Jack slid the pump from the tank of his '73 Mustang and put it away, listening to the click as it fell back into its holding place. He looked up at the price of the gas he'd fed the car and frowned; it had eaten a whopping forty-one dollars and eleven cents. Geez, he thought. If I'm gonna keep driving this damn thing, I'm gonna need a second job. The ride wasn't exactly economical, only making it a short fifteen miles to the gallon, but it was an eye-catcher. He'd turned the heads of most who'd seen it; black paint glistening in the sun and its handsome pilot, rolling it by ever-so-slowly. He'd tip his cap at the ladies with a sort of Clint Eastwood swagger, and they'd just smile and wave. Jack was a flirt, and he knew it.
At least the rain is stopping, he thought with a grin. The black clouds that dominated the sky all afternoon were beginning to recede into the horizon, taking on a pinkish-grey and revealing a deep, burning orange that was only accompanied by blue highlights in the east. It was a perfectly warm and sticky night, one of the first signs that spring was giving way to summer, and he was happy. He was sure that after his dinner-date with Charlie, he'd go back to the dorm with her and make love; making up for the lost time they'd had since their break-up. How long had it been, he wondered. A month? Two? He wasn't sure. He knew that it had been a while, probably long enough for the wound of him cheating to have healed. He figured they were meeting to talk about getting back together, and he would apologize, and she'd forgive him. He knew that Charlie would because that was just the way she was. And he really was sorry, but only to himself; he'd meant to lock the door before he and Sarah got back to the bedroom.
He drove to the diner, window down and radio blaring. He sang along with Bon Jovi and tapped his hand on the outside of the door. The thick spring air rushed into the car, passing Jack and circling through his backseat, fluttering the pages of his textbooks. He felt free like he had when he'd gotten the car as a sophomore in high school. It was a gift from his father, and he saw it as a part of himself, flying down every back-road of his hometown and finally making his way to college. Now, the Mustang gently rolled into the parking lot of the diner, engine purring. He pulled into a spot and got out. As he walked towards the diner, he could see Charlie in a window, holding what looked like a cup of coffee and looking rather grim. How odd, he thought. I don't think I've ever seen her drink coffee, and she's not smiling. He began to wonder what else this meeting could be about, trying to run through their conversation in his mind. He couldn't remember her sounding out of the ordinary, and maybe she only drank coffee in greasy breakfast places like this, as some sort of old habit. Still, she wasn't smiling. This was his initial feeling that something might be off about their meeting tonight.
He walked into the diner and made his way towards Charlie's booth. He noticed that almost no one was here besides a couple of solo diners and a clumsy-looking waitress hovering from table to table.
"Hi," he said as he came up behind her. She quickly turned and met his eyes. He saw something wild, maybe even frantic, behind their piercing green surface.
"Hey," she replied. He sat down and slid in towards the window. It was almost dark outside now, and the glass showed him nothing but a reflection of the inside of the diner and a set of tail lights of a seemingly invisible car disappearing onto the highway outside.
"How are you?" he asked. He was talking with the suave of a salesman. Charlie noticed but was too tired to be angered by it. She felt defeated, lost, and at the mercy of the universe.
"I'm alright," she sighed. "Been better. Thanks for coming. Sorry I made you drive through that storm."
"No worries," Jack said reassuringly. "It stopped by the time I left the gas station."
"Well, good," Charlie said with no real care in her voice. "Still driving the Mustang?"
"I am," he answered with a smile. "How'd you guess?"
"I've seen it around campus," she replied. "I heard it when you were pulling in earlier. It's still so loud." She gave him a weak grin.
"Yeah," he said. "But I love it. Wouldn't trade it for anything, no matter how much of my paycheck it takes to keep it on the road."
She gave another gentle smile and looked down at her coffee. The kitchen was noisy with the stacking of plates and the sizzle of eggs, but a still and awkward silence hung between the two of them.
"Charlie?" Jack said. He reached out and grabbed her forearm. She tensed and sat up, but didn't look at him for another stretch of seconds.
"I'm sorry," he almost whispered. He was reading his lines more believably than most movie-stars could have. "I'm so sorry for everything I put you through. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me, and you by no means have to forgive me, but I'm sorry. I've changed though. I'm in church now, I'm trying to do better…"
"Jack," Charlie interrupted, pulling her arm away from him. "That's not what this is about."
"Oh," he said, slightly bewildered. He began mulling over what else this could be about. "Well, what's going on?"
She paused. "I woke up super sick two days ago. I couldn't even get out of bed without throwing up, and I missed all of my classes. I called my Dad, and he told me to go to the doctor."
"Oh," said Jack. He could already sense what direction this conversation was heading, and his stomach got hot, tying itself in knots. He knew he needed to play it cool though. "Did you go?"
"Yeah," she said. She was alternating her gaze between her coffee cup and the window, but never at Jack. Her eyes were red and her lip was beginning to tremble. Jack didn't need to see anything else.
"Charlie," he said. He lacked any other words and felt sick himself. His arms were starting to go numb, his head grew hot, and his stomach felt as if it were being burned. He felt what most people felt when they knew they were in trouble.
Charlie had tears then. One by one they rolled the slope from her eyes to her chin. She looked at him finally, and Jack found himself wishing her gaze would go back to the window.
"Jack, I'm… I'm…" The word wouldn't come. It was as if her tongue stuck to the base of her mouth before she could let the cat out of the bag.
"Pregnant," Jack said with a damning finality. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
Sam said nothing. She hid her face in her hands, but still nodded up and down. She began to weep quietly.
Jack's thoughts seemed to move slower as if his brain had suddenly changed into a murky swamp. It felt as if every passing word through his mind was strained, pulling through some invisible muck. Shock was sinking in. Then a singular thought swam into the view of his mind's eye; It doesn't have to be mine. Jack was taken back by how quickly this thought had jumped into view, but he didn't push it away. He suddenly found himself clinging to it, the last glimmer of hope in what seemed to be enveloping, endless darkness.
"Have you been with anyone else, Charlie," Jack asked almost involuntarily. It seemed like a survival instinct was taking control, and he was happy it was. He wasn't going to lose his life, he decided. Not for anyone, or anyone's child.
Charlie looked up at him.
"What?" she stammered. She looked as if Jack had just hit her.
"Since we've been together, have you been with anyone else?" Jack kept his composure, already knowing that whoever's baby this was, he was making an exit.
"No, Jack," Charlie snapped. "You know that I've only been with you. Why would you even ask something like that?"
"I just want to be sure," Jack began, "that you're telling the whole truth and not just trying to rope me back in."
"Rope you back in?" Charlie laughed in a hysterical tone that made the hairs on Jack's neck stand. "You're probably the biggest asshole I've ever met, Jack. Believe me, if it could've been anyone else's, I wouldn't be here with you."
Jack knew she was right. He had been a terrible boyfriend, and if it were anyone else's, she definitely wouldn't come to him. But he had to find his way out. He was walking through a maze, and every sentence was another turn. He didn't want to get lost.
"Okay, sorry, calm down," he said. "I'm just trying to sort things out. Rationalize."
"I can't rationalize anything," she said. "I'm so scared, Jack. I don't know what to do." She took a deep breath. "I'm thinking that my parents could help us, but we've..."
Jack stopped listening. He began to think about what would happen if it was his baby. He'd definitely have to drop out of school. They probably both would. More than likely, his parents would disown him and do no more than wish him good luck. He thought back to what had happened when he had gone out with his first girlfriend in high school and had 'the talk' with his father. He had told him that he wasn't in the business of raising parents. But as Jack pondered these things, he remembered the other option. The one no one was supposed to speak of, the wrong option, the most evil of them all. The escape from parental duties, but not from guilt.
"Charlie," Jack interjected. She stopped talking and just looked at him. "What're you thinking, option-wise?" He didn't dare say the word. The one that, if suggested, would send her into a red-eyed rage.
"What do you mean?" she said. He could sense the heat beginning to radiate off of her. He was on thin ice, and it was cracking.
"I mean," Jack began, treading lightly. "We're both so young. I'm not even eighteen…"
Charlie cut him off. "I'm not getting an abortion if that's what you're implying."
There it was. The dirty word. Abortion. An instant controversy as soon as it passed her lips. He knew that she had said it first and he needed to recover.
"Of course not," he spat. "There are tons of options. Adoption is perfectly viable."
"Okay," she fired back, "but what am I supposed to do when I want to see my son or daughter one day when I'm ready? Should I track them down like a bounty hunter?"
Jack was struck once again by the reality of the situation they were both now moved into. He was awe-stricken but much calmer than he expected himself to be in a situation like this; like he was watching it on a silver screen rather than sitting in this booth with Charlie, who was turning into a real live-wire.
"I don't know Charlie, but you know that you can't care for that child." He was watching the waitress again, making her rounds from table-to-table, like a toy racecar on a plastic track.
"You?" she questioned. "You say it like you're not a part of this."
Jack saw that this was the decisive moment. He could cut and run, living with whatever came next and doing what he could to ensure his survival, or he could stay. He would be giving up everything; his future, his family, his sanity. That's when a switch flipped in his mind, and he chose what was easy over what was right. It was a fight-or-flight situation, and he had decided to spread his wings.
He sighed. "Well Charlie, as of right now, I'm not."
She looked at him in a silence that seemed to last ten minutes, but only spanned a few seconds.
"What did you say?" She asked; seeming angry, but really sensing that all was lost.
"I said that, as of right now, that's your baby. I don't have any ties to it, or you." Jack said. The words bounced between them. She looked back and forth between his eyes as if wishing he would just magically turn back to the person she loved what seemed like years ago. She was drowning, and Jack just watched.
"Who the hell are you?" she whispered. She was obviously more hurt than vicious, and the tears looked ready to come back after the anger intermission for the second half of their act.
"Charlie, I'm sorry, but I can't prove that you haven't been with anyone else. Neither can you right now. You can accuse me of whatever you want, but for all I know, you could've slept with the entire football team and just not said anything." Jack saw his own true character for the first time; he was a slimy, dirty monster. He hated to see it, like it was an open wound, but he knew that this disgusting beast that he really was deep down was defending his best interest.
"Wow," Charlie said again. She was really crying now; her voice broke and quivered. She was shaking. "Of all of the idiots that could've knocked me up, it had to be you."
"No need to sling dirt," Jack said. "I've got to go Charlie."
As the words left his lips, the small flame of goodness that was burning somewhere deep inside cried out for him to stop, but he snuffed it out.
"Good luck. Make the right decision." he paused. "Get rid of it."
Charlie just stared at him, defenseless and furious all at once, and watched him get up and walk to the door. His initial standing was slow, and then he began to walk faster toward the door. By the time he made it outside, he was at a brisk jog, and midway through the parking lot, he was running. He fumbled for the key and jumped in the car like he was trying to flee from something. He felt all at once that he was being hunted, chased, by some unseen adversary. He looked in the mirror and saw her sitting there, seeming to be making eye contact through the window and his driver's side mirror. She had seen into his soul, and for the first time, he had too. Coward, his mind whispered. You'll end up paying for this. He pushed the thought from his mind, tore out of the parking lot, and broke onto the highway, not even bothering to turn his headlights on.
As the car roared out into the street, a grocery truck slammed into Jack's driver's side door at sixty miles an hour, sending the prized Mustang in an aggressive rolling pattern down the empty stretch of highway. Metal, glass, and plastic were sent in every direction at once as the car bounced and flipped across the asphalt. Of course, Jack hadn't thought to put his seatbelt on and was ejected from the car at a speed nearly as fast as the truck had hit him. The rain was far gone now, and there was nothing to stop the fire that was engulfing the Mustang. What remained of the black paint glittered in the firelight. Both the car and Jack turned more heads on the highway that spring night than they had before. Jack was laid to rest two days later, no longer burdened with the repercussions of his adult decisions.
