Becoming Sarah

chapter EIGHTEEN


Over the next few weeks, things actually did start look up.

I took baby steps. Matt and I hung out together, just as friends. We went out to lunch or dinner a couple of times a week, or had takeout at my place. We watched TV in his apartment or went to Golden Gate Park and played soccer on the grass.

He was a really nice guy. Not Ken-doll perfect, but that was a relief. It turned out he was kind of a slob. He liked watching weird sports, like table tennis and cricket. He had a nervous habit of drumming his fingers on the table, a habit that drove me crazy. But he was also a good listener. He could tell when I was upset, and knew how to make little jokes until I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He told me a lot about himself. He’d grown up in a small town in Idaho but always dreamed of living in San Francisco. He’d worked for a start-up until it lost its funding, and now he was a computer systems administrator for a big law firm. He was an only child and had always been quiet and shy; he was finally starting to relax with me, though.

I talked about my present but not about my past. If Matt thought that was strange, he didn’t bring it up. It was one of the things I liked most about him.

We were both too nervous – or too wary – to jump into a romance. Sometimes I wondered if we ever would. Sometimes I thought it was okay if we didn’t. Other times, he did something so adorable that I just wanted to lean over and kiss him. I didn’t, though; I didn’t have the guts.

I kept seeing Dr. Riley. After every session, I felt stronger. The dreams came less often. So did the panic attacks. I didn’t know if it was the pills, the talking, or both.

Sometimes I didn’t want to talk any more about that night in the alley, but then she made me and it did help, somehow. I got stronger. The dreams didn’t stop, but they changed. In one of them, I actually talked to Ricky – yelled, really. I was so angry with him. I wanted him to pay, but more than that I just wanted him to acknowledge what he’d done to me. I wondered if he ever thought about it. I wondered if he might one day do it again to some other girl.

I kept on watching the school, to see Maria but also to sort of pretend I had my own life back. I’d sit in my car and watch my old classmates stream by and imagine I was part of their world.

But a funny thing happened. After a while I couldn’t imagine it anymore. Oh, I wanted my mother’s hugs, Maria’s giggles, the warmth of their love. But I couldn’t imagine going back; not having money, not having choices, not having the freedom I had now as Sarah.

That freedom frightened me, but it also sometimes gave me a sense of possibility that took my breath away.

During those weeks, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do with my life. Once it had seemed crystal clear: go to college, get a high-paying job, and never have to worry about money ever again. I’d thought maybe law school, business school, it didn’t matter as long as I made a lot of cash.

Now that didn’t seem so important. I had Sarah’s money and Sarah’s trust fund. What did I really want to do with my time, day in and day out, for the rest of my life?

The answer sort of surprised me. One day I stopped by San Francisco State for an information session on becoming a teacher. It turned out that with Sarah’s transcript and a year of graduate school, I could teach English. It fit, actually. I could see myself doing that, and loving it. I decided to apply to the credential program for the next semester.

I did one other thing, too. Something I’d always wanted to do.

I went online and I bought myself a plane ticket to Paris.

I figured if I was careful with my money, if I stayed at a youth hostel and ate croissants for breakfast, I could do it and still have money left over for my mother, for rent, for my expenses. I figured if I didn’t do it, I’d be sorry.

It scared me half to death, the idea of traveling alone. My mother had never been out of the country and neither had I. But I could do it; I knew I could. I bought myself a Lonely Planet guide and read every word. I dug out Sarah’s passport, even though I had nearly a month to go before the trip. I told Matt about it, and he hugged me and promised me I’d have an amazing time.

It was a week before my trip that it happened. It was a quarter to three and I was sitting in the car, waiting for school to get out, and Ricky walked by.

Except this time, for some reason, I didn’t duck down in my seat. I didn’t adjust my glasses and pray I stayed invisible. This time anger surged up in my chest, anger so hot and molten I thought it might erupt out of me if I opened my mouth. And why not? Why shouldn’t I let it out?

I opened the car door, jumped out, and ran up to him. “How could you do that to me?” I yelled, at the top of my lungs.

Ricky froze in his tracks, a pole-axed expression on his face. He dropped his backpack, which he’d been carrying by one strap. “What? I ain’t done nothing to you, lady. I don’t even know you.”

Of course he didn’t, and I’d forgotten. But I stood my ground. “You know me, Ricky. It’s me, Jamie Lumley. The one you killed in that alley the other night. Remember me now?”

His face got very still, and then he glanced around like someone might hear me. There were a few other students walking by, kids who’d snuck away early. The looked at us curiously but kept on walking; they didn’t want to get involved.

“That’s right,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice. “You remember. You said, ‘Hey, girl, c’mere.’ And then you told me I was cute when I was nervous. You asked me about my job.”

His hand crept up to his neck. He stared at me like he’d seen a ghost, which he had. He was still seeing me. “Yes, and then you pulled me down and you put your hands around my neck to keep me quiet,” I said. “Like you’ve got your hand on your own neck right now, but hard.”

“You can’t know that,” Ricky said. His eyes were hollow, far away. “No one heard. No one but her.”

“That was me. You called me a fat bitch. You said I was lucky.”

I tried hard not to cry, but the tears came anyway. And then the most amazing thing happened. Ricky started crying too, really bawling. He shook his head and muttered “no, no, no” under his breath. “No one knows,” he said.

“I do. I know. And the thing is, it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault for being alone at night, for walking down that street, for going into the alley.” I’d said the same thing to Dr. Riley, but it meant more now; the words tasted right. I said them again. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Ricky said, but it was more of a chant than a statement. His eyes were glazed; he stared out toward the horizon. I stepped closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice.

“You had no right,” I told him.

“No one knows. I didn’t mean it.”

My fingers balled into fists. I pressed them into my thighs. “You won’t make me feel sorry for you. I know what you did.”

“No,” he shrieked. “No one knows” -- and he came flying at me, and was on me before I knew what happened.