This isn't autobiographical.
OK, so this is something I wrote for my creative writing class. And then, unable to share with the class because we spent the last twenty minutes listening to a speech on how imortant it is for a writer to write early and often, I just punched up to share with you fine folks. The prompt read "A college-age person has just discovered that one of their parents has been having a torrid love affair with the person's best friend for two years. Write a two-page scene."
It an't two pages now, but the end doesn't suck the way it used to. I hope you like it:
"Well, that was wrong on so many levels." The rock was solid in her hand; firm, with a comforting weight. That was what you looked for in a rock: the need for a force to propel it from the hand to the water.
"Kat, I can…"
"What, Tyler? What can you do?" She threw the rock with purpose; it shone in the light of his car headlights before splashing into the lake. "Explain? What's to explain? I don't know what needs explaining." She paused, her face moving into a grimace. "Oh, ew, ew. I know some things you could explain, but if you want your junk to stay attached, you're not bringing them up."
"It's not…" Tyler stopped. "Look, it's not entirely like you think."
"Then how's it like, Tyler? Situation as I see it is, I walk in on you having eyeball-searing sex with my mother. Now, if there's a wacky, Threes-Company angle on this one, I would love to hear about it, but otherwise, I'm thinking sticking my fingers in my ears and humming is the best way to keep my sanity. So, what's going to make this go away?" She hoisted up another rock.
"I love her, Kat. I love your mom."
"Oh, please. What about that girl you're always raving…" Kat stopped midtoss; the miniature bolder thudded to the asphalt. "'Sally Weathers'? She's…"
"Yes."
"Your elusive Canadian e-girlfriend is actually my mother? I mean, we knew you weren't going to Canada, but we thought you were just mak… Oh my god. You were talking about Sally back in…You've been… The entire time?"
"Yes."
"Two years, Tyler. You've been fucking my mother for two years? And…" There are layers upon layers of understanding, of disbelief a person can go through, and just when you think you've hit bottom, you sink even deeper. "My dad always said she was having an… but I never… it was… You."
It is a singular feeling, impossible to convey to those who've never done it: the first time you slap a person across the face, righteous as the hand of God, and as forceful, and as loving. Tyler stepped back, almost sprawling over the hood of his car before he regained his balance.
"Yeah, I had that coming."
"You bastard! It was you, all the time it was you. They'd still be married if it wasn't for you and her, and I… God damn it!" She turned and started running again, unsure what sanctuary she had, driven from the beach, her own fortress of solitude. She paid no heed to Tyler's calls; she knew he wouldn't dare follow her. Her eyes welled with tears, she could think of only one other refuge.
It was no safer, but the enemy there was easier to face. Daughters and mothers were supposed to have issues.
The door slammed open at her touch. "Kat?" The worried call from the kitchen was no question; who else would it be? She stormed into the kitchen like an avenging angel; her mother sat at the counter, a mug of tea in her hands, a full teapot beside an empty cup as though tea alone could solve any problem you could throw at it.
"Mother. What the fuck were you thinking?"
"Please, Catherine, calm…"
"I mean, I can understand you never telling me that you were sexing my best friend. I can barely get my head around you doing it, as long as I don't think too hard. But for two years?"
" Catherine, honey, just listen. I'm…"
"I defended you!" The words exploded like something out of a war movie; terrible noise, agonizing silence. Kat stared across the tile at the woman she'd wanted to be when she grew up, trying with all her will not to strike her. "Every time Dad would go off on his bullshit about how you were sleeping with who-knows-who, I stood up for you. I told him you would never do it. And now I find out that he was right, I mean… I've blamed him, I've fought with him, I haven't said two words to him for six months, because I knew that if he'd been right, you'd have told me."
"Kat… please just sit down, and I'll try to explain." Her mother gestured to the chair, helpless as a child who just wanted everything to be all right again. Somewhere, in the back corner of Kat's mind which stayed as calm as death, a feeling of pity swept over her. It wasn't an emotion she wanted to feel for her mother.
The last shred of the rational seized control, and she turned, taking as measured a step towards the door as she was capable of. "No. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow. Or next month. Or in ten years. I just can't deal with this now."
She slammed the car door so hard that she was surprised the glass didn't break, put the gas pedal to the floor, and drove off into the night.
The first step is always the hardest.