If You Were Mine ...

Chapter Eight

            Clear, bright sunlight was streaming in through the bedroom window of Michael’s new apartment that Sunday morning, the fifth of June 1975.  The sun rises early in June in south Alabama, and the squall line of thunderstorms that had swept through the region last evening had cleansed the atmosphere of its heavy oppression and left in its place cooler, less humid air and clear blue skies.  It was not yet seven o’clock.

            As the sun’s rays found their way onto the bed where Jennifer lay sleeping, she began to stir. At first, she did not realize where she was, as she had never been a morning person and most days was not fully awake until at least eight or eight-thirty.  As she took her first peek at the new day through sticky, morning eyes, however, the knowledge of her whereabouts landed heavily upon her.  She was in Michael’s bed!

            But Michael was gone!

            After calling his name out loudly but receiving no answer, she jumped out of bed. With her heart pounding, she peered out the window into the parking lot, lifting the slats of the mini-blinds to discover that, indeed, his car was not parked in the place they had left it last night. 

            Last night!  The most profoundly romantic, fulfilling, and yet strangely fearsome night of her life!  She blushed at the thought of it, blushed like a bride.  It had been so wonderfully glorious to her, though she now felt more than a little guilty.  But the guilt was slowly being replaced by a growing sense of panic in her spirit.

            Where could Michael be so early?  Why in the world did he leave? she wondered.  Oh, no!  Maybe I did something wrong!  Maybe he was not pleased with me or doesn’t love me anymore!  Perhaps he has lost all respect for me!  Men do that— she had been told—lose respect for women who have given themselves away.

            She remembered the Old Testament story of King David’s son, what’s-his-name, who burned with lustful desire for his half-sister, what’s-her-name, but after he had his way with her, despised her.  She recalled the exact King James Bible words: “So that the hatred wherewith he hated her was greater than the love wherewith he had loved her.”

            It can’t be!  It can’t be! she worried, her fevered imagination taking over her rational thought processes.  Surely Michael doesn’t hate me!