Seventeen is much more grown up than sixteen. Seventeen makes you smarter. It makes you taller. It makes you prettier. It makes you responsible. At least, that’s what I thought before I turned seventeen. I knew I would be much better able to handle anything that came at me. I would be so much better than when I was sixteen. Everything would be better about me, and therefore, logically, it made sense that my life at seventeen would be that much better than my life at sixteen. I have never been more wrong.
It was two weeks before I reached this glorious and exciting stage when I first met Jon. I was excited for this upcoming, adventurous age and knew that every day leading up to Seventeen would just keep getting better and better. So it was no surprise to me at all when I met him. Jon was nineteen and perfect. He was even better than Seventeen, because he’d already gone through it. He knew everything about anything. He was more beautiful to me than Narcissus was to himself. And it took me about two hours of being with him to know that I was in love. I knew without a doubt that he was in love with me, too. And on that special day when my life would truly begin, he told me so. I was Seventeen, and we were in love.
We met through a friend; my best friend, in fact. Brittney’s dad lived in the city, not too far from me, and her mom lived in the same town as Jon. She had been dating this guy Trevor for a few months. I went to spend a Saturday with Brittney two weeks before my birthday, in anticipation of the big day, but mostly because she couldn’t come to my party. Young love being what it is, we had to drop by Trevor’s house. He had just met this cute new guy that Brittney said I just had to see. So we dolled ourselves up, put on our tightest jean shorts and did our hair so it didn’t look like we were the wild, rampaging not-Seventeens that we were, and hiked across town to meet up with the boys.
They were playing basketball when we got there, which made them hot and sweaty and drop dead sexy. Brittney had been wrong about this friend. He was not cute. He was gorgeous.
When they finally noticed us coming up the driveway, he dunked the ball and I couldn’t help but stare. His biceps bulged like huge cantaloupes. I’m pretty sure one of his arms was thicker than my entire waist. He hung there from the basket, his six-pack more defined than a dictionary. Then he came over and he probably thought I was retarded, standing there was my mouth gaping and my eyes unblinking. But he just smiled at me and said hi. I swear I’ve never seen whiter teeth, browner eyes, or blacker hair. And they were all as perfectly shaped as the rest of his gorgeous body. His mouth was supported by a strong and powerful jaw, creating a smile that surprisingly wasn’t too huge, but just right. His eyes weren’t too small or overpowered by his glistening forehead, and they were surrounded by the thickest, longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. His hair was cut close to his head, but still long enough that I was tempted to reach out and touch it.
I must have stammered something intelligible because he didn’t write me off as a complete dunce. He even said it was nice to meet me. We all decided to walk over to the gas station and grab some sodas, Britt and Trevor leading the way, which thankfully left me walking next to this beauty. I was nervous that I’d say something stupid and he’d hate me, but after the initial awkwardness of being stunned speechless, our conversation picked up and went quite smoothly. We talked a little about sports, about religion, and about our mutual friends. The sodas were a nice reprieve from the heat. We were already roasting and it still wasn’t noon. We got some waters to walk back with and began another journey, this time to a small patch of woods just past the other side of town. We had to climb over dead trees and through some muddy canals to get there. One of us was bound trip doing these acrobatics, and of course, the lucky one was me. A rock I hadn’t seen beneath the water caught my sandal and I fell face-down into the squishy mud. I expected the hand that reached me first to be Trevor’s. We had become friends and he was a very caring person, but it was Jon’s. It was strong and callused, like a good man’s hand ought to be and he easily lifted me from my muddy embarrassment and helped me to my feet.
Then, he laughed. His laugh was soft at first but gradually grew louder. It was so pleasant to listen to that I forgot for a moment to be annoyed. Trevor and Britt joined in and eventually I did too. I didn’t care if my shirt was ruined. I had the pleasure of this man’s mirth. I knew at once I had to keep it, so I quickly uncapped my cup of water and threw the remaining contents squarely at his face. He was shocked for only a moment before attempting to return the favor. I dodged and the water hit Brittney. It didn’t take long for the water fight to break out. Within seconds we were all covered with stinky canal water and soaked to our bones. We rinsed off as much of the muck as we could and then left the canal. The boys climbed out first, then hauled Brittney up, and then me. Jon didn’t let go of my hand when I reached the top, and I certainly didn’t mind.
From there things went perfectly for a while. I turned Seventeen and he kissed me. It was simply amazing; exactly what Seventeen was all about. We were destined for greatness together. We dated steadily for four months of perfection, seeing each other as often as our residential distance allowed us. When we weren’t together we were on the phone with each other. And when we weren’t either, my life was considerably less happy. I became addicted to him. His voice was my heartbeat. His laughter, my soul. I knew I had to be with him, and he knew he had me under his spell.
We had been dating for four months when things began to change. It was August and blazing hot inside and out. The southern heat made every tree and house look like a mirage as it rose in waves from the paved roads. School would be starting in a few weeks and our separation was inevitable. I like to think now that we would have managed it if nothing had happened. We could have handled being apart in the week, seeing each other on weekends. We could have made it work. But Jon’s parents decided to split up and it hurt him worse than he admitted, even to me. I was surprised when I saw the moving truck in front of his house. I had known they had argued, but I never dreamed they would actually divorce. They had always seemed so strong. It shattered Jon’s faith in them. I tried to comfort him the best I could, but he had lost hope. He still told me he loved me, but I could feel the distance coming between us.
A few weeks after school started, I made a Saturday visit to his house. It was my turn to travel and I was excited to see him. Lately, he had sounded more depressed about life than usual, so I promised myself I’d make him happier than ever. I didn’t know how exactly, but it was my goal to bring his old, boisterous laugh back. When I got there, both of his parents were out. I wasn’t too surprised. After his dad moved out, his mom took up a second job and was rarely home anymore. Jon’s new truck was parked on the street and he was playing basketball alone on the driveway. I watched him for a while before getting out of my own beat up station wagon. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, but he was missing all of his easiest shots. He didn’t make one. That was when I knew something was really wrong. He never missed. He was perfect.
It took him a while to notice me, but he finally did, and ran over to meet me. His hug was sweaty and hot. Perfect. Just the way it should be.
“Welcome to my wonderful new home” he said, gesturing broadly toward the house. “Inside we have a family, unhappy and stressed, the image of the American family. We have a father, fat and balding, who weekly cheats on his wife with his sexy blonde secretary. We have a mother, up til recently oblivious to her husband’s misdeeds. She lovingly cooks every meal for him, only half of which he ever eats, and blissfully awaits his homecoming. We have a son, working to help his struggling parents make ends meet, forever unaware that his father squanders all their money on gifts for said trampy secretary. And we have a son’s girlfriend, beautiful in every way and much too perfect for this false picture of a family. Please, enter at your own risk.” He finished with a grand flourish and a bow, grinning at me with his perfect mouth.
“Beautiful in every way, huh?” I raised my eyebrows at him. He knew I never felt beautiful, but I loved to hear him say it. My scrawny brown hair never shined the right way and it refused to stay up in any way more complicated than a pony tail. I was short and skinny and full of atrocious freckles. But I guess he liked it.
“Absolutely.”
I smiled and gave him a quick kiss, and then we went inside. The small front room was messy. Empty food containers and chip bags lay on the couch next to a pile of blankets and some magazines, and the kitchen counter was piled with dishes. So we left these and took refuge in Jon’s bedroom. He always kept it clean, another aspect of his perfection. The bed was made neatly, his clothes put away, and his many sporting trophies lined up on his dresser. A CD player sat on a table next to his bed, next to his latest read. The ceiling fan twirled overhead, keeping the room cool. It was a little bit of paradise in the middle of a stormy sea.
I plopped down onto his bed and picked up the book. It was The Lord of the Flies. “You’re not thinking of running off and starting a new, all-male society, are you?” I asked him. “This book is crazy. Good. But crazy.”
He took off his shirt and wiped the sweat off his body, tossing the shirt into his hamper. I shivered with delight at the sight of his tight skin and his huge muscles. They always made me a little weak. He lay down next to me and before answering. “What fun would an all-male society be? That was the problem with those boys, I think. They had no women to keep them sane, so they all got domineering and ended up killing each other. Nothing good could come of that, really.”
I laughed and replied. “So it’s true, then, that all men need a good woman to control them? I guess that makes women more powerful in the end. I always thought men hated that idea.”
“No. Not all men. Obviously Golding didn’t, or he would’ve had some girls on the island, too. But I didn’t say women were more powerful. Sure, you have your secrets and your conniving abilities, but I bet I could make you do what I wanted, too, if I tried hard enough.”
He was getting into a good mood, and I didn’t want to lose that, so I continued joking with him. “Oh, really? And what is it that you want me to do? I’m going to have to try hard not to be swayed by your awesome power.” He laughed and pulled me down for a kiss, which I willingly accepted. His hands moved around my body, exploring places previously undiscovered.
“Madeline?” he asked between kisses. “Do you love me?” I told him I did and continued to nuzzle his neck. “Will you love me?” The repetition worried me and I pulled back a little so I could look into his eyes.
“I’ll always love you, Jon. You’re perfect for me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“No, I mean will you love me? Now?”
I understood what he meant, and I sat up and looked away from him. We had talked about the concept before, but never considered it as actually happening. I wasn’t ready. I had never expressed my love that way before with anybody. It was a special idea to me and I wanted to know I was ready before I crossed that line. And I wasn’t ready. “You know I can’t,” I finally said. “I’m not ready for that.”
He sat up behind me and ran his hand gently across my back, moving stray hairs around my shoulder. “I love you,” he told me, quietly.
“I know. And I love you. I just can’t. Not yet. Is that okay?”
He said yes, but his hand dropped from my back and he lay back down, his body turned away from me. I returned to his side and put my arm around him, stroking his chest gently. His breathing had slowed and I knew he was thinking about my answer. It had hurt him. There was no doubt about it. And I was torn between my desires and my love. I wanted him to be happy, but I didn’t want to give myself up before I was ready.
The next few weeks got progressively worse. We rarely spent time together without him asking me if I would love him yet. I always said no, and he was always hurt. His insecurity about his parents carried over into our relationship. He told me that his mother had suffered an injury that made her unable to love her husband, and that inability had been what caused his dad to go after another woman. He was afraid that my resistance would lead to the failure of our relationship and he didn’t want that. It would all be my fault. I knew he was right, but I still wasn’t ready.
It wasn’t long before his requests turned into threats, and still I loved him. Soon it turned from “Will you love me?” to “I don’t think I can keep going if you don’t love me” to “I will die if you don’t love me.” I could not be the cause of his death. That much I knew. I could not go on without him. I was Seventeen and in control, but I was not strong enough for that. His death would create a hole in my existence.
The first time he truly terrified me was a Wednesday. As on most weeknights, we were on the phone. The conversation turned to our love, and he told me he couldn’t keep going on. I was too good for him, and he couldn’t take it. He started saying things he had never said before, and my hands went cold. He told me he was killing himself as we spoke, slicing his wrist and waiting for the pain to leave. I couldn’t let him do it. Though it was near midnight, I woke my parents, told them what was happening. I frantically called Brittney and Trevor while my parents drove toward Jon’s house. I have never made that drive in such a short time, before or since. Brittney called the local police and by the end of the drive I lay in the back seat of our station wagon, crying my heart out, hoping I was not too late to help my beloved. It was all I could do to keep breathing.
Jon’s house was empty when we arrived. We drove around the town, looking for him. We took one path, the police another, Brittney and Trevor a third. No one could find him. His phone rang without answer. He was dead. He was dead. I had been too late. I had killed him. We searched for nearly two hours without success. Then, a miracle happened. My little cell phone vibrated in my hand, and Jon’s voice responded when I shakily answered. He was not dead. He had staunched the bleeding and was hiding, waiting for everyone to leave. He would not come out, would not see me. It didn’t matter. He was alive.
The police continued searching, but my parents drove me home. I fell asleep on the way, dreaming of the perfect voice that calmed my soul and kept my heart beating. I saw him the next day. He came to my small apartment in the city and brought me flowers, apologizing for the previous night. That was when he asked me if I would marry him. I had to say yes. My heart and my conscience knew I had no other choice.
For a while things got better. Jon was happy again, which made me happier as well. I thought everything would go on as perfectly as it had before his parents split. But I was wrong. By December he was asking me to love him again, and by January he was talking about not being able to go on. We had talked about getting married in June, just a couple of weeks after I graduated. But he said he couldn’t wait that long. He had to know how much I loved him or he wouldn’t be able to keep going.
I should have realized nothing was going to change, that he could continue having this cycle of happiness and depression, but I didn’t. I loved him too much to see him as anything but perfect. So when he became serious again, I knew I would be the death of him if I didn’t comply…so I did.
He was the happiest I had seen him in months. I loved that I’d finally been able to please him, but I hated myself for the way it happened. I couldn’t do it again. I didn’t want to. I hadn’t been ready. But he was happy, so I smiled. He was happy for a whole week. But when our next weekend together came he wanted more and I said no. He couldn’t handle it. He thought I loved him, he told me. Thought I cared if he lived or died. I did, very much, but I couldn’t do it again. He was asking too much of me. I loved him more than anything, but he had to be content knowing that I loved him. I had shown him. I wanted him to understand how much it meant, but he never did. I looked forward to our wedding, knowing I could once again show him I loved him, and this time without the regret. Nothing could be better than being married to this man whom I loved more than myself. I would give up everything for him.
Three weeks went by. Jon still wanted more, and I still wouldn’t give more. With each passing week he became more and more agitated, until one day he didn’t call me. We had gotten into an argument the night before. It was my fault, I knew, because I wasn’t willing to comply again, but I was going to stick my ground. Even so, I was a little surprised when he didn’t call. We hadn’t gone a day without talking to one another since before we started dating. He always called. But he didn’t that day. I was hurt, but it was nothing compared to what came next.
It was Saturday morning, and I woke to the sound of my phone ringing. It was not Jon, but Trevor. Before I even had the chance to ask him how he was, he told me. Jon was dead. Trevor had found him that morning, sitting in his truck by the canal in which we had had our first water fight. The police found his father’s pistol on the floor; it was evident Jon had used it on himself. A letter written to me was in his lap. All it said was that he loved me and he was sorry. He just couldn’t wait any longer.
It was my fault. I had killed him. I had destroyed his perfection. And I knew it. Seventeen wasn’t all I had dreamed it would be. Sure, I had fallen in love. I had crossed boundaries I would never be able to uncross. I had become a new person. But I wasn’t much more grown up than sixteen. I was no smarter. I was no taller. I was no prettier. I was no more responsible. I was just me. And I was a murderer.
