Lost in Eternity

     Mama always said she didn’t like the Moore’s. They are shiftless, she said. Taylor Moore couldn’t hold down a job while Kathy worked at the all-night diner out on Route 9. Kathy could keep the truckers in line with a nod and a glare. She was hard as stone and cold as ice. No one crossed Kathy Moore.

     The Moore’s lived in an old trailer deep in the woods. Missy and I snuck out there after school and saw it for ourselves. It was long and rusted from sitting out in the rain or beating hot sun. The screen door banged in the wind. It only hung on one hinge. It was banging the day Missy and I saw it.

     A bent whirligig sat off to the side with wash hanging on it. Their old dog lay in the dusty dooryard. He glared at us hiding in the woods but didn’t bark. If he’d barked, we would have run all the way home.

     As much as Mama disliked the Moore’s, I couldn’t see anything wrong with Eddie Moore. I knew Eddie my whole life and talked to him sometimes in the schoolyard. He seemed to like me too or at least he tolerated me when I was a nosy little tomboy.

     Eddie was seventeen and still a sophomore when I was a freshman. I’d grown away from my tomboy ways, started wearing poodle skirts and cardigan sweaters to school and stopped chewing gum. I wasn’t Eddie’s type and knew it. He liked older women who wore tight pencil skirts and sweaters that showed off their huge breasts. Pauline said they didn’t care who they did it with as long as they did it. And Eddie did it.

     My heart practically went into convulsions when Eddie pushed against the pinball machine at Al’s with his hip. I would go there with Missy and Pauline after school. We sat in a booth drinking malteds and watching Eddie. My best friends knew I had a crush on him. Missy and Pauline teased me about it constantly.

     “Think he’ll ask you to the Spring Fling?” Pauline asked, sitting back and hooding her eyes. She knew I didn’t have a chance with Eddie and no chance he was going to a dance called the Spring Fling. He’d hang out with his buddies at the diner on Saturday night.

     “Edie and Eddie,” Missy sang out. I waved for her to simmer down before Eddie overheard us. Missy was the same age as Pauline and me but still small and childish. She hadn’t developed yet and she looked like a china doll hiked up at the table to reach her straw.

     Eddie turned to look at us. I sank into my seat trying to disappear. I wanted him to look at me, to like me, to ask me out. I didn’t want him looking at me because Missy was calling attention to us. Eddie turned back to the pinball machine. He wore his hair greased in a pompadour and combed in a duck’s ass at the back. His shirt was bright blue, his jeans black and tight. Matching blue socks stretched from black loafers. He had flung his motorcycle jacket over a nearby table.

     Eddie practically fell over me during the entire following week. Okay, so you probably know I planned it that way. I was behind him in the cafeteria line, beside him at his locker, outside the auto shop after fifth period. He couldn’t help seeing me or bumping into me or stepping on my toes. On Thursday afternoon, I pasted a Spring Fling flyer to his locker.

     “You’re not dating a Moore,” my father bellowed when I told him about my good news on Friday at dinner. “I forbid it!”

     “Over my dead body,” Mama hissed, plunking the meatloaf onto the table. It practically leaped on the platter. “You tell him NO.”

     “I already told him yes.” I declared hotly. I’d worked hard all week to get his attention. It astonished me that he asked. My head was still reeling with anticipation.

     “No is no, young lady,” Mama stated. She stood forbiddingly over the meatloaf, the carving knife raised in her hand. “Never trust a Moore.”

     “I’ll date whoever I want,” I shouted back. “You won’t stop me!”

     My little brother Ralph looked up with startled eyes. We never erupted at the dinner table. Our family was a regular quiet family who ate dinner together every night of the week. Ralphie already had mashed potatoes and gravy swimming on his plate. He stirred the concoction with his fork. Our loud voices interrupted his mashed potato ritual.

     “You will not.” My father practically raised himself from his seat.

     “I will, daddy,” I answered with deliberation. He sank back, knowing he couldn’t win the argument.  

     I was ready early on Saturday night and spent fifteen minutes admiring myself in the cheval glass in Mama and Daddy’s room. Mama did not approve of my red strapless dress or the rose choker around my neck. I felt grownup for the first time in my life, wearing stockings held in place by a lace garter belt and red high heel shoes. I wore a black scarf headband that separated my bangs from my long brown hair. I felt older than my years, more mature. I felt like someone Eddie wanted to date. Even Ralphie sucked in his breath when I entered the living room. He was watching The Lone Ranger on TV. I was something else if I could draw his attention away from his favorite show.

     “Tart,” Daddy muttered under his breath.

     “What did you say?” I swung on him.

     “You look like a tart.” He kept his focus on The Lone Ranger and Tonto.

     “Edith looks very nice, Michael,” Mama stated tentatively. I felt she agreed with Daddy but wanted to keep the peace.

     “Thank you, Mama.” I bent to kiss her on the cheek. She was knitting a sweater.

     “Don’t forget you have an eleven o’clock curfew,” Mama reminded, a vague smile playing across her soft features.

     “Yes, Mama.” I stood in the window, waiting. Eddie showed up on time and blared his horn in the driveway. I rushed to the door.

     “Edith.” Mama’s voice stopped me. “Mr. Moore will come to the door.”  The horn blared again.

     “Yes, Mama.” I glanced toward the door. Finally, Eddie knocked on it. He escorted me to his old Studebaker and helped me into the front seat. I settled, he closed the door, and I noticed Mama and Daddy standing in the open front door. I turned away from them and smiled at Eddie when he slipped in beside me. I felt triumphant.

     The car started and we moved away from the comfort of my only home. When Eddie gestured for me to move closer to him on the seat, I pressed my body against him. His arm stole across my back, and I edged closer. This was my moment, my time. I almost told Eddie I loved him but held back. Mama said the boy had to make the first move, and that good girls never gave out. I was a good girl and knew it. 

     Eddie’s hand slipped beneath my strapless top. I moved away, but he pulled me closer. His right hand groped inside my dress while he steered with his right. He finally succeeded in freeing my breasts from the top and his fingers tightened around one of them. I couldn’t move; he held me tight. It was then that I realized we were headed out of town instead of toward the high school.

     “Where are we going?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable. Suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore. Suddenly my childish excitement was gone. The games I had played to get the date with Eddie seemed small and insignificant. I was a child playing in an adult world. The thought struck me like a ton of lead.

     “I thought we should get better acquainted,” my date remarked, pulling off Route 9 and taking a dirt road headed toward the creek and the picnic spot.

     “Aren’t we going to the Spring Fling?” I could barely keep my voice from shaking.

     “No.” Eddie’s lips became terse. He looked exactly like Kathy Moore—hard and cold as ice.

     I pulled away from Eddie and groped for the car door handle. It slipped in my grasp. The Studebaker came to a halt, grinding up dirt in its front tires. Eddie turned toward me—lust written across his leering face. Grabbing my waist, he pulled me toward him. I beat his back with my tiny fists, making no impact. I screamed. Then the front of my dress ripped, and Eddie was on top of me.

     I sobbed. My dress was ruined. It was all I could think. I couldn’t think that I was ruined. Eddie was inside me and pressing hard. I hadn’t expected this brutality. I thought my first time would be romantic and tender. This was rape—harsh, brutal rape. And my red strapless dress was ruined. I don’t know how I could think of my dress at such a time. I guess it blocked my mind from Eddie and his violation of my virginity. What other excuse could I offer?

     When Eddie finally released me, I flung open the car door and stumbled out. Holding my stomach, I leaned over and retched. Nothing came out. I retched again. Still nothing. I couldn’t see Eddie. I felt him behind me and knew he was sitting in the passenger seat, the door open. He faced toward me, his eyes in my back. I staggered away, barely walking, not thinking. Just staggering. Eddie’s laughter filled the picnic area. It echoed off the surrounding pines. Then he lunged toward me again.

     The creek water covered my ankles, soaking my ruined dress’s hem. The skirt felt heavy when wet. It tangled around my legs as I waded deeper into the creek. Eddie plunged onto me, driving me into the water. I raised my face and spit water from my mouth and nose. He was attacking me again, pushing me into the creek’s sandy bottom. My hands clawed for purchase, grasping only loose sand.

     My body felt weightless as I stood beside the creek. An owl hooted in the distance but otherwise there was silence. Eddie’s Studebaker was gone—only its tire tracks remained. I looked down into the creek. A form swathed in red lay beneath the water. The red looked familiar. I bent to look then stood up. White legs, long brown hair, red dress. A fabric rose bobbed on the surface trailing long ribbons. Was that me? It couldn’t be.

     Three vehicles pulled into the picnic area. Two were sheriffs’ cars, the other my father’s blue Ford truck. The deputies cautioned my father, but he approached anyway. Sobbing, he buried his face in his hands.

     “No, daddy,” I cried soundlessly. “I’m here. Right here.” I stretched my fingers toward him, but they seemed to slip through his plaid work shirt, his skin. “Daddy.”

     He turned and leaned against his truck, bending his head until his forehead hit the hood. The younger of the two deputies approached him. “Sir?”

     “I told her not to date a Moore,” he cried, turning his reddened face then slouching on the hood again. “Eddie Moore did this.”

     “Eddie Moore?” the deputy asked, his voice flat.

     “EDDIE MOORE!” My father shouted. “You better get that bastard before I do.” His truck door slammed, and, his tires kicking up dirt, he tore out of the picnic area.

     The older deputy nodded to the younger and the younger got into his patrol car and followed my daddy. The other one waded into the creek. He nudged my body with his boot, rolling it over.

     “Pretty girl,” he remarked to no one and squatted. I stood above him, placidly, and watched him examine my torn and fragile husk.

     Eddie Moore was never seen again. I know that without knowing it. I remain where I am, beside the creek—lost in eternity. Pauline and Missy have come to the creek to look. Missy has my rose choker. She keeps it as a memento of our friendship. I tried to reach them, but they looked through me without knowing I was in front of them.  

     On moonless nights, I wander out to Route 9 and stand at the shoulder. I want to go home. Home to Daddy and Mama and Ralphie. No one stops. The cars slow down, the passengers take a good long look then they speed away. But I continue to stand there, my torn red dress billowing whether it is windy or not and my ethereal face hoping for a way home.