Chapter 29: Emotional Support

November 21, 1982, West Monroe, Ohio

Jocelyn was visibly rocked back by my vehemence or, more likely, my cursing in English. I was reasonably sure she'd never heard me do that before because I couldn't remember ever cursing in front of her in English. My usual way, using Russian words, wouldn't have had the desired effect. I could only hope that the shock value would jar her out of whatever state she was in.

"Well, I see you've learned a few new words at Taft. I guess it hasn't been totally wasted."

"Cut the crap and TALK to me, Jocelyn! What is the problem?"

"You. You're the problem. There is nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit!"

Jocelyn shook her head, "No."

She was purposefully trying to drive me away, and I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't know if there was anything I COULD do about it. And it was tearing me up inside. I couldn't go on this way. I'd managed, just, to keep it from affecting my grades and friendships, because I had looked forward to talking with her and working things out. Now, that prospect seemed unlikely.

But I had to try. I couldn't give up on 'Mik and Jos' that easily. If it was over, it wasn't going to be because I refused to try. And it had to be 'tough love' or like the documentary Scared Straight. I couldn't pull any punches.

"Jocelyn, talk to me, please! I love you, and I know you're hurting, but for Pete's sake, TALK to me about it! Being a cold, uncaring bitch is NOT helping. We've been friends since kindergarten. I want to figure out how we repair the damage that's been done. I had my part in that, for sure, but I won't be your punching bag. I WILL be your friend, and I will do my best to help you. But you have to stop giving me the cold shoulder and fucking TALK to me!"

"There's nothing left to say, Mike. The cursing is cute, though."

She was baiting me. There was no doubt in my mind. I was going to call her on it, and let the chips fall, because I couldn't go on this way.

"You're baiting me?" I said, shaking my head. "Just like with the meal you planned, which you KNEW would offend me? I let it go and ate because I love you. But that fact appears to no longer matter to you. The ball is in your court. Because I love you, I'll do as you ask. When you decide you want to talk to me, call me."

I didn't wait for a response; I turned on my heel and walked determinedly from the house. I got into my car, drove down the street, turned the corner, and pulled over. I was shaking like a leaf, and the tears which I'd held back came in a flood. My body heaved with sobs as the reality of what had just happened was driven home like a sword through my heart.

I lost track of time and was startled when red and blue lights lit up the car. A minute later, there was a tap on the window, and I rolled it down.

"Mike?" Deputy Sexton asked.

He was one of my dad's friends and someone I'd known since I was little.

"Hi, Deputy Paul," I said, addressing him as I had since I was six. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"I had a terrible fight with Jocelyn, and I'm trying to get control of my emotions."

"You were pulled over with no emergency flashers, and you aren't completely on the shoulder. That's really dangerous. You need to move the car. Are you OK to drive?"

I nodded slowly, "I think so, yes."

"You haven't been drinking?"

"No. I've been crying, probably for ten minutes, I guess."

"That explains the bloodshot eyes, then. I can take you home if you want. Just move your car onto the shoulder, and I'll bring your dad back to get it."

"No, I think I'll be fine."

"OK. I'll follow you for a bit to make sure. Drive safely, Mike."

"I will."

He went back to his cruiser, and I started my Mustang. When I looked around, I saw he was right, and my car was at least three feet into the roadway. I'd been so out of it I hadn't even noticed. Fortunately, it was a lightly traveled road during the evenings, or I might have genuinely been in danger.

Once I pulled away, Deputy Sexton turned off his lights, and I only saw his headlights as he followed me for about two miles. When I made a turn, he flashed his headlights and continued straight. I arrived home about five minutes later, and after backing into the driveway, I got out of the car and headed toward the house, but rather than go inside, I sat down on the steps to try to collect my thoughts.

I hated myself for simply walking away from Jocelyn, but I wasn't sure what else I could have done. The fact that Jocelyn had so quickly recovered from her surprise told me she'd had a planned outcome in mind, and even my use of expletives had only interrupted her plan for a moment. She knew me quite well, and I had hoped that from her perspective, it had seemed to be an outburst rather than controlled vehemence.

And it had been controlled because I'd learned my lesson about outbursts from when I'd confronted Liz. Those intemperate comments had led to pain and suffering for both of us, and I wasn't about to make that same mistake again. I had to learn to keep my cool under fire, as it were if I was going to be a successful ER doctor. Being cool and collected was my usual state, but then again, so was conflict avoidance. Fixing the latter while retaining the former was probably the most important skill I had to learn outside of medical procedures.

The problem was, it hadn't really helped. In a sense, I wasn't worse off than I had been before; I'd simply held what turned out to be a false hope, but that didn't make me feel any better. I'd given Jocelyn what she claimed to want, but I felt hollowed out, as if something had been ripped from me, leaving a gaping hole. It felt far bigger now than when I'd had the promise of a talk, and I was at a loss as to how to fix it.

"Mike?" Mom said, coming out the front door. "Come in the house."

"I think I'd rather sit here for now," I said.

"Mr. Mills called. He was concerned about you. I guess things didn't go well."

"Jocelyn planned a meal that included roast beef, cheese-covered broccoli, and a salad with bacon bits mixed in."

Mom sighed deeply, "Given she knows you so well, I'd say that was meant to provoke you. What did you do?"

"Politely ate my meal. I only brought it up after dinner when she tried to bait me for a third time. That's when I finally told her I wasn't going to put up with it and that when she was ready to talk, she could call me. I was pretty harsh, actually."

"That's what Mr. Mills said, but he also said he asked you to be harsh."

"He was hoping it would snap Jocelyn out of whatever funk she's in. I had a glimmer of hope when she recoiled visibly at me, asking, please excuse this, 'what the fuck was going on' and telling her I was 'tired of her bullshit'."

Mom laughed softly, "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you use those words in English before."

I shrugged, "Once, I think, but there was also a time I used words like that. Liz."

"Ill-considered, given what occurred afterwards."

"I know. But that was an outburst. This was calculated after talking with Mr. Mills and having him confirm for me that Jocelyn didn't want me there. I guess she'd told me she'd talk to me to placate me and planned to simply blow me off this week. Her parents wouldn't allow it. So she did her best to piss me off and sabotage things."

"So, what do you intend to do?"

"What can I do? At this point, I have to let her go her own way. What are my options? Another fight? Propose? I think she'd laugh in my face if I did that."

"That probably wouldn't be the wisest course of action at the moment."

"I know," I sighed. "I was saying that to make a point. Even THAT would likely result in things being worse, not better."

"You're not contemplating anything rash, are you?"

"You mean like spending the night at April's? Or giving Mindy what she's been literally begging for?"

"Those might not be the best courses of action, either. I was actually more concerned about you making a rash decision about Tasha."

"I can think of FAR worse fates than being able to have Natalya Vasilyevna in my bed with Deacon Vasily's blessing!"

"Don't be «некультурный» (nekulturny), Mischa!" Mom laughed, using the Russian form of 'Mike'. ("crude")

"I daresay if you ask Tasha, that's EXACTLY what she wants and has wanted since she was fourteen!"

"And I believe you know better, Mikhail Petrovich. That is a permanent commitment."

"I know THAT," I said, then said in a very nonchalant voice, "If I really need to get laid, there are several suitable, attractive, and available young women I could go to!"

"Mike!" Mom spat, but she was laughing hard. Her use of my 'English' name told me she was amused rather than shocked.

"What?" I smirked. "You don't believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you. Once you graduate from High School, it seems as if you have no end of pretty girls who are interested in the size of your ... future wallet!"

"Mom!" I said, choking on the single word because I was laughing.

"Two can play the same game, Mikhail Petrovich!"

"For THAT comment, I SHOULD ask Liz to call Mindy!"

"And what would Tasha say about THAT?"

"You'd never find my body," I grinned. "She's learned well from the «бабушки» (babushki)!"

"Just remember that!"

"Oh, I know! I can't think of a single marriage in church where the woman isn't clearly in charge. Well, the ones where the woman is Russian, anyway. It's why the men all drink so much vodka!"

"Now you sound like your grandfather!"

I chuckled, "I have no doubt! As he put it, the trap is sprung at an early age when men only think with their «половой член» (polovoj chlen)! And once it finds the «пизда» (pizda), it's all over!" ("dick; pussy")

"I am going to KILL your grandfather!" Mom said, but she was laughing. "And you're right about Russian women — the body will never be found!"

"Hey, he was just giving me fair warning about what life is like for a Russian man! If you can have your little «бабушки» (babushki) union, the men have a right to organize as well, if only for self-defense!"

"He's a dead man. He may be my father, and I may love him dearly, but he's a dead man!"

I chuckled, "Come on, Mom! You know he's right!"

"If you think I'm going to admit anything even remotely resembling that, you are far too dumb to be a doctor!"

"I know you well enough to know you won't! And thanks for helping cheer me up."

"All I can say is give her some time. I know that sounds trite, lame even, but that is what you need to do. You can't force the issue."

"Something I've discovered these past few months."

"Come inside, Mike. It's safe, by the way. Liz's friends went home."

"Bummer!" I smirked.

Mom cuffed me, gently, on the back of the head and we went into the house.

November 22, 1982, West Monroe, Ohio

"Mishka!" Tasha exclaimed, greeting me with a hug and a soft kiss.

"Hi, Tasha."

"Come in!" she said, taking my hand and leading me into the house.

"Tasha, are you alone?" I asked warily, stopping because I didn't see or hear anyone else.

"Not anymore!" she giggled. "Dad is at work, Mom and Sasha are out. But I'm not alone now!"

"Your parents are NOT going to be happy I was here with you."

"And you care more about what my dad thinks than you do what I think?"

"Does he own a gun?" I asked with a grin.

"Of course not! You know firearms are forbidden for clergy! Come to the kitchen. I have homemade vegetable and lentil soup for us. It's almost ready."

She turned, and I noticed she was wearing form-fitting jeans, something I had NEVER seen her do, and the effect was nothing short of stunning. I shook my head to clear it and realized that my promise to her was more complicated than simply not taking her to bed.

"Tasha," I protested. "Coming into the house and being alone with you would make people think something happened. We can't have that."

She turned and walked back to me, standing right in front of me and looking deeply into my eyes.

"You don't want to be alone with me?" she asked quietly.

"I do," I said gently. "But do you really want people to think we're behaving inappropriately?"

"I don't care!" she said fiercely.

She grabbed my hand and quickly pressed it under the hem of her loose-fitting sweatshirt. Before I realized what was happening, my palm covered a bare breast. As good as it felt, it scared me because I knew EXACTLY how weak I was, and that made it even more imperative to put a stop to things immediately. With great reluctance and even more regret, I pulled my hand away from her wonderful breast and took a half step back.

"But I care, Natalya Vasilyevna," I said gently. "I care what people will think. I care about your reputation, and mine, for that matter. We aren't ready for this!"

"I am!" she insisted. "I want to make love with you, Mike!"

"I know. And I want that, too. But not now. Not like this. You're too important to me to make a mess of things this way."

"Make a mess?" she asked, sounding upset.

"Let's say we make love. Then what? Sneak around and hide it from your parents and mine? Fail to confess our weakness? Betray everything about the promise you insisted I make? And what if we were to get caught? Or you were to get pregnant? Birth control, of any kind, isn't 100% effective. Even with the Pill, one in a thousand women will get pregnant at some point while taking it. And, if I may be a bit «некультурный» (nekulturny), I do not wish to use a condom when we make love! I want to feel you, Natalya Vasilyevna, and I want you to feel me. When the time is right." ("crude")

"I am a fool," she sighed as a tear dripped down her cheek.

"No, you aren't," I said, holding out my arms.

Tasha took a step forward, and I held her while she cried softly.

"You aren't a fool," I soothed, stroking her hair. "You're a young woman in love, with the same desires every person in love has for the person they love. But we promised each other, and for a very good reason. If we do that, it's because we will be together forever. It can't be anything less. Not for you and not for me."

"But you've done it before," she sobbed.

I'd never directly admitted that to her, but I knew she'd assumed it was the case. Navigating this particular set of obstacles was going to be tricky. How could I not lie to her yet have her understand just how special such an act would be.

"I have," I said carefully, "but with you, it would be different, special. Because you are different, special."

"So, you just casually do that with other girls?"

I took a deep breath and let it out. I actually DID, but admitting that would likely create bigger problems.

"Other girls don't matter, Tasha. You matter. And as odd as this sounds, you matter too much to me for us to do that without a proper commitment."

She sniffed, "I love you very much, Mishka!"

"And I love you, and as crazy as it seems, I love you too much to take this step until we are truly ready."

She sighed deeply, "I've been ready since I first noticed you when I was fourteen. I knew you were the man for me."

"Are you saying I don't have a choice in this matter?" I asked, trying to lighten the conversation.

"According to my grandmother, girls can have any boy they wish because THEY decide who receives the gift!"

I laughed, "I think your grandmother and my grandfather may have spoken to each other once or twice!"

"She also said something I didn't believe, but now I think is true."

"What's that?"

"A boy who refuses the gift when it is offered too soon is the one you should marry."

"Interesting," I chuckled. "That kind of goes against church teaching!"

Tasha laughed, "Grandmother seems to have had a few 'special' boyfriends before she married grandfather.

"I've heard this story before," I grinned, thinking of my mom.

Tasha stepped backward a bit, out of my arms.

"What about lunch?"

"Put the soup in the refrigerator, and I'll take you to lunch. That would be appropriate."

"And if I were to take off my sweatshirt?" she asked with an impish smile.

"Then I'd go home," I said.

"Men are so difficult!" Tasha huffed. "Let me put the soup away."

"I'll wait on the porch," I said.

"«Напуганная кошка!» (napugannaya koshka)" she laughed.

"Exactly right!" I grinned at her calling me what amounted to 'scaredy cat'.

Of course, she was right! I knew for a fact that if I got a look at her luscious breasts, I'd do something which was completely inappropriate. I turned and walked outside and waited for about ten minutes before Tasha came out, dressed in a skirt and sweater. We drove to Rutherford and had a nice pasta lunch, and then I took her back home. We exchanged a soft kiss on the front porch, and I agreed to come to lunch on Tuesday, with the promise that her mother and sister would be home.

After I left, I went to Dale's house, where we played chess until it was time for me to go home for dinner.

"How was lunch at Tasha's?" Mom asked when I walked into the kitchen.