Undone

He told me I didn't have to be perfect. He said, "Just show up." Funny how I willingly believed that. Maybe funny isn't the correct word. I probably should have said, "sad." You most likely already know the story, that it's not going to end well for me and be outrageously embarrassing? But what I want to know is, was it all just a set up? Had he meant me to be humiliated? Was he just going to use me? Could a person truly be that cruel?

Rusty Hastings was one of those ordinary teenagers that nobody truly noticed... not that he didn't want to be noticed, because he awkwardly tried. But the results never hit a home run for him like he had hoped. His quirky jokes were just annoying and pesky, to be honest. But his flaming red hair, almost orange...well, it refused him to be left totally "unnoticed."

I was also one of those students who went unnoticed (most of the time) which was perfectly fine with me. I knew I wasn't going to ever fit in the "in group" and they weren't my cup of tea anyway: "immature/fake/superficial/entitled" just about covers my opinion of them. My complete opposite. I happily endured being different and unpopular. I told myself four years of high school would go by quickly. It would soon be done and over for me. I had plans for my life.

But what I hated were the scathing reminders of my ostracization was when teachers passed out grades. I suppose they thought by broadcasting the "A" papers, that the others would somehow hop on board and do better.

But, for me, every "A" the teachers bragged on got me eye rolling and snickering, whispers behind my back followed by giggling. I learned to ignore them, but there were times I went home and cried just the same. My tears went unnoticed there though; my mother too wrapped up in her own mind and bottle of booze...my dad also unavailable, having left us to fend for ourselves long ago.

The problem started for me around prom time. My senior year and I had never gone to any dance or sporting event. The only extra-curricular activity I did was hide in the library during pep rallies.

But Rusty couldn't seem to get a date for the prom. He had already been turned down three times that I knew of from just listening to the mocking banter about it. You couldn't escape that gossip, and they didn't try to hide their childish arrogance. I suppose I felt sorry for him because as a last resort, he asked me, and before I gave any thought to it, I had agreed. I spoke quickly, advising him that I couldn't dance and didn't know if I could find the right dress. He said, "You don't have to be perfect." Well, that about covered it.

When it became time to get a prom dress, my mother took me to a local dress shop that didn't specialize in formals. She said we couldn't afford something that fancy. The saleslady winced a bit when I told her what I would need and my price range. She showed me a long, pale yellow peasant-looking dress. It was pretty. But it wasn't a formal. It would have to do. Thankfully, I had some sandal crocks that would go well with it.

As, seemingly distant from my life as I thought her to be, my mother wasn't exactly happy that I would be going with "that Hastings boy." She knew his father from the Used Car place she had purchased our car from (over-priced and not without issues.) His father owned the establishment and had commercials on television that were just as obnoxious as his son's antics in class. I understood her concern, but it was just one night. It wasn't like I was marrying him.

He picked me up on time, but instead of knocking, he honked the horn from that ostentatious brown Lincoln Continental that came from the car lot. My mother went to meet him, and he soon followed her to the door.

I could tell he was shocked and disappointed in my outfit, but having met my mother, he kept his mouth shut. He looked sort of ridiculous himself in his dark green polyester suit and white shoes. He appeared ready to be in the next commercial for his father's car business. Our colors clashed and they made his hair look even more orange. He did give me a corsage of pink carnations to tie on my wrist. Too bad my dress was yellow.

When we got into the car, the vibes were totally awkward. He had a large bottle of liquor wrapped in a paper bag and took a big gulp of it, rudely not offering me any. I probably would have refused anyway.

We arrived at a large building, and it was already dark. I had no idea where we were, but there was loud music playing. As we entered, he told me to "stay here" by the door. And off he went to mingle with all the people that made fun of him and rejected him. Thankfully there were a couple of guys I saw frequently in the library who were more than happy to chat with me. One brought me a cup of punch. The other told me I looked very nice.

Rusty came back over after what seemed a painfully long time, but in fact, only two or three songs had played. I thought he might ask me to dance, but he said he was ready to go. He started drinking from the bottle again and I was hoping to get home safely.

Instead of taking me to my house, he drove past it to the park at the end of the road. It was dark and of course, closed, so nobody was there. That's when he moved closer, pulling me to him and immediately stuck his wet tongue in my ear. I had never been kissed, but this wasn't making any of my dreams come true. I gave him a little push away from me. He grabbed my arms to keep from budging. "Stop it!" I demanded.

"You owe this to me." His words sickened me. He groped my breast and I saw the bottle, reached it, and whacked him (harder than I had intended) to the side of his head. I saw blood running and he was stunned by it, leaving me enough time to fly out of the door and start running home as fast as I could. I managed to yank the corsage of carnations off my wrist and throw it to the ground on my way, though.

Minutes later, I heard the tires squeal and he burnt rubber as he passed my house, yelling an expletive to me on his way down the road. "Good riddance!" I thought to myself and when I had locked the door behind me, I headed straight to the bathroom to take a shower and get the smell of his bad cologne and alcohol off of me. Thankfully, my mother had the television set on, and she was passed out in her chair.

I had just got in bed when I saw blue lights and then heard the loud knock followed by "police!" My mother was rousing but was disoriented, which left me to answer.

"Yes, I was with him tonight." "He took me to the prom." "No, he was fine when he dropped me off." "No, I was not drinking." "What is this about?"

The officer said, "Please turn around. We are placing you under arrest. Rusty Hastings was found dead in his car. And you were the last to be seen with him."