Chapter 2: Back in Time

My name is Samuel Walker but everyone calls me Sam.

I was born in North Carolina, and lived there until I graduated from high school.

I immediately joined the Marine Corps, and soon found myself serving a tour in Iraq.

After completing that tour, I took 30 days’ vacation and returned to North Carolina.

With Boot Camp, Advanced Infantry Training, and the tour of Iraq, I had been gone for nearly two years.

My only break was a quick two-week leave before flying to Iraq.

Now I was back and had 30 days to meet up with old friends and try to renew acquaintances.

I had been back home for about a week when my mother just casually remarked one evening, after dinner, “Sam, Debbie is back home from college for the summer. She got in very late last night.”

I felt the blood drain out of my face and actually felt light-headed for a minute. I didn’t even answer her. I just walked out of the kitchen and went to my room.

Debbie!

To tell you the truth, Debbie is one of the main reasons I joined the Marines.

To get away from memories of her.

From the time I met Debbie in Kindergarten we were inseparable. And since she only lived one block from me, as we got older one of us was always seemingly at the other’s house.

Since Debbie soon had a brother and sister (twins) who were six years younger than she was, usually we were at Debbie’s house so we could help watch them.

Debbie and I went through periods when we got mad at each other or fought like cats and dogs, but first and foremost, we were BEST FRIENDS.

No matter how mad we might have gotten with each other (and I have to be honest here and say it was usually my fault), within just a day or two we would make up and start playing together again

One thing that Debbie and I had in common was the fact that we were both nearly a year older than anyone else in our Kindergarten class.

I had been diagnosed with mononucleosis just before starting what would have been my Kindergarten year, so my parents withheld me from school for that year.

Debbie was so tiny, her parents had also held her back for a year. Being teachers themselves, they had seen first-hand how some especially small children tended to be “picked on” in school.

Debbie was the first girl I ever kissed.

And I was the first boy she ever kissed.

That was shortly before the start of our freshman year in high school.

I mean we had hugged and kissed each other on the cheek before, and even quick kisses on the lips, but I mean the first “real” lip-to-lip, tongue-in-mouth kiss!

We didn’t go any further during our entire freshman year – just kissing – but I and everyone else knew she was now “My Girl.” Just as Debbie and everyone else at school knew I was “Her Guy.”

During our sophomore and junior years, the kissing evolved into something more, with a lot of touching.

There was still that line we both knew not to cross, but we discovered there were lots of wonderful things we could do to each other that didn’t involve actual penetration.

As corny and as old-fashioned as it may sound, we wanted to save that final act for our honeymoon.

Everywhere we walked, it was either hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, and we started talking about the future.

We talked about getting married, having kids, where we were going to college (hopefully together), what we wanted to do for a living, and what kind of house we wanted to buy. Everything!

Everyone at school knew that one day, Debbie and I would be married.

Debbie’s parents were both teachers, and usually they always took a month-long vacation in the summer.

It was always the longest month of my life.

But when Debbie came back from her vacation between our junior and senior years, something changed.

Debbie ALWAYS called me within minutes of arriving back home, but this time she didn’t call.

And when I walked over to her house, her Mom told me she was sick and couldn’t see me.

She wouldn’t talk to me on the phone, and did not respond to any emails or letters I sent to her.

That continued for two weeks, until one day I heard an ambulance drive by our house, and saw it stop at Debbie’s house.

Yes, I suppose you could say that she had been sick.

If you consider the word “sick” to mean getting knocked up while on your California vacation, then coming home and having a miscarriage ... then I guess she was sick.

Debbie moved to another city for her senior year, living with one of her mom’s younger sisters.

For weeks I called, I wrote, I e-mailed and I sent texts to Debbie, begging her to meet with me, talk to me, or get together with me.

When I called her aunt’s house Debbie refused to come to the phone, and would not answer any of my other messages.

When school started back in the fall, just after my 18th birthday, I found out that I wasn’t the only one Debbie refused to talk to either.

She completely ignored all her old friends, even girls we had both gone to school with since kindergarten.

Everyone at our school knew that she had gotten pregnant while on vacation and then abandoned all her old friends; everyone who had ever meant anything to her.

I found out that there were a number of attractive young ladies, most of whom had been friends with Debbie at one time, who were eager to comfort me.

I don’t doubt some of it was also revenge on their part, since Debbie had apparently forgotten about them as well.

In fact, I lost my virginity to one of Debbie’s former best friends.

During my senior year I pretty much slept with anyone who seemed remotely interested in me.

I might not have been the best athlete in school, but I was still good enough that a lot of ladies were interested.

I had always been fairly popular, and was (or at least had been) a straight “A” student, and parlayed that into a sexual frenzy during my senior year.

My academic standing slipped from all “As” to mostly “Bs” and “Cs” but I really didn’t care. In fact, without Debbie nothing really seemed to matter anymore.

I did enough in the classroom to get by, but started spending hours in the gym working out.

Most of my senior year passed in a blur of sex, working out and sports.

At this point in my life, I had lost all interest in attending college so right after graduation I joined the Marines.

Now, I was back in town ... and so was Debbie.

For two years in the Marines, and for my senior year before that I kept telling myself how much I hated Debbie for what she had done.

For her betrayal.

For giving her virginity to someone else.

For getting knocked up, and refusing to see me.

Refusing to even talk to me.

Refusing to explain WHY?

I had not even spoken her name out loud in three years.

I knew I could avoid her for the three weeks remaining of my leave. Even drive up to the mountains and spend a few days or a week or more if I had to.

The next day, after my mom’s announcement that “Debbie was back,” I was mowing grass in my Dad’s back yard when I looked up ... and there stood Debbie.

I again could feel the blood drain out of my face, and actually felt dizzy for a moment or two.

For a brief instant, I almost felt like two different people. There was “me” watching Debbie, and there was another “me” watching me and Debbie.

I can’t tell you how many times I had prepared for this moment, and even practiced what I would say to Debbie. I was going to tell her she was a slut.

And that was just for starters.

But then I looked at her; I had not seen Debbie in three years.

If I thought she had been pretty before (and she was), she was absolutely beautiful now.

Debbie was such a tiny little thing.

Only about 5 feet, two inches.

Very slim and trim.

Long red hair, incredible green eyes.

I doubt that she weighed even a hundred pounds.

I let go of the handle of the mower, and it died automatically.

I had once read a book that had a line in it about a “deafening silence,” and thought that was really stupid.

How could silence be deafening?

Now, I understood. Those few minutes were absolutely silent ... and the silence was deafening.

We both stood still, just looking at each other.

I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to tell her just how much of a slut she was and how much I hated her.

My tongue and lips had other ideas.

“Hi,” was the only sound that came out.

“Hi,” said Debbie.

“My mom told me last night you were back,” I said.

What was wrong with my mouth?

Why couldn’t I say the words I had been wanting to say for over three years?

“I know,” she answered, “your mom called my mom this morning to let me know you were back also.”

“Debbie...” That was as far as I got.

As soon as I heard myself actually say her name out loud (for the first time in three years), the tears started streaming down my face.

Here I was, a combat veteran of the Marine Corps with a Silver Star and a Purple Heart while in Iraq and suddenly I was bawling like a baby!

I don’t remember falling down on my hands and knees, but that was where I suddenly found myself. I blamed my dizzy spell at first.

Then Debbie was beside me on her knees as well.

She put her arm across my shoulder, and suddenly I grabbed her and pressed her body against mine.

God help me ... I had missed her SO much.

So incredibly much.

After several minutes I finally managed one single, anguished word: “WHY?”

After a moment I added several more: “Why, Debbie?” I cried, “Why? Why wouldn’t you talk to me about what happened? Why did you throw me out of your life? I thought you were my best friend.

“I thought ... I thought you loved me!”

At those final words, I could feel Debbie’s body stiffen.

By now, tears were streaming down her face as well.

“I did love you Sam,” she said, “and ... and ... and ... I still do! I have never loved anyone else. Only you.”

“Sam, I have wanted to explain for three years,” she added.

“But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you what happened. I was so ashamed.”

With those words Debbie threw her arms around my neck and began sobbing.

“Sam, I have wanted to tell you for so long. I wanted you to know what happened, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t,” she said.

I just held Debbie until she stopped crying.

“Can we walk down to the creek?” she suddenly asked, taking me by surprise.

I told her “Sure,” then we stood up.

“My God, Sam, what happened to you?” she asked, “You are so big now.”

And I guess it was true.

The last time Debbie had seen me was after the end of our junior year, before she and her parents left for their vacation.

Back then, I was only about 5’8”, and probably weighed 140 pounds. I was pretty athletic and played second base on the baseball team, point guard in basketball and free safety in football. I was very fast, but not that big.

During my senior year, I pretty much only concentrated on sports, working out and sleeping with girls. I grew about an inch-and-a-half taller, and gained about 15 pounds.

The biggest change, though, came in Marine Corps Boot Camp. During those three months I grew another two inches, and added at least 40 pounds of muscle. Now I was just under six feet tall, and weighed 195 pounds.

So, yeah, I suppose seeing the change in my body was quite a shock for Debbie.

“Well, my parents said I was a late bloomer, and I guess they were right,” I said.

We began walking. The very small creek was about a half mile from our houses. It was only about five feet wide, and unless there had been a really hard rain, usually had no more than eight or ten inches of water in it. It was still one of our favorite spots to go to relax on hot days.

Debbie and I could usually build a small dam that would back the water up deeper, then just sit in the water and talk.

As we began walking, I reached over and grabbed her hand – just like we used to do.

Debbie stopped for a minute, and just looked at our joined hands.

I thought she was going to start crying again, but after a minute or two she just smiled shyly, then resumed walking.

In a few minutes we reached the creek, which looked much smaller than I remembered. I hadn’t been here in over three years. Not since the last time with Debbie. We both sat down on the side of the creek, dangling our feet over the water.

“Sam, you have to promise me something, okay?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to look at me, or touch me until I finish. Please just turn around and put your back against mine and promise not to touch me until I am done.”

I protested, but since Debbie was so adamant, I finally agreed.

“You remember that my parents are part owners of a condo in San Diego?” Debbie asked.

I said, “Sure!”

“Usually, the same group of people go on vacation each year. There might be one or two new people, but mostly just ones we have known for years,” she started.

“It was only our second day there, and one of my friends invited me to a concert. I knew Mom probably wouldn’t let me go, so I arranged to have one of the girls I knew from before invite me to spend the night with her.

“Mom agreed. But rather than stay there, my friend and I left for the concert with some guys. It was, I thought, very innocent.

“After the concert, a couple of the guys wanted to stop at one of their friend’s houses. They said they would only be a few minutes.

“Once we got there, the guys insisted we come inside. Just for a few minutes. My friend Beth was all for it, so I reluctantly agreed. Once we were inside, someone handed me a beer.

“I told them I didn’t drink, so they got me something else. Something that was supposed to just be fruit punch. Beth was drinking the same thing, so I really didn’t think a lot about it.

“By the time I had finished half my drink, I knew something was wrong. I was so dizzy I couldn’t stand up, and I tried to leave but one of the guys grabbed me. Then another guy held my nose until I had to open my mouth and they poured more punch down my throat.

“After that, I only have hazy recollections of what happened. At one point I realized someone was taking my clothes off, and I tried to struggle but they just held me down until I was naked.

“After that ... after that ... they took turns with me. I honestly don’t know how many guys there were. I think there were seven or eight at the house, but I don’t know if they all ... if they all sex with me or not.

“They were doing the same thing with Beth. She must not have had as much to drink because she was struggling more ... at least until one of the guys punched her in the stomach and told her he would kill us both if she screamed, or continued to fight.

“We were there for hours. They ... they did everything to both of us. Every possible way.”

The entire time Debbie had been talking it was all I could do not to turn around and take her in my arms.

I think the only reason I didn’t was she was talking in such a flat monotone, it was more like reciting a book report than reliving something horrible that happened.

But Debbie was not finished.

“They hurt me Sam! They hurt me so much.”

At that point Debbie began sobbing, and despite her protests I turned around and held her in my lap with my arms locked around her.

Debbie’s head was resting against my shoulder, and I was softly caressing her hair.

When she had calmed down some I had to say something.

“Why didn’t you tell me Debbie? It wasn’t your fault. They raped you. Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I haven’t told you the worst part yet, Sam,” she said.

“At some point I passed out. Beth woke me up about four in the morning. She didn’t have as much to drink as I did. Beth had grabbed all our clothes, and we sneaked out of the house. The guys were all passed out somewhere.

“After getting dressed in the yard, I wanted to call the police but Beth said it would just be our word, the two of us, against all the guys.

“Beth had her cell phone, so she called a taxi. Beth said we had to just forget what happened.

“I tried, Sam, I tried to forget. And managed to do so until two weeks later ... when I missed my period. I waited another four days, hoping I was just late.

“Finally, I borrowed the rental car, told Mom I was going to go get some ice cream, but instead went to a pharmacy and bought four different pregnancy tests.

“Mom and Dad went out to eat that night with my brother and sister. I told them I felt a little queasy, so I could stay behind. After they left, I opened the tests. There were two in each box. Twenty minutes later I was staring at eight positive pregnancy tests.

“How could I tell Mom that her perfect little daughter with her perfect straight “As”, and her perfect 4.0 grade point average, and her perfect attendance record for 11 years was pregnant and that the father could be any one of seven or eight different guys? I didn’t even know their names!

“And how could I tell you?”

“You should have told me Debbie. I would understand. It is NOT your fault!” I said.

Totally ignoring my comment, Debbie continued her story.

But she did not try to move out of my lap.

And did not protest when I hugged her tighter.

“I filled the tub with hot water, and went into the kitchen and came back with a large knife,” she said.

“Oh, God, what did you do Debbie?” I asked, dropping my arms so I could look into her face.

She wouldn’t look at me, just held her hands, palm upwards, to me.

There was a faint white line across both wrists.

“I got in the tub, and cut my wrists and waited to die,” she said.

“Only Mom started feeling sick half-way through dinner and they came back early.

“I had lost a lot of blood, but Dad got me out of the tub and Mom wrapped both wrists trying to stop the bleeding while Dad called 911.

“I spent three days in the hospital. Mom, of course, saw all eight pregnancy tests and I had to tell her everything. She called the police, but they said without any physical evidence to support a rape charge, it really would be just my word against the word of the guys. Beth and her parents had already gone back home.

“A couple of days after that we flew back home.

“I told Mom I couldn’t see you, talk to you or tell you what happened. Mom got even more upset with me, but when I told her that unless she agreed to not let you see or talk to me, then I would try to kill myself again.

“Then a couple of weeks later I had a miscarriage.

“The rest you know. I moved in with Mom’s younger sister for my senior year.

“Do you hate me now, Sam? I would understand ... really, I would understand if you hated me now.”

“Debs,” I started, using my pet name for her, “I can’t even tell you how much it hurt when I realized you did not want to see me or talk to me after you came back.

“I figured you must have fallen in love with someone else.

“Then when I found out that you had been pregnant, and had a miscarriage, I told myself how much I DID hate you.

“For three years, I have hated you, and wanted to call you every name in the book. I had practiced exactly what I would tell you if I ever saw you again.

“But when I saw you today, I realized that I didn’t hate you. That I have never hated you.

“Instead, I realized again, just how much I have always loved you – and still do.

“I love you Deborah Watson,” I stated. “Always have ... always will.”

And again I put both arms around her and hugged her tightly against me.

We were both crying now, but she was hugging me as well.

“I just wish you had told me Debs. I can understand, a little, why you felt you couldn’t, but I still wish you had told me.

“It wasn’t your fault Debbie! You were raped, and it wasn’t your fault,” I told her again.

“Oh Sam, if you had any idea how many times I have said that to other women over the past year and a half! Half-way through my freshman year, I began volunteering at a rape crisis center.

“I have told dozens of women ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ but I had never believed that about myself,” she continued.

“I lied to my mother about where I was going, I sneaked around to go to the concert, I didn’t insist that the guys take me straight back home, and I took a drink from someone I didn’t know. For nearly three years, I believed that it WAS my fault. That I had put myself in that position.

“Then three months ago I was counseling a woman over the phone, and her story was almost word for word like mine. She had just found out she was pregnant also.

“The entire time, I kept telling her it wasn’t her fault ... that it wasn’t her fault. Finally, she said ‘I can hear it in your voice. You think it was my fault.’ Then she told me she was going to swallow a bottle of pills and kill herself and hung up.

“I wasn’t blaming her, but I was blaming myself and she could hear it in my voice. I thought I was responsible for someone else dying.

“I broke down completely, became hysterical and could barely tell anyone what had happened. Fortunately, she changed her mind, but I didn’t find out about that until later. They had to call 9-1-1 to sedate me that night. I woke up in the hospital, and began talking to a counselor about my situation. And I finally could accept that it wasn’t my fault. It took two months of twice-weekly counseling, but I finally began to realize it was not my fault. Yes, I had made some bad choices, but rape is not the victim’s fault.

“Then I realized that I needed to talk to you. To finally explain to you – the only person I have ever loved – what happened. To ask if you can ever forgive me for not telling you what happened?”

“Oh Debbie,” I said, “you don’t even need to ask, but yes, I forgive you.

“Yes, it really hurt, but I understand ... at least I think I understand ... why you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. I just want you to know that I do love you.

“And nothing would make me happier than for us to get back together again.”

Debbie just looked into my eyes for a minute, then slowly, cautiously, put her lips against mine.

I let her control the pace of the kiss, letting her get comfortable. Soon her tongue brushed against my lips, and I opened my mouth. Debbie’s eyes were closed as her tongue entered my mouth, then my tongue engaged hers and I think we both were just sort of swept away by the feeling.

We kissed, with increasing passion, for several minutes before Debbie pulled away.

“Oh, God, Sam,” she said, “that was even better than I remember.

“Do you know that you are still the only guy I have ever kissed?” she asked.

I must admit I was surprised, especially considering how beautiful she was.

In fact I even questioned it, since I couldn’t believe no one had asked her out before.

“Oh, they asked,” she said with a smile, “but I always turned them down. Even had a couple of guys, who weren’t used to being turned down, say that I must play for the other team.

“Sam ... Sam ... would you make love to me?”

I can’t even begin to tell you how much her words thrilled my heart, but I must admit I was also a little worried.

“Are you sure Debs? I mean, yes, I want to make love to you so much, but are you sure?”

Debbie leaned back a little, and again looked deep into my eyes.

“Yes, Sam, I have never been so sure of anything in my life.

“In fact, we have my parent’s house completely to ourselves for the rest of the day. Mom told me this morning, after making me promise to come over and talk to you, that she and Dad would be gone the entire day.

“She said they were going shopping in Raleigh, and the twins are spending a couple of weeks with their grandparents.”

At her words, I began laughing.

“What?” she asked, with a very puzzled look, “What is so funny?”

“Debs, have your parents ever ‘gone shopping’ in Raleigh for an entire day before in the middle of the week?” I asked, using finger quotes.

“Actually, no,” she said with a smile. “I really thought it unusual for her to say that. My Dad hates to go shopping with Mom.”

“Well, this morning, my Mom told me that she and Dad were going shopping in Raleigh for the entire day,” I said, “and I know how much my Dad hates to go shopping with my Mom.

“It looks like your parents and my parents are both trying to get us alone together for an entire day,” I added.

“Wait,” Debbie said, “why were you mowing the grass this morning? Usually no one mows the grass around here until the weekend, but today is Tuesday.”

“I really don’t know,” I admitted, “Mom asked me this morning if I would mind mowing, and I told her of course not. But then she insisted that I had to start mowing this morning. I couldn’t even wait until the afternoon. Why?”

“Well, I got in late Sunday night. Actually it was about three am Monday morning. So I slept until Monday evening. Then Mom and I talked for hours Monday night. I told her I had to talk to you about what happened and ask for your forgiveness. Mom was so happy that I was going to talk to you that she cried. You know how much she has always liked you Sam?”

I nodded.

“But I also told her that I was real nervous. That I was afraid that if I walked over and knocked, once you saw who it was you wouldn’t even open the door or talk to me.

“Mom said don’t worry about that. I know he will talk to you.”

“That explains why I had to mow the grass this morning,” I offered, “Mom wanted to make sure I was outside when you came over.

“Debbie, I think your parents and my parents are engaging in a conspiracy! God bless ‘em all!

“So, young lady ... your place or mine?”

Debbie blushed.

“Your place Sam. I’ve always loved your room.”

After we finally got back to my parent’s house, I couldn’t help but notice how badly Debbie was trembling.

“Debbie, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I have waited for three years and I can wait for a while longer,” I said.

“I don’t want to wait any longer Sam. Yes, I am scared, but I am not scared of you. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. I am scared that ... I don’t know ... I’ll have a flashback and do or say something wrong, or that I might not be good enough for you. But I want this ... and you ... so much.”

With those words, Debbie reached up and put her arms around my neck and pulled my head down until we were kissing. She stopped just long enough to tell me to pick her up.

I leaned down, put my arms around her and straightened up, and Debbie immediately wrapped her legs around my waist. I carried her back to my bedroom, then walked over and set down on the bed.

Debbie and I continued kissing for several more minutes. When we finally stopped, Debbie rested her head against the top of my shoulder and said, in a very soft whisper, “Please be gentle with me Sam. There has been no one since that night.”

The she started to cry softly, “They hurt me so bad, Sam. Not just the physical pain, but knowing they were taking something that I wanted to give to you.”

I let Debbie cry, while continuing to reassure her that I would be gentle, that I loved her and had always loved her.

Finally, Debbie leaned back, wiped her eyes and said, “Now Sam, now. Make love to me.”

I gently laid her back on my bed, then started raining kisses down upon her. Kissing her forehead, both eyes, her nose, and her cheeks. I nibbled on her ear, kissed the side of her mouth, kissed her neck and moved down to the little hollow at the base of her throat.

Then I very gently placed my lips against hers. Her mouth immediately opened, and her tongue plunged into my mouth as she began kissing me ... desperately is almost the only word to describe it.

We kissed for several minutes until I slowly moved my hand up and cupped her breast through her t-shirt. Debbie stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as I began caressing her nipple.

I already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra from caressing her back while down at the creek. In fact, I remembered that Debbie rarely wore a bra except when she was at school, or going out somewhere.

Her breasts were very small, but I also remembered how firm they were. Debbie used to complain so much about the size of her breasts, and I also remembered she once told me she usually wore an “A” cup.

Believe me, I had never complained. I always thought Debbie’s breasts were perfect for her body.

In the three years since then, I had been with a lot of women, and many, in fact I think all, had larger breasts than Debbie did, but I had always considered Deb’s breasts as the most beautiful I had ever felt and kissed.

As I continued to rub her nipples through the t-shirt, Debbie began moaning.