Men, Women & Children (22 page)

chapter

fifteen

T
he Monday after the Olympians’ win over the Dawes Trojans, Allison Doss was standing at the dry-erase board in Mr. Donnelly’s geometry class, attempting to find the locus of an equation that was part of that day’s workbook assignment, when her back began to hurt. The pain was minor at first. Allison dismissed it as muscle soreness from the previous Friday, when she’d accidentally fallen from the top of a three-person pyramid while cheering at the football game. She wrote x
2
+ y
2
- 6x + 4y - 23 = 0 on the dry-erase board, received a satisfactory nod and congratulation from Mr. Donnelly for providing the correct answer, and then took her seat, the pain intensifying slightly. She rubbed her lower back for the rest of the class period and dry-swallowed two Advil caplets from her purse, but by the end of Mr. Donnelly’s geometry class she was in an abnormal amount of pain.

Thinking that the pain might be related to an impending menstrual cycle, and having no tampons in her purse, Allison visited the restroom between classes with the intent of purchasing a tampon from the vending machine and inserting it just in case her period was beginning. Once inside the girl’s restroom, she purchased the tampon and went into a stall to insert it. As she pulled her pants and underwear down, she thought briefly about the fact that the last thing inside her vagina was Brandon Lender’s penis. She wished that he would respond to her Facebook messages.

Just as she was about to insert the tampon, the pain in her back intensified to such a degree that she doubled over in pain. It seemed to move through her back and into her lower abdomen, which made her positive that it was related to her menstrual cycle. But in the past, it had never caused pain to this degree. She wondered if it had anything to do with the forced vomiting that had become a habit for her. If it was related, she felt that enduring intense physical pain every so often was a small price to pay. This was the last thought she had before she felt a heavy flow of blood stream down her thigh. She quickly rolled off a handful of toilet paper and did her best to stop the blood from making its way to her pants and underwear, which were around her ankles. Looking at the blood on the toilet paper, she noted that it was an odd shade of brown, much darker than any blood she had seen before. Along with the blood there were some smaller pieces of semisolid material. Allison had no idea what this was. Her assumption was that it was some kind of mucus associated with menstruation that she hadn’t expelled during any of her previous menstrual cycles. She became nervous and frightened, slightly frantic.

She threw the bloodied toilet paper into the toilet and flushed it, but still felt blood flowing out of her vagina and down her legs. The pain in her back and abdomen were now at a level of intensity that made it difficult for her to concentrate on what she was doing. As she tried again to roll off another handful of toilet paper, the pain reached a point of intensity that overwhelmed Allison, causing her to collapse in the stall unconscious. She remained there for almost five minutes until a fellow student, Regina Sotts, happened into the restroom to urinate quickly before her next class and noticed a pair of shoes sticking out from under one of the stalls. After knocking on the door and inquiring as to the condition of the stall’s occupant—and receiving no answer—Regina kneeled down in a prone position that allowed her to see under the door. Seeing that Allison was unconscious and that she was lying in a slowly expanding pool of blood, Regina alerted the first member of the Goodrich faculty she saw in the hall outside, Mrs. Langston, who then notified both Principal Ligorski and Mrs. Heldinberg, the school nurse, who assessed the situation and quickly decided that an ambulance was needed.

Allison regained consciousness as two paramedics lifted her onto a gurney, strapped her down, and rushed her through the halls of Goodrich Junior High School to an ambulance waiting outside. Allison was frightened and uncertain about what exactly was occurring, but above all she was glad this was happening while virtually all other students were in class, so that only the faculty members involved and Regina Sotts would know what was happening. She wondered how long she could keep it a secret from the rest of the school. She was not looking forward to the embarrassment of explaining it to anyone.

The paramedics asked Allison a series of questions dealing primarily with what she had had to eat that day, if she had ever experienced a menstrual cycle before, and so on. It wasn’t until they had her in the ambulance that one of them asked, “Are you sexually active?” Allison had to pause for a moment before answering. She said, “No. I mean, not really.”

The paramedic said, “I know this is really personal, but we have to know the answers to these questions if we’re going to be able to help you, okay?”

Allison said, “Okay.”

The paramedic said, “So we need to know if you’ve had sexual intercourse with anyone. And there’s nothing wrong with that if you have. You’re not in any kind of trouble or anything. We just need to know.”

Allison said, “I mean, yeah, I guess I have.”

The paramedic said, “Okay,”

Allison felt another wave of intense pain in her back and abdomen and again passed out. When she regained consciousness this time she was in a hospital, nude except for a surgical gown. Her mother and father were present. Her mother was crying and holding her hand. Allison noticed a needle in the back of her hand. She followed the tube connected to the needle to find a bag filled with some kind of fluid that was flowing directly into her vein. She assumed it to be some kind of medication or nutrients. The thought of something going into her body that she couldn’t expel at will made her nauseous. She thought about tearing the needle out, but she knew that would bring up questions from her parents and a reinsertion by a doctor at some point. She hated needles and was thankful that she had been unconscious when it had been inserted the first time. With some concentration on the thought of the needle in her hand, she was certain she could feel the contents of the bag flowing into her vein and then being circulated through her body, swimming through her blood. She was on the verge of vomiting but held it back. She felt better having control over the act, comforted that she wasn’t completely powerless in the situation.

Allison said, “What happened?”

Her mother, Liz, said, “We don’t know, baby. The doctor just said somebody found you at school bleeding in the bathroom. We’re waiting for them to come in and tell us what’s going on.”

Allison said, “Am I okay?” It was then that she realized she’d stopped bleeding. She looked at the needle in the back of her hand and wished that the bleeding hadn’t stopped. She could accept the thought of fluid coming into her body if some of it was also leaving in equal or greater measure.

Her father, Neal, said, “They think so. The doctor’s supposed to be in here in a second. How do you feel?”

Her eyes never left the needle in the back of her hand. Allison perceived it to be throbbing with the tick of a clock that was hanging on the wall over the door in her room, pumping her body full of things she couldn’t get rid of, bloating her, making her thick and watery. She wanted to tell her father that she felt fat and disgusting, but she said, “I guess I feel okay. I just want to know what’s happening.”

Her mother said, “So do we, baby, so do we.”

Dr. Michael Stern came into the room holding Allison’s chart, shutting the door behind him. He sat down and said, “Hi. I’m Dr. Stern. How are you feeling, Allison?”

Allison said, “Okay, I guess. Am I, like, okay, though?”

Dr. Stern said, “The short answer is yes. The longer answer is a little more complicated.”

Liz said, “What does that mean?”

Dr. Stern said, “It means that I need to tell you a few things that might be a little shocking, but the main thing to keep in mind here is that your daughter is going to be fine.”

Neal said, “Okay.”

Dr. Stern said, “Allison, you had what’s called an ectopic pregnancy that self-terminated.”

Liz said, “Pregnancy? What? How? Allison, are you . . . ?”

Allison immediately began crying. She said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Neal said, “I can’t believe this. You were pregnant? How many . . . I don’t even know what to say. This is just . . .”

Dr. Stern said, “Again, I know this is a difficult thing to hear, but you have to remember that the most important thing here is that your daughter is okay. An ectopic pregnancy means that the fertilized egg develops in a place other than the uterus. In Allison’s case, it was growing in one of her Fallopian tubes. It’s actually very serious and if it’s not caught in time it can be extremely bad. So the fact that your pregnancy self-terminated was actually a very good thing. It probably saved your life. We did notice that you’re a little undernourished, which can sometimes happen with an ectopic pregnancy—the fetus, because it’s growing in an environment that’s less than optimal, can sometimes take more than it normally would from the mother’s nutrient supply. Do you have any questions about anything?”

Allison, still crying, said, “Can I go home?”

Dr. Stern said, “The pregnancy was only in about the fifth week, and it doesn’t look like it caused any excessive damage to your Fallopian tube, but we’d like to keep you here overnight for observation, just to be on the safe side.”

Allison said, “I want to go home.”

Liz said, “They have to keep you here.”

Allison said, “Will you guys stay with me?”

Neal said, “I can’t believe . . . I just can’t.” Neal began to cry. It was the first time Allison had seen her father cry. She began to sob harder at the sight of it.

Dr. Stern said, “If you need anything, just have a nurse page me. And obviously take as much time as you need.” Dr. Stern left.

Neal said, “Alli, I’m glad you’re going to be okay, but I can’t stay here tonight. I just—I don’t know what to think. You were my little girl.”

Allison said, “I still am, Daddy.”

Neal said, “I don’t think so,” and left the room.

Allison began to cry convulsively. She said, “Mom, will you stay with me?”

Liz said, “Yes, baby.” She hugged her daughter.

Allison said, “Does Daddy hate me?”

Liz said, “No. He loves you. He’s just a little confused. So am I. Alli, how could you do this?”

Allison said, “I’m so sorry.”

Her mother stayed through the night with her, sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room. Allison didn’t fall asleep for a long time into the night. She stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of the needle in her hand, of the fluids being pumped into her body. She thought about the fact that Dr. Stern had never mentioned the possibility of anorexia or bulimia being the cause of her miscarriage, and of the fact that these things hadn’t even been detected by the doctors. Once she left the hospital she would still have those things; she would still have control.

Liz went home to pick up some supplies for the night, and then stopped by Goodrich Junior High School to collect Allison’s things before coming back to the hospital. Among them was Allison’s phone. While her mother slept, Allison logged into her Angels of Ana account and began composing a post about her experience with the miscarriage and about how proud she was that the doctors hadn’t detected her eating disorder. She complained about being fed intravenously but claimed that she would get the weight back off as soon as she left the hospital the following morning. Within a few minutes of uploading her post, she had two responses, each one congratulating her on keeping her secret and on maintaining the proper attitude about losing the few pounds she might be gaining while in the hospital. This support from girls she felt were her peers was important to Allison. It was support she knew she would get nowhere else.

After reading the responses, she opened her Facebook application and found that she still had no response from Brandon Lender to any of the multiple messages she had sent him. She took the opportunity to send him another message, one that carried enough gravity to perhaps garner a response. This one read, “I just had your miscarriage.” Two minutes later she received his response, which read, “Whoa, that is some seriously fucked up shit.” She was happy that he responded and took it as a sign that he was still interested in her.

As she began to feel the exhaustion of the ordeal setting in, she closed her eyes and thought again of that day at SeaWorld when she was younger and her father had bought her an ice-cream cone without her having to ask. She wondered if her father would ever see her as that little girl again and knew that the answer was no. She would never be that little girl again.

chapter

sixteen

D
awn Clint shot almost thirty minutes of new footage of her daughter answering various questions about her goals in the entertainment industry, performing various activities in and around Goodrich Junior High School, and wearing different outfits, all at the request of the producers of the reality show
Undiscovered
.

The most important and rigid of these requests, however, was that the video submission be no longer than five minutes. Having only rudimentary video-editing skills, Dawn was in the process of looking for a professional video editor when her daughter, Hannah, informed her that her friend Chris Truby was very skilled at video editing and would probably be happy to do it. Dawn was skeptical of allowing a thirteen-year-old boy to edit what could be the most important piece of video that her daughter had yet appeared in, but there were still a few weeks before the video was to be turned in and she decided that if Chris did a bad job she would still have time to hire a professional editor. Dawn made a copy of the video file containing all of the footage and e-mailed it to Hannah, along with footage of her performance as Annie in the local production of
Annie
from the year before.

As she e-mailed the file, she thought about the last time she had sex with the theater director. It was at least five months ago. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to do it again, for reasons that included her burgeoning feelings for Kent Mooney as well as her desire to see her daughter succeed on a level higher than the local community theater.

Hannah sent Chris a text message that read, “Want 2 edit my video for the reality show?” Chris replied with a text message that read, “Sure, want 2 come over and help 2night?” Chris assumed that at some point after editing the video, he and Hannah would engage in some kind of sexual interaction, and he was anxious to attempt intercourse, confident in his ability to perform after having practiced with his various makeshift vaginas. Hannah replied with a text message that read, “Y.”

Dawn picked Hannah up from school and drove her to Chris Truby’s house. She said, “It can only be five minutes, but make sure he gets all of your outfits in it and make sure he gets the answers to the questions that were in the producers’ e-mails.” Hannah said, “I will, Mom,” then got out of the car and went into Chris Truby’s house, where she was greeted by both Don and Rachel Truby. She had been to Chris’s house three times before, and each time she had noticed something distant between Don and Rachel. This time they seemed much happier to her, closer. Don said, “Chris is in his room. He has his computer all ready to go.”

Rachel said, “So this is pretty exciting. A reality show.”

Hannah said, “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’m not on the show or anything yet, but it could be really cool, you know, like a start to my career and everything.”

Rachel said, “Well, good luck. We’re pulling for you.”

Hannah said, “Thanks,” and went into Chris’s bedroom.

Chris was sitting at his computer when she walked in. He had already broken the large video file Hannah had e-mailed him into smaller clips and was in the process of making a rough assembly of them in an order he thought made more sense than the order in which they were originally presented. He had trimmed many of the clips down, as well, and added a selected portion of Hannah’s performance as Annie. The total run time of the new clip was twelve minutes. He told all of this to Hannah and then said, “So you should watch it, then tell me what you think we should cut out.” Before he played the clip for her, they talked briefly about Allison Doss and her episode in the girls’ restroom. Neither of them knew exactly what happened, but had both heard that it was serious enough to have paramedics take her away. Allison had not updated her Facebook and had posted nothing on Twitter, so no one knew exactly what was happening with her.

After the conversation about Allison, Chris played his version of the video back for Hannah, who claimed to feel that all of it was integral. She found it too difficult to make any decisions about what should be omitted. Chris said, “Okay, let me take another pass at it and I’ll see what I can do.” Hannah sat on his bed and watched as he worked. She didn’t understand the subtleties and nuances of what he was doing, but was able to follow most of the broader actions he was taking. She offered protests a few times when she perceived him to be cutting out a portion she found especially interesting. In these cases, Chris told her that she misunderstood what he was doing, that he wasn’t cutting these portions out at all, just moving them into another bin so he could rearrange them and edit them as individual clips.

Eventually, Hannah just let Chris work. She lay down on his bed, smelling his pillow. It smelled like his shampoo, a smell that was now familiar to her. She didn’t like the way it smelled, like a stereotypical male bath product—like deodorant, almost. She assumed he used Axe or some other product that was marketed for men and wondered if he was the person who decided what type of products he used or if his mother just assumed that Axe would be something her son would like, and Chris never offered any protest because he didn’t care, and thus his body soap and shampoo would forever remain Axe. She wondered if he would ever buy a different kind of shampoo when he went away to college and had to buy his own bathroom products, or if he would just succumb to habit, to familiarity. She wondered if anyone had control over these types of things.

After almost forty-five minutes of editing, Chris said, “Okay, I have it down to around six minutes. See what you think.” Hannah watched the clip and, although there were a lot of things she’d liked in the original video, she had to admit that it was much better the way Chris had arranged it. She wondered if one day she’d be sitting in a real editing room working with a real editor, maybe even on the reality TV show for which she was making this video. She had the impression that once a person was featured on a TV show, reality or scripted, or was given a part in a movie, they had complete control over the production and over how they were edited. Chris was a good editor from what she had seen. Maybe she would take him with her when she became famous and he could be her personal editor.

She said, “I think it looks good. I mean, I miss a bunch of the stuff, like with me talking about what I like to do with my friends and with me doing gymnastics and everything, but it’s cool. I’m pretty sure we still have to cut out a minute, though, right?”

Chris said, “Forty-three seconds, to be exact, but that’s not a problem. Just let me tighten some stuff. I just wanted to see if you thought it was okay with these major chunks. I won’t take any of the basic parts out of it, I’ll just trim the heads and tails and take out pauses and things like that.”

Hannah said, “How long will that take?”

Chris said, “Not too long. I can do it after you leave and e-mail it to you tonight.”

Hannah said, “Cool,” then got up off Chris’s bed and walked over to where he was sitting. She swiveled his chair around and sat in his lap.

Chris said, “My mom and dad are still up.”

Hannah said, “We can be quiet.”

Chris said, “Hang on,” then got out of his chair, cracked his bedroom door, and snuck out into the living room to find his father asleep in his chair and his mother nowhere to be seen. Chris assumed she was in her bedroom. He snuck back into his room, shut the door, and put a T-shirt by the crack under it. He went back to Hannah and said, “What time is your mom coming to get you?”

Hannah said, “Whenever I text her. But it can’t be too late. We have time, though.”

Chris said, “What do you want to do?”

Hannah said, “I want you to fuck me.”

Chris would have preferred her to say, “I want to fuck you,” but he had been preparing for this moment and felt that he was ready to assume the dominant role that Hannah required. Chris said, “Okay, let’s fuck.”

They moved to his bed. Hannah lay down, removing her clothes as she did so. Chris removed his clothes as well. Chris looked at her naked body and started masturbating. Hannah said, “Do you want me to suck your dick?”

Chris tried to recreate the exact circumstances in which he’d been able to successfully ejaculate into a cardboard paper towel tube filled with lotion-saturated Nerf foam. Then he said, “No, just spread your legs.”

She did as she was told and watched Chris standing at the edge of his bed, his flaccid penis in his hand, his eyes closed. She wondered what he was thinking about. She wondered if she wasn’t attractive enough to fully arouse Chris. She assumed that there could be no other reason for his inability to achieve an erection in her presence unless some abnormal sexual behavior was employed. She knew that men liked big breasts, which she had, but she wondered if she was missing some other quality that they also liked or liked in a more profound way. She wondered if her vagina smelled bad, if she was slightly too fat in any area of her body, if her face wasn’t pretty enough, if her hair wasn’t done well enough, if her makeup wasn’t applied properly enough, if her voice was too shrill, if her feet were too big, if she should have painted her toenails, if her hands were too rough, if her teeth weren’t straight or white enough, if she had some innate deficiency in dealing with men because she never had a father.

Eventually, Chris achieved erection. Hannah remembered reading a post on a website about what men liked during sex that recommended complimenting the size of their erect penises in pornographic terms. She said, “Your hard cock is huge.” Chris said nothing in response. He knew that he had a small window of time to insert his erection into Hannah’s vagina before it withered.

He had a difficult time entering her due to the fact that her vagina was dry. With no foreplay, not even kissing, Hannah wasn’t aroused in the least. The combined complications of Hannah’s dry vagina and Chris’s lack of interest in traditional sex were taking their toll.

With each thrust, he could feel his penis losing rigidity. He forced it in with his fingers as it softened anyway. Once in, his penis was fully lifeless again. Hannah said, “Are you in?”

Chris said, “Yeah, I think so.”

Hannah said, “Uh . . . I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

Chris said, “No, I am.”

Hannah said, “Are you moving?”

Chris said, “No,” knowing that the most minor movement of his hips backward would result in the full extraction of his penis, which was now far too limp to be put back in.

Hannah said, “Well, don’t you have to, to, like, have sex?”

Chris said, “Yeah.”

Hannah said, “I’ll move, then,” and moved her hips under him, causing his penis to slide out.

She said, “Put it back in.”

He rolled over on his back, frustrated. Hannah stared at the ceiling, not knowing exactly what to say, convinced that something was wrong with her, that every encounter she ever had with a man would result in similar disappointment. She said, “Is there something I’m doing wrong, or . . .”

Chris said, “No, I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Chris wanted to tell her what he found to be sexually arousing, but based on her reaction when he asked her to put a finger in his anus, he knew it was a waste of time. He assumed his sexual preferences were aberrant, and wondered if he would ever meet a girl who would not only indulge him but also enjoy the same things he did. He didn’t think he would. He convinced himself in that moment that his life would be filled with sexual frustration and secrecy.

Neither of them made any attempt to engage in further sexual activity. Hannah said, “I guess I should text my mom.” Chris said, “Okay.” They averted their eyes from each other as they both put their clothes back on. Chris liked Hannah and Hannah liked Chris. Part of Hannah wanted to just be held by Chris, wanted to wait to have any kind of sexual encounter with Chris or anyone, and there was a part of Chris that just wanted to hold Hannah and fall asleep with her, smell her hair, wake up with her, wanted to wait to have any kind of sexual encounter with Hannah or with anyone.

When Hannah’s mother arrived, Chris walked her to his front door and said, “I’ll send you the video tonight.”

Hannah said, “Thanks,” then left without giving Chris a hug, which had been a regular part of their parting protocol.

As Chris finished cutting the video for Hannah, he checked his phone constantly, waiting for a text message from Hannah. Hannah did the same with her phone, waiting for a text message from Chris, waiting for some indication that they would still talk to each other, that this night hadn’t ruined the undefined but increasingly comfortable relationship they had manufactured over the past months. The text messages never came.