by Bronwyn Emery
The first time I betrayed Christine, it was middle school, I was the new kid, and I didn’t know any better.
My new friend, Dana, had done something really stupid. She had flirted outrageously with Christine’s boyfriend, Matt. Dana had no designs on this boy, she just wanted attention.
She got it.
Christine dumped a whole can of Coke over Dana’s head in the cafeteria, right there in front of everyone. I was sitting next to her and leapt to my feet, splashed-on, and demanding “What the hell?”
Dana sat frozen in her seat, blinking through the soda as it dripped down her face, completely withdrawn into herself, unwilling or unable to shift her gaze, let alone her body.
Over the laughing and snickering around us, Christine’s voice was clear as cut-glass. “Flirt with Matt again,” she said, “and I will beat the living shit out of you.”
Everyone sobered.
“You didn’t have to do that!” I protested loudly. “She was just being friendly. She didn’t mean anything by it.” I think that’s what I said. I don’t remember clearly.
What I do remember is the way Christine cornered me in an empty classroom later that day and threatened to kick my ass if I ever talked to her like that again.
Theresa stood by the door, throwing me sympathetic looks between watching the hallway left and right while Christine let it be known that she could hurt me any time she wanted.
“You’re lucky our moms are becoming such good friends or I’d break all your teeth. But you’re going to keep your mouth shut anyway.”
I started to protest on Dana’s behalf. “Please leave her alone. She’s really sorry. It was just flirting–“
The slap was so hard and so sudden I didn’t see it coming. It could have been a backhand or open hand or even a punch – one half-second I was speaking and then before the second finished, a sharp, painful force had whipped my head around on my neck and it was my turn to blink through tears, stunned into silence.
Before I could straighten up, Christine had my ponytail in her fist. She yanked me right up close so she could spit in my ear, I said keep your mouth shut.
Theresa broke it up with a loud hiss. “Mr. Sawyer’s coming. Let’s go.”
Christine dropped me and swept out of the room without a backwards glance.
The second time I betrayed Christine, we were in high school, we had become friends, and I didn’t know any better.
Once again, it was about a boy. We were seniors. Our mothers were best friends, Christine had apologized for the misunderstanding in middle school pretty much right after it happened, and we were close enough to share secrets if not whole truths.
Christine had dated Matt all through 8th grade and freshman year. They were off and on again most of sophomore year and ended things once and for all in the summer before junior year, mostly because of her wandering eye. Christine broke his heart, not the other way around, then moved on to the next guy and the next with legendary speed and devotion.
She told me herself that she was in love with Paul. She was done with Matt. He had never been right for her. She had finally found real love and there was no looking back.
So, I thought it was safe to say yes when Matt asked me out. I thought wrong.
This time, Christine dragged me through the park by my hair. It was after dark and there was no moon and meeting her among the trees so she could tell me a secret about Mark had been the biggest mistake of my life – at least until then.
I was standing alone under the big oak tree when I heard Theresa’s voice behind me. “Hold on as long as you can,” she said low and fast as she snuck by on the way to meet up with Christine. “Help is coming.”
And I did. I held on through the kicks and the curses and the punches, protecting my head and face as much as I could, until I heard shouts and running footsteps and Theresa dragged Christine off in the other direction.
The whole time, I kept thinking how lucky I was that our mothers were friends, but it was Theresa who had called in the cavalry.
The third time I betrayed Christine, we were in our 40s, I’d come home to bury my mother, and I still didn’t know any better.
I didn’t know he was married. I swiped right on a dating app, just as a distraction. Putting my mother’s affairs in order had kept me in town too long. It was exhausting and depressing. I was coming off a nasty divorce and had just put my kids on a plane back to their father, not knowing when I’d be able to follow. I wanted someone to help lick all my wounds, or at least forget about them for one night. Maybe two.
Christine and her mother had come to the funeral, but there wasn’t enough time to catch up and then Christine had to get back home on the other side of the city in time to pick her kids up from school. They had come and gone and I thought no more of her. Christine was part of a distant past that I had left behind long ago, when I moved across the country for college. I married, changed my name, and made zero effort to stay in touch with anyone from here.
That’s why I didn’t know.
Theresa’s the one who tracked me down. She bumped into me at Starbucks and gushed about seeing me and sighed over the pictures of my kids and my dog and commiserated over my divorce. She made me feel good about myself.
We made a plan to meet for drinks.
Christine was waiting for us at the bar. I swallowed my dread. I could play happy reunion for an hour and then get the hell out of there.
We took out our phones. I opened my photos to the album of my kids and handed it over to Christine to scroll through while I bent my head to look at the photos on Theresa’s phone.
Theresa showed me her kids, her husband, and then a few photos from a vacation her family had gone on with Christine and her family.
And there he was. My one-night stand. One arm around Christine, one hand on their son’s shoulder, their little girl laughing up at the camera. All happy smiles on a beach in Cancun.
I excused myself and walked on shaky legs down the hall to the restroom, my heart pounding in my ears. I splashed water on my face, breathing in and out as slowly as I could to stop the trembling. How long had I been? I felt around for my phone. Dammit. Christine had it.
If I took any longer, it would look suspicious. One last deep breath. I unlocked the door and turned the handle. Slowly. And then quickly, because I was being silly.
Theresa grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall to the back exit. “She knows you! Run!”
I ran. I flew past her out the door into the night. I bolted down the alley and skidded around the corner of the building, legs pumping, heart now galloping in my chest.
I hit the street and gasped for air, swinging my head left and right for a sign of Christine. Theresa ran up beside me and grabbed my hand again. “Come on, you have to hide.”
She pushed me into a doorway and entered a bunch of numbers into one of those electronic locks and the bolt slid back in the door. “This is where I work. Go in and find a place to hide. I’ll calm her down. This is really fucked up. Hide!”
I did as she said, stumbling around in the dark in blind panic, knocking into furniture and bouncing off sharp edges until my eyes adjusted and I knew I was safe. Alone in the dark, but safe for now. For all night, if I wanted. Christine would go home at some point and I would call – who?
Just as I turned my mind to the problem, I heard the bolt slide back in the door again. Christine stepped in.
“I know you’re in here, you ugly pig whore. Your ass is mine.”
I was deep in shadow at the back of room. I eased back slowly, one step at a time, until my foot hit the wall. Christine kept talking, kept stalking her way down the line of desks towards me.
I crept sideways along the wall until my back hit a doorknob. I slid my arm behind me to test the knob – unlocked! I whirled around, yanked the door open and threw myself into the next room.
I was in a breakroom. Fridge, counters, a small table, and some chairs. Nothing out that could make a weapon. Knives in a drawer maybe, but no time to search.
Christine’s voice was still calm, slow and steady, making her way through the outer room. “You’re going to get what you deserve you nasty ass homewrecker. Fuck my husband? Get ready, slutface, because here I come.”
I ran across the room to yet another door. I swung it wide and plunged into the next room, which was nothing more than a long hall with bathrooms on one side. Another damn hall. And so damn dark. But I kept going. With Christine on my heels, I was running out of time. I had to find the back exit. There had to be a back exit.
There was a back exit. The hallway opened onto a big storage space. Racks and racks of shelves piled high with boxes lined most of the walls, file cabinets on the fourth. A big, beautiful glowing Exit sign cast just enough light to see by from the opposite side.
Christine had started whistling or humming or something and I could feel it up and down my spine as it got closer and closer. She was in the hall now. I raced across the storage room to the exit and pressed hard on the bar – please God, let there be an alarm on this door!
There was no alarm, but there was Theresa, standing on the other side, arms crossed.
“This is really fucked up,” she said. “You don’t get any help this time.”
I got one breath to understand irony and betrayal, then Christine was dragging me back through the building by my hair.