Crying

Rose broke down after giving the deposition. She left the office with tears in her eyes. The sun was going down, a beautiful sunset in a cold sky over the frozen river. She wanted to be that sun: it looked warm. Something bright, yet not alive. Light from how many miles away? And what caused the sunset’s brightness? She couldn’t remember. She remembered wearing goggles in science class, doing experiments, none with astronomy. Everyone wanted to learn about the stars, but it wasn’t taught. The space program was now close to defunct. Well, she wasn’t sure about that, but she did know they hadn’t progressed as much as they’d wanted to since the sixties. Bush was talking about sending men to the moon again.

Rose hurried home, her heavy boots clunky, her face frozen by the wind. A few people walked on the street. Most drove.

Somebody familiar passed her, somebody in a puffy coat with the hood up. The woman looked so skinny, her face caved in, and her hands were red and bleeding.

Dorrie? she said.

Dorrie walked away from her.

Rose turned around and ran after her. What’s wrong?

Dorrie turned to her and screamed, You didn’t help my friend with the infection! She had to go to the hospital.

Oh, I’m sorry. Rose’s tears trailed down her face. I was going through a bad time. I was mad at Ben.

Are you crying?

No. Your hands are bleeding. You need gloves. Please come to my house and I’ll give you some.

I left them somewhere. At the library or the shelter.

You need gloves now. It’s zero, maybe below zero.

Zero sounds like a poem. Ground zero? Will Ben be there?

He probably will be.

Well, I’ll just pop in for a minute.

Ben was still asleep. Rose told Dorrie he’d probably be up in half an hour or so.

I’d love to see him. Her face lit up. Not to marry him again, but just to see him.

Rose laughed. She didn’t feel threatened by Dorrie.

Dorrie sat in the living room while Rose made herbal tea. She waited for the kettle to boil, tears streaming down her face. When had she last cried? She was anti-crying. Divulging her history with Miss Bottle had brought back too many unhappy memories. She remembered sitting at that desk while Miss Bottle tried to fondle her, Rose inching away, saying she had to go home, Miss Bottle blocking her way, saying, You need my recommendation and I’ll say you’re incompetent if you don’t stay here. Miss Bottle had gone to Harvard, the school of Rose’s choice. Rose was terrified that she wouldn’t get in. In retrospect it seemed silly: Miss Bottle couldn’t have had friends there after all these years. But Rose had been innocent.

Rose had been stricken. She suffered. She didn’t know what to do. She allowed Miss Bottle to caress her until the finger-fucking. That she couldn’t endure. It hurt. Her hymen broke. There was blood. She couldn’t believe the blood.

Rose wished she had been as brave as Megan. Megan had been kissed once and then threatened Miss Bottle. Megan hadn’t cared for any of Miss Bottle’s threats.

I’m in love with you, Miss Bottle used to tell Rose. Rose, upset and sickened, washed over and over when she got home.

Don’t worry, her lawyer said. Rose’s lawyer had somehow procured a file on Miss Bottle. He assured her that Rose’s therapist would testify that Rose’s depression was consistent with abuse, with post-traumatic stress disorder. And it helped that her work record was good.

But be careful, he warned her. She’s insane, but she has never seen a psychiatrist. She threatened the principal of her school when he tried to fire her.

What? Are you saying she’ll come after me with a gun? Rose laughed.

No, she’s more likely to settle. But be careful anyway. Don’t go out after dark alone. You never know what these people will do.

Rose sighed. I can't think like that. Really. I have to have a normal life. My book group is coming up.

Have Ben drive you and pick you up.

Rose took the tea into the living room and sat down with Dorrie. She also brought lotion for Dorrie’s hands. Take this with you. I can hardly bear to look at your hands. And here are two pairs of gloves and one pair of mismatched mittens.

My hands do hurt, Dorrie admitted.

When Ben got up, Rose asked him to drive Dorrie home.

Have you been crying?

It’s nothing. It’s just the deposition.

He held her. Oh, everybody cries after that.

I’ll make dinner now.

No, don’t. Go take a nap. I’ll make dinner when I get home.