Fear, meet Fury.

Doing and saying wrong things

I watched them from the upstairs bedroom window. Crouching low over the cast iron radiator, I position the very top of my head just above the brown stained windowsill.

He parked just under the streetlight. This is good. I can see her facial expressions clearly and his occasionally. She is sitting on the driver’s side front hood area of his brown Oldsmobile Cutlass. He is facing her as he rocks back and forth on his Timberland boot covered feet. His white button-down oxford reflects the light brightly. While she is a slumped, dark, shadowy figure (her inner spirit showing itself), he stands tall with hands in the pockets of his light blue Wrangler jeans, waiting for her to talk, likely wondering why he is here.

I strain to listen for her words, his responses. I can barely hear. The cicadas are here this year. Their buzzing and clicking invades my air space. I am struggling to distinguish between the cicada hum, the idling of his car (keeping her ass warm on this abnormally cold summer night), and the pitch of her voice. Did she just say “um” or is that the cicada hum?

The bedroom radiator kicks on with a loud pop. It surprises me and I jump back from the window. He turns his head quickly towards the house. I suspect he senses my eavesdropping. Perhaps he heard my startled gasp when the radiator kicking on in summer broke my focus. I crouch lower down the windowsill to avoid him seeing any hint of my bright blue eyes through the screens.

She is shaking a bit; tears are running down her face. He is frozen. Staring at her.

I can now see her eyes brightly illuminated by that streetlight. Her deep green eyes resemble emeralds. Emeralds disbursing small diamond tears down her cheeks.

“BUT I DON’T UNDERSTAND. How is this possible? You told me it was okay. That it was safe. And why didn’t you call me sooner? Why has it taken you so long to contact me?”

His voice is loud now. Angry. Even the cicadas have stopped to listen.

“How. Tell me how.” he demands.

Head hung low, tears falling down her cheeks, she struggles to respond. I can see her start to talk or try to. Instead of uttering words there is a low groan or maybe a moan. Are they the same thing? Whatever it was it came from somewhere deep, like a small tremble beneath the earth erupting into something we don’t want to see. It is not fully human either. It is distorted, guttural, a powerful force trying to claw its way out of her cries. I have been hearing this cry late at night for months now. Sharing a room with her, it is hard not to. It was brutal to listen to until she told me the source. Now I understand.

She is hyperventilating now. Panic is setting in. I know this too. Breathe, sister, breathe.

He stands and waits. She continues to cry and moan.

He says something I cannot hear. It angers her. The tears stop. She looks up and at him deep into his dark brown eyes.

“You know what? Maybe I am wrong. I won’t know until next week when I visit Planned Parenthood for an official test. As for how this happened, are you that dumb or just acting it? You know how this happened. And when and where. Don’t act like this is something I did on my own. Just don’t.”

Here we go. This is the sister I know. Go get him, girlie.

Her voice is very loud now. Words are very clear (though I am worried Mom or Dad will hear now). She is using that speech pattern where each word carries its own weight. One. Word. At. A. Time.

He jumps back in surprise, ends up tripping over a large tree root and stumbles onto the sidewalk. A giggle erupts from my spying perch. They both turn their heads this time. I duck down again.

“No, no, that is not what I meant. I guess I just don’t understand. Did you lie to me? Did something else happen? Is it even…I thought…”

His words trail off as she interrupts him.

“Don’t.”

“Well, I mean…what…if it’s true, positive, what are you going to do?” he asks. Now his head and eyes are cast downward, lost, confused.

“What am I going do? I? Me? You do mean we, don’t you? Not me.” she hollers.

Shit. Mom and Dad are going to hear.

“No, well, I meant…”

She jumps off the hood of the car and begins to walk away.

“Wait, just wait” he begs in a low voice.

“No. I am going in. You want to know what I am going to do? I am going to get the official test next week and when I know the results I will call you. You can leave now. Bye.”