Shame in the Parking Lot

Part 2 of a Serial Story of Repentance

“You screwed up big time.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Trevor meant it sarcastically, but it didn’t come out sarcastically. It came out defeated and, as surprising as it was to himself, truthfully. He was a thirty-four-year-old wounded, angry, thoroughly broken man, standing next to his Honda Accord in the parking lot of the grocery store, hoping his dad might be able to guide him out of a self-destruction sequence he’d launched on his life at some point during the past year. And the truth was he was thankful that his dad had shot him straight.

“Son, I love you. Because I love you, I’m telling you this thing is your mess and you have to clean it up.”

“I feel like killing myself, Dad.”

There was a moment of silence. Trevor’s father’s throat was tight as he croaked out the next words.

“That’s not the answer, son. And you should love those girls and Jenn more than that.”

Why didn’t Trevor want to go back? He had no immediate answer, at least not one he wanted to dwell on, but it was true. He didn’t want to go back to Jenn. “What do I do, Dad?”

“You go home and tell her what you did was wrong and ask her to forgive you.”

It was hot out in the parking lot, but a cold sensation shot down his shoulder blades and into his back. The first image in his head wasn’t a real one, it wasn’t one that he thought would actually happen, but that didn’t make him fear it any less: Jenn, nodding smugly and self-righteously, and showing right there on her face that she was a better person than him, and that they both knew it. She was sitting on the couch in their living room as she did it. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing that University of Georgia sweatshirt he hated.

“I can’t, Dad.”

“You can. You have to. I’m not even talking about whether she’ll take you back yet-“

“I’m not sure I want to go back, Dad.”

“You should. But that’s not what I’m talking about now. Right now I’m just talking about confessing what you did and asking for forgiveness from the ones you did it to. If a man someday does to Kayla or Mattie what you did to Jenn, what would he owe them?”

Trevor’s mouth was dry, now. He had a fleeting wish that he’d bought the mouthwash.

“I don’t know,” he said, lying. Then he felt the phone buzz and heard the soft beep at about the same time and looked to see who was calling him.
Jess.

His heart jumped in his chest, mostly with anticipation but also with a small current of anger underneath it.

“Can I call you back, Dad?”

“Sure, son.” He sounded disappointed, but Trevor didn’t give it much thought. Jess was the only thing in his mind, now. She had been gone Sunday morning when he woke up on the couch in the apartment he’d rented for the two of them. He’d taken three ibuprofen to dull his hangover and then started to drive to the gym before going to a sports bar instead and getting wings and texting his buddy Darryl to see if he’d come up and eat with him and watch college football. Darryl had been busy, and so he’d sat there feeling his headache and eating mild wings and scrolling through Jess’ Facebook and Instagram, feeling more pathetic with each move of his index finger.

That pathetic feeling was gone now. She was calling him. He felt a little exhilaration as he swiped his right thumb, sort of like how it felt for last few yards before the top of a hill on a roller coaster.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I left my migraine medicine in the towel closet. I need you to bring it by.”

She sounded as tired and frustrated as ever, but he did his best to swallow the frustration. There was a chance she wanted to see him and that she was play acting the irritability. His palms were starting to sweat.

“Yeah, okay.”

He could sound irritated, too. He wasn’t about to come crawling back to her. She’d end up wanting him, and then he’d feel good again.

“What time?”

“I’m leaving to go to Darryl’s,” he lied. “I guess I can swing by on my way.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay. Bye.” He hung up, not waiting for the awkward silence from her that would have stood where a goodbye traditionally did. That was a power play, and he took it. She’d want him. His palms were still sweating, but he told himself several times that she would. Yeah, she would want him. He slid into the passenger seat of his dark blue sedan and put his head back on the headrest. It was hot in the car, but he didn’t bother turning it on and flipping the A/C to full blast. Not yet. It was hot, but he was ashamed, and he needed a minute to try to silence that shame, to reason it away. He didn’t have energy to spend on turning the car on and fiddling with the temperature knobs.

It took four minutes, and he was dripping in sweat by the time he pulled out of the grocery store parking lot.