I continued to see Kevin into the summer of that year. His demands for sex were growing exponentially. It was becoming harder and harder to back him off. I will give him this, I can’t say that I ever felt physically threatened, it was more emotional persuasion, with his body in close proximity, which was used. This was still a potent combination though. I don’t know if he ever realized that it was his own insistence on sex which did him in. I was sufficiently flighty at that age, that had he not mentioned it so much, my first experience with sex would have slipped to the back of my mind, and he would have had a much better chance of an encore performance. I would like to say I could have said ‘no’ the entire summer but in all honesty I doubt it now. It’s a very funny thing with youth in that when pressed to do something, you often press yourself in the opposite direction to compensate. This phenomenon often makes for ‘interesting’ adventure when dealing with teenagers. I use ‘interesting’ in the same vein of the ancient Chinese curse: “May your live in ‘interesting’ times”.
Kevin was pressing for sex, so I pressed equally strongly against it. With our dichotomously apposed viewpoints on the subject we managed to make each other quite miserable. Kevin was so dedicated to getting his way, that we basically stopped going out. Sure we went to a movie or whatever, but the entire objective of any evening with Kevin from that point forward was to get my clothes off, and my equally enforced objective was to keep them on. In the four movies we saw that summer, I don’t remember a single one. I do remember however, removing his hands at every turn. Eventually Kevin and I started to drift apart. He grew frustrated with my persistent refusal to his attempts, and I grew annoyed with his persistence in trying. I grew so concerned with the situation I even tried confiding in Tammy and Claire who were now my only real female friends due to my snubbing of everyone aside from them.
I found a moment of privacy with them at the roller rink. Kevin was off skating with a group of his friends, one of them a new girl ‘Patty’ who I was suspicious of. I recounted to them the events of the past month trying to put it as delicately as possible. I tried to leave out as many details as possible to make it seem like we hadn’t gotten all that far. Claire, annoyed with my lack of important facts and details decided to ask flat out.
“So, did you two make it or what?” She asked impatiently as if she already knew the answer and was just waiting for me to say it outright. I took a deep breath and answered truthfully,
“Yes.” I lowered my head immediately as if I had just launched a grenade which would explode shrapnel into my face. I heard sighs of understanding which caused me to look up, puzzled. Tammy had a sage like look about her as she composed the words to the most profound thing she ever said to me. In retrospect, all things being relative, it wasn’t actually all that profound, more like a cliché which I just hadn’t heard yet. She explained the situation.
“You see … men are like sheep dogs …” She chomped her gum loudly as she always did between phrases. “ … and when a sheep dog takes that first bite out of a sheep and tastes the blood, the only thing the farmer can do is shoot it because that dog will never be the same again. Once a dog tastes the taste of sheep blood, it will want more and more, until it dies.” I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to think of men in this light. However the words “… will want more and more until [he] dies” resounded loudly in my mind. It was exactly what had happened between Kevin and I. Basically she was saying that it was a mistake for me to have allowed him to go that far in the first place. Now that I had, either I could ‘put up (out) or shut up’. I hoped that this wasn’t true of all men in general. Even though I lacked evidence to the contrary at this point of my life, it couldn’t be true. “It mustn’t be true.” I said to myself hoping that in saying it, I could believe it and I did, but with cautious optimism.
Suddenly it struck me. Here I was sitting over desert with Tammy and Claire, while Kevin was off skating with a group of his friends and his new friend Patty. Without my knowledge, I had silently slipped into the ranks of his token ‘girl-friends’. Sure enough, only seconds later we saw Kevin and Patty walk off and out of the skating rink. We all exchanged knowing glances. When Tammy, Claire and I realized that we all had had similar experiences, we shared exact details. We discussed the places he had taken us and the things we had done together. I was pleased because Tammy and Claire both had sex about three or four times each. I held my head up high and told them that I had gotten off only having sex with him once. They quickly retorted, in defence, that it gets better the second and third time. I was slightly curious about that until we all, in a fit of laughter discussed his love making techniques. We were extremely rude, and equally vivid. I suppose the polite summation of that five minute discussion, while we were all in hysterics, was that if Kevin’s love making were shipped by courier, the package would be shipped by expedited service: arriving quickly and the transaction over before you knew it. After about a half hour absence, Patty and Kevin returned. Kevin looked as he always did, with that same boyish charm. Patty looked a little flustered and embarrassed. Kevin said,
“We were just out for a little walk.” We all responded sarcastically in chorus,
“Uh uh!” and like clockwork, we all rose and made our way to his car. And just like that, the cycle of Kevins’ lovelife continued. I suppose that Kevin was like a launching platform for many girls. He offered them popularity and a chance to experiment with their femininity. In the end, after some time to think, I didn’t begrudge him. Later in life, in conversations with older men, my husband included, I understood that an eighteen year old boy is like a hormone with feet. Many men admitted this to me unflinchingly. All things considered, Kevin wasn’t a bad person, nor did he treat me badly. We continued to see each other occasionally, which avoided my having to answer my father as to why we broke up. I was happy for that. As far as he was concerned we were still going out, and there was no reason to tell him otherwise.
One night he told us, the group we were out with, that he had been denied the football scholarship he was looking for. I felt disappointed for him. Football was, to a very large degree, his life. He did however get a reasonable scholarship at a college half way across the country. I felt united with Kevin in one thing, disappointment in life.
During the remaining weeks of that summer, I found my self contemplative and unfulfilled. I took many self absorbed walks alone in my backyard by the stream. It seemed, with respect to my fulfillment, as though I was back to square one save my new found popularity, which I have to admit, I enjoyed thoroughly. I had hoped that having a boyfriend would complete me. I certainly didn’t feel complete just then; quite the contrary. I was on just one of these sorts of walks in the middle of August that I heard a voice and a shuffling approaching me. It was sufficiently far enough that it didn’t distract my concentration. I wondered nervously to myself: “Were all my relationships going to be like this one? Would I always feel this unfulfilled? Was this all there was?”
Now, the voice was sufficiently audible to make out what was being said. I was rather annoyed at the intrusion. I heard someone complaining of a flubbed question on a math test. My eyes scanned the path of the stream, looking for the source of the distraction. The stream in my back yard veered sharply to the right several yards ahead of me. A wooden glade obscured its path as it made this sharp turn. I found the stream again, heading again to the left and off to the horizon beyond the wooded glade. I couldn’t discern any source for the voice.
Just then, a boy and his dog came out from the wooded glade but on the opposite side of the stream to me. Obviously this is where they had escaped my detection. It was Jesse and his dog. Jesse was still talking to his dog when he noticed me staring at him. He stopped immediately, and embarrassed. Trying to relieve the tension of this odd meeting I delicately said,
“Hello.” He seemed a little more confident.
“Hi, how are you doing?” I answered half-heartedly but honestly,
“I’m all right”. He liked to talk. I could tell right off the bat. He launched into an explanation of exactly what he was doing.
“I hope you don’t mind my being here… I have a big family you see, and sometimes I just like the alone time. My dog Sherlock here makes for a great listener and certainly isn’t judgmental. He is content to listen to me tell him my troubles with a walk and a treat as a reward. You understand … right?” No, actually I didn’t see how talking to a dog could in anyway be therapeutic. Not wanting to appear rude I answered with a polite,
“Yes.” There was a short pause while he awaited a more detailed answer. He didn’t receive one.
I had never really noticed him all that much. He typically kept to himself and certainly wasn’t very popular. He did have redeeming facial features though. His rich green eyes picked up the colour of the overhanging foliage. They were a very unusual colour, especially under the current lighting, but they were very flattering. His body and face were still very youthful though. They still had yet to develop more masculine and adult features. His dog was a Springer Spaniel. It had a brown and white patches all over. Its long curly haired ears seemed to move in the opposite direction of the dog’s head. They It was still a very young dog and it couldn’t seem to stay still while Jesse was trying to talk to me. It bumbled about clumsily hoping to find a bug, or something of interest. To be honest, the clumsy look of the dog, reminded me very much of its owner.
He was visibly put off balance by my lack of more than a one word response. He paced back and forth nervously trying to find something to fill the dead air. His eyes widened having found at least something to pad the conversation.
“So, you don’t mind my being here … What with this being your property and all?” It was a pretty silly question. No one would ever mind. We all had such huge lots, it was common practice to walk wherever one wanted. In fact, where he was standing, on the other side of the stream, was actually no one’s property, just an open field. I answer to that question was a simple ‘no’ but I extended it as much as I could trying to help relieve his nervousness.
“No, I don’t mind at all”. Well I don’t suppose that it was a terrific improvement over a simple ‘no’ but the grin on his face revealed that he was pleased with it. His dog was getting impatient. He was no longer content to simply fidget. Without any warning, he leapt head first into the stream. A spray of silty water went flying into the water, the brunt of which landed directly on my shirt, knocking me over.
“No Sherlock, no!” Jesse screamed following him into the stream searching for his leash. Finding the end of the leash, Jesse yanked at it sternly trying to bring Sherlock under control. Sherlock could care less, he was in seventh heaven splashing wildly in the stream. Finally, Jesse emerged with his dog on my side of the stream. He looked at my soiled shirt horrified that I would be angry. I was angry actually but I found myself laughing at the odd experience. He started to laugh, first nervously and the genuinely.
“Actually, he does this sort of thing a lot.” His voice seemed more relaxed.
“Does he now. Do you have to shower everytime you take your dog for a walk?” I was remarkably comfortable myself. Afterall I didn’t have to impress anyone. Compared to this clumsy fellow, I had to be the coolest around for miles. Inspired by the new topic of conversation he said,
“No, I try not to walk him by the streams and rivers that often, for exactly this reason.” His intonation had a comic air. Then he continued in a voice which revealed more of his emotions,
“I try and take him on this kind of walk at least once a week though. You can see how much he loves it.” He was right the dog panted happily and looked to his owner with a look of love. Jesse scratched his head in reply. I thought it was so cute the way the two got along so well together.
“I’m so sorry about your shirt …” he said apologetically.
“Don’t worry, I am good with laundry. I can get out many stains” I said confidently, trying to ease his fears. It was then I remembered a particular stain I had removed just a few months ago on prom night. I was once again in my somber, self-absorbed state, which had abated for ten minutes due to the distracting events. I was still sitting on the ground where I had fell and Jesse patted his dog affectionately about a foot away from me. There was a lull as the moment spoke more loudly than any words we could have exchanged. We both enjoyed the silence and watched, and listened to, the flow of the stream. Eventually Jesse stood up.
“Hey, d’you want to see something real cool” I was curious.
“Sure.” He motioned me to the side of the stream. The sun was setting behind me. He said,
“It’s going to be a beautiful night.” I was suddenly fearful. I had heard a variant of that line the first night I was with Kevin. He didn’t think he was going to get away with anything did he? I slowed my approach to the side of the stream. Jesse, confused as to what the problem was, proceeded with his demonstration.
“Here … look …” He reached into the silty, opaque stream cupping his hands. When they emerged, his hands held fry. The tiny fish darted about, disoriented by their new environment. I quickly approached the bank of the stream and looked closely. In all my years of walking and playing by the stream, I had never looked under the silty surface of the water. I wondered what else there was under the surface.
“See, life and beauty are everywhere…” he said passionately, romanticizing nature. He concluded his thought poetically:
“Sometimes, you just have to look below the surface to find it.” He looked as though he was going to say something else when he caught him self. His face looked inhibited as though he had said too much; he hadn’t though. Just like that he excused himself.
“I really ought to be heading home. It was nice talking to you though.” I didn’t say anything. Still didn’t know what to make of him. Was he for real? He crossed the stream again, this time stepping on rocks to avoid getting wet. Cherokee would have nothing of that and plowed his way noisily through the river. After some insistence with the leash, they both emerged on the other side and I managed a wave good-bye. I walked inside still out of sorts, from the encounter. I walked straight past my mother who immediately noticed the stain on my shirt.
“Charlotte, whatever happened to you?” I answered instinctively, without forethought,
“Nothing, I was just knocked off my feet by some boy and his dog.” My mother and I both didn’t notice the unintentional irony in that statement. She just said,
“Fine dear, just wash up and come on down. Supper is ready.”
