Folie à Deux (36 page)

She breaks the silence, “You know if this all goes down and you get in trouble I won’t be able to go back to that school.”

“What do you mean?” I say in a scolding tone, “I’d be the one in trouble. I wear all of this not you. Why wouldn’t you be able to go back?”

She speaks quietly but with amazing conviction, “I just know. I’d be looked down upon and seen as a slut. And my God, everyone there loves you. Out of all the girls who say how hot you are and how badly they want to sleep with you, if I were the one I’d be completely singled out.”

This idea seems preposterous but I don’t press, now is not the time to be divided. All I say is, “Well I wouldn’t worry because
I don’t think that will happen.” I need someone with which to share this distress and she’s all I have.

I sit up slowly and say, “Ok, I better be going. I’ll see you tonight?” My parents are watching the kids so I can go to Dana’s play and Natalia will be selling cupcakes as a fundraiser. Maybe if the play is over early enough I can go back to her house for a few minutes before I have to pick up my kids. I explain all of this to her as if anything matters.

“Ok,” she says, as if in a trance.

I’m still baffled why she’s so upset. I don’t want her to take this lightly, that would be equally as frustrating but she seems more depressed than I would have imagined. She walks me to the door and gives a kiss goodbye. I put my phone on the seat next to me and ride home in silent reflection.

I don’t think about anything in particular but my mind races uncontrollably. How much will my life change? Will I still be able to teach? Will I ever be able to see Natalia? Will Kathy really help me? What is jail like? Will my kids hate me? Will Dana divorce me? Could my parents disown me? I wonder what Carla is doing right now?

I have no answers only speculations that lead to more speculations. I grow optimistic at times, thinking Tommy was wrong. But then I sink into thinking the worst, I’ll be put in jail and never see anyone I love again. Still other thoughts end in me being able to lie my way out of this.

If Kathy adheres to what she has agreed then our story could be bulletproof. In the back of my mind I think about asking her to say that the relationship is between me and her but I don’t know how Talia would like that. I arrive home terribly needing a nap. The mental energy that I expend on a momentary basis drains me of everything, with no end in sight.

I think about skipping the play but know I will only drive myself further insane without a diversion. The play is interesting but I only use the serenity to reflect on the flurry of thoughts that arrive, happenstance in my head. More questions and new fears appear every time I open up my mind to wonder.

I sneak away during intermission to my classroom. I clean out the desk drawer I have reserved for Natalia, placing everything back in her locker. I’m grasping at straws and in my terror, brought on by Friday’s news, I’m playing out my overactive imagination. I try anything to cover my tracks no matter how trivial or futile. As if the removal of books will throw anyone off of the month’s long scent I have left with my outrageous behavior. It’s no different than hiding my car at the hotel where Natalia and I went to have sex. It’s pointless other than to make me feel as though I’m being vigilant in my clandestine security measures. I find only momentary peace from my self-created chaos.

I return to my seat just before Act II and see Natalia sitting in front of me. I know what she is doing at all times, watching her as much as the play. She looks good but for some reason, young. My mind instinctively molds her to a sympathetic form, gratifying its own intentions. When I am present in a younger ego state she is perfectly adult and functions as such, but as I switch into my own maturity I distance myself, seeing her true youth. I wish we had sex earlier but maybe it’s best we didn’t.

Afterward, I speak briefly with Dana and try my best to offer congratulations, but I remember nothing, my mind distant for the entirety. I offer to pick up the kids since she has things to wrap up at school. I stop by Talia’s house to say hello, hoping to be quick. For as much as I feel like I’m dying a slow death, I will be losing her presence in my life also. Whether the person I’m
preemptively missing or the concept of her representation I feel like I need to salvage as much time with her as possible.

I walk in her front door and find her sitting on the couch in silence, home alone. She is still sullen and when I ask her why she says, “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Jimi. I love you and cannot imagine you not being in my life.”

I have no response. I wish I knew what to say but I have manipulated her up to and including this point to think as though we are lovers entrenched in a forbidden romance. I have spun tales of love conquering all and riding off happily into the sunset and now my bullshit has caught up with me.

Perhaps in a world where I can bend reality, all of that is possible. But not in this world. Not in this day and age where society is hypersensitive to exactly this variety of indiscretion.

I hug her and say the only inane thing I can, “It’ll be ok.” She does me the courtesy of believing one more lie. I pick up my children and go home for another sleepless night.

The next day is Super Bowl Sunday, February 4
^th
. The Indianapolis Colts are playing the Chicago Bears. Much like Christmas, my erratic and unfaithful behavior has led to exclusion from my in-law’s party. That works fine because I’m spared from concocting an alibi. I don’t fool myself into thinking Dana believes I will be watching the game with friends. Of course, I watch the game with Natalia, Kathy and her boyfriend, my life nothing short of surreal.

The news on Friday was shocking but perhaps because the weekend was beginning, reality was still in the distance. Now, however the palpable fear looms over every thought that crosses my mind. Talia and I spend most of the afternoon downstairs in her room, talking. The conversation ranges with our emotions.

Maybe this is nothing but if it is, we’re prepared because mom knows and wouldn’t say anything. I might just have to go teach at another school which would be difficult but manageable. Maybe Maggie was jealous and said that to scare us. Maybe I’ll be called to the principal’s office again and told to stop immediately or will definitely get fired. So many delusional possibilities continue to smooth over the severity of not only the immorality, but the crime that I’m committing.

I can only play along, having planted the original seed. I groomed her to think that it’s not a big deal to be texting her
French teacher, made her think it was permissible to drive her home. It’s not a problem to come to my bike races and watch me parade around in Spandex, bulging through my shorts.

We can kiss, harmless because we’re in love. Oral sex is an expression of that love, intercourse, the greatest expression. Now your Mom knows and she’s not upset which only solidifies there is nothing shady. And now, when the truth is inevitable, there will be dire consequences that will last a lifetime, there are no more lies to tell. There are no more placations or conciliatory words that can heal these fretful feelings. All that’s left are the tears to shed as we unravel the agonizing confusion.

Of course we have sex one last time before the game, wrought with overdone emotion. I look at her deeply and tell her, “I love you. I’ll always love you. I will love you no matter what. We can and will make it through whatever happens.”

This is what I want to believe. I need to behold this as truth because here on the doorstep of full transparency, the only way to justify the insanity is in the name of true love. A tear escapes her left eyelid as she blinks and runs down her temple. I hug her while still inside and feel it’s wetness on my own face. I stop to hold her and feel her squeeze me close.

I have alienated almost everyone in my life, even if unbeknownst to them yet. The only person that I feel close to is the one I exploited to feel so. We lay motionless for a few moments just locked in an embrace until she begins to move her hips again and we finish. We silently dress and walk upstairs four minutes into the first quarter.

I’m beginning to feel the physical effects of the panic gripping me. I feel nauseas and am sweating profusely. Despite the fact that thermostat reads sixty-seven degrees I’m hot in my own
personal hell. I periodically step outside with the excuse, “I need some air.”

I come back in to watch the halftime show because I want to see Prince perform. The first cassette tape that I ever bought, to play on my newly received boom box was the soundtrack to “Purple Rain”. I played that tape on the radio and in my Walkman on every car ride for a year. I am glued to the television screen watching him play two songs from that very album, “Let’s Go Crazy”, and “Baby, I’m a Star”.

I’m a kid again, still my parents’ son and not facing down this apocalypse. My mind shifts immediately back to reality when Prince covers “Proud Mary,” and “All Along the Watchtower”. One more Foo Fighters cover and then he finishes with “Purple Rain” which brings me quickly to tears.

The slow and sensuous power ballad melody brings back so many memories of being in that time with friends and people who had neither exploited nor been exploited by me. I’ve heard the lyrics more times than I could ever count but this is the first time I truly listen. The significance that these words have in my life right now crushes me.

Natalia comments, “Well this song is a bit overdone isn’t it?”

Everyone in the room laughs.

I respond, barely audible, “I think it’s beautiful.”

I wish that I could convey to her as beautifully as Prince does that I never meant to hurt her. I only ever wanted to be a friend, but many things, none of which were her issues, stood in the way.

I try not to watch the clock of the second half because it only serves as a reminder that time is marching mercilessly toward judgment. I leave after a prolonged hug, steeped with emotion in front of her door. Kathy comes over before I leave and also hugs
me. As I try to pull away she clings, “It’ll all be ok, I know it will. We love you.”

I don’t know what any of that means, but I don’t have any mental energy to interpret. I kiss Natalia one more time and with a look of walking bravely into the unknown, I leave.

When I arrive home, everyone is already asleep. I sit on the couch for a while and contemplate putting on the television. I pull out the newspaper and try to read, even attempting to gather enough concentration for the crossword. I give up because nothing eases the restless fidgeting, the volume of a roar inside my head. The last thing I do before I lay in bed is sit at my computer and Google, “Sentences for Statutory Rape.”

My attempt to salvage what’s left of my sanity requires keeping the same routine. I wake up at five thirty, despite my sleepless night and go to the gym. I speak to no one. I put my headphones on and my hood up. I neither want to be seen nor acknowledged because I need to focus on what today might bring.

I cut my workout short, shower and head to school half an hour earlier than normal. Miles from school I’m smacked with the reality that my reckoning has come. As I leave the gym parking lot, the superintendent appears in my rear view mirror. In my seven years at this school I’ve never seen him arrive before nine o’clock. His presence this early, today indicates that he needs to be here, come what may. And it’s only ominous irony that he happens to pull in the parking lot right behind me.

I put my belongings in my room and walk to the office. While collecting my mail I see George talking to the vice-principal, Ed. I walk past and try to read his face. He says, “Good morning,” refusing to look at me.

He only gives a sideways glance, unable to make eye contact. In my best attempt at a red herring, driven by panic, I ask him if he attended Dana’s play. “No,” substantiates that there is something very wrong.

George is the type of man that would rave about the quality performance of “his” students, or give the indisputably valid
reason for his absence. In between trying to read George’s mannerisms and pick up on any clues, I look at Ed, also loathe to lock eyes with me.