The Man In Avery

I can't believe I have a date with this gal. I mean think about it, an Okie like me getting a date. I'm no Casanova, and I'm not what you'd call cute. After a good days work I look and smell like one of the hogs that Uncle Henry slaughters; a big, moist, blushing sack of stink. At least that's what I've come to think of myself.

As soon as I got home from school I skipped prayers, finished my supper quickly, and left the table without excusing myself. I also told my youth leader at St. Catherine’s church that I wouldn't be there tonight. He was taken aback, and so were my folks. They probably don't like the fuss I've gotten into, but there is one thing they don't understand. I am a teenage country boy, and I don't get out much. This is more important then my fathers’ famous pig roast on the fourth of July, because that definitely doesn't have the possibility of satisfying me in the same way that this could.

After running up the steps I put on my best t-shirt, gray with the words cowboy up on the front and bullhorns across the shoulders in the back. I find my one pair of jeans that I wear on special occasions to replace my working pair, which is ragged with holes and faded in a billion places. I give myself a once over in the mirror and decide to comb my shaggy, dusty brown hair into a part. I take a second glance at it and realize how ridiculous I look with my hair combed. Leaving my hair a mess won't do either, after all this is my first date!

I look around frantically for an idea, and what I find is my favorite trucker hat. After doing a quick pit check I decide to put on an excessive amount of tag. I bought this after I saw one of their advertisements, with women all over the men who are wearing it. I know it's unrealistic but this is just in case I get a little special attention.

I check for my wallet and how much cash I have. The movies aren't free, specially tickets for two. I'll give up my fathers’ next corn crop the day the movies are free. I head for my bedroom door, only to realize that I'm still wearing the muddy boots I was using when I was getting the cows out to graze. I can't wear boots on a date, not with Katie. Not with anyone really, but especially not with Katie.

I run down the stairs with my clean boots and yell a good bye over my shoulder to my parents as I make a break for the door, but I can't get off that easy. "Wait just a second young man!  I hear my mother yell from the kitchen table where they are still eating. I walk in, my head lowered slightly in a guilty manner. My mommas’ curly brown hair falls over her shoulders as she turns to look at me. Her left cheek is swollen just enough to let you know that she has not swallowed her last bite of steak.

She swallows quickly and smacks her lips. "Your father would like to speak to you.”  Momma voices in a stern voice. As she yields the floor to my father he takes his napkin and wipes each corner of his mouth. He then looks to me, leaning back slightly in his chair, rubbing his gray mustache with his thumb and index finger. "Where are you going Chris?”  He asks firmly and concerned. I wait a second or two, honestly thinking about lying to them. I can't though. I wasn't raised like that. "On a date.”  I state, then avert my eyes to the floor.

I don't hear anything from either of them for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity before I hear anyone speak. It's my fathers’ voice that breaks the silence.

"All your chores done?” He asks, his voice is like thunder in its abruptness. I nod while still looking at the ground, becoming very familiar with the two-tone diamond tiling.

"All your homework done?” He inquires further. I nod, now becoming very familiar with the intricate pattern of cracks between the cream and brown paint within the tiling. I look up to see him go from rubbing his gray mustache to rubbing his gray hair with his palm flat.

"Fine, you can go, but don't get into trouble.” As soon as my father said this and before I could even comprehend it my mind was out the door and into my truck with the key in the ignition, but my feet didn't move more then a foot. I became aware of his grant of freedom and turned on my heels with my back to my parents, as I did so I could feel my mommas’ expression on the back of my neck. The tingling electricity at the base of my neck feels uniquely, as it should, like momma's lasso of love wrapping around my neck.

"Hang on Chris.” Is annunciated clearly from somewhere deep in my mommas’ chest. I stop, but I don't turn, because I have a feeling I know why mothers loving lasso is now securely tied around my obedient throat. After a moment or two I realize that I have to turn around. The lasso was forcing me. I turned slowly and spoke delicately and with a hidden cringe, as if the words were nails on a chalkboard.

"Yes momma? ” I said lightly, waiting for her to tighten the lasso with her next question.

"Where are you going on this date Chris? ” She inquired in a somewhat curious but more accusing manner. My voice grew quieter, and I spoke even more delicately then before.

"To the movies.” I know this doesn't answer her question, but any delay against momma's barrage of questions will suit me just fine.

"Really Chris, what theater?” She asks with such a snap in her voice the my body jolts. I'll try to be vague but I know they'll see right through that.

"Into town, about a forty five minute drive.” Her draw dropped slightly and her eye brows went up. She whipped her head towards my father, her tongue poking a bulge in her cheek. My dad leaned forward over the table a little and pointed at me.

"Chris, you're not going to pull a fast one on me.” He says and grabs his glass of tea and takes a sip.

"Boy you better straighten up. Town is about ten minutes away. You're talking about Avery. You've driven to Avery maybe twice, three times if you stretch it. Every single time it was with your mother or me. My answer is no Chris.” At that he goes back to his meal and doesn't even look up at me. Something inside me has crawled out from the obedient depths of the soul all mighty god gave me and is about to shred the lasso around my throat.

"Why can't I go into Avery? ” Comes out of my mouth stern and my face hardens. My dad stops all motion for an instant, and then sets his silverware down. He looks me down, the steak he started consuming is rollicking in his left check with such vigor I feel his face will explode. He swallows and continues to stare.

"Because I said so Chris.” He says with a stony demeanor meant to deter me from further questions. The animal rips at the lasso a few more times.

"Sorry Pa but that's not good enough for me.” He had only half picked up his silverware when I said this, and now he just dropped them from where his hands were in the air.

"Chris, you're too much a fool youngster to go into Avery by yourself! Questioning my reasoning isn’t gonna get you any street smarts! Now go to your- the animal ripped the lasso to shreds, only small strands remained. He burst out of his cage with my good Christian soul left helpless to watch.

"Street smarts! How do I get street smarts unless I actually go on the streets! What is the worse that could happen Pa! ” My hands were balled into fists, my blood was pumping, the veins in my forearms bulged.

The ferocious little creature had ripped the lasso apart, and he wasn't stopping at that. He wanted the world to know he existed. My father calmed down and sat back in his chair again. I cut a smooth glance at my mother. She was stunned, looking back and forth between us. This whole situation reminded me of watching those rams but heads in biology class. My father folds his hands behind his head with his elbows in the air, and looks at me like a 5 year old who has just questioned god.

"Boy, do you know what kind of people live in Avery?” Pa says quietly. Being addressed with such a word as Boy didn't help me, and I knew what he was implying by kind of people. Instead of acting like I know this implication, I flush it out.

"I don't know dad, what kind of people?” I reply with deliberate inflection. I mock his name, and I mock his implication. My dad devours the silence in seconds by letting its existence glimmer for a moment and then rushing it with the storm of his deliberation.

"BOY YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE I MEAN. THEY'RE ANIMALS DOWN THERE, THEY'RE WOLVES. THEY'LL KILL YOU AS SOON AS LOOK AT YOU, I TELL YOU WHAT, IF I-” I have prided myself on being patient, but this sick generalization has not corrupted me like my father. It sounds unlike a lecture and more in the lines of a regurgitation of family prejudice. I boil over.

"SHUT UP PA! ” I yell at the top of my lungs. He stops his tirade. His eyes blink shut and open wider then they were before. The animal, newly released, retrieves my Christian soul, hanging limply in its mouth like a hound carrying its newfound kill to its master. That master could be my impulsive will, or it could be my religions darker counterpart. Either way, the animal croons at my father, snarling its vicious philosophies.

"I've heard you preach about those folk. I remember you harping at the television about that OJ Simpson, that Kobe Bryant, or that Michael Jackson. For Christ's Sake pa, what about Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, or Scott Peterson?! I never heard you give as much a fuss about them as you did any of those folks, and they were convicted! You seem to think a colored person is guilty before they even get to trial! ” I take a few deep breaths, and my father seems to think the animal is at rest. I find in a moment that he is just playing possum.

"Now, son, I know a lot more then you think about those kind -" The animal awakens, now a fire breathing demon, raging at the dominance that my father assumes he has in the world over me. I speak in a tongue I never dared to even dream of using towards my father.

"That's right dad, you do know more about those kind of people. That's because you went to college right? Because you lived in the city? Maybe you went to high school with those kinds of people? Did you live with one of them for a while?” I walk towards the table and put my hands on the edge. I look my father in the eye and watch the denial hit his face like a pale of water. The animal shows no mercy, not when it smells the advantage.

"Wait, wait, wait, I know the answer to all of these; No! You only know what everyone else has told you Pa, and that's not good enough for me. I'm going to go to the movies with my date, and I'm going to come back without a scratch or scuff. Mark my words."

I push the door wide open and hear its old rusty pump hinge close slowly behind me. I trudge down the gray wooden planks that serve as porch steps and head for my truck. I get in and start the car, my heart and soul in a flurry, as the animal becomes an integral part of me rather then a separate embodiment. I punch the dash once and turn on my pitiful truck.

On the road my nervousness translates into a little extra speed and some jerky motions with the wheel. The air conditioning doesn't work and the waning heat of a family argument and mid September starts to make me perspire almost instantly. I feel a bead of sweat slide down the side of my face. I look in the rear view mirror for a split second, which translated visually into a streak of water reflecting bright white. It was so bright in fact that I had to tilt my head at an angle just so I wouldn't blind myself.

I hope Katie doesn't notice. Of course she'll notice. There's a difference between being a nervous wreck and looking like one. I can't even bluff that I'm a smooth operator now. I give a small laugh at the thought of me as a smooth operator. I'm a plain country boy at heart. I'm not a ladies man. I know that better then any of my friends do. My past times include riding four wheelers, rebuilding engines, and hunting. I even carry a buck knife in my back pocket out of habit.

I try to play things down again. It's not like she's perfect either. I've heard a billion rumors about that girl. Guys are always going over to her house from what I hear. I've even heard that older ones go there, and some say that they stay the night with her. As this starts to worry me I realize I've passed her neighborhood a while ago.

I start cursing myself for being such an idiot and find a driveway to pull into and then turn around. When I put it into reverse I hear a mechanical crunch and then it stalls. This has never happened before, so now my nervousness ramps up and I perspire even more. I try starting it again and again, but nothing. I curse it with language that would make my mommas jaw drop. The engine roars to life on the fourth try.

I know I'm speeding but I don't dare look at the speedometer. I don't want to miss her neighborhood twice. I pull in a little too fast, and I almost put someone out of a mailbox. I let off the gas a bit and put both the windows down. I try to calm myself down. It's not that big of a deal; it's just a date. This is my first date with a girl that I find extremely attractive, who has a lot of friends expecting to hear full details about me. I do such a great job of bolstering my confidence.

I pull slowly up to her driveway and park the truck. I sit there for a good second or two. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest. The sweat won't stop, and I can't help thinking that I must look like a complete and absolute idiot. I grab the blanket I leave on the floor and wipe my face with it. Then I grab the can of altoids I bought at the drug store sitting in the console and chew a couple. I try to convince myself that I'm lucky she couldn't have seen me miss her neighborhood. I get out of the truck and take a long, deep, breath.

I walk on a white stone path leading up to the door, carefully avoiding a very large pothole right in the middle of it. I give it a passing glance as I approach the door. With as much confidence as I possibly can I give three solid knocks. I shift my weight back and forth on my feet until I hear the door creak.

I feel a wash of panic hit me but I calm instantly to save face. A particularly large man stands in the doorway, a brown curly mustache adorned on his wide face. We stand looking at each other in silence. Nothing happens for a few seconds. When I start to open my mouth he speaks first.

"What do you want?" He asks in a grunt. Startled, I respond in a voice that smacks of puberty.

"I'm here for a date with Katie. " My voice screeches at different pitches. I realized the manner of my reply could easily be compared to someone picking up a pizza. The man scrunches up his face and leans back to yell into some foreign region of the house.

"Rose, did Kate tell you she had a date!" A quiet voice from inside yells a response but I can't quite make it out.

The awkwardness of standing here while Katie's parents go through the moral repercussions of dating grows exponentially as I stand here outside. The sunlight lands on my skin and liquid surfaces partly due to heat, and partly due to nervousness. I stand on my toes and ease back on my heels; my hands sweating while plunged in my pockets.

The man the voice in the background argues. The volume seems to increase with the time and temperature, and I swear I hear a ringing in my ears. The mans face is getting red, the voice inside takes an angry and louder feminine tone, and I feel like I'm drowning in anxiousness, discomfort, and my own perspiration. It feels like hours before I finally hear a friendly voice, a voice of reason. It is the voice of Katie Agnes.

I hear the creak of steps somewhere near but not visibly seen, and the savior of the situation speaks.

"This isn't my first date and you both know it, now will you please calm down. Chris, come in for a second I'll be right out. ” Her father doesn't move for a second. Not until Katie's voice comes from behind him again.

"Don't let my step dad scare you either." At this he half snarls and moves away from the doorway, allowing my entrance. His eyes follow me as I walk in. I look around at the green painted walls and the brown carpet. I can see the top of Katie's momma as she rocks back and forth in her recliner, watching a television that casts a ghastly blue glow no matter what colors are on the set.

Even with the bright sun outside this place seems infinitely gloomy, as if the walls absorbed any natural light, just leaving the televisions ghastly glow and faded conversations. Katie's father walks over to the recliner and asks her something quietly, but not quietly enough.

"Is this the same idiot that was here earlier?" Katie's mom doesn't even turn to look. She stops rocking for a second and peaks her head slowly over top of the recliner.

"Nope, he's not as cute. " She says disappearing behind the recliner and continues on rocking.
I hear Katie half run down the steps, and before I even see her coming she grabs my arm and pulls me out the door.

"OH MY GOD, I am so sorry about that! Seriously, I'm nothing like either of them, especially my mother! Promise you won't take my past out on me?" She says this all so quickly, and I'm distracted by how attractive I find her. She's an energetic whirlwind of pale skin and auburn hair, wearing something that looks like a schoolgirls uniform. It would have passed for one except for the fact that our high school doesn't have uniforms. Katie's giving me a hopeful look and a sideways smile, and I fall right into it.

"Of course I won't.” I say and smile back. I can almost hear my brain speaking like a sports commentator, saying how daring a play that was and how crucial. A trust has been established, I have moved up on the field.

But like any game, many things can change. After I walked a few feet out her door, I stumbled into the pothole, and bumped into her. What's worse is I grabbed whatever I could in order to keep my balance, which just happened to be Katie's waste. I accidentally pushed her shirt up with my hands as I did this, and my eyes fixed on something below her waistline.

It's a scar, and ridge of hardened tissue. It speaks volumes of pain to me, and I almost hurt looking at it. She steps back quick when she realizes this. I get out of the pothole and laugh sheepishly. She puts her shirt down, strokes her hair back from her face, and looks at the ground. A few awkward seconds pass.

"We should get going. " She says and keeps walking towards the truck. I hang my head in shame. The commentator is now talking about penalties up and down the board and how trust has been ejected from the game.

I walk faster to catch up to her, but she has already opened the door and let herself in. As I round the truck I noticed that she is holding something up and looking at it. When I open the door and get in, I realize what it is.

"Do you always keep random blankets in your truck?" She asks in a joking manner. I'm not sure how to respond to this, so I use the best strategy I have at the current moment. Laughing hysterically to the point of creepiness.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA." It was loud, obnoxious, and abruptly ending as it abruptly started. We sat in silence for a second. Then she starts laughing a little while rubbing her eyebrows.

"I never thought you were this weird." She says and then looks at me. I assume that I have screwed up.

"I'm sorry Katie, really, I'll try to -" she puts her index finger over my mouth.

"Don't worry about it, I like weird people. Think about it, how could we make it through school without turning out weird." I let a small smile cross my face and start the pick up. Let me rephrase, I attempt to start the pick up. It makes a horrible wrenching noise and sits. I wait a few seconds and then try again. After much mechanical resistance somewhere in the bowels of the engine, the beast sparks to life.

I start driving out of the neighborhood, and as I head towards the main road I look to Katie. Her window is down, and the suns hitting her face through the many trees lining this small road. Her brown hair whips in the wind, and I notice something about her. She always has a small smile. Not anything overbearing, just a small curve that seems inviting. That seems uplifting in a way. I lose this sensation once her face turns to horror.

"TURN CHRIS!" She yells as I blow the stop sign before the perpendicular road in front of me. I realize what I'm doing and whip the wheel wildly to the left. The truck makes another mechanical crunch, but it manages not to stall. With that catastrophe and my truck acting like it's a rusty wreck, I've got a bad feeling. I go the speed limit, and I don't chance a look at Katie. I'm afraid of what I might see, and worrying that I might have managed to wipe that small constant smile off her face.

"Is this your truck?" She says abruptly as if the question had been burning in her mind. I wasn't prepared for this so I start my sentence with what could ultimately doom this conversation.

"Gosh, I hope so." Gosh. I just said gosh. What a stupid word. I hang my head a little, but not so much that I can't see the road. I think Katie saw this, so she tries again to gab.

"So, Chris, why did we almost drive into the ditch across the road?" She asks. I have to chance a look at her to see how angry she is about that.
A wave of relief hits me when I see that slight smile on her face again. I look back to the road, reassured that it is safe to speak.

"Well, to be honest, it had to do with that expression you've got on right now." I say with my eyebrows raised a little.

"What expression? ” She asks curiously and almost resentfully. I answer calmly and almost cockily.

"That little smile you always have." It seems like everyday you have that little smirk on your face.  She laughs a little and I can see her out of the corner of my eye trying to hide her mouth. I speak in a flirtatious manner, trying it on for size.

"Yeah, that one. The one you're covering up." She smacks my leg and leans against her door as she continues to cover her mouth.

"So you just like to embarrass me." She says in a hurt way. I feel bad for second until something connected in my brain. There are two things I have figured out in this date so far.

One - She hit my leg, and that's good.

Two -She's flirting in a language that I am slowly acquiring; sarcasm.

I have opened the door to a whole new arena of human interaction. I try to figure out what to say next, and then I figure it out; A COMPLIMENT. It can't be something made up though; I'm not a poet. I have to feel it, and I have to know it to be true.

"Don't be embarrassed." I start out, and get stuck. I don't know what to say.

"Why not? " She replies, egging me on. She knows what I'm trying to do. She's dated before. I'm a greenhorn. I have no clue what I'm doing. So I say what I think.

"I like it, it calms me down. I was feeling awkward about all this until I saw that beautiful smile. " I hang my head for a brief second. That was corny, even for me! I cringe in anticipation of ridicule. It's like knowing a bomb is going to go off so you brace for it. But no bomb went off. I felt warm gloss covered lips press lightly against my cheek.

"That was sweet," is the sound that emits from behind those soft lips. I drive the rest of the way in a contented daze. I didn't try to speak. Even I wasn't fool hardy enough to think that I could speak without stuttering after getting a kiss on the cheek. The sun goes down past the horizon, which is filled with the yellow stalks where corn once stood. My mind tries to wonder to the rumors about Katie, but I wouldn't let them. Gray clouds appear in front of us as I drive on this small highway, turning the world just dark enough that I switch on my headlights.

The contented feeling leaves me once I start getting close to Avery. The cornfields turn to small houses, which turn to small apartment buildings. I start to feel worried. I remember everything I said to my father, but something irks me about this place. Something about it has ruffled my feathers.

The dark streets and alleys all seem to wish me ill will, and every face I see frightens me. The yellowed streetlights make everything seem to have a sickly amber glow. Ebony faces appear on stoops and walking on sidewalks. Fear strikes me, and I wonder where it comes from. What has made me so afraid of these people? What has conditioned me to automatically assume that these folk want to put a hurtin' on me?

I take a shortcut through a cramped street. The sun's rays ebb slightly, and those gray clouds have turned to thunderheads. I can't find a spot in the theater parking lot, so I find one by a meter a little ways down the street. I get out of the truck and prepare to open Katie’s' door. I notice that Katie’s jaw has dropped, and I wonder why until I noticed that the whole truck was rolling backwards.

I run back to the driver side door and hop in and hit the break. Katie’s head rocks forwards and backwards like one of those bobble head dolls, only faster. I check the parking brake and realize that it’s up but isn't working.

"Hang on Katie. I've got to find a flat spot to park. " I say in a regular tone, not treating this like a big deal. I figure she has after seeing the face of panic she made when she was rolling. I park a little farther, next to an alley way in front of small broken down townhouse. I let my foot off the break and check to see if my truck moves.

"Well, it's sitting alright, but better safe then sorry right? " I smile and inquire to Katie. She nods hesitantly with a less then reassured smile. I get out and try to find the cinder blocks I keep in the bed of my truck, but it takes me some feeling around to find them in the absence of any streetlights. I place them behind my rear tires thinking that if it would roll it would roll that way.

I clap my hands after picking up the cinder blocks and realize that they were covered in mud. Before I realize what I'm doing I wipe them on my shirt. I cuss once at my stupidity, because now I am completely covered in mud. I wonder how I can get clean of this. I feel small drops of water hit my head, and I can't bear to know what Katie will think.

I hear the groan of the passenger door of my truck, and I look up to see Katie approaching me at a slow pace. A red caged bulb flickers above a door in the back alley, outlining her girl next-door figure, but I have a feeling there is a glum look on her face.

"Are you ready?" She says with just too much of an accent on ready, her lips curved in a weak smile.
My mind races as to how I should act in order to regain the glory of the compliment, and nothing comes to mind.

"Yes." Is all that comes from my meager mind, and we both walk with disappointment in the direction of the theater. Even in the dark I can discern the grit upon the cement sidewalk and dirtied brick of the city. The sky flashes white and thunder quakes the ground. I change the direction of my gaze from the sidewalk to straight ahead, and catch a glimpse of some dark motion to my left. I jump to face it with my right hand over my back pocket where my buck knife is.

Katie is holding her hand out and eyes wide. After everything I've done to screw up tonight, I can't help but laugh at this. Then something amazing happens. She laughs, whether at me or with me I don't care. As long as something I am doing is making her happy I'll feel more relieved.

"You just get stranger and stranger Chris Dunstan." Katie says holding back laughter. With the burden of embarrassment lifted by some unspoken pardon, I get a little bolder.

"I'm glad I can entertain you Katie Agnes." I say slyly and take her outstretched hand. I look into her eyes and speak to her with my body, something I've never done in the span of my existence but now do naturally.

As we walk, I realize rain is probably soaking me right about now. There's probably a cold gust of wind hitting my face. I probably look dirty, wet, and pathetic. In this very moment, that does not exist to me. All that exists is this girl’s hand in mine. Her warm, soft, pale hand is such an inversion of the one she is holding.

As we get closer to the theater streetlights welcome us. A neon light reading Cineplex changes the transparent drops of water into hues of purple and green. As we near the gold colored double doors we need to enter I start to panic; what do we do with our hands? Luckily she has this all figured out. She takes the lead through the door and I follow.

In the theater lobby my senses are bombarded. I smell buttered popcorn. I see large screens adorning the walls with previews of coming attractions. I hear the chatter of people and gunfire from an arcade tucked into some small corner. What I don't feel is Katie's hand. I stand and survey carefully until I see it, one of the worst things you can see on your first date. It starts to rekindle the flame of curiosity I once had about the rumors surrounding Katie Agnes.

I don't approach her, or the middle-aged man that she has her arms wrapped around. The man who's cheek she's caressing. The man she is flirting with. My legs don't move but my eyes pursue her as she walks him to the ticket taker. I just walk to the ticket line, and try to replace my shocked expression with what I assume a guy looks like when he's lost track of his date.

My muscles contort to a facial expression that would seem to fit that scenario. I shuffle with the other people, and stare down at the ground. I don't see the floor. All I see are words flying around the inside of my present consciousness. Abortion. Affair. Promiscuous. Drug addict. Nymphomaniac.

These words have been hovering around the gossiping lips of women at St. Catherine's church, and each one has been said in regards to Katie Agnes at least once. I chalked it up to exaggerated and fabricated hog swallow, but now-

"What's wrong?" Says a feminine voice whose hand tugs at my elbow. I snap to the present as if I had been sleeping and see that there is long gap between me and the person I was in line behind. I don't care enough to be embarrassed. I don't have to turn to notice that it's Katie inquiring as to how I'm doing.

I pace myself to get into my place in line. I fold my arms and stand, leaning my weight on one leg. I act like I'm reading the times and the films on the board above the ticket counter, but my mind is listening the ever rumor I've ever heard about Katie. A hand, followed consequently by a forearm, slips through the gap that my crooked arm and torso make. Its reception is lukewarm.

"So, what are we seeing tonight? " I know what I saw, and I don't what we're seeing. That's the first thing that launches out of my mind.

"What do you want to see? " This is the first thing that stutters idiotically out of my mouth.

"Hmm, here's what we're going to do. I'll pick the movie if you tell me what kind of movie you want to see." I stand dazed, just too confused and now too long for Katie.

"Come on, you have to pick a kind of movie. A comedy, maybe a-" I break in like a hammer to a stained glass.

“A comedy sounds good. ” I know the rumblings that made me interrupt, and I don't bother to restrain it. The tone of my answer must have shocked her, because her arm has left its nest.

"Chris, is there a reason to be that stern about a movie choice? I am your date; you should treat me with some respect. " She states with poised attitude, and lure of guilt. She's trying to pull me in. The beast roars.

"Why not a comedy, after all this whole date's a joke now! I know you're attractive, I know you're different, but little else. I was willing to go on a little faith. I realize now how little I know about you, especially after seeing you abandon me to cling to a middle aged man and flirt with him! " I go to turn my back, because I know that the line will be crossed otherwise. She grabs my arm and tries to say something. The beast sinks his teeth in.

"So who are you Katie Agnes? Are you a nymphomaniac? ARE YOU THE KILLER OF UNBORN CHILDREN?" My face is red hot, and that's probably why I can't feel the stinging sensation of her hand against my face. The beast stands motionless, as it witnesses’ innocent tears slide down the face of an angel that was once its quarry. It retreats, unmotivated and pathetic, to the cave where it sulks and licks the wounds of its egotistical blunders. As my soul comes out of hiding, my senses are bombarded. Everyone is looking at me. The previews are still playing on the big screen. There is no gunfire from the arcade tucked in the corner. There is no Katie Agnes in this theater.

I burst through the double doors into the rain soaked streets of Avery, and run as if hell was on my heels. That poor girl, I didn't even give her a chance to explain. I charge through a large puddle, splashing it so high it hits my face. Nothing deters me. The streetlights disappear as run in the dark. I can see the red light hitting the side of my truck, and I keep running. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes, probably as I did to her.

I get nearer the truck and I don't see her. I hear something muffled from the alley, but the caged light isn't on. I walk hesitantly into the mouth of the alley. My eyes squint to try to discern any shapes in the pitch black. The light flicks on for just a second and I see it, just five feet away. One of the worst things you can see in your entire life.

With each flicker of the light I see Katie's body on top of a pile of garbage bags piled against the brick wall. Her body shudders and moves like a rag doll. With each flicker of red light I see a figure thrusting angrily. With each flicker I see Katie's body ravaged by a man with knife in one hand and the other over her mouth. Her bone white flesh appears red, and here clamped shut eyelids appear a deep purple.

I don't feel the beast. This isn't his arena. My hands hang at their side, until my right slides across my pant line to find my back pocket. I take out my buck knife. I unfold it carefully until I hear a metallic click. I move closer, quietly, like I do when I'm hunting deer.

His right hand holding the knife is a few inches to the side of her head. I'll have to be fast and without hesitation. I stand over top of them, and wait for the light to flick off. I can hear his twisted satisfaction as he breaths and swoons. The red light disappears.

I step where I thought his right hand was so he couldn't use the knife. He struggles underneath my boot, so I press harder. I grab his hair and pull with all my might. A pathetic howl interrupts his delighted moans. Using the point of my knife and holding it upside down I pull across his throat. I pull him backwards with my other leg as I do this, to get him off Katie. The light flickers so fast I can hear it.

Each time I hear a click I see a man under my knife, struggling for life. A trail of blood goes wherever I pull him. After a few feet the light stops flickering. He's not resisting, so I stop dragging. I let go, and there is a small splash. I gasp slightly, a reaction to the thought that I spilled so much blood that a pool of it had developed.

I stand straight up, and stare into the black abyss where a body lays. I look up, not able to see anything, tears streaming down my cheeks. Every muscle in my face quivers with fear, and I cry out.

"Katie, stay where you are!" I walk back to the metallic reflection that my truck is giving off. Open the door, still carrying the knife. I can't hear or see a thing. I can feel everything. I open the glove box and grab a flashlight. I drop it down and I search the floor.

I shudder as I try to remain calm, and I grip the knife so tight the knuckles crack. I put it down slow on the passenger seat, and fold my arms while taking deep breaths. A hand, followed consequently by a forearm, slips through the gap that my crooked arm and torso make. Its reception is profound relief.

I don't have to turn to notice that it's Katie coming to me to comfort her. As I turn to her she puts her arms tightly around my waist, and I place mine softly around her shoulders. I rest my cheek against her head, and shudder as I breathe.

"You broke your promise." Ebbs out of her trembling lips. My body lights on fire with concern and anxiety; what promise? As if she could hear my thoughts she answers this question.

"The promise about my past." Her hand comes up and strokes my cheek, going through my tears like a child's hand under a dripping tap. My mind snaps to, but my body moves slowly. She needs medical attention. She's emotionally traumatized. I need to get the police. I kiss her forehead again. Without changing my stance I bend to pick up and throw my knife into the drivers seat.

"Katie, I'm going to sit you in my truck okay. " She doesn't want to let go, so I turn us so her back is towards the truck. She steps in slow, and I help her by the elbow. I reach for the blanket on the floor to wrap around her. The flashlight falls on the ground and clicks on. I don't bother with it until I had Katie settled and wrapped in the blanket.

She looks so tired, and she shuts her eyes. I leave the keys in her lap so that way she can have some control. I grab the flashlight and turn towards the rear of truck. Without intention it lands upon a dark face.

My neck tingles, and my hand itch for my knife. My abdomen pulls tight. I shut Katie's door quick and stand in front of it. The startled figure doesn't move, just stands. I move the flashlight up and down the figure, with a radio in his right hand, gun in his holster, and a badge on his chest.

He turns his own flashlight on, and it hits my face. My hand goes up, as I feel blinded by the white light. His flashlight wanders across me as well. He lights up my shirt. It's stained with dark red blood and caked with mud from the cinder blocks.

"Sir, can you tell me what happened here." I hear from the figure. I look to the alley, where the corpse of a rapist awaits. I wonder how I can get clean of this.

"Please." I say in the tone of the barer of the white flag. I open Katie's door slowly, not wanting to startle the officer.

"My friend has been-" Katie's hand is touching my waist. I take her outstretched hand, her warm, soft, pale hand. My eyes well up with water, my face quivers, and I fall to my knees. The officer barks something into his radio and runs over to the truck. He looks at Katie, and then I tell him where the body is. Before he goes over he tapes from the corner of one brick building over to the other. I hear sirens in the background.

The cop surveys the area using his flashlight. The intermittent red flashes shows the officer covering his mouth, and curses are heard when darkness inhabits the alley. The officers’ flashlight falls upon the white, red, and motionless face half sunken into a puddle. Katie's thumb caresses the back of my hand as I lean my head against her side and cry. All that exists is this girl’s hand in mine.