Whispers

Part Eight, by Michelle Wilder

"Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time."

(This is almost the first story I ever wrote. It's the apple seed from which many grew. Reposted with grammatical revision only.)

-----

Casablanca was *wonderful*.

Okay: the special effects were *awful* (there was a plane you could almost see the strings on) and the clothes were really old, and it was the first black and white movie I’d ever seen on a big screen (pretty big, anyway) and it took getting used to, and it had almost every cliche in the world in it. But it was still wonderful.

I cried a couple times and when it was over, just from the emotions, even though it did have a sort-of happy ending.

And all through it, Dennis hugged me when I cried, just like he promised, and even when I wasn't.

He didn’t cry at all, even when they sang that song, or when Ilsa looked at Rick and had those tears. But I still hugged him.

And I could tell he understood.

-

Everyone waited until I calmed down, which was only to just after the credits were over and the lights came up, but almost everyone else was gone. Dennis waited with his arm around me and smiled.

“He’s the kind of man that if I were a woman, I’d be in love with him...”

Gary from the paper was standing at the end of the row and smiling at us and Patty and Kathy and a couple of the other girls started to get mad at him but he smiled at me more and I guess they saw he wasn’t being mean.

I tried to smile hi, ‘cause it was a great line that I almost remembered word for word too, but I mostly just made a kinda gasping noise. I just had so many emotions. And so many didn’t seem to be from the movie.

Gary sat down and waited, I guess, along with the rest of them, and I got better.

Jarrod said, "Hi, Gary. Girls, Gary. Gary, the girls."

I still wanted to cry, but I could stop, so I sat up from Dennis and wiped at my eyes. He still kept a hand on my shoulder.

"Good movie, hunh?”

He said it pretty quietly, and wasn’t making fun of my crying. I nodded again, more. It was good. Great. I nodded as much as I could. I was still trying.

He hugged my shoulders again and was just casual, but talked quietly.

“Ready to go home?”

-

Gary walked with us and talked with everyone about the movie. He said he was watching as many of the old ones that the SU was showing as he could ‘cause he thought these might be the last times he’d ever get the chance to see them on the big screen. The only time on film instead of video.

Kathy said she’d seen Casablanca a couple of times on TV and it was WAY better this way, like a different movie. Almost all of them had seen it on TV or video.

Gary said there was even a movie course next term that studied it and some other Bogart films. I thought I’d like to take a course like that.

Mostly, while they all talked, I held on to Dennis’ arm and tried to think about all the feelings I was overflowing with.

It wasn’t all the movie. Well, it *was* the movie, but it was the guys in the concourse, and Dennis’ jacket, and him kissing me, and how he hugged me, and how he made it okay to cry in the dark.

All the things that happened that night were all rushing through my head, over and over.

How I started to cry when Rick made Sam play As Time Goes By, ‘cause he couldn’t cry and I could see how much he was hurting.

Even Sam was. All the men, and how the women cried for them.

And how Dennis squeezed my arm then. How he looked when the two guys said that before the movie...

Dennis put his hand on mine, on his arm, and kinda whispered. “Still okay?”

I nodded. I was okay. "Are *you* okay?"

He nodded and smiled.

“I am, thanks."

After a few more steps, he said, "Jarrod’s springing for pop and beers in his room if you want to go?”

I didn’t want Dennis to go and leave me, so I nodded too. He looked serious and squeezed my hand more.

“Are you sure? I don’t have to.”

I tried to smile a little and nodded again. “Sure.” I croaked, but I wanted to go. I sure didn’t want to be alone.

Suddenly it all seemed too weird. Everything. Dennis and the girls and Jarrod and Gary and... me. Especially me.

What I was doing. Crying in the movie. Holding Dennis. And walking and everyone talking, like it was normal.

But it was wrong.

I kinda stumbled, or stepped on something.

I mean, I didn’t fall down too bad or anything since Dennis caught my arm and saved me, but you woulda thought I was lying on the ground from everyone checking to see what happened.

Like falling or tripping was what was wrong, not how I was acting. Crying, or holding Dennis.

Or them not screaming and hitting me.

Or hitting Dennis.

I started to breathe hard and fast and looked at all of them, looking at me, waiting for it.

It was all so bad... I remembered the time in the mall...

“Bobby!”

-

After, I though it was Gary, or Jarrod, but I was in the mall right then and cringed and tried to spin away from the hit, but Dennis held on to my arm and I fell down in a puddle on my side and it was ice cold in an instant and I couldn’t get my feet under me...

-

I was scared that I did that... tried to run and that I thought that they were going to hurt me... but I was back there, and then *they* were there too, in my head....

And Patty was probably scared at what I did and I couldn’t stand to hear her cry. I didn't know why she was hugging me, but she was, and the rest were all around us.

“Patty...”

I wanted to apologize, but she was hugging me all of a sudden and I didn’t remember how I got all wet.

“”It’s okay, it’s okay, Bobby, it’s okay...” She was saying it in my shoulder over and over and hugging me and getting wet from me.

“I... I was remembering...”

I didn’t say it too clearly, I know. I didn’t even say why, mostly ‘cause I couldn’t think of all the reasons, all the hundreds of reasons, right then. I was cold and hot and my heart was racing like a motor. Like I was scared.

I was scared by the feeling in my chest. It hurt worse than my hand.

“No... *I’m* sorry, Bobby.” Patty sounded so serious, and I knew I'd missed something again.

I opened my eyes for what felt like the first time in hours, even if it was just seconds, and she was crying, or her eyes were tearing up, and she was trying to say something to make me feel better.

I felt guilty... shame... some hard, hard pain. That I hurt her. Made her wet. That I lied to all of them, and that they would hate me.

I knew that would hurt more, no matter what I did or said, and it was all my fault.

-

I tried to talk more, but I think Dennis knew I couldn’t, and he was the one with his arms around me.

-

We were in our, room and he was taking my pants off and being rough and hurting but saying “It’s okay, Bobby, it’s okay... I’m sorry...” almost all the time and explaining he wanted to get me dry and it was okay, he wouldn’t touch me. But he was.

He got me in his pajama shirt and he made me get into bed and took the blanket off his bed and put it on me too. And he did it all really fast, hurrying.

And when he was finished, when I was under the warm blankets and looking at him, he sat down on his bed like he was really tired.

I knew it was me, because I was a terrible person... I was a freak. I was a pervert, what I thought, thought about. What I did. What happened happened to freaks.

“I wish...”

That I was dead. Gone. I knew. I opened my eyes to hear him say it.

He was standing beside me, tall, and for a second I thought he was going to hit me or kill me, and then I saw that he was making that little movement with his hand to ask if he could sit down.

I had to think.

When I nodded he sat on the edge beside me, and held out his hands, or his arms, just a tiny bit, like almost shaking, and looked in my eyes like he was going to cry.

“I need a hug really bad.” He was very quiet but he was breathing *really* deep, and his voice was choked up. He looked like I felt.

I couldn't sit up, but I did and he hugged me through the blankets. I couldn't get my arms out.

“Are we...? Are we... pushing you..?”

I tried to think.

I knew he didn’t see. He was scared he... that they'd done something.

But really, it was me. It was all the stuff from before. It was other people, like those guys... but only... not really them, for me...

It was all the stuff I'd kept secret.

-

He kept touching me, keeping his hand on my leg, on my arm. He kept asking if I was thirsty, or cold, or warm, or what he could do...

He didn’t hate me. He knew I was a sissy and he still didn’t hate me. But he didn’t know all of it.

-

I decided to make him see. So he would hate me. I closed my eyes.

I'd tell him the worst thing and I knew he'd stop touching me and maybe hit me and kill me. And then it would be over.

-

Jump.

-

“I... I dress... up.”

Then I waited. I looked at him and tried not to hide.

He just looked at me back and didn’t understand, ‘cause his face didn’t get mad and he kept his hand on my arm and even kept moving it the same soft way.

I decided I didn’t even say it loud enough for him to hear. Harder the second time.

“I dress up... like a girl.”

I had to close my eyes hard. I pulled my arms close to try and not get too hurt, suddenly more afraid. I wanted to take it back.

Too late.

But he kept touching my arm and even squeezed it a bit. It felt like a long time.

“Why?”

I jerked when he said it, ‘cause I was sure it would hurt. I mean, that the next thing he did would hurt.

But he wasn’t mad. Or he didn’t sound mad. I had to look after a second. I peeked.

He was smiling at me. A smile. Even more when he saw me peek. It was like all the last minutes hadn’t happened. Like I hadn't said that.

“Why do you dress up?”

He made it a nice question, I mean, not like sneering. Like just “why?”

And it was one of his beautiful smiles. Really beautiful.

I didn’t know. I mean, to answer him. I didn’t ever think in my whole life that anyone would ever ask something like that and not mean it meanly.

He smiled even more. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

He made a stupid thinking face and smiled again, right in my eyes. He made *his* eyes smile that way too. So different after he was so sad.

Did they do that? Did he do that?

“How about...” He grinned and squeezed his eyes up. “Are you pretty?”

He kept my arm and kept smiling, like it was a good question and could never be an insult. He made a duh face and laughed.

“Stupid again...” He smiled really, really happy. “'Course you are.”

I stared at him. And all of a sudden I could think.

I was a... a sissy, and *wanted* to be one... and he *knew* it and he was still smiling at me, like before, and it meant he was...

My friend, and like his mom said...

I’m not gay. I mean, she said that, that he knew I wasn't.

And he did, too... Why did they say that? How could Dennis think that with me, right there? Why was he so normal? It was about Justin, ‘cause he was gay, too. Or he was gay. So then Dennis *did* think I was gay.

But I wasn’t just gay. I was a pervert. Why would he say something that mean? Was he mean?

But he smiled...

-

He said I looked all hurt and scared again, after, about why he pulled all the blankets down and hugged me.

He hugged me really hard and rubbed my back and talked all the time so I almost couldn’t do anything but listen and he said he would never hurt me and he was sorry if he was acting stupid, and he really did think it was okay, and that I'd be pretty, and did I need him to stop, or did I need anyone else, and he didn’t want me to be alone, was that okay?

He kinda talked the whole time, really quiet. I just held on.

He stopped talking.

-

He didn’t hate me.

That was what I figured out.

“You don’t hate me?”

He leaned his head back a bit and hugged me even harder.

“No.” He smiled a serious smile. “I *don’t* hate you.”

His smile got more real but he leaned in again and I couldn’t see it anymore.

After about a whole minute of almost not being able to breathe he sat back and smiled just perfect. Like *nothing* was wrong.

“I don’t hate you. Not one bit. I love being your roomie. I love your stupid music. I love that you cry when you’re sad. I love hugging you. I love people knowing I’m your friend...”

He kinda slowed down and stopped, and stopped smiling.

“Bobby, I promise I won’t ever think you’re a bad person, and won’t ever hurt you on purpose and I promise... I promise I won’t ever, ever, *ever* hate you.”

He leaned over and kissed my forehead and sat back again.

“Okay?”

I nodded a bit. He smiled again.

“Mom says I love my friends.” He smiled really big. “So I must love you.”

-

He said he loved that I cried when I was happy too.

I couldn't stop.

-

When he left to tell Jarrod and all them, he tucked me in all around. I mean, he wrapped the blankets around me all around, so it was tight, and said he was going to leave the door open and he could hear if I called.

I guess I understood. I still tried to hide and turned to the wall. My face, anyway. I didn’t try to get loose.

I could hear him in the hall. He kinda yelled and I guess they came out to him and after a few minutes he came back and sat on my bed again.

“Is it okay if some of them come in? Anne and Patty and Gary are really worried about you...”

He must have seen what I was thinking then. Rolled over and looking at the wall.

“And they know you’re in bed already...” He rubbed my leg through the blanket while he was talking. Like that was all.

“Are you okay with that?”

I almost couldn’t, but I nodded, and then shook my head a little. I didn't want to scare them, but I wasn’t okay.

I had a thought, just then, like a few seconds before, like a few seconds before that... that dying would solve everything.

Nothing to talk about. No laughing. No hurting. No hating myself. Never being a sissy, ever again.

Even though Dennis didn’t hate me.

I wasn’t okay. I knew I was what Ben warned me about.

But I told Dennis. And he hadn’t hurt me. He was touching me and not hurting.

I’d promised.

The lump in my chest was so huge I couldn't even cry anymore.

“Dennis?” I whispered at the wall. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I had to say something to him. Tell him, somehow.

He stopped rubbing my leg and inched up the bed a few inches and touched one of my arms. He didn’t say anything.

I just stared at the wall and felt tears start to come. My face hurt, but my chest let me breathe.

He didn’t move for a long time, and then he squeezed me for a second and got up to close the door and then sat right back and touched the same place on my arm and waited.

I... thought... that he was going to wait, and it could be private. Just between us. Saying it.

I tried over and over to get the right words. I couldn’t say them. Not to him. But I didn’t want to die. Not really...

Even though it was all I could think about. All I could see was the wall... at the mall.

“I don’t feel safe.”

I said it really clearly. Just softly.

His hand stopped. He sat there and kept touching my arm and I kept trying to think of a better way to say how bad the thoughts I had were.

“I’m here.” He was even quieter. “I’ll keep you safe...”

He touched my hair and I looked and he looked angry, except he was crying. I closed my eyes.

-

Denis touching me was nothing like my memories.

-

A long time later it seemed, there was a soft knock at the door and Dennis said “Just a minute...”

He was just as quiet as before, kinda kneading my arm. Sitting on the floor.

“I have to go tell them something.”

He didn’t do anything else. Didn't move away.

I thought I had to decide what to tell them. Even about what. I didn’t want to tell them what I was feeling.

I had an idea.

“Can you tell Gary... you’re... I... That I’m just not... not... okay?”

I looked at his face again. He had tear-tracks all red on his cheeks and around his mouth, like they burned.

But he looked better, too. I mean, his eyes tried to smile at me.

“Okay.” He touched my hair again. Patted it, I guess, and stood up and tucked the blankets even tighter.

“I’ll still keep the door open, okay?”

I nodded and tried not to look like I was afraid of what he meant. He nodded too, and touched my arm again for a second.

“I’ll just be outside, in the hall, and I can hear you, just like before, okay?”

He thought of something, from his face. He sat back down on the bed.

“Do you want someone to wait with you?” He looked in my eyes like I couldn’t speak or something. I had to think, and it was hard.

-

Patty ended up sitting with me and I ended up trying not to cry or hide or curl up in a ball and other pathetic things. Like die.

She didn’t do anything to make me feel that way. I just had worse thoughts after Dennis left. It wasn’t her fault at all.

But I wanted her to go. I decided.

“I’m okay...”

She perked up when I talked and I could hear her smile.

“I was so worried when you fell down and wouldn’t talk and I *know* you’re okay!”

She stopped and looked at me more. Then she looked all wrong and grabbed at me around the blankets and yelled.

-

They took me to the hospital in Jarrod’s car. One of the other guys from our floor had a big car too, and about a dozen of them were with us in the waiting room at the emergency.

I was mad. Scared, anyway.

I'd given up trying to tell them I was okay. They didn’t listen.

I decided to tell the doctor or whoever that I was okay and that I’d see Ben and then I’d get a razor blade or something. Longer.

I'd looked it up once, the femoral artery. Just deeper than I already had, and two or three inches higher. Stabs.

I knew it wouldn’t hurt too much.

Less than *I* hurt.

-

In the waiting room Dennis made all of them sit away from us and hugged me and sorta rocked and talked and asked me all about everything and I wasn’t going to tell him but he figured it out and told the nurse that I was going to get a knife, and that I knew how.

The nurse made Dennis stay with me and brought a doctor and the doctor tried to make me say what I told Dennis, I guess, but I was mad that he tricked me.

----

End of Part Eight