase on my dresser, smiled at its simple beauty, and returned downstairs.

"Where are we going to eat?" I asked, after getting into the passenger seat of his black Camaro.

He tied a dark blue bandanna around my eyes. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

I couldn't help but let an excited giggle escape my mouth as I brought my hands to my lap and folded them tightly together.

A song came on the radio that I recognized immediately as one by the band 98 Degrees. It was called "Give Me Just One Night (Una Noche)." I lip-synched at first, but then I couldn't stand it any longer and I started to sing.

"Give me just one night, una noche. A moment to be by your side. Give me just one night, una noche. I'll give you the time of your life…"

"Trin…?" Michael said when there was a break in the singing.

"Yes?"

"Can this be our song?"

I knew couples usually had songs, I just didn't know they made them up so early. I wondered if he had a different song for every girl that he went out with. I was a little confused, but I mustered a faint smile.

"Sure." I wanted to see his face, but of course all I saw was black.

I listened to the lyrics of the song and wondered if, in a few years, Michael and I would dance together to the same song at the prom.

I smiled as I felt the car die under me. Michael helped me out of the car and insisted for me not to take the cloth off until we got inside. I opened my eyes, and could almost picture what I could not see. The bandanna was thin. I could make out some colored lights, but that was all. I faintly heard the usual restaurant sounds: shuffling feet, clinking drinking glasses, and a different array of voices. I knew it wasn't a bar. I can smell alcohol, thanks to my father, and there was none here. The night was cold, but Michael put his coat around me and guided me to the door.

As he pushed it open, a burst of sound poured out. Michael untied my bandanna, and I stared wide-eyed as it fell.

The glasses I thought I'd heard earlier were actually cheap red cups. A thick layer of cigarette smoke covered one half of the restaurant, while the other was clear; making each side look as different as heaven and hell. I didn't recognize the particular place, but I knew by the large, circular pies on all the tables that we were in a pizza joint. A jumpy waitress bounded up to us.

"Welcome to Round Table Pizza!" she greeted us enthusiastically. "Smoking or non-smoking?"

"Smoking." Michael said plainly, as if I was to know that he smoked.

"How many?" asked the waitress.

"Two," Michael responded immediately, holding up two fingers in a 'V' shape. I was so stunned that we were going to sit under a blanket of smoke that he had to practically drag me to the seat we were given. The booth was fairly secluded in a corner of the smoking section. I tried not to cough, but my face soon turned red. As I sat down, I hacked into my hands.

The waitress, whose nametag read: "Hello! My name is Joey," promised to be back soon, and shuffled away.

Michael didn't ask if it was okay for him to smoke in front of me. He just got out a package of cigarettes and lighted up. I looked down at the old table, with a loss of anything else to do.

The table certainly wasn't new. There were scratches, pen marks, inscriptions, messages, and stains that had been tattooed onto the table over the years. I found it rather amusing to read some of the notes that people had written. I was admiring a detailed picture of a guy eating pizza with very stretchy cheese, when Joey returned.

She said not a word, just slid the menus over to us and walked away. It wasn't very long before we decided we wanted to share a medium sized pepperoni pizza. Joey returned, we ordered, and she gave us two plastic red cups. Michael offered to get my drink for me, and I accepted. He returned with my requested root beer, and his lemon lime. He sat down, still with half a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and slid my soda across the table to me. I looked at him as I drank the liquid through a bendable straw.

Behind Michael was a black and white spotted seat that looked like the hide of a cow. If I bent over far enough, my head almost touched the dark yellow light that hung above us. I glanced over, and through the smog could barely see the red, yellow, and blue, swirl-patterned carpet and the door to a room labeled, "Games." It was Saturday night, so everything was hectic. Waiters and waitresses hurriedly dashed from table to table, taking orders. I suppose that was why our dinner took so long to prepare.

I wanted to learn more about my date, but I wasn't sure he wanted to know more about me, so we sat there in silence for nearly half an hour. I felt like I was on a desert island. There were so many things I could do, but I didn't want to do them. Finally a helicopter came to save me - the pizza. Joey smiled weakly, obviously tired, and placed the pizza in front of us along with a couple plates.

The pizza was good, but I was again transported to the deserted island. We ate in silence for many minutes. He was done far before I was, but I took my time. He watched my every move as if I were a fish or a hamster.

I was pleased to find that he paid for the dinner. I had money, of course, but I had been saving up for other things, like a new stereo. I thanked him as we walked back out to the car.

"That was really fun," I lied. I didn't feel bad, though, because the date wasn't incredibly boring.

I thought we were done until Michael veered off a different road. Politely I told him that my house was the other way.

"I know," he said mischievously. The devilish note in his voice scared me.

I looked around and soon realized where we were going. We were going up a hill called "Panorama Peak." At the top, the view was beautiful. You could see the whole city of Tulsa, it seemed. Couples always went up there, but usually not to look at the sunset. It was nicknamed "Make Out Mountain" for the most obvious reason. Some do more than make out, though. I decided to wait it out. He probably was only planning on kissing me. My palms were already getting sweaty, though.

I wasn't at all happy when the car died. Not a single vehicle was perched up there with us. I was getting afraid, especially when he locked the doors and pushed me into a kiss - my first kiss.

The kiss wasn't of love; it was of hunger. I'd never kissed anyone before, but it was obvious he wasn't kissing me because he loved me. He was using me. I kissed a little bit, and I don't know why. His lips tasted dry and sickening.

I was starting to think things wouldn't be so bad when he pulled just far enough away from my lips to whisper, "I want you."

Before I knew it, his hands were up my shirt and touching me in places that I'd never been touched before. I shoved him away the hardest I could. He had lost my respect. I'd been nice and polite to him, but he wasn't returning the favor.

"What's wrong baby?" he was talking to me like I was a child.

"Stop it, Michael!" I said firmly, but I was scared.

"Come on. Don't you want me too?"

"No! Get away from me!" I kicked him weakly. I looked around frantically, but still no one was in sight.

He was bringing himself onto me again. My jeans were being unzipped. That was it. I couldn't stand it anymore. I slapped him across his cheek, hard. Quickly, and with a skill that I didn't realize I had, I unlocked the door of the car and jumped out. My purse flew with me. I slammed the door in his face and ran for my life.

Nothing mattered anymore except that I had to get away. I was already breathing heavily when I heard the car door slam again. He was chasing me. I zipped up my jeans and stretched out my legs. I ran as fast as I ever had in my life.

It took a while for me to realize I didn't know where I was going. It was pitch dark. Some lights that looked like streetlights were not far ahead. His footsteps behind me quickened. I got to the bottom of the hill, but I didn't stop running.

It seemed like forever until I saw something that could help me. A tree in the backyard of a house had some sort of structure built in it. I ran up to it and climbed the ladder. I crouched low on the wet wood. I felt like I was going to die. I heard the footsteps of my enemy run right past. I sat up slowly and looked out. Everything was going in slow motion, and Michael's words were blurred together.

He was running into the distance, shouting my name. "Trinity! Trinity!" He was mad at me for leaving him. I didn't care.

I threw my purse in the corner and leaned against the wooden wall. I was breathing heavily, a million thoughts running through my mind.

I felt dirty. I felt like I had lost my virginity to someone whom I didn't even know, let alone love. I laid my head in my hands and started to cry. My eyes hurt, but I kept sobbing. I couldn't stop.