It is 2001. I am seventeen years old. I live with my parents, in a semi-detatched condominium. It’s in a suburb on the bottom of the hill. The top of the hill is a nice neighbourhood, with big houses and clean yards. The people there drive nice cars and raise polite children. At the bottom of the hill, our street is nicknamed “Jerry Springer Drive”. The houses are all carbon copies of themselves. The yards are littered with beer cans and the residents are loud and angry. Their children are depressed and maladjusted. They’re damaged. They will grow up to be like their parents. Angry and bigoted.
My neighbours across the street have a daughter around my age. She is quiet and underweight. She is always alone. I see her every day. I never talk to her. I see her from afar and she’s beautiful. I can hear her father yell at her sometimes. Her name is Sarah. It makes me sad and angry to hear their arguments. I don’t know anything about her; but I know she’s fragile and delicate. She’s damaged. I see her through the window. She’s beautiful.
It is 1991. I am eight years old. I have recently moved to a new school and I have no friends. My mother runs a day care out of our house. Most of the children she takes care of are much younger than me. There is one other eight year old. Her name is Becky. She goes to my school. She’s in my class. My mother usually keeps her separate from the other, younger kids, when they’re at our house. We usually play alone in my room. We’re the only eight year olds. I’m at that age where it’s taboo to be attracted to girls. But I have a crush on her. One day we are wrestling in my room and our lips accidentally brush. We stop. We’re under the covers, but I can see her eyes through the darkness. They lock onto mine. For an eternity we stare. Without saying a word, we kiss. It is the first time for either of us. The next day at school everyone makes fun of me.
One day, I look out the window to see Sarah walk by and she isn’t there. She must have come home earlier that day. I hear yelling from across the street. It is louder than usual. I hear glass break. I strain to see their house from my front window. My parents aren’t home. They’re both factory workers. They’re rarely home during the day. I walk out onto the back porch. I can see their house through the links of the wooden fence. The door is open. A man runs out the door. He’s black. I hear another smash. I don’t hear Sarah’s voice. Her father is very angry. He steps out the door and throws an empty beer bottle at the fleeing black man and misses. He calls him a nigger. He doesn’t see me watching him. He turns back into the house. He leaves the door open. I can’t hear Sarah. I only hear the sound of bottles breaking. Over and over again.
I race inside and grab the wireless phone from its cradle. I dial 9-1-1. I tell them that my neighbour is throwing beer bottles at his teenage daughter. They ask me if they are inside or outside their house. They tell me that I can’t lodge a complaint unless they are outside. I throw the phone at the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall. I put on my shoes and walk back outside. Like clockwork, I hear the breaking of bottles. I hear the man’s voice. He says his daughter is a whore. He screams at her as he throws another bottle. He must have a whole closet full of empties. I hear Sarah scream. I grab a metal shovel and open the gate on my porch.
It is 1996. I am thirteen years old. I have a close knit group of three friends, with Dan being the so-called “leader” or our clique. The four of us joke that we’re like the cast of Seinfeld. We are all friends “through” Dan. He is like Jerry. I am like George. Mike is like Kramer and Michelle is like Elaine. Without Dan none of us would be friends. I have a crush on Michelle. She is just like one of the guys. She does everything with us. She’s very plain. She wears jeans and has short, blonde hair. She doesn’t wear make-up. I have a secret crush on her. She’s beautiful. I don’t say anything about it for fear of disrupting our clique’s balance. I’ve never had many friends. I’ve spent many summers alone. I’m not a very popular person. I don’t want to lose my three best friends over some ridiculous crush.
One day we are all at Dan’s house. He lives outside of town. It would be farm country if it wasn’t for the uneven landscape. The hills remind me of Hobbit Holes from books I read. Dan has a new dog. It’s just a puppy. It is very hyper. We are outside Dan’s house. Mike and Dan need to go inside for some reason. It occurs to me that they often go off alone. Later I find out that Mike is secretly a homosexual. It occurs to me, in hindsight, that Dan was also rather flamboyant. Michelle and I are playing with the puppy.
“You’re cute,” laughs Michelle. I nod my head, looking at Dan’s puppy chase its own tail. I look up and see that Michelle isn’t looking at the dog. She’s looking at me. Our eyes lock. Her eyes are beautiful. Big and blue, they envelope me. Time stands still. Everything goes silent. We stare into each others’ eyes forever. The world slowly disappears. We are moving closer. Our hands are locked. I see her eyes shut. I shut my own. I feel myself lean closer.
Dan and Mike return, snapping us back to reality. We pretend nothing happened. Dan’s puppy is tired. We go inside and play video games.
I walk across the street gripping the shovel. The sound of bottles breaking is all I hear. My body is trembling. I’m on his lawn. It is covered in empty beer bottles. He is standing in the doorway holding a case of beer. I see him throw another one into the house. I hear her crying. He doesn’t notice me standing right behind him. I raise the shovel over my head. It feels heavy. I could kill this man. I want to kill this man.
“You bring a fucking nigger into my house? You fucking whore!” he screams. I can see over his shoulder into the kitchen. Sarah is cowering in a corner. The floor is covered in broken glass. She’s no longer screaming. She’s no longer crying. She’s not trembling. She’s motionless.
It is 2000. I am sixteen years old and already an alcoholic. A friend of mine is living at a motel in town, after being kicked out of his parents’ house. He is throwing a party. My brother buys us liquor, as he is of legal drinking age. A few close friends join us at the motel. Terri is there. She’s a year younger than me and already has a bad reputation. She’s known around town as a “whore” and a “slut”. She’s also an alcoholic.
After a while, in my drunken haze, I realize I am alone in the motel room with Terri. I don’t know where everyone else went and I don’t care. Terri is looking in my direction. Our eyes lock. I see sadness in her eyes. She is crying on the inside. We stare at each other for time immeasurable. She is beautiful. I stumble over and sit on the floor next to her. Neither of us say a word. She shuffles her weight towards me and sits on my lap, her blonde hair brushing over my face. She smells wonderful. She directs my hand onto her breast. I move my other hand onto her stomach. I caress her. She feels wonderful. I slowly slide her shirt up and over her head. I lightly move my fingers over her soft skin. She is beautiful. Neither of us say a word. We are in heaven together. Just the two of us.
All of a sudden the other party-goers burst through the motel room door. Terri and I frantically put whatever clothes we lost back on our bodies. We sit next to each other on the floor. Everyone eyes us quizzically but we don’t say a word. I decide to go home. Terri asks me to stay. I look into her eyes. Her hair is still messed up and her clothes are badly wrinkled. I leave without saying a word. I feel her gaze on my back as I shut the door. I imagine her crying on the inside. I made her feel beautiful, if for only a moment. And then I was gone.
“You dirty slut!” he cries as he throws another beer bottle. The bottle explodes just inches from Sarah’s head. She moves her head slightly. Signs of life. I notice blood on the floor beneath her. It drips down from her sleeveless arms as she feebly tries to protect her face behind her hands. Blood seeps through from between her fingers. I bring the shovel down with all my strength. The impact feels surprisingly soft. The man falls forward onto the glass-littered hardwood of his front hallway. His neck and shoulders are covered in dark crimson. My knees almost give out but I stop myself from falling. I want to throw up. Without another moment of hesitation, I run. I run as fast as I can, and it doesn’t feel fast enough. Shovel still in hand, I cross the street and flee into the woods. The tears blind my eyes. I feel branches slap my face. I trip on roots. I run. I run forever.
I open my eyes. It’s dark out now. It takes me a second to adjust to the darkness. I’m lying beside a stream. I stand up and brush myself off. My mouth feels impossibly dry. I begin to stagger back in a direction I judge might lead back to my house. It takes alot less time than it should, but I’m back home. My parents are asleep. I take off my shoes and go to my room. I lay awake all night.
I found out that the man survived my attack. But I never saw him again after that day. Sarah and her mother continued to live across the street from me for a while. Yet I no longer saw Sarah walk by my window. After a while, I stopped looking for her. Years later, as I was walking down the street, I saw her, walking towards me. As we crossed paths, I looked at her face. She still had scars. She was badly disfigured from that day. Her hair was cut short and dyed. She had her head down. As we crossed paths, she looked up momentarily and our eyes locked. She was beautiful. In a moment that seemed to last forever, I saw her. And she was beautiful. I visibly gasped, but she didn’t notice. Our paths crossed and we went on our separate ways.
That was the last time I ever saw her. She never knew I was the one who used to watch her from afar as she passed my window. She never knew I was the one who died a little inside each time I heard her arguments with her dad. She never knew I was the one who saved her life on that fateful day. She never knew how beautiful she was. She was damaged. She was scarred. She was brought up in a world of anger and hate. And she was scarred by it.
She never knew I was the one who saved her life. And I never told her. I didn’t have the heart.
