North to Wisconsin From Nowhere.

A Story by Manuel A Hurtado

A relatively short story about the tumultuous relationship of a kidnapped girl and her kidnapper, set in Illinois/Wisconsin. Caution advisable for younger readers.

Manuel A. Hurtado

Part I

Setting: United States; unstated state; rural area of unstated town

The Man (James)

He twisted her arm behind her back, pulling across her spine until he heard a deep, wet, snare-drum crack, and her arm dislodged from its socket. The girl’s voice burst from her throat in a sharp shriek, like a rusted door hinge sharply opened. She collapsed. The man slung her over his shoulder, and carried her limp body to his car, where he put her in the trunk. She landed roughly with a loud thud, and he slammed the door over her head. He drove into town from the rural area from which he’d come, playing the local bluegrass radio station, tapping his hands on the steering wheel.

His foot had been pressed down for some time, and he checked his watch, roughly measuring the time it’d take him to arrive. Twenty minutes. Roughly. He heard a low rumble from behind him, and a police truck’s brights materialized behind him. The man figured he’d been waiting there with a speedometer. The officer’s siren clicked on, and the night was filled with quick flashes of red and blue, split in half by the sharp wail of the siren. He pulled over.

In his rearview mirror, the man watched the tall, sinuous officer step out of the driver’s side and approach his car. He listened to the crunch of his leather boots stepping over gravel.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

The man thought that was a small amount of steps. He has long legs.

“Hey there, James,” greeted the officer, sticking his hand through the window to shake the man’s hand.

“Evening, Phil. Nice night, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. Gotta love those fresh Autumn nights, don’t you?”

“Surely. So what can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing big, just your back tail light. It’s out.”

“Right, I was meaning to fix that... So a ticket?”

“Nah,” said the officer, “You’re a good guy, I’ll let you pass on this one, but get that serviced, would you?”

“Thanks, Phil. That’s awful kind of you.”

“Sure thing,” Phil said as he gave the man a friendly pat on the shoulder, “Oh, and are you going to the game this Sunday?”

“I think so. Who’s house?”

“Dan’s, you know, up past Dover Lane, third house. Green mailbox. And you know, you ought to bring--” he paused and snapped his fingers, recalling to mind the man’s wife, “Martha!-- It’s been two years and I’ve never met the gal.”

“Ah, well you know how it is, she’s an archaeologist, so they’ve always got her somewhere in the world. She’s in Egypt now actually, so maybe not this time, but next time she’s in town, I’ll be sure to get us together for some brunch. Sound good?”

“Like a plan. Have a good night, James.” the officer gave the man a smile and walked back to his car. The man pulled out and onto the road, stuck his hand out for a last minute wave, and continued to town.

Thirty minutes later: He arrives in town.

Taking a few turns past the town square, the man found himself in the downtown area. The streets were empty but for a few, drunken teenagers, giggling and tossing pebbles onto the slightly damp tar road. He got into the backseat of his car, unlatched a small velcro strap at the top of the backrests, and opened the trunk from the inside. He took the unconscious girl in his arms, taking care to keep her broken arm on her stomach, and carrying her like a newly-wed bride, exited the car.

He watched the teens for a moment.

One of them picked her head up from her beer and tilted her head at the sight of the man carrying the girl.

The distance between the man and the staring girl: Roughly nine feet.

He mouthed, She’s sleeping, and put a finger to his mouth before letting out a small shh, and gave a clean, white smile. The teen smiled back, waving along with the courtesy of returning the man’s smile. The man gave a brief wave. He turned to his door, pulled out a set of clinking keys, and unlocked the front door; the house smelled odd to him.

Musty.

He set the girl on the bed in his spare room, tied her limbs to the bedposts and headboard with thick, rough rope, and stuffed a hand-towel in her gaping, unmoving mouth. He pulled the towel out, retrieved a flashlight from the drawer of his nightstand, and shone the beam into her mouth. It was veiny, and wet, and smelled of a youthful disregard for the fineness of hygiene. He gave the girl’s mouth a large sniff, and didn’t think that it smelt too bad. He prodded her tongue, which was littered with tiny buds, and didn’t respond.

The man replaced the hand-towel, and wrapped a thin cord around her head; the cord went over her cheeks and the lower part of her head, keeping the towelette in place. He got five pillows of different sizes from the closet. He dusted them off individually. The man then proceeded to test them out under her head.

Largest pillow (White): Too large. Neck at awkward angle.

Smallest pillow (Also white): Too small. Head basically flat.

Second largest pillow (Burnt orange): Still too large.

Second smallest pillow (Pink with laces): Perfect.

He tossed the others back into the closet. Then the man put the second smallest pillow under her head. The girl’s limp skull rolled off it. He readjusted it so that it wouldn’t.

* * *

Secondary setting: Home of man; kitchen

The man went into the kitchen and began dinner. The musty smell still assailed his nostrils as he did so, and he resolved to toss the trash. He did, and the scent seemed to ease up, though not completely. The man cooked pork, listening intently to its slow, soft, popping simmer. Then he steamed broccoli and mashed potatoes, tossing in oregano, thyme, and other seasonings.

By the time the girl woke up, the man had finished.

Secondary setting: Illinois; home of man; spare room

He heard her muffled screams and thumps as she flailed to free herself. He took two plates into the room and sat at a chair next to the bed. Setting the two dishes to the side, he began to loosen the knot on her broken arm. The girl screamed through the muzzling towelette, staring wide-eyed at the man in the way a doe might upon seeing a mountain lion. She had vomited against the towel. The man imagined that that’d been a distasteful experience. He envisioned her veiny, wet mouth covered in brown, gastric film. Gross.

Wordlessly, he untied the wrap from her mouth. Her screams were more audible, so he quickly cupped his large, rugged hand over her mouth.

“Shh!,” said the man, “I’m going to clean you off. We’re in a cabin in the woods, so don’t try and scream. Nobody’ll hear you. We aren’t even in Illinois.”

The girl’s wails quieted down to a small, shattered whimper from the pain in her arm. Her face was wet with tears of pain and fear. The man took out a small washcloth from the nightstand and began to wipe the vomit from her mouth. The room was silent but for her tiny guttural releases.

When the man finished, he got one of the two plates and set it on his lap before asking,

“What do you want first?”

The girl stubbornly stared into his eyes. They were a pleasant green color, tinged with a tiny, spiky ring of hazel wrapped tightly around her pure black pupils. He had to resist the urge to compliment her eyes.

“The food’s safe,” he said, “Why’d I kidnap you just to poison you?”

She refused to speak.

“Look, if you don’t tell me what you want to eat, I’m not going to give you any.”

The girl squinted at the food and said in a surprisingly sharp voice,

“You could have sedatives in it. Then once I was unconscious, you could rape me.”

“You were already conscious. I didn’t rape you then.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t now. Got me nice and comfortable, all tied up to this bed. My legs are already spread, too.”

He laughed a bit.

“Would you prefer that your legs are tied together?”

He set down the plate, untied her legs from the bedposts, re-fastened them together, and lashed them down again.

“There,” said the man, picking up the plate again, “Now what do you want?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? You could just untie this once I’m unconscious.”

“Jesus. Look,” he took a bite from every item on her plate, “Do you trust me now?”

“Go stick that food up your a*s.” said the girl bluntly,

The man had to stop himself from laughing,

“Wow, that’s some strong language from a kid. I think I’ll eat it instead.”

He left the room, and waited for her to call out for him to come back.

The Girl

She refused to call to him. Her stomach churned fiercely, and it wasn’t long before the poison of cognitive dissonance slipped into her mind like a wash of chemicals.

Cognitive Dissonance: Hey, you need to call out to him.

Stubborn self: No, I don’t. He’s my kidnapper. I don’t accept charity from my kidnapper.

Cognitive Dissonance: It’s not as though you simply lose as soon as you accept food from him. You need nourishment, and he’s got a great plate of food for you.

Stubborn self: I can’t. He’ll think I’m weak, and then he can just take advantage of me after that.

Cognitive Dissonance: No, he won’t. Think about it, he’ll think you’re cooperative, and then you can see what he wants.

Stubborn self: That’s stupid. What do you think he wants to do? He kidnapped me! He wants to rape me! And then he’s going to kill me and chop me up into a hundred little bits and toss me in a bag and bury it beneath his crawlspace with the rest of the bodies!

Cognitive Dissonance: If he wanted to do that, he’d have done it by now. Why’d he feed you first?

Stubborn self: To fatten me up! So I’m better when he does rape me!

Cognitive Dissonance: Having eaten before being raped doesn’t make it any better for the assailant, you realize this, correct? You aren’t a turkey. Just take his food.

Stubborn self: No!

Cognitive Dissonance: I’m Cognitive Dissonance-- you can’t just argue with me. Deep down, you know I’m right.

Stubborn self: No! No! No!

Cognitive Dissonance: You’re behaving like a child. Don’t accept his food and that’s exactly what he’ll think you are. Be cooperative, and you’ll be more like an actual person to him. That’s how you get out of this.

Stubborn self: ....

Cognitive Dissonance: Think about it.

Stubborn self: You think so?

Cognitive Dissonance: I know so.

Stubborn self: .... fine.

“I want pork!” she called out.

The Man (James)

He smiled. Entering the room, the man said,

“I knew you’d come to your senses. You seem like a smart girl.”

“Shut up.”

He ignored her and asked,

“Pork, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“With potato?”

“Sure.”

He cut a small, quarter-sized piece of meat from the steak, dipped it into the mashed potatoes, and fed it to the girl. He saw the reaction on her face and knew it was excellent, even as she quickly tried to hide it.

“Is it good?” he asked, anticipating ‘It’s okay.’

“It’s okay.”

The man smiled internally. She chewed silently. After some point, he decided to say the answer to the question she’d inevitably ask,

“So, you’re probably wondering why I chose you,” he said, and continued as she tried her hardest to glare knives at his face, “And the truth is that it was random. You were walking on the side of the road, and I made a quick decision is all. I’ve never done this before.”

She refused to speak. He fed her some more.

“Why were you even alone where you were at this time, anyway?” he ventured.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Well, I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, so you might as well. The knowledge won’t hurt anyone.”

She thought for a moment, before saying,

“I guess so. I was running away.”

The man raised an eyebrow,

“Without a bag?”

The girl didn’t respond, and internally kicked herself,

“It was a spur of the moment thing.”

He gave her some potatoes and asked,

“So what were you really doing?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re my kidnapper. Why’d I tell you, of all people?”

“Like I said, you might be around for a while. You might as well get used to me.”

The girl scowled with a mouthful of potato. The man thought it was funny. She had nice teeth. Very white. She made a small, defiant humph, and turned as far from the man as her bondings would permit her.

“Tomorrow I’m going to pop your arm back into place,” he said, standing in the doorway, “And I don’t have any painkillers, and the pharmacy’s close on weekends, so I hope you like the taste of whiskey.”

Part II

The Girl

Incidentally, she did not. The next day, he forced her mouth open and held it there with a metal contraption he’d taken from his dentists office as an aid to brush his teeth. It came in handy at this point. The metal thing pressed against both sets of her bottom and top teeth, and held her mouth wide. She thought that if there were any time in which she could be taken advantage of, it’d likely be then. He stuck the bottle’s neck down her mouth, and let the spirit drizzle down her throat. She gagged, briefly, and he said,

“Just drink it, don’t choke.”

The surprise on his face was immediately noticeable as she did as asked, and the girl took a small pleasure in that surprise. The drink burned her throat as it slid down her esophagus that shot straight down the inside of her flat chest, and rested in her small, weak belly. It scorched her. She began to convulse, preparing to vomit, and the man held his hand over her mouth yet again and said,

“Keep it down or you’ll pass out from the pain in your arm.”

The time required for the whiskey to effect her: Five minutes

The time they waited before beginning: Thirty minutes

The girl had an idea in her mind of how it was supposed to go. When he broke her arm in the first place, he’d twisted it across her back, and though she knew it was only dislocated, she’d felt a distinct crack, as though it were broken. The girl’s shoulder had swelled considerably during the course of the night, and during the time in which they waited before commencing, the man had applied a pack of ice to the enlarged areas. A rigidness came along with the swelling.

* * *

She was effectively and, as she noted with a hint of shame, pleasantly drunk. She was nearly completely limp, and held on to a thin shred of consciousness, which she’d been reduced to from the whiskey. The girl enjoyed the feeling of numbness that gently cocooned her body-- the liked the soft buzz in her ears and the way her vision lagged behind her retinal muscles, sweeping about, stretching the objects she saw into long bends. The man sat on her bedside like a father would before reading his child a bed story and after giving her a pencil to bite down on said,

“Okay, Ramona. I’m going to pull your arm down. This will hurt.”

“W-wait...” she struggled and slurred, “Why’d you call me Ramona?”

“I don’t know your name, so I made one up.”

“I’m Ju-”

He snapped her arm back into place. He knew she’d scream, and so, for the last time, he held his palm over her lips, muffling the shrill cry that erupted from the depths of her throat. The girl fainted anyway.

* * *

The Man (James)

He’d known that she’d faint. That’s why he’d made her drink enough to blind the girl-- to ease her on her journey into unconsciousness. He also knew that he didn’t want to hear her name when she was drunk. For the same reason that he’d refused to lose his virginity drunk, he’d denied the girl trying to tell him. He wanted it to be more than just a drunken mistake.

The same day she woke up, he had bought her a dress at the local Ross. He thought it was a nice dress. Then he travelled to one of the farther cities to buy materials for a homemade cast, which he’d searched instructions for that morning. When she did arise from her unconscious slumber, he laughed. She rubbed her eyes, which burned from the booze remnants, and her mouth tasted like how she imagined Death tasted.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, handing her a glass of water.

“Eh? Like poop.”

“That happens. Hey, got any plans today?”

She humorously stuck up her small middle finger at him.

“Well then, we’re going to go to a football game.”

Setting: Illinois; third house of Dover Lane with the green mailbox

The Girl (Ju-)

She agreed to go, expecting the event to be an easy time to make an escape, though, in all honesty, she’d felt a strange form of guilt for not hating her captor and for not feeling a constant fury towards him. As much as she tried to do so, she simply couldn’t manage to. She struggled even further as she tried on the dress he’d bought her, which fit immaculately. The girl twirled slightly in the room’s full-body mirror, and tried to suppress the small smile that was trying to break free across her lips. They then cooperatively made her a cast.

The man blindfolded the girl and put her in the passenger seat of his car. He told her to keep her head down until he said she could pick it up, which he didn’t do for some time, as they pulled into the driveway of the third house of Dover Lane with the green mailbox. The man hated football. The girl loved it. Her eldest brother played for Penn State. Sometimes, she watched his games with the rest of her family, and cheered him on when the coach put in the 2nd string players or if a wide receiver was injured.

The Man (James)

All the people at the party were wearing Chicago Bears jerseys. They jumped and screamed at the giant, plasma screen TV, spilling Bud Lite and Tostitos all over the carpet of the living room.

“James!” a man named Chris said as he approached the man, “How are you, man?”

“Not bad, not bad. Who’s up?”

“We are, by a field goal, but Minnesota’s in possession and driving. Adrian Peterson’s on fire today,” the man refrained from saying that the name meant nothing to him as Chris turned to the girl and knelt down, saying, “And who is this little darling? What happened here?” He put a gentle hand on her casted shoulder,

“This is Ramona, Martha’s sister’s kid. She’s staying with me so that they can have a bit of much needed honeymoon time. She broke it at the playground, right Mona?”

He held her small hand in his.

“Yeah.”

“At the playground? How old are you, 14? Aren’t you a little old for the playground?” He asked jokingly.

“I’m turning 13 in a month. It was at school. I got pushed off a slide.”

“Well that’s rude of whoever did that.”

“Being the one with a broken arm, I’d have to agree.” she forced a quirky smile onto her face, and Chris laughed.

“I like your niece, James! She’s a cool one. She’d love my daughter.” he turned to the girl and and asked, “Do you want to meet my little girl Becky?”

“I-” she began,

“Oh, you know, I just want to be sure that she’s safe, is all. With her arm and everything.”

“Haha, it’d be fine, James. They’re just in the other room, playing with dolls.”

“I said it’s fine. Come on Ramona.” he pulled her good arm, beginning to guide her towards the television when Chris put a hand on the man’s shoulder, saying,

“Hey, calm down a bit, James. Loosen up, have a beer. Let her play.”

The man smacked Chris’ hand off his shoulder, and drew up close to him,

“I said: no. That means: no. Now let us past.”

Chris’ face expressed his feeling of being startled.

“Alright, alright... Jesus, James.” he said as he walked away.

For the majority of the party, the man clasped the girl’s little hand. They sat on the couch together, watching the Bears beat the Vikings, cheering at the winning Hail Mary pass. He’d only been confronted about his wife once. He told the man who’d asked that she was in Egypt as well. On the ride home, after he’d blindfolded her, as they sat in silence, the man endeavored to ask the girl for her name.

The Girl (Ju-)

The girl wanted to tell him. But she didn’t for some time. She sat, and felt the warm blow of the heater as it ruffled her hair. It was still saddening that she didn’t hate her captor. The girl decided to tell him her name.

“My name is Julia.” she said.

She thought he smiled.

“My name is James,” he said back to her, “And it is a pleasure to meet you.”

She’d expected him to compliment her name, the way it rolled off the tongue, rising and falling like the soft breathing of the sleeping.

“Pleasure to meet you too.”

Julia hid her disheartened feeling. The two newly introduced duo sat in a tensionless silence for some time until Julia spoke up and said,

“You lied.”

“To you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s to be expected of someone in my position.”

The way he said ‘in my position’ slipped beneath her skin and tingled the nerves there. Wasn’t she the one bound and blindfolded against her will? Of what position was he speaking?

Julia felt two things:

Anger

Happiness

The primary being easily understood, and the latter deriving from a small place in her chest that recognized the stern tone he used when he said it.

“You said we weren’t in Illinois, but we are.”

“That’s right. You know because of the Bears game, right?”
“Yes,” she admitted, unable to keep a self-pleased smile off her face.

“Well,” said James in a flat, emotionless voice, “Don’t think that’s incredibly perceptive of you. Anyone with common sense would have realized that.”

Julia was hurt by this. Her face crumpled behind her blindfold and she shifted in her seat to face the window with her back towards him.

“What about Martha? Did you lie about her too?”

“No,” he replied plainly. The way he said it made Julia feel deep down that he was lying, “I don’t feel like I should talk to you about Martha.”

Julia turned to the sound of his voice.

“You have to tell me. I told you my name.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I’m the adult here.”

The silent roll of the vehicle enveloped their ears.
“I didn’t try to run away,” she said after some time.

“I know,” he said, pausing for some time, “Thank you.”

And Julia smiled again.

* * *

Secondary setting: James’ house

James

When the two arrived at James’ home, Julia undressed in the spare room. James gave her a small, homey pajama outfit that he’d bought for her. They had purple elephants on the pants. He had also purchased handcuffs, which he used to cuff her to the bedpost. James had said, “Goodnight,” clicked off the light, and slowly closed the door.

In the days that followed, these events happened, in chronological order:

-They had breakfast together.

-They watched a movie together. They sat on separate sides of the couch. She was still anchored down by cuffs.

-Julia saw the missing persons report on the news channel.

It was then that Julia involuntarily made the decision to tell James. The act of doing so was conscious, but the inward reasoning that’d flashed through her mind happened briefly, and she had made a solid, was a completely aware decision. She saw her face flicker on the old TV set James had put in her room to occupy her while he worked in the other room. Julia realized that James didn’t work a normal job like most people-- he spent all his days behind the soft glow of his computer screen, tapping away at some unknown project.

On the statewide newscast, Julia saw a photo of her face, smiling, surrounded by a large, polo-wearing family. Her parents were middle-aged, and were far past the point of raising the youngest of their children with the stern hand with which they’d brought up the eldest of their offspring. Julia was among those disregarded for the most part. She knew that it was for this reason that it took them over 72 hours to file a missing persons report, and another 24 for it to be an active part of the newscast. It was the rolling subtitle beneath the blank faces of the weather reporters.

Julia had watched the TV with a sadly furrowed brow. The bittersweetness of seeing her face captioned with “Have you seen this girl?’ was a slightly comical one to her. Comical in that she felt her parents had done this out of obligation. Maybe they had waited so that her chances of permanent disappearance were more likely.

It was at this point that Julia realized that James and she would be leaving elsewhere. This was confirmed on the day of the Illinois media’s Julia-centered explosion, when James entered the room with a bag strapped to his back and a carry-on sized suitcase at his side, car keys dangling from his fingertip.

“We’re going, Jules,” he said with a sad smile plastered poorly across his face, “Where do you want to go?”

“...Wisconsin.” she replied on a whim, saying it mostly to lift the sad look in his eyes. Julia wondered if the sad look was for her her, for the lost simplicity of the past days that could never be recaptured. She hoped it was.

“Wisconsin it is.” said James, and he cuffed his wrist to hers, the two got in James’ old Dodge truck, and the two of them headed North.

Setting: The road to Wisconsin

James

Throughout the drive, James kept the radio on, and the two listened to updates on Julia’s disappearance. There were no leads. James assumed that the people at the football game hadn’t made the connection. He was happy about this. After a few silent hours on the road, Julia spoke up and said,

“Well, since we’re on the road with nothing to talk about, why don’t you tell me a bit about Martha. I think you owe it to me for my--” she paused, struggling to find the word that itched at the back of her mind, “--compliancy.”

James laughed a bit.

“I wouldn’t agree. Look, Martha’s just a sore subject, is all, and I’m not really ready to tell you about her.”

“Well, did she do something terrible?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“I dunno, I guess that if you have such trouble talking about her, that she did something awful.”

“Well she didn’t.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes... Well, no, but... yes, I am.”

Julia had a pleased smile.

“Please tell me! Please! I really want to know!”

James thought her begging was kind of cute, through the rest of its annoyance. Still, Martha was one of those topics that he simply couldn’t bring himself to speak of. It was one of those things that made him feel like there was a sea urchin trapped and writhing inside his chest. It made him sweat with anxiety.

“Come on James! Please! Who am I going to tell?”
“I wouldn’t care if someone else knew... I just don’t- I don’t want you to know.”

“What? Why not?”

James paused, going through his possible answers. Those options were these:

-It’s not any of your business.

-I don’t want you to feel like you know me because of it.

-... I’m an adult (?)

What he said (the truth): “Because it reflects poorly on me. And I don’t want you to think poorly of me.”

Julia

How Julia felt when she heard this: Valued

James

“I won’t think any less of you, you know,” she said quietly, “What I hear won’t change what I think of you.”

A small bolt of lightning went down his spine.

“What do you think of me?”

Julia smiled and said,

“Tell me about Martha and I’ll tell you.”

James laughed and said,

“Do you know what an extortionist is?”

“Yes.” she replied. She didn’t.

“Well alright, I suppose you’ve got yourself a deal.” He let himself let out a grin.

She adjusted in her seat, getting comfortable, like one would before listening to a story by campfire.

“Alright...” he said, turning off the radio with his pointer, “I met her in college. It wasn’t a love at first sight sort of thing; we were lab partners, and never actually talked outside of school. I’d always acknowledged her as pretty, but my mind was completely focused on school. Then we went to some party-- separately, I mean. We saw each other there, and we just started talking. It was funny, you know, we both got so drunk that we told each other everything about ourselves, but even with liquid courage in my veins I didn’t have enough bravery to even touch her.

Well, we spent a lot of time together after that. Long story short, we married soon after. She dropped out of college to pursue her dream of becoming a novelist. In support of that, she wanted to do what every twenty-something artist at that time was doing-- move to New York. I didn’t want to drop out, so we remained married but lived in different cities. I finished my degree-- web design-- and went to live with her in New York. This is where the story gets cliche.”

“She cheated?”

“Shh, let me finish. I left two weeks earlier than we’d planned, as a sort of surprise visit, and it turns out that she’d been prostituting herself the entire time I was gone because she couldn’t afford to pay the rent. We tried to stay together for some time after that, to-- you know-- work it out, but we never managed to keep it together. I haven’t spoken with her in over eight years, and have still yet to see her name in print, so I assume her writing career never quite took off. I just say she’s my wife to fit into the community better. People like couples.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Julia apologized, “That must’ve been awful for you.”

“It actually wasn’t too bad. I mean, I loved her, so it didn’t really matter. She could have done anything and I would have forgave her. That’s how love works, I suppose. It was just her dissatisfaction with life that was hard for me.”

Julia didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything.

“I’m sure you were expecting something more exciting,” he said, laughing lightly,

“No, it was perfectly satisfying. Do you want to know what I think of you?”

“Yes.”

He did.

“I think you’re a good man, in spite of everything.”

“Thank you, Julia. That means a lot to me.”

He gave her the only true smile he’d given anyone in years. It felt great on his face. It felt honest.

“Hey,” she said in a small voice, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I was sneaking away to meet my- my boyfriend.”

James was confronted with a mysterious mix of amusement, protectiveness, and, much to his internal shame, a breezy glimpse of-- jealousy.

Jealousy. Jealousy. Jealousy. Shameful jealousy.

“Boyfriend? Aren’t you a little young for a boyfriend?”

“That’s what I’ve been told. My parents don’t think it’s okay.”

James sat back up.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“He’s a little... older.”

“How much older?”

“He’s twenty.”

An instant, fierce surge of protectiveness flew through his body.

“S**t, Julia. You’re twelve. That’s- that’s... totally inappropriate.”

She’d been told this throughout the two months that they were “together”. Only a select few knew about the relationship, and all who did sternly disapproved, even her youthful friends. Each time they met, his patchy, ill-grown beard reminded her of the stark differences in their ages. Regardless, she found herself intoxicated by being wanted by a man. Throughout their relationship, she struggled with not handing herself over to him. It was by this order that Julia had lost her virginity to a man whose age was nearly twice hers.

“Jesus, Jules... That’s serious. Did you ever... You know?”

“Did I what?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“Have you had-- sex-- with him.”

The silence answered James’ question long before she responded with a small:

“Yes.”

Oh, the way that small word echoed in James’ ears, like a taunt, flying around the inside of his skull, rattling with implications and images. He saw her small, pale body tangled with that of a man, twisting and squirming. His stomach churned.

Julia

She hadn’t enjoyed it. The entire ordeal had been highly forced onto her, and it was only the small amount of acceptance she’d resided to during the course of the event that prevented her from calling it rape. He’d moved her around in whatever way he’d pleased. Julia didn’t have any positive emotions associated with that night, aside from the small spark of pride at having pleased her man with her... Compliancy.

“Do you like him at all?” James tentatively asked,

“I do.”

“Then I can’t really say not to be with him. I get that there’s nothing more important that being with the one you love.”

“But you loved Martha, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. But things don’t always work out like that.”

“I don’t think I love my boyfriend, though. I don’t know. I just don’t think so.”

“Then why’d you sleep with him?”

“Because he wanted to.”

“Sex isn’t a one-way thing, Julia. It’s for two people. You can’t just be promiscuous to make someone happy. That’s not the way it works.”

“Why not?”

“Because, like I said, it’s for two. Not just one. If you just let him-- have you, it’s not really love. You get that right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I said I don’t think I love him.”

James tried to let silence ensue, but curiosity itched at him.

“I’m really surprised that you just let him do that to you.”

“So?”

“I- I don’t know. It makes me think differently of you.”

Her heart swelled and fell at the same time.

“In what way?” she asked quietly,

“I’m not sure.”

It was at this point that Julia smelled attraction on him. She hadn’t before, but for some reason, after those three words, her view of James warped into something she was unfamiliar with. Ever since she was a girl, Julia tested water before she swam in it. It came along with her natural sense of curiosity.

Julia did this: Slid her hand across the seat between them and rested her small hand on his leg.

“Julia... What are you-”

“Shh. Pull over.”

James

James was then faced with the sudden, irresistible urge to pull over his truck to the side of the road. He fought for a moment, but with a quickening heartbeat, he quickly succumbed. The car stopped at the side of the road. Julia unbuckled and pulled herself closer to him. His heart kept hammering in his chest. James thought about the time he was kissed by a woman. He had been thirteen, and his mother’s friend, whose name was Becky, had been at their house.

* * *

They talked and drank wine and ate cheese on Wheat Thins. His mother alwas was a lightweight. She’d passed out after the thrid bottle was finished. Becky wasn’t. She’d sat on the couch, slung lightly, like a towel, over the armrest. James had gone to the coffee table to clean up like he always did when mom passed out. He had the plate of cheese in hand when he looked up and saw Becky’s leg, which was bare, and shaven, and had her grey skirt accidentally hitched up high from the way her body had slid as she sat.

Her eyes were closed.

“Becky,” whispered James, “Becky, are you awake?”

Hearing no reply, he set down the plate. He’d never been that close to a woman before in that way. He’d seen all the Playboys he could steal from the gas station, but never was there one, in the flesh, sleeping and beautiful in front of him. James already found himself aroused in the prepubescent sort of way when his hand touched her leg.

Her eyes opened.

“Curious, Jamie?” she asked.

James gasped and recoiled,

“I- I’m sorry I- I just-” and then she kissed him. She pulled his small face up to hers. He liked it a lot. It was the first time she kissed a person of the opposite gender. He’d pulled away, and ran to his room, where he relieved his sexual tension.

* * *

Julia whispered into his ear, which is an erogenous zone for both males and females, and a chill went down his spine.

Julia said: “Kiss me.”

And he did. And he loved it. And she hated it. And she loved that he loved it.

James’ self respect snapped in half. He felt a sure snap inside him as it did.

“Oh god,” he said as he opened the door and stepped out of the truck, “Oh god, oh my f*****g god...”

He paced rapidly on the dark road. Julia sat in her seat.

“S**t!” he screamed against the oppresive Wisconsin night. He yelled as though he’d lost something. The simplicity of their relation was irreparably marred.

Julia

Julia was unsure what to feel.

What she should have felt: Regret

What she didn’t feel: Regret

James

James got back into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and began to drive again.

Part III- The Regrets

James and Julia

James and Julia listed the regrets of their lives in their minds. Unsurprisingly, Julia’s far outnumbered those of James, and were comprised mainly of simple, childhood misunderstandings.

Julia: She regretted that she swallowed her older brother’s GI-Joe figurine leg and had to go to the hospital.

James skipped the childhood unpleasantries and went straight to the point in which his life began its depressive downhill.

James: He regretted the time he did cocaine inside a McDonald’s bathroom with his older cousin. He was 14. After descending from the euphoric high that the concentrated powder had aroused within him, everything after that was unsatisfactory. He never returned to the drug.

Julia: Julia regretted the time she had experienced homosexuality with her sister. The two had stayed up against their bidding and watched the movie Carlton Hill behind the couch on which their parents sat. They saw the entirety of the lesbian sex scene which ensued, and thus, with a childlike trust for one another, explored each other’s bodies. Julia didn’t remember everything. Actually, she remembered very little. What she did remember was the comforter. It was white, and was peppered with fish.

The fish were these colors: red, green, yellow, purple, blue

She remembered her mother’s tears when they found them. And her father’s disgust.

James: James regretted hating himself for not going to New York to get his wife after their parting. he wondered if things would have been different. He wondered if he wanted them to be.

The thing that neither James nor Julia regretted was that kiss. Then, they both came to the sudden realization that the last person they truly cared about was sitting right next to them. Their chests filled with the warmth of that knowledge.

Julia always had a talent for optimism. She placed her hand on his arm, and the muscles in his hand, which tightly clenched the steering wheel, loosened. She pulled his hand from the wheel, and laced her fingers through his. She loved the way her little hand seemed to get lost in his.

James smiled.

Julia smiled.

And they both looked over the dashboard, watching the Wisconsin night blur past them, trying to get their hearts to slow down.