Author's note: this is a story about adolescence and lost innocence, and I believe it is my version of how childhood idealism falls apart as we grow older. It also shows how childhood experiences can sometimes profoundly affect who we are.
(The rating is for some gore, as well as some mild sensual content, but those aren't in this part.)
Carlsbad
I have seen complete blackness only once in my life. Not merely darkness, but pure, inky blackness. So black I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. So black the echoes off the cave walls were the only way to navigate. One thousand feet below the dusty ground of New Mexico was the darkest blackness I have ever seen, and in that blackness my life was changed forever.
This was some years ago. No one would have believed me if I told this story back then, and I suppose no one will now. But I still need to tell it. I need to because it’s the truth. And I can’t bear to take this story with me to the next life. It has been enough of a burden in this one.
Before I get on with it, I want to say this is not about me. This is about what happened that day, deep in the blackness beneath the earth. I am not trying to prove my innocence. I gave that up a long time ago. Believe what you want to believe. It’s easier to have a scapegoat, I know that. It’s easier to pretend like there’s closure if things are a certain way. Personally, I never believed in closure. Things happen, I don’t know why. All you can do is deal with it, in my opinion. But most people wanted a simpler story, so I gave it to them.
Also, this is not about feeling guilty. It is a tough feeling to describe, but guilt is not it. I feel like I was violated, stolen from. But worst is that I know I was not even the true victim in it all. I was merely caught in the midst of something I didn’t understand and still don’t; something I never should have witnessed.
And lastly, I don’t know where she is. All I know is she’s not in this world anymore. I miss her. And I wish I could have protected her. I wish I knew what kind of woman she would have grown up to be. But that’s all I can do is wish, and I’m tired of wishing. I know I’m not the only one who wishes the events of that day never happened. But I am the only one who knows what did happen. So here it is, for whatever it’s worth…
Thirty of us climbed into the bus. Boys sat in front, girls sat in the back. The 8th grade class at Live Oak Academy was headed to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and after that, to Carlsbad Caverns for the Spring Trip.
We were the envy of the younger kids. All they knew was that we got to spend the whole first week of April away from school, and most importantly, away from our homes in Midland, Texas. The Spring Trip always involved exciting things in some exciting place, which were made all the more exciting by the fact that everyone else was still in school. We got to take a nice, air-conditioned charter bus, too. We each got their own seat, a cushioned seat, not like the bench seats in the school bus where you could feel the loose springs poking at your back. We had all seen pictures from the previous Spring Trips, but it was never truly real until the day came when we got on that charter bus with a week’s worth of clothes and three years’ worth of pent-up excitement.
We had loaded our luggage underneath the bus, and we were almost on our way. This wasn’t just a school trip for the kiddos. It was somewhat of a holiday for the teachers too. They weren’t in school-mode. You could tell because they wore fedoras and cargo pants, and more smiles than frowns.
Boys in the front, girls in the back; that was the rule. Everyone was scrambling to get a seat next to their best friend for the long ride ahead. But I was not concerned with who would sit beside me. I was more concerned with sitting near Stephanie. Stephanie and I caught each other’s eye and began to look for an arrangement of seats that would work. If she found a seat at the front of the girls’ half, and I found one at the back of the boys’ half, I could sit in the row in front of her. We would be able to talk or play games, and maybe even hold hands through the gap in the seats while we watched for teachers patrolling down the aisle.
Once most of the students found their seats, it became pretty clear where the gender boundary was going to be. Stephanie and I found two empty rows on the “border”, one in front of the other, and sat down, exchanging a slight smile before we each slipped into our seat. It took about ten seconds before I turned and peaked between the seatbacks at her. She looked up and caught my eye, broke an adorable smile, and bit down on her lower lip to keep from giggling.
I faced forward again, and looked around to see where teachers were. They were just settling into their own seats at the very front of the bus, and chattering to each other about whatever teachers talk about.
Without looking, I reached behind me, like a relay runner waiting for the baton, and dangled my hand between the seats into Stephanie’s row. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Just as I considered withdrawing my hand, I felt Stephanie’s fingers slip around mine. My heart thumped harder for the next few beats. I got that superb strange feeling in my stomach, the one you only seem to get in middle school. After a bit, I closed my eyes and realized my cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard. It was at that moment I decided I was going to kiss Stephanie that week. The feeling in my stomach intensified at that thought. Many kids had had their first kiss already. But I hadn’t, and as far as I knew, Stephanie hadn’t either.
We sat there, hands grasped. At fourteen years old, I felt like a man. She made me feel like a man.
One of the girls proceeding to the back of the bus saw that we were holding hands. She elbowed her friend beside her and pointed at us, and they simultaneously covered their mouths and burst out in stifled laughter. The two boys in the row across from me also noticed our subtle show of affection. One of them was a buddy of mine, Jake, and he gave me the thumbs up sign. I smiled at him and then looked away, trying to act like it was no big deal.
After a few minutes, everyone was seated and Mrs. Seagraves, our class principal, stood up in the front of the bus with the microphone. Over the speakers, she gave a few announcements to the class. The bus ride from school to Santa Fe would be about eight hours, with several stops along the way. We were free to sleep, listen to music, or talk to one another, as long as we weren’t too loud. There would be movies played on the screen at the front of the bus for the whole trip, all of them pre-selected for appropriateness. I did my best to fake attention for the rest of what she said. I was only concentrated on the feel of Stephanie’s hand against mine.
Mrs. Seagraves finished her ramblings, and soon the bus was moving. A slight cheer went up from the class, and a multitude of conversations began, most of them from the girls in the back.
Stephanie’s hand slipped away. I shifted my body, turning back to look through the seats, and Stephanie smiled at me. She had picked up her backpack from the bus floor and was rummaging through for something. She briefly held up a hand, with index finger extended, the standard gesture for give me one second. As she searched, I caught glimpses of things in her bag: a makeup kit, a notebook – possibly a diary, a small bottle of perfume. I remember thinking how mysteriously exciting she seemed at that moment, going through the girl-things in her backpack.
She retrieved a portable CD player and a pair of earbud headphones. She leaned forward and offered me one.
“You want to listen to some music with me?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling back at her. I remember watching her hands as she flipped through her CD booklet, found the one she wanted, and loaded it in the CD player. Every movement seemed soomehow innocent and charming. She was fascinating, and beautiful.
“Let’s see if you like this,” she said, pressing Play.
The music started, we looked each other in the eye for a moment, and then we both looked out the windows while the song played. It was a type of pop music with a feminine style, but male vocals. I didn’t much care for it, but when she looked back at me with her bright eyes, expectant of my approval, I smiled and nodded.
“It’s good,” I said. “I like it.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s really good.” I lied with a smile.
“Yay! Okay, good,” she said and sat back in her seat. Her smile was gorgeous.
A few more songs played on. They didn’t get any better, but I loved the feeling of us sharing something together.
At some point, facing Stephanie with my head between the seatbacks, I drifted to sleep.
When I awoke, with a stiff back and a crick in my neck, I saw that Stephanie was also asleep. The CD had finished, and I took out my earbud.
I rotated my neck side to side several times, twisted my back and got several audible cracks out of it. I looked sideways out the bus window. The sun was up and shining brightly now. Later I turned sideways again in my seat, placed my head in the gap between the seatbacks, and I looked at her.
Stephanie stirred in her sleep. Adjusting her position, she briefly opened her eyes and saw me peaking through the seats. For a second I was scared she would think it was creepy, but she simply smiled and gave me a tiny wink, and then went back to sleep.
I was young. I was fourteen. But to whatever capacity a fourteen year old can love, I loved her.
END OF PART 1.
I hope you review Part II because I found your input very genuine and helpful. Also, glad you enjoyed it enough to want to keep reading! 
