Wilted Petals By: Sean Roberts
Author's Note: Please send feedback to seanr_13@yahoo.ca
Chapter 7
The tension is hard on everybody. It is hard for Johanna to be in class with Leslie. She wants so much to talk to her but refuses to do so until Leslie has straightened everything out with Jonathan. The Jonathan who, now, will not even look at her.
This is why Johanna kept secrets; why she would not allow Jonathan or Leslie to know everything about her. Now Jonathan knows everything about her, even things she would never have told anybody (regardless of who it was), and he is no longer there for her. The security she has always felt having him as a friend has disappeared, and while this causes her to feel some anger, mostly she is scared.
When Johanna tries to talk to Jonathan she does it slowly and very gently. She is suddenly intimidated by him. Johanna knows his face. She knows every curve and the size of every bone and what every one of his expressions means. And now, when she says hello to him, the wince on his face is so slight that only she can see it. It is because of this that she decided finally to leave him alone. The sound of her voice, or at least the fact that he forces himself to ignore it, is painful for him.
She stays at her desk as he leaves class. He has started doing this quickly so that he doesn't have to look at her; so that she does not have the opportunity to communicate with him either verbally or with her eyes. She watches him hurry out of the room and when he has left, she turns her eyes upwards and prays that Leslie is able to get to him quickly.
Jonathan took this concealment of such a large part of both their lives as a betrayal. To him, their friendship means the world. When he is with them, when he speaks to them, the feeling of security he gets is unparalleled because he knows that they really care about him. Though his feelings for Johanna took a different turn, he loves them equally.
It takes her a week and a half to get him to talk to her, but even then it's forced. She has not spoken with Johanna for a week and a half and she cannot stand this separation. Not when it's over something that makes her feel so guilty.
She sits alone for his soccer game and when it is over she waits by his car, making it impossible for him to ignore her.
They sit inside and he closes the top. He does not start the engine or turn on the radio. She touches the soft leather of the seats; she doesn't know what to say to him.
"Have I ever told you that you've got a really nice car?"
"What do you want Leslie?"
"I left the diary on your desk. It wasn't Johanna." She does not look at him. She stares out the window at the large, brick school in front of them, preferring to be in class than to have to do this. "She was supposed to tell you that night--the night you took her to the museum--I don't know why she didn't. I guess I thought this was the best way for you to find out."
"Well it wasn't. Are we finished?"
"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that--it was her personal ... you know what it was; and I had no right to leave it there. I'm sorry Jonathan."
"I think you should be saying that to her."
"Then what the fuck do you want from me?"
"I want you to leave me alone. So if you could just get out of my car ..."
"Not until you tell me you're going to talk to her."
"What?"
"Johanna. I want you to talk to her. None of this is her fault--"
"This whole thing is her fault. And yours. One of you could have told me before this. You've been seeing each other forever and neither of you told me. I mean I should have seen something; noticed something! How could I not have known?"
"We were careful. We didn't want anybody to know and it worked. You're the only one, besides us. And when I say careful, I mean it. Even God wouldn't know if he wasn't, well, God. You're an idiot for taking this personally."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck yourself. What difference does it make anyway?"
"It makes a big difference. It's over between Johanna and me. It's completely hopeless. I've been trying forever to get closer to her, and I don't mean us seeing each other. I mean just getting to know her better. But there's so much stuff that she would never have told me. Important stuff, like the fact that she's a lesbian."
"What if it's none of your business?"
"I love her! It is my fucking business!"
"What did you say?"
"I love her." For the first time in their conversation he turns towards her and looks her in the eye, the proof of his sincerity.
"I love her too Jonathan. So why aren't you talking to her? A funny way to act around someone you feel so strongly about."
"And what you did? Is that normal behaviour for a relationship?"
"No. But we're not here to talk about me. What's happened has happened--it's up to you how you want to handle it. But Jonathan we kept this secret from the world, not just from you. And we didn't know how you would feel about it. What if you're one of those people who thinks we're fucked up just because we're lesbians? You'd be more likely than not to tell other people, not to mention the fact that you would hate us. We didn't want to lose you; and we didn't want our secret out.
"The reason I finally decided you should know is because I saw how you felt about Johanna. I know exactly how you feel because I feel the same way and I know that you would never do anything to hurt her. But you are. She can't stand the fact that you're angry with her."
"Tell me Leslie, why you can do something to hurt her. The diary. You left her fucking diary on my desk, for me to read, so that I could find out something she obviously didn't want me to know. How is that not hurtful?"
"Obviously, it is. I haven't seen her for a week and a half because she won't talk to me. But I'm dealing with the situation, I haven't just stopped talking to her. Well, I guess I'll let you get home then."
She leaves his car. He sits inside, the car now sweltering because of the sun and the closed top and windows. He remains in the heat, sweat pouring down his forehead, for thirty minutes before he starts his engine and drives away.
She hates waking up covered in sweat because it means she has just relived the night, when she was thirteen years old, that changed her life. When she dreams about it she wakes up wanting to cry from the pain. But she doesn't because the feelings in her dream are not real. She begins to cry only when the memories--more vivid than when she was dreaming--flood her mind when she is awake. When she is unable to tell herself that it was just a dream.
But this time she dreamt about something else. Her and Jonathan and Leslie. They were all in a classroom, none of them speaking with each other. Until suddenly he threw himself at her. "I love you Johanna," he said, his arms holding her tightly. He pressed his lips up against hers. She resisted his tongue trying to find its way into her mouth. And then she pushed as hard as she could, but he did not move. Her strength was no match.
He gave up on her mouth and moved his lips lower, running gentle kisses along her shoulder. With her mouth free, Johanna calls to Leslie for help. But Leslie cannot hear her. Johanna's anger towards her best friend and her lover for what Leslie did blocked her cries for help.
She starts to think of another way to get Jonathan away from her. But suddenly the urgency for doing this went away. Though he was holding her and kissing her forcefully, he was being gentle. He was not hurting her; his kisses were soft and his hold loving. It was when she began to enjoy his touch that she woke up.
Covered in sweat, she sits up. She decides immediately that she has to talk to them--to Leslie, but to Jonathan first. She has to explain to him that it wasn't her. And then she has to forgive Leslie before they drift too far apart.
After breakfast on Saturday morning she asks her father for his car, hoping he will not ask what she needs it for. She does not want to jinx what she is about to do by telling him that she is going to see Jonathan. But he is tired this morning. "Spare keys are where they always are honey," he says.
It is probably too early to start ringing door bells but she doesn't care. She wants desperately for the door to open, no matter who it is. All she needs is an invitation inside; a chance to talk to him. It's his brother.
"Hi Brian, is Jonathan home?" she asks very quickly, trying to look past him into the house in case Jonathan is there, passing by the door or heading towards the door or ... anywhere she can see him.
"Umm no," Brian says. "He left last night for our cottage, didn't he tell you he was going?"
"No," Johanna replies, apparent disappointment in her voice.
"Would you like the phone number or the directions?" Brian asks. Johanna looks up at him, surprised at the question. He is half smiling, his eyes bright. He too has brown hair but it is not curly. At the moment it is messy. He looks natural. He looks the way people look when they have gotten out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning. The colour of Brian's eyes is the same as that of his brother. Now he is looking at Johanna with a bit of concern, knowing that she needs to speak to Jonathan, knowing that somehow she is the cause of his brother's sudden decision to be alone for the weekend.
He is not surprised by Johanna's answer.