Girl in a Glass Case
                                                            ­                By John DeVito

Katherine Green probably had it more together than most of the girls I knew in high school. She was a star on the track team, she continuously made the honor roll and she was involved in more than a few extracurriculars. She was energetic, open and always quick to joke. She was also a die-hard feminist and any pseudo-negative remark made against women, in her presence, never went unpunished. She’d stab with her tongue and, more than a few times, kick an unsuspecting guy in the *****. She was a little crazy, maybe, but she never denied it.
I met her in a journalism class. While I was preoccupied with researching my favorite directors and writing movie reviews, she’d be researching women’s rights and the latest new clippings concerned with Hillary Clinton, wronged wives and successful female business owners. We both had our obsessions, and quietly respected each other for them. Since we would sit next to each other every day, we started talking. We laughed, joked and enjoyed each other’s company to the point that the teacher took notice and would say things like, “When’s the wedding?” And, “Get a room already.” We’d just laugh it off.
Soon enough, we actually started dating. Being my first girlfriend, I treasured her. Every time my thoughts drifted her way, a grin would take over my face and my body would feel like it was floating. I loved her, if only for the way she made me feel, and I would’ve done anything for her. And I did. I’d walk through the heat, the rain, the cold, sickness and sleeplessness to her house whenever she’d call and ask me to come over. Whenever I would get there, I was greeted either by her mother or her father. Her mother was a German immigrant. She was short, but stern and rigid, both physically and mentally. She’d always tell Katherine not to “make him bad” and say that I was a “good boy”. It made me wonder what kind of past Katherine had with other boys, but I’d quickly let the thoughts leave my head. Katherine made me feel like I was worth something and that I was special, and that was enough for me… But I digress.
Her father was New York City detective. He also had the capability of being quite stern, like his wife, but had a more playful disposition. He was nicer to me than I ever imagined a girl’s father to be to her new boyfriend, and for that I was thankful. Most of the times I came over, he’d either be watching the Jets game, the Knicks game or some type of criminal investigation show (usually Law & Order). He seemed like a pretty normal and cool dad to me, and I respected him not only because he was a cop but because he seemed like genuinely nice human being.

Only three days after our first “official” date (we went to the movies and to get ice cream), Katherine and I had ***. I was a ******, and she wasn’t. She made it clear to me beforehand that she had had *** with two other boys before me and then asked me if I had ever had ***. I lied and said, “yeah, of course, last summer at camp”, which was a lie because I didn’t go to camp the summer before and my contact with the opposite *** ended at staring awkwardly at them from across a classroom (until I met Katherine, course). So, we had ***, right there, on my bed in my bedroom on the second floor of my house. My mom and dad were home and watching TV just downstairs, but I didn’t care. I was getting to do the one thing that every boy dreams about from the moment the hormones start flooding his body and brain and makes him think of *** more times a day than food, sleep and funny things combined. When it was over, I felt like I never had before. I felt like Neil Armstrong when he first stepped foot on the moon, like Steven Spielberg after Jaws became the first Blockbuster ever, like Hank Aaron after breaking Babe Ruth’s long-standing homerun record. In short, I was on top of the world and after Katherine went home I made a point to texting all of my friends about the encounter. I had to, it was a modern reflex, I suppose.
Things went great from then on. Katherine and I went on more movie dates, laughed, texted, hung out at each others’ houses, met each others’ parents and friends and had more ***. It was like a dream, come to think of it. Things seemed too… Cohesive. They seemed too perfect to actually be happening to me. One day, after watching a movie on TV, we decided to go for a little walk. We left my house and hooked around the block toward the elementary school when Katherine said, “Do you ever cut?”
I stopped.
“What?” I narrowed my brow and removed my hand from hers.
“It was just a question.”
“Why? Do you?”
“No,” she said quietly, her eyes trailing toward my shoes. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking what?”
“What would you say if I suggested that we cut. Together. During ***.”
“Whoa… Uh…” I had no idea where this was coming from. I never even knew Katherine ever even thought about such things. I know I never had before. I had heard of kids cutting themselves but always thought it was a juvenile and mindless thing to do. I didn’t get it.
“Forget it,” she said, and started walking again toward the school.
“No,” I yelped. “Stop.”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“I don’t know,” her eyes were innocent. “I read an article about Angelina Jolie and she said it was something that made her feel closer to her fiancé.”
“Oh.” I looked down, then back up at her and started walking.
“I don’t know about that,” I said after a block or two of trying to piece together my thoughts. “I don’t think I would like that.”
“OK,” she replied without a second’s hesitation. And that was that.

After that I seriously began to contemplate our relationship. Everything Katherine would do or say I would consider three times over, trying to analyze the deeper meaning behind her words and actions. She seemed like an enigma to me now. I felt like I had no idea who she really was, what she was really thinking. And that kind of scared me. Weeks later, we were laying on her bed and watching YouTube videos on her laptop. She was laughing at some guy falling off a park bench and I just smiled silently, my eyes drifting toward her fingers as she typed something into the search bar. And then I noticed them. Katherine was wearing short sleeves, leaving her forearms exposed, and I noticed something. There were three bruises on her left forearm, a deep blue one, an almost purple one and a fading yellowish one. I looked up at her face and then back down to her forearm.
“What happened to you,” I asked.
“What?”
“Your arm,” I said, grabbing it and turning it over so the bruises were looking at the ceiling.
“Oh, those.”
“Yeah. What are they from?”
Katherine sighed and touched her face. “Nothing, I just… Slammed my arm.”
“Slammed your arm? How? On what?”
She pursed her lips and sighed again. “At the track meet. I fell and hit the dirt hard. There were rocks and…”
“Really,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah, really.”
“Well, I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me, Peter.”
“What really happened, Katherine?”
“Peter, just shut up. I’m telling you the truth,” her eyes started to harden. Her face got a little red, as it usually did when
she was defending a point.
“No, you’re not, Katherine.”
“Fine, Peter, I’ll tell you the truth.”
A second passed. I was staring blankly into her eyes, waiting for her mouth to open again. She shook her head.
“The track meet…”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I didn’t make it into the top ten. I tripped a couple of times.”
“I thought you were going to tell me the truth,” I breathed out, lifting myself off the bed.
“I am telling you the truth! Just listen to me,” she reached out, grabbed my arm this time and pulled me back onto the bed.
“I didn’t make it into the top ten. On the car ride home… My dad was… Really mad.”
“He was mad at you for doing your best?”
I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen Mr. Green mad, or even upset, in my life. Granted, I knew him only for a few months, but this revelation was still shocking to me.
“He’s a very competitive man, Peter.”
“Yeah, but… You’re his daughter.”
“I am. I am his… Daughter.”
And the way she said that kind of… Really did irk me. She said with an odd combination of disdain and love. I’d never seen her speak this way before. After a few moments, she told me that she thought it was time for me to leave. I didn’t fight her, I knew this was probably the time for me to just go and let her be alone. I mean, I needed alone time after that conversation. I was an emotional wreck, if there ever was one, and I wasn’t even directly affected by this man. Her father became a mystery, one that I felt obligated to bring to light but couldn’t really bring myself to actually pursue. My hands were tied, her family wasn’t mine, her life wasn’t mine. After all, I had only known her for about five or six months when she told me what she did that day. Who was I to go pushing buttons and beating around bushes that were, frankly, none of my rightful business?


Eventually, Katherine and I broke up. It wasn’t too long after that incident that we decided to go our separate ways. Now, it’s been about three and a half years since our relationship took it’s last proverbial breaths and I still can’t get her out of my head. I regret that I didn’t push, and I regret that I didn’t try harder to get to the bottom of the matter. We’re no longer friends, so I feel like the time to do that has come and gone, but still. Something inside of me aches every time I hear her name or see a status posted by her on Facebook. I can’t help feeling like I could have… Should have done more.