What’s Happening? Read Free Page B

smiled as they stared. She was not talking now. Not being able to think of what to say, Rita waited for Bill to speak.
    â€œWell, …” Bill said finally, forced to take the lead boldly. He averted his eyes to stare over her head at the wall. “I don’t think there’s a better way of getting to know anyone than by … well, … by … er … ah … going to bed with them. So like why don’t we sort of start getting acquainted real well tonight?” He fired this last at her quickly, watching her eyes for a reaction. She didn’t bolt. She looked at him, the soft smile lingering on her mouth. She just looked, her eyes staring deeply.
    â€œI was frank with you. Now you be frank with me. Wha’ da ya say?” he persisted.
    And still she didn’t answer. This was—in cold, hard language—what she had rightly anticipated. And she didn’t answer. She had known it was coming and she wanted to answer, but her throat was parched; she tried to swallow a sandy lump in her throat. She couldn’t answer! Her thoughts were confused. She had run away from her overbearing, propriety-bridled home to be able to stand on her own feet and do what she felt she had to do. She had flown the coop to become an adult, make her own decisions, be her own master, but inside, an unsure, frightening apprehension filled her with a quivering unsureness. She wished she would awaken someplace else, away from this ordeal, someplace warm and quiet, where she wouldn’t have to think, to make this decision. She looked at Bill. She took her hand from his and fingered the matchbook on the table, pensive and indecisive and afraid. She wanted to be a person, not destroy her person, and the ominous forebodings of her decision weighed heavily upon her. She still couldn’t swallow.
    â€œCome on now, …” Bill urged. “What are you sitting like a clam for? You’re not being very frank. Let’s go.”
    â€œWait a minute.” Everything inside of her sat poised in cold terror. She couldn’t decide! But she had to! Here was an invitation to share in life in a big way. Thoughts of adult romance and a man danced within her. These could be hers, now. She would be a woman. But God, … where does one draw the line between a woman and a whore? She wasn’t a whore. She didn’t want to be a whore! She just wanted to be alive. Oh, God, how did I get into this solitary hell inside my skull? How do I get out? Was this not why she left home and all the molded, jaded, stagnant regimentation? Life had to be lived, and decisions had to be made, regardless of what people who were too weak to accept the necessity of the bitter with the sweet thought. She had to decide … either yes or no … decide … decide—child or woman … woman or whore—decide … decide … now … now. There was no easy way out. She was stuck. She had to make a decision and abide with it. She yearned to be an adult.
    There was no noise of revelers now for Rita, only the sizzling pressure of silence in her ears, the sight of Bill across from her, looking intently into her face, and a millrace of thoughts. Her thoughts of home raised pictures of her family. How stupified, appalled, outraged they would be if they heard this conversation. How they would deny the reality of life … and seek protection behind principles and ideals, unexciting, unsatisfying, yet comforting in their universal acceptance. Familial thoughts and thoughts of blind acceptance of life without understanding angered her. The hell with it! I’ve got to stand up by myself , she screamed within herself, gritting her teeth. I’ve got to … got to … got to … even if I’m wrong. I have to make my own mistakes .
    â€œCome on, let’s go. You can think about it as we walk. Come on. What’s the story?” Bill smiled. He stood, moving Rita’s chair out so that